#still hate that i caved but if anyone deserves whatever flew out its her

[saltytyrus]

I know my therapist did NOT just seriously suggest a my pillow product 😭😭😭😭

#I THOUGHT IT WAS A FUCKING JOKE #we were talking about comfort items and how soft blankets were my mom brought up ugg comforters AND THIS BITCH DUCKING SAID #' have you heard of the my pillow guy?' #i almost started laughing and i looked at my mom like ohh yeah... and i was about to bring up how we always see the jimmy kimmel skits #BUT I DIDN'T GET TO BECAUSE THE BITCH FUCKING WENT INTO HOW HE ALSO HAS A SLIPPER PRODUCT #i ducking canttttt #the first thing she said was that we could take off our mask and dont have to wear them 🚩🚩🚩 #multiple times just 'go ahead take it off i have a humidifier feels better BLAHHH 🥹 #...i may have caved because my mom took hers down and yet again the lady kept going on about masks and take it off/they arent effective???? #whatever we warned u we're get getting over the flu- fuck it if u get sick ig with your improved immunity shit 🙄 #still hate that i caved but if anyone deserves whatever flew out its her #she seemed nice enough though but still there were comments that had me lookijg at her straight faced like keep fucking talking i want to #know where you stand #its obvious but keep goinggg im curious #she definitely needs to dial it back #if 'dont live in fear' was a personnnnn #ughhh #there were so many points where i was like shit i could've said this or that or at least hoped my face got it across #at one point i just blatantly dropped it in that we watch Colbert and kimmel like HELLLOOOO #again seemed nice enough and had good professional advice but THERE WERE SO MANY INSTANCES OF WHAT THE FUCK #I'll probably see her once or twice more but if it continues im requesting someone else #ik i cant agree with everyone/its not exactly connected to her job but i feel like this is at least the one place where i should be picky & #choose someone thats not making me turn my head every five fucking minutes trying to figure out if they're a full blow piece of shit #i probably should find someone else now to not waste time but ahhhh #she kind of looks like Julia Louis-Dreyfus #it felt like a skit #blown* #is requesting a non republican/conservative/qanon therapist a thing? #part of me is like it wasnt that bad just focus on what shes professionally advising for anxiety and the other half of me is like that was #not fucking normal and i dont have to take it

[beetlegoose01]

Frostbite (Casetello)

AN: do these two have a ship name? Caseytello? eh whatever it’s casey x donnie and they’re gay

special thanks to cal for reading this for me and saying i should post it <3

There were quite a lot of things Casey Jones loved. Hockey, pizza, riding his motorcycle, video games, beating the crap out of his opponents. Normal teenage stuff. Lately he had been doing the latter, ever since he and April officially joined the 'Unofficial Turtles Team' , helping alongside the teen mutants on patrol. Goofing off with Mikey and Raph were the highlights, but he couldn't deny spending extra time with April was also a benefit. Even if they barely got a single word out- too busy fighting off random mutants scattering the city, it was still nice.

But what wasn't nice, downright unpleasant about patrol...was Donatello. There was an unspoken, mutual loathing that the pair shared that even quick glances at each other led to glaring and arguing. Leaving them together in the same room was never a good idea. Casey hasn't understood why the purple genius was so hostile towards him at first. But the reasons became obvious the first time he caught him staring helplessly at April, fumbling his words and blushing profusely. Not that Casey didn't feel similarly, heck, that was the problem. Both were attracted to April. Obviously Casey had the upper hand, being human. A turtle and a human girl in a relationship was built for disaster.

But their hatred didn't stop there. It wasn't just about April.  Eventually, everything about Donatello annoyed him. His whiny voice, his love for using complicated words to sound superior, soon every little thing bugged him.

Things were easier if the two stayed as far apart as possible.

Of course, fate seemed to work in mysterious ways.

It was starting to get late, the moonlight illuminating the sky. The group stopped on a rooftop, perched by the edge. Leo halted them silently, then turned around.

"Why'd you stop, Fearless?" Raph asked.

"I think we should split up. We'll cover more ground. If you see any sign of trouble, use your T-Phones." said Leo.

"No way dudes!" Mikey squeaked. "I saw this scary movie last night where the team split up! And then..." He paused for dramatic effect. "They all got taken out one by one. Starting with the cute funny one!" He trembled, hiding behind Donnie, who rolled his eyes.

Raph smirked, always prepared for a sassy remark. "Which means, you'll be just fine since you're neither of those."

"Hey!"

"And you'll be in pairs." Leo crossed his arms. "I've got it all planned out. Raph and April. Mikey and me."

"Mikey and I." Donnie corrected under his breath. Casey fought the urge to whack the smart aleck turtle with his hockey stick.

Leo ignored him. "Donnie and Casey-"

Casey involuntary let out a loud groan. Just his luck.

Leo narrowed his blue eyes, unamused. "Something wrong, Jones?"

"Er..." His eyes darted to Donatello, who seemed stoic, but equally frustrated with this predicament. On one hand, he wanted to argue and beg to be with literally anyone else. On the other, he didn't want to deal with the leader in blue getting annoyed with him.  "Nah Leo, that's fine by me. Right, D?"

Donnie huffed. "Yeah, that's alright."

"I think this will be good for you both." April grinned.

"Of course, April." Donnie agreed.

"No problem at all." Casey smiled through gritted teeth. When she turned away, they both shared an equally menacing glare.

"I knew I could count on you two." April smiled softly, though even she didn't look entirely convinced.

This was going to be a long night.

~•~

Turns out, Casey had underestimated the scrawny (ugh, svelte) turtle. In what Donnie lacked in muscle, he gained with his speed, mobility and of course, his mind. It was practically impossible to keep up once Donatello had leaped from the first building, tumbling and landing with ease, while Casey was coughing his lungs out as he ran desperately after the brainy terrapin.

"Okay, now you're just showing off." He panted irritably, nearly collapsing once he finally caught up with him.

"Are you coming or not?" Donnie gave his trademark gap tooth grin as he turned, slowing down.

"I am! You're just moving too fast!" Casey complained. "I thought turtles were supposed to be slow! I didn't even have time to get my grappling hook."

Donnie shrugged, ending the conversation with one simple movement.

They walked side by side, neither wanting to say anything. They both knew it would only end in arguing.

"Can I just say-" Casey started.

"No, you can't."

"I didn't say anything!"

"Exactly."

"Listen, Gap Tooth, I don't like this either!" He flicked a stone off the roof with his shoe. "But we have to ..." He swallowed. "work together, right?"

Donnie said nothing. He looked deep in thought.

"Is it because of April? Because it's not my fault she...y'know likes me more."

At the mention of April, Donnie turned away, eyes flashed with hurt, which only filled Casey with that annoying feeling of guilt.

"It isn't about her."

"Alright." Silence. "Sorry, let's just-" He cleared his throat. "Let's just work together, we don't need to be friends. Just get through the mission. After that, we can go back to hating each other."

"That was...surprisingly mature, Jones. Glad we can agree on something." Donnie quipped. "And for once, you're right. This mission is more important than our petty squabbles. No matter how insufferable you may be."

"Now you're just making up words."

Donnie fought the urge to roll his eyes. "So, that's two more hours of this."

Casey scoffed, but couldn't help but chuckle. Quietly of course. Last thing he wanted was for Donnie to think he was actually amusing.

"So...deal?"

"Deal." Donnie said, then added: "Cave Mouth." Which made Casey shove him lightly.

For a brief moment, they seemed to share a mutual understanding. The silence that followed wasn't awkward or forced, it was comfortable. Well, as comfortable as they could possibly be.

Donnie paused, startled by something. Lifting his bō carefully, he tried to follow whatever the sound was.

"What the-" Casey raised an eyebrow.

"Shh!" He hissed. "Do you hear that?"

"No?" Casey scrunched his nose, listening closely. It sounded like a...buzzing noise? Like a fly or mosquito. Irritating, but not dangerous. "Chill Don, it's just a bug or something."

"No, listen!" The turtle looked frantic and alert.

The buzzing became louder. Then, it was followed by the sound of snapping wood. Deliberate and exact. Casey gulped, taking his own weapon.

A massive shadow flew over their heads and landed in front of them. Donnie yelped in surprise, stumbling forward.

"Ah, shell." He swore, lifting his head to face the hideous insectoid mutant with acid green eyes. Scumbug spread his deformed wings, antenayes raised, prepared to strike.

"Well, I was right. That definitely is a bug. Scumbug! Wicked! This'll be fun!" Casey sneered.

"Which makes no sense, considering stag beetles aren't even bugs! They're insects!" Donnie spun his staff like a propeller, hitting the mutant face on.

"Not the time!" Casey tackled Scumbug, who roared, jostling him aside like a ragdoll. He smacked the floor with a sickening thud, directly on his arm. He fought back a scream of agony.  "Do you- gah- seriously have to be such a know it all, all the time?" He looked at his arm, which currently looked seriously messed up.

Donnie looked affronted. "I am not a know it all!"

"Yes you are!" Another whack of his trusty hockey stick, followed by a knock to the ground, face first. He wiped his mouth from the metallic taste of blood.

"No I'm not!"

"Yes you- Donnie, look out!" Casey shrieked, sounding less manly than he intended.

Scumbug, now furious, had efficiently used his enemies' bickering to his advantage. Before he could turn around, a spider web twirled from its appendages binding Donatello to the ground, who kicked and struggled furiously.

The mutant now crouched over the captured turtle, prepared to strike with his signature acid spit.

"Hang on, D! Casey Jones is here to save the day! GOONGALA!" He bellowed, racing towards Scumbug and latching onto him like a demented parasite. It was hardly the most graceful of moves, but it distracted him briefly.

He raised his hockey stick, poking him hard in the eye in an attempt to gouge them. Eyes were sensitive- he remembered Splinter telling him that.

With the extra time, Donnie reached for his bō, ripping the web apart with the extended naginata blade.

Scumbug, now looking more disheveled and horrifically disfigured than normal, retreated blindly into the misty air.

"I didn't need your help." Donnie said bitterly.

"Aw, is that any way to say thank you?" Casey retorted. "I just saved your shell." He poked his plastron roughly. "I think I deserve a little appreciation for my heroism."

"I had it handled."

"Did you? Because you looked just about ready to be eaten by Scumbug."

Donatello scowled, moving closer. "And he got away. So your heroism didn't exactly work, did it?"

"Would you rather have acid stuck to your face?" Casey growled. "You'd look even freakier than you do now. Next time you're a little 'turtle in distress' don't expect me to come save your-"

"I didn't need saving." Their foreheads pressed together, any moment ready to face each other on.

Casey gritted his teeth. "Sure, whatever you say. I didn't help because I actually cared about you or anything."

"Then why did you?" Donnie snapped, pulling away. "You could have left me."

"Because I- you- argh!" Casey felt his temper rising. "Because I'm not a monster, alright? We're a team, and we help each other. That's the deal." He wiped his chapped lips again, the disgusting taste of blood still lingering. He winced, clutching his arm.

"I can patch you up at the lair." Donnie said softly. "It just looks sprained."

"Mm." Casey grumbled, still pissed. Stubbornness was taking over any injury he had. He'd rather have his arm stay at this awkward angle than admit he was hurt in front of his rival. "I'll just wrap it up at home. I'll be fine."

Donnie sighed, raising his palm to his face. "Don't be so stubborn, I can help you."

Casey didn't look convinced.

"To repay the favor?" His warm brown eyes looked surprisingly sincere. "You did help me, after all. I'd probably be toast if you didn't."

Casey snorted. "You got that right."

A beat. Donnie looked unsure, as if he wanted to say something else. But whatever it was, it was holding him back.

"So...we should go back to the lair then?" Casey suggested, easing the awkwardness.

"Huh? Yes, of course. Totally. " Donnie nodded. "Naturally."

"Alright then."

"Jones?"

Casey turned, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say...thanks."

"Hey, no problem. But don't tell anyone I saved your ass."

"Deal."

~•~

Casey never expected to be sitting in Donnie's lab table, in between Timothy the blob-organ filled mutant and several bunsen burners, but life tended to be weird that way. He also didn’t expect to be pouting on said table like he was at some freaky doctor’s office. The rest of the team returned shortly after them, and seemed surprised that Donnie was actually willing to fix Casey's arm- and not begrudgingly.

Donnie returned with a first aid kit, setting it on the table. He hummed a familiar tune to himself, as if to fill the empty air of any more awkwardness.

"I've seen these before." Casey said, poking the bunsen burner tap, immediately then swatted away by Donatello. "At my school's science lab."

Donnie nodded, rolling up Casey's sleeve to examine his bare arm. Casey flinched, not comfortable with the random act of touching. "Hey don't!"

"Do you want your arm fixed or not?"

"...yeah."

"Then let me work my magic."

Casey frowned, staring at the bottle the turtle was holding. "Your magic looks like antibiotics and advil."

Donnie's lip twitched.

After his arm was treated somewhat, Donnie wrapped him up gently with a clean bandage. The slow movement made his heart race increase every time Donnie's fingertips brushed his arm, but he ignored it.

Don't be weird, Jones.

"That should be good. Don't put any pressure on it." said Donnie, passing him the advil. "And take this, it'll soothe the pain."

Casey pretended to look offended. "Here I thought you were gonna kiss it better."

Donnie rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "Don't push it, Jones. We aren't there yet."

Casey laughed. "Yet. Thanks for fixin' my arm, D. You...aren't so bad, I guess. But let's go back to hating each other, alright?"

Donnie smirked. "Whatever you say."

#tmnt #teenage muant ninja turtles #donatello #casey jones #caseytello #casetello #do they even have a ship name #enemies to lovers #rivals to lovers #fanfic #tmnt 2012 #i miss them #author is sleep deprived #jonestello #is that their ship name? #they're gay your honor

[fericita-s]

The Princess and the Babarian

A Helnik tale, rated E for this chapter.  As Matthias recovers from a gunshot wound, Nina tells him the story of the Princess and the Barbarian. He interrupts a lot as his Fjerdan sensibilities are bothered and the Ravkan propaganda gets to be unbearable.  Thank you @theburnbarreljester​ for beta-ing and for being the kind of person who would only ever use “witch” as an honorific.

Previous Chapters

Chapter 8

Perhaps it was being clean.  Perhaps it was the way she’d fabrikated her furs to feel like the quilts in the bedroom of her youth or the way her wet hair had dried wild and wavy, the way she’d worn it in her youth before the elaborate braids required of a Ravkan princess.  Perhaps it was the song of the red crossbill which filled her ears as she slept, reminding her of the royal aviary on the palace grounds.  Whatever the reason, Inessa dreamt of home.  She and her mother were having tea at the Grand Palace on a gilded terrace with a view of the blue lake below.  The golden samovar was piping hot and the tea cakes were dripping with butter. Inessa reached for her mother’s hand but suddenly volcra emerged from the lake below, punching into windows as they flew and climbed up to the terrace with their blackened claws.  Her father and his guards rushed out with swords drawn but were ripped apart by the monstrous creatures.  Inessa’s mother pushed Inessa behind her and she fell, ripping her dress on the tiled floor.  She looked up as a volcra stabbed her mother clean through the middle with its claws and then bit into Inessa’s neck, flying off with her still clutched in its powerful jaws.

Inessa woke screaming.  She grasped at her neck, feeling for the blood that she knew must be there, pushing her wild hair out of her face, and then Iver was there, pulling her from the tangled quilt and into his lap.

“It’s alright, you’re safe,” he said, stroking her hair.  “It was just a dream.”

She was breathing in shuddering gasps and burying her face against his chest.  “But it happened.  The volcra killed them.  And I’ll never see them again.”

“And many more will have the same fate if you don’t tell me the Ravkan secrets of the Shadow Fold.” He moved his hands from her hand and settled them around her.  If it had been anyone else she might have called it a hug. 

Inessa pulled away from him, moving his hand from her waist and shoulder.  “There are no Ravkan secrets to the Shadow Fold!  Don’t you think I want to help my people? This horror just appeared on our land! And now you keep me prisoner, thinking I’ll help you?”  She moved off of his lap and pulled at the quilt that was now bunched up at the edge of the bed, wrapping it around herself as she shivered in the cold night air.  Iver reached for it and pulled it off of her, feeling it with his fingers.

“What is this? These are not the furs I gave you!”  He stalked over to the fire and began to rip the quilt into shreds before throwing the pieces into the flames.  “Do not bring that magic in here! That’s what called the volcra from hell!”

“It is not! It’s a gift of creation, not destruction!” She ran to him and tried to tear the quilt from his hands before all of it was burned.  “Please, it reminds me of home!”

He easily kept her away from the quilt with one hand while continuing to feed the fire with the other.  The fire was dancing in tall flames now, lighting up the cave, as bright as her fury.  When he fed the last of the ruined quilt to the fire Inessa punched him in his stomach and then raised her leg to kick him.  He caught her leg and she tottered, unbalanced.  She collapsed into him, still beating at him with her fists and shouting at him between heaving sobs.  “I hate you! You took me from my people when I could have mourned alongside them! When I could have died with them!”

“You don’t cry for your husband.”

Inessa looked up at him, so surprised by this that she hiccuped instead of sobbed and paused in her pounding against his chest.  “I didn’t know him. You took me from him before I could know him.”

Iver’s hands were warm on her thigh.  “Have you known any men?”

“A princess doesn't know men, not in the way you mean.” She shivered and he rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

“I’ve known women.  But never a woman like you.”  

He was looking at her lips and suddenly Inessa wanted to know what they would feel like on her own.  She shook her head, trying to clear the thought from her head.  She hated him! He was a cruel barbarian who burned her comfort and insulted the country of her heart!  Just because he called her “woman” instead of “witch” did not mean he had changed.

But her heart had changed and her body too.  And it wanted strange new things.  Like to feel his hand, which was still gripping her thigh, to go higher and touch her where desire had been steadily growing since she sat in his lap.  Since their bath together the day before.  Since she’d watched him each night, preparing his arrows by the fire.  

He didn’t deserve it, but she wanted it.  And she could take this one thing that she wanted. 

She pushed at him and they stumbled together until his back hit the cave wall and she was pressed against him.  She could see his ravenous look by the light of fire before she covered his mouth with her own and gripped his shoulders tightly.  He responded hungrily, pushing his tongue into her mouth and lifting her off of her feet with his hands under her bottom.

She could have bound him with the chains, taken his clothes and boots and horse and run.  But she didn’t want to just then.  She wanted to feel him come apart under her hands and then be a part of building him back together.  She wanted to feel the comfort of their bodies pressed together and the power of having him under her while she found bliss.

Their joining now was like the making at the heart of the world, an act of chaos and hope, a yearning for life with unimaginable consequences. She ran her hand up his backbone and the soles of her feet along his calves until they fell on the bed, spent.  

He still had her hair wrapped around his wrist and her name on his lips when she remembered.  The Bruderov was successful.  He’s taken her from her groom and then consummated the marriage.  She’d given herself willingly and freely, choosing to stay.

Iver was her husband under the ancient tradition.  

#helnik #helnik fan fic #the princess and the barbarian

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 12: The Skinwalkers

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The sun set over the Cambrian mountains, turning the silvery mists into a luscious golden haze. Rowan flew through it heedlessly, idly circling the woodlands surrounding the fortress, purposeless and brooding.

After Aelin had left him standing there in the quiet drizzle, Rowan had shifted, taking to the misty winds for answers he knew they couldn’t give him.

The girl was an enigma. She didn’t make any gods-damned sense. And Rowan didn’t want to have to put the energy in to understand her.

He had wished she would vanish, would just up and leave. Taking her bullshit along with her. But now that she had, Rowan found himself equally irritated by her departure.

Rowan soared still higher while rain tumbled all around him, ruminating. He was relieved, he told himself forcefully. He was relieved that the girl was gone. That she’d returned to whatever gods-forsaken place she came from.

But he didn’t quite believe it.

It felt…unresolved. This thing between them. And it grated on him like an unscratched itch.

Darkness fell, but still he flew. Not wanting to return to the fortress and deal with the others’ questions. To face the reality of her departure and what it meant for him. What he would have to endure when he returned to Doranelle empty-handed.

So instead he continued his circling, thinking his useless, repetitive thoughts.

The girl hadn’t said much, but what she had said painted a strange picture. Though she had spent the past ten years hiding away in Adarlan, learning to be little more than a paid cutthroat, she was now in Wendlyn to make a deal with the Queen of the Fae for some esoteric piece of information that she said could help bring about the demise of the King of Adarlan.

Who she currently served as champion, and whose court she had lived in for the past year. Who she had killed for, and promised to assassinate the Ashryvers for.

Why a mortal king posed enough of a threat that she needed to bargain with Maeve for information to help destroy him, was beyond Rowan. And at that, so was her strange need to destroy him in the first place.

Why had she made such a vow? And to whom? Had she in fact become the King’s Champion to spy – or to otherwise work against him? And if she cared about the loss of human lives, why had she become an assassin in the first place?

The thoughts spun uselessly around in Rowan’s head, dragging his muscles and weighing down his wings. The girl’s words and actions didn’t correlate – were completely at odds with one another. She was a coward, but she faced Maeve down without hesitation. She was a killer, but she had apparently come to Doranelle to rescue a people that weren’t even her own.

It was exhausting just to think about.

And Rowan didn’t think he had given another person so much thought this decade – this century even. He hated feeling like there was something he didn’t know, something he didn’t understand. And this girl made absolutely no gods-damned sense.

It was beyond frustrating.

The moon began to rise, Deanna shining her pale light through the pouring rain and streaking silver over the blue-tipped mountain peaks. Rowan turned to look, but that was when he spotted it – an orange spark partially hidden on the side of the mountain to the northwest of the fortress.

He swooped towards it, his gut tightening in fury as it came into view. A fire flickered in the mouth of a shallow cave, and sheltered behind it was the huddled, sleeping form of Aelin Galathynius.

If he could have, Rowan would have groaned. As it was, he let out a short screech of exasperation.

The fire was like a beacon, a signal flare for anyone and anything in the vicinity that might be interested in a stupid, irresponsible, arrogant demi-Fae female. He closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head. Hadn’t he told her? Hadn’t he warned her?

Rowan had not lit one single fire during their journey from Varese. Wouldn’t that have been enough to get the message across? Hadn’t she been listening to the stories Emrys told around the hearth each evening?

His beak clicked as he settled on a branch overlooking the cave mouth, deliberating.

The fire was dwindling, its wood nearly burnt out. The night had nearly reached its height, was about to pass over into early morning. The female had made it this far without something coming, perhaps her luck would hold, and Rowan could avoid having to rouse her and face dealing with the angry, idiotic girl.

But before he allowed himself to hope, a sudden, unnatural silence stole over the surrounding forest. Rowan pulled a breeze towards him, and it carried with it a familiar rancid, festering scent.

Rowan cursed, diving from his perch towards where the princess lay, but she was already gone.

He cursed again, this time out of dread. Skinwalkers. Another curse, barely a huff of breath from his beak. He flew back out over the woodlands, flying low between the tops of the oaks.

Rowan was immortal, a warrior who had served Maeve for nearly three centuries and had been sent to almost every corner of the earth. He had faced a great many foes, and while the skinwalkers were far from the worst of that bunch, that didn’t mean he looked forwards to an encounter with them.

Particularly because his magic was completely useless. The creatures were made of darkness clothed in stolen skins – they did not breathe, and did not rely on their piecemeal bodies to sustain them. His ice and wind could not stop them, only slow them.

He tracked the girl within seconds, her path straight and unwavering through the trees away from the cave and down the mountainside towards the north. Her scent would be as easy for the creatures to follow as it was for him.

Rowan stopped his advance, hiding within the branches of a tree about fifty feet above the princess as she crept through the foliage below. She had obviously been trained to move quietly, to avoid detection. But it had been to mortal standards – her every step was a crack, her breaths much too loud.

Rowan mentally cursed again.

He pulled a wind towards him, dragging her scent away from her path through the undergrowth and instead pushing it to the southwest. Away from him and the girl and anyone who might be outside the fortress. But it wouldn’t work for long.

A flash of lightening, and Rowan could see three tall, lanky silhouettes lurking in front of the mouth of her cave. They stood like humans, but they were barely pale imitations. Wolves in sheep’s clothing – literally.

As he continued to push away the girl’s scent, disguising her actual trail, ever more pungent wafts of the creatures’ stench poured over him, wrapping him in the scent of leather and carrion and blood and earthy darkness.

It was revolting, and it took every bit of his self-control not to gag. Or to cut and run. But he couldn’t leave the girl here alone, not with the skinwalkers so close. No one deserved death at their hands.

But Rowan couldn’t hide her for much longer, the creatures were stirring atop their perch, and soon would discover that the scent trail was false. And with her weak, human legs, the princess wouldn’t even make it half a mile before they caught her and killed her. Tore her apart, bit by bit.

She didn’t even have anything to help her in defense – Rowan had taken her weapons upon arriving in the fortress, and she hadn’t left with them. She was unarmed. Defenseless and vulnerable.

And there was nothing he could do, nothing, except dive down there and die next to her. Because he couldn’t leave another female to face their fate alone.

He reached her within moments, swooping down and transforming in midair.

She had started to run between the tree trunks, having given in to the terror he could smell swirling around her. She was swift and strong, but nowhere near fast enough.

It was dark, and she was blinded by her weak mortal senses, so she didn’t notice him until she crashed right into him. Without looking, she slashed a wooden spear at his chest, but he ducked out of the way before she could make contact.

She moved to stab him again, clutching a pair of rudimentary stakes she had fashioned out of oaken branches. But before she could, Rowan grabbed her wrists hard. She twisted in his grip, bringing up a foot to smash into his chest, but Rowan just dragged her against him and pressed them into a hollowed-out tree.

She finally realized that he was a friend and stopped her useless struggling, instead curling in on herself and panting franticly against his chest.

Rowan gripped her by her shoulders and shoved his mouth as close to her ear as possible, keeping his voice low and steady. “You are going to listen to every word I say,” he could barely hear himself over the pattering of the rain outside. “Or else you are going to die tonight. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and he let go, needing his hands free to draw his sword and hatchet in preparation for the fight that inevitably drew upon them. He could hear the skinwalkers drawing closer, their stench overwhelming.

“Your survival depends entirely on you. You need to shift now. Or your mortal slowness will kill you.”

Rowan’s eyes were intense, forcing his words home. She took them blankly, shoving down the panic that threatened to overwhelm her with a deceptive ease. While she was no stranger to fear, the very idea of having to shift was enough to cause her chest to rise and fall in shallow breaths, for her palms to sweat and her jaw to clench tight.

Rowan’s mouth tightened imperceptibly. He didn’t really believe that she would be able to do it. But still he tried to convince her, made one last attempt to guide her around those iron bars in her mind. To avoid the bloody battle that loomed over them, carrying their certain doom along with it.

He tensed as the sound of stone of metal shrieked through the rain – the creatures were sharpening their blades. His fingers twitched.

The girl found her voice, “Your magic – ”

He interrupted. “They do not breathe, so have no airways to cut off. Ice would slow them, not stop them. My wind is already blowing our scent away from them, but not for long. Shift, Aelin.”

She just looked back at him, eyes wide and breaths uneven, while her terror coated his mouth with its copper tang. Her embers shifted and rose within, responding to the stress.

Lightening flashed once again – they were close. Very, very close.

“We are going to have to run in a moment. What form you take when we do will determine our fates. So breathe, and shift.”

She closed her eyes as he drew a stream of cool air towards her, a soothing thread, filling her lungs and calming her racing heartbeat. She breathed deep, but remained stubbornly, infuriatingly mortal.

Rowan gritted his teeth and steeled himself for the coming battle. If she couldn’t shift, there was almost no point in running, no point in giving up the advantage of surprise. If she couldn’t shift, he would attack. But he wouldn’t win.

Rowan breathed with her, in and out, accepting his fate. If she couldn’t shift, he would die at the hands of the creatures. At least he would die at someone’s side, protecting them.

Die as he should have two hundred years ago.

But then there was a bright flash, and Rowan slammed his body against hers, attempting to cover up the light before the creatures could take notice, and mark their hiding spot.

Sharp canines pierced her gums, points sprouted from her ears, and keen senses overwhelmed dull ones as she made the shift from mortal to immortal. Rowan’s eyes widened slightly, almost in wonder. She had actually done it.

Confusion descended almost immediately. How? What had been different this time?

But before he could let the emotion distract him further, the female gagged, finally smelling the true stench of the creatures, and he could hear voices drifting from the trees above them.

“There are two of them now,” one hissed. “A Fae male joined the female. I want him—he smells of storm winds and steel.”

Another voice. “The female we’ll bring back with us— dawn’s too close. Then we can take our time peeling her apart.”

Rowan clenched his jaw, stepping back from the girl and turning to assess the forest beyond, altering his plan. They would now have to flee, to run as fast as their limbs could carry them. But there was still no guarantee that they would get away.

“There is a swift river a third of a mile east, at the base of a large cliff.” He pulled two long daggers from their sheaths at his forearms, not looking away from the surrounding forests as he handed them to her. She immediately discarded her makeshift weapons and tightly gripped the ivory hilts of his steel, her knuckles white with tension.

“When I say run, you run like hell. Step where I step, and don’t turn around for any reason. If we are separated, run straight – you’ll hear the river.” He lay down each order with an unyielding finality, not leaving any room for argument. “If they catch you, you cannot kill them – not with a mortal weapon. Your best option is to fight until you can get free and run. Understand?”

She nodded, steeling herself.

“On my mark.” Rowan prepared himself as well, the wind whispering to him, revealing the locations of the three creatures and showing him the lay of the land. The cliff was nearly fifty feet up, while the river large and swift, swollen from the falling rain. It wouldn’t stop the creatures, but perhaps the water could slow them. Giving him and the girl a chance to escape, to flee back underneath the protective wards around the fortress.

“Steady …” They both settled onto their haunches, moments from launching themselves into the mossy undergrowth.

Then, what he had been waiting for – one of the creatures hissed, so close they could have been in the tree trunk with them, “Come out, come out – ”

And Rowan sent a bolt of wind over to the branches in the west, carrying their scents and rustling the brush – a false trail, a distraction.

The skinwalkers bought it, racing after the diversion as Rowan said, “Now,” and burst out of the tree and into the waiting forest, racing through the pouring rain for the river beyond.

Aelin followed after him, but she couldn’t keep up – she was too slow, much, much too slow. Rowan lessened his racing pace to allow her to catch up, but still, the creatures were beginning to realize that the trail he had laid was false, they were turning back, hearing the sounds of their actual escape to the east.

And she was tripping, stumbling over roots and loose stones. She hadn’t adjusted to her new speed and strength, her limbs were awkward and uncooperative beneath her, and even though he slowed, she lagged behind.

She slipped, almost falling, but he shot a hand towards her elbow to steady her, “Faster,” he growled, fear making his words tense and harsh.

They shot forwards, breaking through the underbrush, but they were slow, much too slow, and far too soon, the creatures’ smell began to envelop them once again, cloaking them in the rancid stench of leather and carrion.

But they were so close now, the darkness of the forest beginning to brighten ahead as they neared the treeline and the waiting cliff, soon they could jump into the waiting water and flee –

A fourth skinwalker leapt out of the brush ahead, somehow managing to remain undetected in the undergrowth. Masked by their overwhelming scent and Rowan’s own carelessness.

It lunged, and Aelin shouted in warning from behind him, but Rowan didn’t falter as he ducked, slashing with the sword in his right hand and slicing with the hatchet in his left, severing its arm and removing its head.

It fell to the ground with a soft thump, but Rowan didn’t stop to look, still sprinting towards the river. He knew that at that very moment, its leathery limbs would be stitching themselves back together – skinwalkers never stayed down for long.

The other creatures closed in from behind, shrieking in rage, Aelin still at his heels. They were so close, only a few hundred more feet –

“You think the river can save you?” one of them hissed at Aelin, laughing coldly. “You think if we get wet, we’ll lose our form? I have worn the skins of fishes when mortals were scarce, female.”

Rowan gritted his teeth. He had worried about that – but the river was still their best chance. Not a good chance, but their best chance. There, he could use the water to freeze the creatures, to trap them and allow them a few moments to escape to the other bank. Give them a head start in their mad rush back to the fortress.

The scent of Aelin’s terror wafted over him, carrying with it the feel of her rustling embers, her gathering power. “Rowan,” she breathed, worried, and seeking some kind of reassurance. But he had none to give.

Rowan didn’t acknowledge her, and instead answered by launching himself off the cliff and into the roiling water below.

He breached the surface, rising up and hurling himself onto the other bank in preparation for the girl’s fall, and for the creatures that were only feet behind her. Then Rowan felt Aelin’s power rise up in a tidal wave, spilling from the near-infinite well of magic hidden in her small frame. He could finally see her on the cliff, and she did not hesitate before throwing herself over the edge.

He readied himself, digging up his own well of magic, but before he could act the girl twisted in midair, turning to face the creatures on the ridge and shouted “Shift!” Rowan obeyed without question, transforming into his hawk and flying out of range as she released a torrent of fire that spread from her in a great flood in every direction.

She had no control, no precision, but the force she released was powerful enough that it burned the three skinwalkers to ashes, and set large swaths of the surrounding forest alight.

Then Aelin hit the water, and the torrent of fire choked out. But the flames consuming the oaks burned on, and though they were hindered by the rain pouring down from the heavens, they still spread from branch to branch, the girl’s raging wildfire writhing and dancing and multiplying.

Rowan’s power ached, not just to be released, but to join the girl’s flames. To dance with her sparks. It wanted to play. Rowan ignored it, instead sending out his wind to douse the flames, slowly choking them of the necessary oxygen.

Aelin pulled herself from the water, soaking wet and shivering. She sat down on the bank, curling in on herself. The fear he’d felt around her had lessened its copper tang, her embers settling down once again. Rowan couldn’t scent much of anything wafting from her. She was blank. Empty and exhausted

Though the power she’d shown was a mighty force, Rowan could still feel an ocean churning within her. Her well of fire was near-bottomless – she had barely let a drop out of the faucet.

Rowan’s magic twitched and writhed, while that strange thirst yawned deep in his gut. Just like all the males who served the Queen of the Fae, Rowan was drawn to power. And the might of this female was unlike that of any other he’d encountered.

He shoved the feeling down, submerging it deep within and locking it away, icing over his limbs. He didn’t want to deal with the uncomfortable call, didn’t want to face it. The female was already confusing enough.

As he continued to choke the fires still eating the surrounding forests, Aelin finally spoke, her voice tired and soft, “Can you put it out?”

“You could, if you tried.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “I’m almost done.”

As he spoke, the flames nearest to them finally vanished, and Rowan got to work on the rest of the smoldering trees. Rowan gritted his teeth, his own exhaustion drawing out a simmering irritation. “We don’t need something else attracted to your fires.”

She remained silent, too tired and cold to respond to the taunt, watching as Rowan slowly extinguished her flames one by one, the lights dying out like snuffed candles.

For a moment they waited as silence and darkness settled in over them, a soft, light blanket.

“Why is my shifting so vital?”

The question rose gently from her, a quiet plead for information. She had asked it before, so many times, but there was always an edge of command there, of entitlement. This felt different.

“Because it terrifies you,” he responded gruffly. “Mastering it is the first step toward learning to control your power. Without that control, with a blast like that, you could easily have burnt yourself out.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at her, brows scrunched together. She didn’t know?

“When you access your power, what does it feel like?”

She paused for a moment, thinking. “A well. The magic feels like a well.”

“Have you felt the bottom of it?”

“Is there a bottom?”

His eyes tightened imperceptibly. Had she never felt the bottom? Even as a child?  

“All magic has a bottom—a breaking point. For those with weaker gifts, it’s easily depleted and easily refilled. They can access most of their power at once. But for those with stronger gifts, it can take hours to hit the bottom, to summon their powers at full strength.”

“How long does it take you?”  

Rowan’s lips tightened at the personal question, but his irritation was more at having to answer at all than the question itself. She should know these things; she should have been told. Even the youngest Fae children understood the basics of wielding magic, whether they had it or not. It was common knowledge in Doranelle, so Rowan hadn’t even considered that this princess from the west might not know it.

“A full day. Before battle, we take the time, so that when we walk onto the killing field, we can be at our strongest. You can do other things at the same time, but some part of you is down in there, pulling up more and more, until you reach the bottom.”

“And when you pull it all out, it just—releases in some giant wave?”

“If I want it to. I can release it in smaller bursts, and go on for a while. But it can be hard to hold it back. People sometimes can’t tell friend from foe when they’re handling that much magic.”

Her eyes shifted, darkening, almost…remembering. But before he could ask, she said, “How long does it take you to recover?”

“Days. A week, depending on how I used the power and whether I drained every last drop. Some make the mistake of trying to take more before they’re ready, or holding on for too long, and they either burn out their minds or just burn up altogether. Your shaking isn’t just from the river, you know. It’s your body’s way of telling you not to do that again.”

“Because of the iron in our blood pushing against the magic?”

He nodded. “That’s how our enemies will sometimes try to fight against us if they don’t have magic—iron everything.”

Her brows rose, so he explained. “I was captured once. While on a campaign in the east, in a kingdom that doesn’t exist anymore. They had me shackled head to toe in iron to keep me from choking the air out of their lungs.”

She let out a low whistle. “Were you tortured?”

“Two weeks on their tables before my men rescued me.” He unbuckled his vambrace and pushed back the sleeve of his right arm, revealing the thick scar that lay there. “Cut me open bit by bit, then took the bones here and – ”

“I can see very well what happened, and know exactly how it’s done,” she interrupted, looking at the ground as if she could tear up the earth with her very eyes. That relentless, roiling grief poured from her once again, anger and pain stiffening her limbs.

He thought he knew, but Rowan still quietly asked, “Was it you, or someone else?”

“I was too late. He didn’t survive.” She was silent for a moment, then, “Thank you for saving me.” Her voice was hoarse, and reluctant.

He shrugged, uncomfortable. “I am bound by an unbreakable blood oath to my Queen, so I had no choice but to ensure you didn’t die.” He didn’t know why he was lying. He just knew that it was easier than any other explanation.

“But,” he added, hesitantly, “I would not have left anyone to a fate at the hands of the skinwalkers.”

“A warning would have been nice.”

“I said they were on the loose – weeks ago. But even if I’d warned you today, you would not have listened.”

She just shivered, seeming to acquiesce. Then a flash of light, and she shifted back, her ears rounding, canines vanishing. Her shivers became more violent, the cold much more intense in her mortal form. Once again, the shifting was uncontrolled, seeming to have no rhyme or reason behind it.

“What was the trigger when you shifted earlier?” he asked, needing to know, even if the girl left and he never saw her again.

“It was nothing.” The girl distractedly rubbed at her arms, her voice hollow. But it belied concealed knowledge – she knew why she had shifted, she just didn’t want to tell him.

He stared at her, a silent demand for information.

She sighed, and answered. “Let’s just say it was fear and necessity and impressively deep-rooted survival instincts.”

He pursed his lips at the half-truth. “You didn’t lose control immediately upon shifting. When you finally used your magic, your clothes didn’t burn; neither did your hair. And the daggers didn’t melt.” He grabbed the blades back out of her hands, only just remembering that he had given them to her.

“Why was it different this time?” he pressed.

She looked away, and answered reluctantly. “Because I didn’t want you to die to save me,” she admitted.

He cocked his head. “Would you have shifted to save yourself?”

“Your opinion of me is pretty much identical to my own, so you know the answer.”

She stared into the churning depths of the river, shielding herself from his probing gaze, her own eyes blank and unseeing.

Rowan narrowed his eyes, forcing the pieces of her together – bit by confusing bit. She hadn’t wanted him to die to save her. At the very least, she didn’t want to owe him that debt, hadn’t wanted to have another life hanging on her the way so many already were.

He had misjudged her, had dismissed her as a ruthless killer, had mistaken her coldness for heartlessness. But this female was far from cruel. She cared, cared far too much for an indifferent world that had stripped her of everything that mattered.

Rowan didn’t know what had happened in the intervening years after her family had been assassinated, but he did know that they couldn’t have been easy. So little was.

And so she had become this – a writhing mess of a person, clothed in her arrogance and grief. Barely surviving.

Rowan had thought her a coward, but she had faced Maeve, had faced the skinwalkers, had faced him day after day. Her fears weren’t normal, weren’t average everyday horrors for such a person to run from them. To piss and vomit on herself when faced with them. To force her into a cage of her own making.

Her power slumbered, once again trapped beneath those unyielding iron bars. An ocean hidden within her. But Rowan could still feel delicate tendrils of its writhing flame, poking and prodding at him, longing to get out.

They didn’t make him as uncomfortable as they used to.

He shifted slightly. Regardless of his feelings about her, the princess was obviously a scion of the gods. A power like that was a force unleashed onto the earth by their hand – for wrath or for kindness no one yet knew. And Rowan couldn’t find it within himself to allow that power to remain on its leash. It called to him, ached to be let out. To be free.

Though the girl infuriated him like no other, he was starting to see beyond her biting insults and flashy armor. And he couldn’t let her walk away, not without having escaped the cage she was trapped within.

Rowan crossed his arms. “You’re not leaving,” he said at last, “I’m not letting you off double duty in the kitchens, but you’re not leaving.”

“Why?” she turned to look at him, brow furrowed, still shivering violently.

“Because I said so, that’s why,” he retorted, unfastening his cloak. She looked like she was about to protest, but then he tossed her his cloak. And then his jacket.

When he turned to go back to the fortress, she rose to follow him. And Rowan found himself feeling…relief. He was relieved that the girl was choosing to stay.

Because no matter how much she infuriated him, he wanted the girl to learn, wanted her to escape and grow into who she was meant to be. Not because Maeve had ordered him to, but because he, Rowan, wanted to see what she would become.

He couldn’t let the girl leave without having felt the true might of Aelin Galathynius – free and untethered.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

#WatE repost

[bugaboosandbees]

Reine Ruse Part 5

Hello all! I finished this chapter a bit early, so I figured that I'd post it a bit early!

There's a LOT going on emotionally in this chapter, and I only hope that I managed to do it justice. I am writing from my own limited experiences, so if you see anything I missed or handled in a way that feels wrong to you, please let me know.

It means the world to me that so many of you are interested in these dumb ramblings. Thank you all so, SO much for reading!

As always, if you’d like to be tagged, shoot me a message! (And please remind me if I forgot to tag you... computers are hard!)

Chloe

Chloe lay back in bed, resting one hand over the necklace that now hung around her neck, the silver metal seeming too little a weight for its importance. Her new kwami and partner, Trixx, was happily burrowed into a den she’d made him out of one of her dresser drawers and several of her fluffiest winter scarves. Her head was still spinning.

Tikki had left after setting the necklace down on the table between them. “As soon as you pick it up, Trixx will appear. They’ll explain everything.” Her eyes had softened. “Thank you, Chloe. It will be nice to know that someone has her back.”

Chloe had stared at her determinedly. “I won’t let her down.”

“I know.” Tikki had smiled and then vanished into the night.

Chloe had stared down at the necklace for some time, noting the way that the silver metal reflected the light in the room. Finally, she had reached down. As soon as she’d touched the chain, she’d had to close her eyes against the blinding orange light that had erupted. When she’d opened them, there was an orange fox-like being the same size as Tikki and Pollen in front of her.

“Hello,” they’d said, “My name is Trixx, and I’m your kwami! Tikki’s explained the situation to me. I can’t believe what my previous kit did that to Ladybug, but I thank you for taking care of her. I’m looking forward to getting to know you, and I know that you won’t make the same mistake.”

Chloe wasn’t quite sure what to make of Trixx. They were different from Pollen… Pollen was kind and quiet. In the few moments Chloe had had with her, she seemed pretty content to cave to Chloe’s judgment. Although Trixx put on a playful front, they seemed wise and looked at her like they knew a secret she didn’t. She had the feeling that this was a kwami that wouldn’t let their wielder get away with the kinds of things she’d done as Queen Bee at first. She wasn’t going to lie, that was reassuring.

Trixx had explained the powers of the fox to her in as much detail as she could wring out of them. She was going to be the best damn superhero partner Ladybug could ever dream of having, and she couldn’t look anything short of competent her first time out. Illusions were going to be new. She was a bit annoyed that the fox miraculous sounded less combative than the bee, and she must have looked it.

“Don’t underestimate the power of perception, kit.” He’d looked around her room. “You seem like the sort of person who knows what lies people tell themselves, and how far they’re willing to go to cling to those illusions. You may not be able to paralyze your foes physically as a fox hero, but if you figure out what matters most to them, you’ll paralyze them mentally, which is infinitely more fatal.”

She’d thought about what Trixx had said and concluded that they were right. When they’d put it that way, she’d started to see that her new power set was more suited to her than she’d thought. She’d grown up in a high-class world of glitz and glamour, learning early on that no one could truly be trusted to not want to use her as a connection to her parents. She’d spent more years than she’d like to admit lying to herself that her mother’s abandonment and her father’s passivity in her life didn’t hurt her, that they really were the perfect family they pretended to be for the press, and that she bullied Marinette Dupain-Cheng because she hated her -- not because she was jealous of the other girl’s boundless kindness and loving home. She could do this. She knew what people wanted and how far they were willing to go to get it. She knew how people lied to themselves and what kind of pain those lies could cause. She could do this, she could use the few, shitty lessons her parents had sought fit to teach her for some kind of good. She had to -- Ladybug was counting on her.

Marinette

Marinette awoke to sunlight streaming over her face. She stretched, still half asleep, and curled her toes into the soft blanket. She felt so relaxed...  She turned her head and slowly opened her eyes to find Tikki sitting on the small bed she’d fashioned for her, eyes closed as a shimmering red glow emanating from her, covering the entire bed.  

“Tikki? What’s going on?”

Tikki slowly opened her eyes. “Good morning, Marinette. I… I thought that after last night, you deserved a really good night’s sleep. Just think of it as a bit of kwami magic.”

Marinette smiled softly. What had she done to deserve Tikki? “Thank you, Tikki.”

The red glow dissipated as Tikki rose into the air, hovering over her charge. “And, it’s Saturday, which means that you should be able to work on the dress you’ve been meaning to finish!”

Her eyes lit up. “You’re right! I’ve been so busy, but all I have to do this weekend is the history report, and I’ve already picked out my sources, so that shouldn’t take too long!” She rose out of bed, clambered down the ladder to the floor, and stretched, arms raised high over her head.

“... Marinette,” Tikki sounded almost hesitant. “There is something I should tell you before you get to work.”

Marinette looked up at Tikki questioningly. “What is it?”

The tiny god sighed. “Last night… after you went to sleep, I was just so worried about you, and about everything happening with Chat Noir… I was so angry. I went to visit the Guardian, and when he didn’t share my concerns… I chose a new permanent hero myself.”

“What?” Whatever she’d been expecting, that was not it.

Tikki barreled on. “And, I couldn’t take the turtle or the bee, so… I took the fox. I know that things have been complicated with Alya lately, but I didn’t even consider that before I went last night, and I know that the person I picked is someone who is going to really protect you, but I don’t want to make anything more complicated between you and Alya --”

“Tikki, Tikki, it’s okay. I… with everything that’s happening with Chat lately… it will be really nice to have some back up that I can count on. And, as for Alya…” she quieted. “I’m not sure I’d be able to put my feelings aside enough to trust her in battle right now. Honestly, I was dreading the next time my Lucky Charm would call for the fox because Master Fu tells me to choose people that I trust, and… I’m not sure if I can trust her anymore.”

Tikki flew down to rest a comforting paw on Marinette’s cheek. “It’s okay, Marinette. Everything’s going to be okay. For now, why don’t we get to work on that dress?”

Marinette nodded and turned towards the half-finished gown on her mannequin with a determined smile. Her kwami was on her side, and she had someone new that she could trust to watch her back. She’d deal with Chat when she had to, but, for now, Tikki was right -- it was time to do something she enjoyed, and she wasn’t going to let anything taint that.

Adrien

Adrien had been pacing his room for hours. He was so tired, but he hadn’t been able to sleep at all the last night. Every time he’d tried, he’d seen the fear in his Lady’s eyes as she’d run from him the previous night. How had he not recognized it? How terrible of a person was he that his Lady’s fear hadn’t been enough to make him see what he was doing was wrong? Why had both Chloe and Plagg had to set him straight?

It was clear that he’d need to do more than just apologize. He wanted to kick himself. He’d thought he’d been doing things right -- he’d just wanted Ladybug to know how much he cared about her. But he’d forgotten his duty to the city -- and to his partner. His Bugaboo was right -- first and foremost, they were superheroes. And he’d been acting like a jealous anime protagonist. He thought of how he felt when Lila or the models he worked with would hang off of him and flirt and invade his space and felt sick. Of all people, you’d think he’d be the one to realize when someone’s boundaries were being crossed!

He paused in his pacing and leaned his forehead up against the cool glass of the window. He had no idea how to fix this. When it had happened to him, he’d either just dealt with it, in Lila’s case, or his father had filed restraining orders. Neither option was viable here, and, frankly, his stomach churned at the thought of exiling himself from the only person felt like he was really himself with.

The crux of the problem was that he needed advice. Plagg seemed to have exhausted his short bout of wisdom, maintaining that he made this problem, and it was his responsibility to fix it. The tiny god had been more affectionate than usual, curling up in the hollow where Adrien’s neck met his shoulder rather than on the small bed Adrien had fashioned for him next to the cheese cupboard. His kwami’s support despite his monumental screw up was the only thing keeping him optimistic that he might be able to fix this somehow. But who else could he go to for advice? He couldn’t talk to anyone as Adrien, that was for sure. If word got back to the press that he’d behaved the way Chat Noir had, Agreste Fashions would get enough bad press that he was sure he’d never leave the house again. But who did he know as Chat, besides his Lady?

The answer hit him like a bolt of lightning. Of course! Who better for a superhero to ask for advice than the famous Ladyblogger?

Alya

Whatever Alya Cesaire had been expecting to happen that Saturday morning, it certainly wasn’t one of the two superheroes of Paris knocking sheepishly on her window, much less that the superhero in question was Chat Noir. She hurried to open the window and let him in, mind racing.

“Chat Noir! What’s up?” She exclaimed. Internally, she was confused. Chat didn’t know she was Rena Rouge, so, unless Ladybug told him, he wasn’t here to recruit her for a fight… But it was unusual for him to stop by -- for that matter, how did he figure out where she lived?

“Hey, Alya,” he muttered, dragging a clawed hand through his hair in a gesture that was uncharacteristically nervous for the confident superhero. His eyes looked a bit watery through the mask. Had he been crying? “I know this is kinda strange, but, I don’t really know many people as Chat, and I needed some advice… If you’re busy, I can totally leave, I didn’t mean to impose, I mean, you’re probably busy and --” he looked like he was working himself up into a frenzy. Just what was going on? “Chat Noir! Calm down, it’s fine, I’m not busy. Why don’t you have a seat?” Alya quickly dumped the stack of school books on her computer chair to the floor.

He complied, sitting ramrod straight, knees pressed together, and hands clasped in his lap. She raised an eyebrow.

“Alright,” she said slowly, “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on.” Chat looked down at his hands. “I really messed up.”

“What do you mean?” she questioned. Was it something to do with an akuma? No, she’d have heard about that… But what else could he mean?

“It’s… Ladybug. I… I’ve been an awful partner and a worse friend, and I don’t know how to fix it!” His voice rose in distress near the end of the sentence, and he clenched his hands so tightly Alya was sure that, if he hadn’t been wearing a super-suit, his fingernails would have dug bloody crescents into his palms.

“Slow down there, tiger. What do you mean by that?” Alya’s mind was racing. What had happened between Paris’ heroes? Sure, Ladybug seemed to be running off pretty quickly after each battle lately, but that wasn’t super out of character… If only she’d been able to get closer to the fighting, she might know what was going on! “I know that Ladybug really values you as her partner, she’s made that really clear in the past. If you’re worried that she thinks you’re not pulling your weight, I’m sure she’d be the first person to tell you --”

“That’s not it!” He broke in, anguished. “I -- I’m kind of a shut-in in my civilian life. My d-parents are really overprotective, so I don’t get to leave the house much, and I guess I’m kind of clueless socially. I thought that I was… I thought that I was just flirting, but I… I’ve been harassing Ladybug and I think she’s scared of me, and I don’t know what to do to fix it, because I can’t just apologize --” his breaths were coming faster and faster.

Being friends with Marinette, as much as that had gone south lately, Alya knew how to deal with a panic attack. She rested her hands firmly on Chat Noir’s shoulders. “Listen to me, you need to breathe with me. Can you do that? In…  and out. In… and out. In… and out. Just focus on breathing. In… and out.” She could think about how strange this was, and how in over her goddamn head she was later. She kept up a steady stream of soothing words until Chat Noir’s stabbing, choppy breaths had leveled off.

“Are you alright? Do you need me to get you anything?” She looked at the superhero, worried.

“I’m… I’m fine. I just need advice. How do I fix this?”

Alya paused. “Well, I’m not sure exactly what happened, but you’re her partner and I’m sure that you can come back from this. It may not be easy, or fast, and the friendship that you have may never be quite the same as it was, but I think she’ll see you’re sincere. If things are as bad as you say they are, it might not be right away, or even soon, and you need to be okay with that. I’m… I’m sorry too. I’ve helped make it worse.”

Chat looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

Alya sighed. “The picture of the kiss from when you were battling Oblivio? She told me not to post it, but I did anyway.” She smiled ruefully. “It looks like quite a few of us have had trouble respecting her boundaries. Just, respect her opinion from here on in. Apologize, be sincere, and act in a way that shows that you’ve learned your lesson and you’ll never do something like that again. Don’t push her. If all you ever are to each other is fellow heroes from here on in, you need to make your peace with that. Okay?” She maintained eye contact with him, watching as tides of rolling emotions passed over his face.

“Thank you, Alya.” He finally said quietly. He paused. “Would it be possible to film an apology for the Ladyblog? I… I don’t know if any civilians have been close enough to see my behavior, but, just in case, I want them to know that I know that I was wrong and that the way I was acting isn’t something any of us should stand for.”

Alya offered him a bittersweet grin. “I think we can manage that.”

As Alya was setting up her equipment for the video, a thought struck her. “Hey Chat, if you don’t mind me asking, I mean, I’m grateful that you trusted me enough to come to ask me for advice, but, I was wondering, why didn’t you go to Lila? I mean, you’re so much closer to her, and the girl’s aunt is a world-renowned counselor, surely she could have given you better advice?”

Chat was still distracted and fidgeting, unsure of what he was supposed to say on the video. Without seeming to think about it, he scoffed, “Why would I go to Lila? She lies like she breathes, and she hates Ladybug so much she tried her best to separate us when Onichan attacked.”

Alya sucked in a breath as if someone had punched her, and Chat seemed to realize what he had said. “ Shit, shit, forget I ever said that Alya!”

Alya’s voice was small and deadly. “Why?”

“I mean,” he looked unsure, “She’s been akumatized three times already and M’Lady is pretty sure that two of those were willingly, and every time someone calls her out on her lies it happens again, and I’m sure if we just give her a chance to get better on her own it would be better than telling everyone she’s lying and just getting her akumatized again.”

Alya was having trouble processing. “Wait. You said she was akumatized three times? Wasn’t she only akumatized twice.”

Seeming resigned, Chat shook his head. “You remember Heroes day? Before Hawkmoth turned himself into Scarlet Moth, he gave everyone in Paris negative feelings by showing them that illusion. That was Volpina. And,” his eyes darted back and forth, “I mean, this is speculation, but Hawkmoth can only akumatize one person at a time, and he wasn’t active as Scarlet Moth yet, and M’Lady and I never purified Volpina that day… which means he must have called back the akuma himself…” his voice got quieter “which means she might have… been akumatized willingly.”

Her world was spinning. If that was true, it would mean… “What have I done?”

Chat looked over at her, puzzled at the horror she was sure was etched all over her face. “Alya? What’s wrong?”

Did he really not understand? Okay, Cesaire, calm down. He’d said he was sheltered, but damn this was pushing it. Still, he had come to her, so she’d give him the benefit of the doubt. “Did you really think that it would be better to let her keep lying?”

“I mean, I guess? She’s not really hurting anyone, and she’ll never get better if we don’t give her a chance?”

A scoff broke out before she could hold it back. “Sorry, but…” she thought for a moment before it hit her. “How does Hawkmoth make akumas?”

“He uses people’s negative emotions.”

“Exactly. Look, I know that you’re a superhero and you wouldn’t know this, but… well, Lila’s in my class at school. If what you’re telling me is true, she’s been lying to us since she got there. And… those lies have had consequences. I mean, the Ladyblog is the prime source of akuma alerts and information. If it got out that I’d posted false information,” she winced, “people might not trust my blog anymore, and it wouldn’t be able to serve its function. I’ve wanted to be a journalist my entire life, Chat Noir. If I lose people’s trust in my journalistic integrity… that’s almost the worst thing I can imagine.” She took a deep and bracing breath. “I say almost the worst, because,” she paused, clenching her fists, “something worse has already happened. You probably don’t know her, but my… best friend, her name is Marinette. God, because I didn’t want to believe Lila was lying, I don’t know if I even have the right to call her that anymore. I shouted at her on Lila’s behalf and insulted and… bullied her, these past few weeks. Lila told us all such ugly lies about her, and I believed her. Forget the blog, what kind of negative emotions do you think I’m feeling right now, knowing that I might have ruined the first, most meaningful friendship I made in Paris?” She was crying, she realized.

He looked shocked. “I… I never thought about it that way.”

She wiped the tears out of her eyes almost violently. “It looks like we both have a lot to make up for. Now, let’s get started.”

Tags: 

@demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover , @anastasian-dreamer, @donegonewrong , @twinkletoes-rp , @asandygraves , @fatimaabbasrizvi , @im-here-for-the-content , @theorangelizard , @captainrose35 , @pleasefollowmeuwu , @the-ice-goddess , @ofpassionsandobsessions, @starberry-mina, @mikantsume, @bloody-no-kissu , @chocolatemilk52

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug au #ml au #ml redemption #marinette dupain cheng #chloe bourgeois #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #chloenette #fox!chloe #reine ruse #reine ruse au #ml fic #my fics

[bigskydreaming]

I just read that after Tarantulla raped Dick they were going to marry?! WTF DC THIS IS NOT A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPP is this true?

Yeah, in the issues following Blockbuster’s death and the rape, Dick was a total and complete mess, and Tarantula pretty much spent the next several issues taking advantage of his emotional state. She encouraged him to get drunk to feel better, and tried to use his more vulnerable drunken state to do a number of things which included targeting villains like Copperhead for the sake of her own personal agenda and almost getting married at a chapel. I believe she’d gotten a marriage certificate and everything, and the only thing that kept that from happening is right before it did, Dick got a call from Bruce summoning him back to Gotham to help with the War Games storyline, and the city-wide gang war that had erupted. 

(I honestly can’t remember if it was outright stated or textualized in the issues, but it was heavily implied that there was sexual interaction between Dick and Tarantula during this period…..I don’t want to call it them having sex, because Dick wasn’t in a coherent state of mind to be making the choice to have sex based on his normal priorities. My personal interpretation has always been that Dick let Tarantula drag him along from place to place during this time and ‘consented’ to having sex with her because he was kinda trying to….retroactively reframe what she’d done to him on the roof in issue #93, if that makes sense? Like, my take is that Dick was heavily in denial at this stage, and was kinda trying to convince himself that if he made the ‘choice’ here and NOW to have sex with Tarantula, then he could from there kinda convince himself that what had happened on the roof wasn’t any different. Like ‘well maybe I didn’t technically consent at the time, but see, I’m having sex with her now, and that means I probably would have anyway if my head had just been a little clearer.’ Make no mistake - I’m DEFINITELY not suggesting that this in any way makes what happened in #93 any less of actual rape, and there’s no interpretation IMO of the later scenes between them where Dick was making full use of his own agency rather than just unhealthily trying to cope with something he was still trying to process as him having been victimized by rather than a willing party too. It was all just messy as fuck, is what I’m saying. And Tarantula, whatever she thought she was doing, was very much manipulating the fuck out of Dick at his most vulnerable moments through all of this).

Tarantula went to Gotham with him, and even ‘helped’ the Batfam due to the fact that Bruce kinda just….took the fact that she was accompanying Dick and he wasn’t protesting it as a sign of him vouching for her, instead of like….the fact that Dick wasn’t remotely in the right state of mind of to be making healthy decisions, and was pretty obviously on a path to self-destruction. He was extremely reckless throughout the War Games storyline, getting shot in the leg by cops without it even phasing him, heedlessly risking his own life in order to go after Firefly (who just a couple weeks earlier had been hired by Blockbuster to burn down Haly’s Circus), and he basically gave the impression that he didn’t really care if he got both of them shot by the cops while he was going after Firefly - to the extent that it freaked Firefly out and he was yelling wtf are you doing, you Bats aren’t supposed to act like this. 

In the immediate aftermath of the War Games storyline, while still recovering from a gunshot wound in his leg, Dick left Gotham again without a word to anyone, just leaving his Nightwing costume abandoned in the Cave. He went back to Bludhaven, with Tarantula following him, and there he turned both himself and Catalina in for the murder of Blockbuster. (He turned himself in as Officer Dick Grayson, who’d been fired from the force before Blockbuster’s death, and basically presented himself as a cop who’d gone rogue rather than implicating himself as Nightwing, so as not to draw any heat back towards the rest of the Batfam by association). He was in jail for like a day or two, but then his former partner and now the captain of the precinct, Amy Rohrbach, had him released and said she refused to let him throw his life away out of guilt for something he didn’t even do. 

(She’d known his identity for some time, and its the reason he quit being a cop, she told him he had to choose and it was a conflict of interest….BUT the very night Blockbuster died, she came to him, knowing what Blockbuster had been doing and how he’d been targeting everyone Dick loved in his civilian life, and she offered to give him his gun and badge back so he’d be ‘covered’ if he had to shoot to kill Blockbuster in their inevitable confrontation. Dick refused to take them though.)

But anyway, when Amy made it clear that she wasn’t going to sit back and let Dick throw himself on his sword out of misplaced guilt for a murder he hadn’t actually committed, and was willing to drag herself down with him if he pushed it, Dick was released and he continued to spiral….and this is when he came up with his plan to infiltrate the mob and then from there the Society of Supervillains as Renegade. He first worked as an enforcer for the mob, nicknamed “Crutches” for the fact that he was still on crutches due to his leg injury, but this didn’t stop him from being effective….and then once he got what he’d wanted out of that he progressed to developing the Renegade persona and working for the Society and with Deathstroke. Basically, all of this was part of a plan he’d come up with to ensure Bludhaven’s safety in the longterm, without his presence….he was explicitly counting on not being around to protect Bludhaven himself, mostly because he didn’t deserve to be in his eyes, and it was heavily implied that he was at least passively suicidal at this time and was enacting this plan as kinda a form of ‘getting his affairs in order.’ 

Basically, the idea was he used his infiltrations to get leverage over the various mobs and make deals with supervillains notorious enough to ensure other villains obeyed a decree to stay out of Bludhaven….and ultimately his plan was to have Bludhaven become a kinda ‘no-fly zone’ for supervillains, the mob and superheroes alike, a city that was left alone for its citizens to live without outside interference. He’d gotten the leverage he needed to keep the mobs from operating in Bludhaven and had a supposed agreement with Deathstroke to keep the villains out….when Slade went back on his word and cooperated with the rest of the Society to drop the nuclear supervillain Chemo on Bludhaven and destroy the city just before Dick managed to bring his months long plans to fruition.

So, this is why if you’ve seen me post about the Blockbuster stuff before, I tend to say I hate how its been boiled down and reduced to just the rape on the rooftop by Tarantula. Yes that was bad enough on its own, but there was SO MUCH SHIT being thrown at Dick from EVERY POSSIBLE ANGLE, simultaneously, with no reprieve. Everything he was working towards was systematically thwarted and dismantled in both his civilian and superhero lives and nothing was going his way, and nobody anywhere was showing up to help him, and he truly was at rock bottom, and I hate hate hate people thinking he only has one or two major traumas in his life because that was like….a good year long exercise in misery for him. He canonically spent months undercover working within the mobs and the Society to try and make his plans happen, months surrounding himself by the worst of the worst and convincing himself all the while that he BELONGED among them. That was part of why he was doing what he was doing, make no mistake…..he fully believed at the time that he’d become no better than them.

And its why I loathe Bruce’s ultimate ‘pep talk’ to him, when Dick was finally recovering in the Batcave after Superman flew him out of radioactive, destroyed Bludhaven, where Dick had RUN BACK INTO in an attempt to save as many people as he could. “I can forgive you for Blockbuster’s death, if you really need me to, but I can’t and won’t forgive you for losing sight of the value of your own life.” REALLY, Bruce? Like, what the fuck is that? First off, why the fuck would you make that conditional like “if you really need me to”….if you think your son needs to feel you’ve forgiven him for something that wasn’t even his fault, just SAY THAT, without qualifiers. But…how the hell do you expect him to keep sight of the value of his own life if YOU’RE NOWHERE TO BE FOUND WHEN HE MOST NEEDS SOMEONE ELSE TO REMIND HIM HIS LIFE HAS VALUE???

Ugh.

So eternally annoyed with the non-resolution to all of that.

Oh, and also keep in mind that in comic book time, relatively speaking, all of this is not that long after Dick killed the Joker and Bruce like….walked off and said Dick needed to figure out how to live with that on his own. With them pretty much never actually resolving this, or addressing how freaking much of the fallout from Blockbuster’s death and his bystander role in it was probably Dick overcompensating for still feeling like he’d disappointed Bruce and betrayed his ideals by killing the Joker, and that Bruce hadn’t and wouldn’t forgive him for that.

He thought he was responsible for Blockbuster’s murder because he was already convinced he was a murderer, because nobody after Last Laugh just went to him and said “Look, who the fuck cares what Bruce thinks, it was the fucking Joker, he murdered your brother and was trying to murder your other brother, anyone who says you were wrong to kill the fucker can fuck off.”

But I mean, hey maybe that’s just me. LOLOL.

#rape cw

[trashbag-usa]

Living Between The Walls.

~

Ugghhh so,,,,,,this took a while,,,,,,,,,,

like,,,,,,two weeks,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

But that's fine!!! I busted this mess out in one night (aka 8 straight hours of writing after not sleeping) and I'm happy with it!!!!

later in this thing we play The Prounoun Game a lot so just letting ya know that every capitalized pronoun (I.e; She, He, They) is our favorte 3D Thot, bc I don't want anyone to get lost. uwu

It's pretty long oops

so sit back and enjoy!!!

~

Numbness.

That's what it was like.

Similar to the sensation of leaning on your arm so long that you begin to lose feeling in your fingers.

Just like that, except the numbness would last over years. And no matter how much you flexed your hands in a knee-jerk attempt to return blood flow to your hand, the familiar sensation of pins and needles never leaves your fingertips.

Maybe not a relatable experience for everyone, but it's an experience that District Attorney; Antony Drake knew all too well.

Day in and day out, he spent lord knows how long in The Void, or the "Upside Down", whatever you'd like to call it.

Antony simply called it Hell.

Fingers traced along the glowing spider web of cracks in glass, brow furrowed as he thought back for the millionth time to the events that brought him here.

Christ, he used to be so angry.

He swore he'd break out, that if They returned, he'd tell Them, Him, exactly what he went through after he was abandoned.

Now he was just begging for Him to come back. He didn't even have to explain His betrayal, Antony would give anything to speak and not hear only his own voice echoing back.

He could feel the urge to cry slowly begin to bubble up in his chest almost painfully, but he's cried out for so long that he had no more tears left to feed into those feelings.

Antony yanked his hand away from the mirror as if it burned him. Of course, that would be silly. Since he wouldn't even be able to tell if it did.

He wished this place could numb his emotions the same way it did his body.

Grabbing his own wrist, he stumbled back, glancing down at his hand with the repeated flexing of his fingers.

No feeling. No change.

He sighed.

Antony's eyes traced slowly through the desaturated room before his gaze landed on a window to his right.

It was daytime.

In fact, the entire room was lit up in ribbons of grey-blue light.

Since when did that happen?

He sighed, almost relived. These days, sunlight was one of his only companions, though it still pained him that he could no longer feel the warmth of it on his skin.

Everything down there was cold.

Still, he strode closer to the window, practically collapsing to the floor in the rays of dull light.

He pressed his back against the wall, hugging his knees and bowing his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if the tighter he shut them, the sooner he would be unconscious.

He knew it wasn't true, he learned long, long ago that he couldn't even hope to dream in this place.

There was no way of telling how long he sat there, he just knew time passed, but he didn't physically change.

He didn't feel tired, no hunger, no pain when he stood in the same position for what seemed like hours, maybe days. It was a strange way to live.

Well, exist. No one would call this living.

Antony's head swung up when he heard the sound of a door creaking open.

He jumped to his feet, making a beeline down the hall before he heard.. Voices.

He stopped in his tracks.

"We're telling you, Grey Jim! There's something in here! Demons! Ghosts! It tried to lock us out last time, right, Jim?

This is the best scoop for a new segment on Father Jim's show!"

Oh god, it was those kids again?!

Didn't he manage to throw a book at them last time? What the hell made those guys so persistent?!

And from context clues, he could tell they brought someone new this time. What luck.

As much as he needed company, he couldn't risk other peoples lives like that for the sake of his own loneliness.

The groundskeeper mentioned it, didn't he? Wasn't there something in the house? Some sort of curse?

He couldn't allow them to stay, not even for a minute. No one deserved to suffer his fate, the fate his friends faced.

God only knows how this whole thing works and until he finds out, NOBODY is allowed within the manors walls, not if he had something to say about it.

He looked around for anything to carry, quickly locking his eyes on a stone statuette, slow to reach out and grasping at it quickly.

Releasing a breath he didn't even know he was holding, he smiled to see the small item held tightly in his grip. He was getting better at that.

Antony turned the corner and his jaw dropped, the statutette immediately slipping right though his hand like a phantom, clattering when it hit the ground.

It was Him. Her? Them?

Both of Them, in a body he could now hardly recognize.

Which was strange, because it was HIS body. A body THEY stole from him.

He was frozen in his tracks, he could only watch as the two men behind Them jumped dramatically at the sound of stone falling onto the wooden flooring.

He noticed both men turned their horrified gazes to the statue, however..

They looked straight down the hall.

Right at him.

They couldn't see him, could They?

He saw a grin creep up on Their features before They spun on Their heel, a scoff breaking the uncomfortable silence between everyone in the manor.

"Wipe that look off of your faces. Don't tell me you're scared of a statue.."

One of the terrified twins looked up at the taller figure, the other only hiding behind his brother, keeping a trembling grip on what appeared to be a camera.

"That proves it," one twin stammered, hugging a microphone to his chest like a teddy bear. "It was the demon! Nothing falls on its own, Grey Jim!"

They tutted disappointedly at that, like a father about to begin lecturing his child.

"There are many reasons why something could fall. This house is quite ancient, any number of things could've caused it.

You've wasted quite enough of my time with this, Jims. You had better head back to Wilford.

Don't speak of this again."

And with that, They turned away, eyes now fixated on the little stone statue lying on the floor.

The twins, (or, er, Jims?) stood to their full hight, the one with the microphone crossing his arms like an angry child.

"But, Jim-!"

He barely got any words out before They looked back at the two. Of course, Antony couldn't see Their face, but he could see the twin with the microphone's expression instantly change from frustration to fear, the twin with the camera turning white as a sheet.

Jim grasped backwards with his hand until he could take his brothers arm, quickly turning away and muttering a frightened "c'mon Jim," under his breath before they both bolted for the front door, stumbling over each others feet as they ran.

Antony was immediately torn from his frozen state after he heard the click-clack of shoes slowly advancing towards him, every bone in his ethereal body singing out in a chorus, begging him to run.

And that's what he did.

He pushed himself to run, feeling as though his chest was caving in as he made his way back to the mirror, where he could see the world outside this frozen void in full, shining monochrome, with stray flecks of red and blue.

A permanent reminder of the wayward souls that trapped him here.

He stood in front of the mirror as if he was hiding behind it. God, years he spent praying to whatever deity that may exist, begging that Damien returns, that he finally has the answer as to why he was thrown out, trapped, looked at with such contempt before he was abandoned.

And now that the chance was near, he was hiding like a coward, and he didn't even know from what. He longed to leave, but still, every nerve in his hollow body screamed to him that this was wrong, that he had to escape Their gaze somehow.

Antony's breath quickened as he stared out into the world beyond the mirror, tears welling up in his eyes as he heard Their shoes, signalling Their path into the parlor.

Then he saw Them, walking into the frame.

They looked into Their reflection with a face that wasn't Their own, but wasn't his either, inspecting it, scrutinizing it.

They placed Their hand on the mirror.

Antony felt as though he had no choice but to do the same, hesitantly laying his hand against the same spot They did, tears running down his cheeks.

Then, the mirror went dark.

Suddenly, it no longer glowed.

It didn't sparkle and static, it didn't blind him with blue, red and white. Before Antony could even process what that could mean for him, he felt fingers lace between his.

And They pulled him out.

Shutting his eyes, he took in the sensation of warmth on his hand, running throughout his body.

It was a struggle.

While being forced into the mirror was like a punch in the gut, the wind knocked out of your lungs, being taken out was like squeezing through a hole you're a little too big for.

Like the fabric of the universe itself was scraping against his sides as They pulled him through.

Next thing he knew, he was on his knees.

His eyes fluttered open, head bowed, but he could still see the floor.

It was brown. Not dingy black and near colorless like the void he was stuck in.

He pressed his hands against the ground and felt dust cling to his skin.

He felt it. He felt every ridge between floorboards, every dust bunny that flew up to hit him in the face, giving him the urge to sneeze.

He instantly lifted up his head, looking around frantically as he took in the colors, the sounds. The smell of the musty old manor he was in wasn't pleasant, but he could still sense it all.

He could feel warmth on his face as he looked directly into a sunbeam shining through one of many windows.

Every aspect of life he would curse before was everything he was begging to have back at this very moment.

He used to hate waking up with sunlight in his eyes, now he was crying at the sensation.

Hearing the creak of floorboards was so surreal that he could bearly register what it meant before he heard Them clear Their throat seconds after.

He looked in the direction of the sound, only to see Them, crouched down so low that They were inches from his face.

"Antony, old friend.."

They spoke. He spoke? He couldn't tell which one it was. They spoke in a voice that wasn't Theirs, not that it was even his own.

He saw Them reach a hand out to him, and it took a few seconds before he took the silent offer.

Both entities stood, Antony's legs trembling under his weight, along with a slow burning pain.

"Dames? Damien..?"

Christ, how long had it been since he last spoke? His cracking voice was even grating to himself.

In that moment, Their whole demeanor changed.

They rolled Their shoulders back as They released his hand, brows knitted together and eyes closed as if They were deep in thought, hands behind Their back, unnervingly silent. They tilted Their head to the side and an audible "CRACK" was heard, a look of discomfort appearing on Their face.

Antony felt the need to fill the silence with words, but he couldn't speak, it was like some unknown force seized his throat in Their presence. He inspected Them, taking note of Their grey skin and familiar aura, red and blue overlapping, growing and shifting as if each color were fighting for prominence, a spotlight for an invisible audience.

Then They looked down at him.

Their face quickly softened, Their expression kind and cautious, hands now removed from behind Their back, They fiddled with Their crisp suit a little, smoothing it down before They simply twiddled Their thumbs.

The aura stretching around them both became overwhelmingly blue, if only for a moment. They no longer flickered like a projection or a trick of the light, the grey that dulled Their skin had drained away.

Antony stumbled back, he couldn't handle this, he couldn't process all of it at once, he felt sick, pained.

Pressing a hand to his stomach, he looked down, feeling something wet and cold clinging to his skin.

He raised his palm. It was pitch black, like ink, dripping and viscous, like..

Blood.

He looked when he heard Them, no, it was Him, that was Damien just across from him, walking over, closing the newly made gap between them.

Something about it was wrong.

Something sent shivers up his spine, but he couldn't find out what it was. He was free, he was being reunited with his best friend, the love of his life. What about this could possibly bother him?

They-, He, Damien sent him a concerned glance, expression full of sorrow and regret.

"Love, what's wrong..?"

He couldn't do this anymore.

Why would he torment himself, questioning this? He couldn't stop, it nagged at him.

But it only brought him guilt when he saw the look on Damien's face.

He reached out a trembling hand, but Damien didn't grab it. It hung in the air for a moment before he grabbed Damien's arm, pulling Him close.

He felt Damien's arms around him, but panic set in as soon as he became aware of it, sorrow and frustration pent up over lord knows how many years washing over him in gigantic waves.

He let out a choked sob, pulling away to hammer his fists against Damien's chest. He didn't move, it was like hitting a marble statue.

"How could you?! I loved you! Why did you-? What did I ever do to you?!" Antony cried, bowing his head with closed eyes as he downright refused to look up. To see those eyes and fall in love all over again, to miss Him.

He felt his arms get weaker with every hit. He really couldn't keep this up.

He couldn't go on pretending that he was angry, that he was furious enough to fight the man he loved for years, that he was so hurt he could never forgive Him.

Because the truth was, he was lonely.

He was so alone for so, so long.

He doesn't even want to talk about it anymore.

He just wants Him.

He want's his Damien.

More than anything, he wants to forget what happened, he just wants to be held again and know that it's real.

Antony only noticed he had dissolved into tears when he felt His hands on his wrists, His grip strong, but not painful.

Looking into His eyes was like falling asleep, that sensation of dropping off a cliff, the wave of dizziness and disorientation.

"Please, Antony.."

It hurt.

"You're going to hurt yourself."

This hurt much more.

Damien was crowned in red and blue, looking down on Antony in a way that made him feel minuscule. Damien would never make him feel that way. He has to be mistaken, right?

Damien smiled, that sweet, caring smile he held on to the memory of desperately, the one he thought he'd never see again.

"I missed you."

Suddenly, everything was right.

Tears stopped falling, pain stopped tearing through him slowly, it was like time stopped, even the air froze.

The same nerves that called for his departure now cried to get closer, to huddle up in His arms and let His presence heal.

And that's what he did.

Antony practically rammed himself headlong into Damien's chest, arms wrapping around Him and squeezing Him with what little strength he had.

"I missed this.

I missed you, Dames.."

Its lips curled into a smirk, Its hands snaking around Antony as It pat him on the back in a facsimile of comfort.

Too easy.

~

tag list: @statictay @maniac-fangirl

#antony drake; ace attorney #im sorry i had to do it #antony the attorney #markiplier y/n #markiplier da #markiplier #markiplier community #markiplier egos #darkiplier #wkm district attorney #y/n district attorney #dark attorney #wkm da #who killed markiplier #who killed markiplier damien #wkm the mayor #writersofjackandmark #writersofmark #fanfiction #markiplier fanfiction #markipliertag #markipliertag2 #secretmarkiplier #memerwrites #the jim twins #markiplier jim twins #jim twins #tbjo avv lhzf whaolapjhssf zv. #aol lhzply ol iylhrz aol tvyl bzlmbs ol pz.

[for-a-flower]

Next Challenge

           Flowey emerged from dry group between cracked, brick walls of the Ruins, which were left in shadow due to an absence of power from the Core.  The flower had no wish to free monsters anymore.  He had forgotten why he tried to care.  Few thoughts came back to his mind from his life before.  But the one that stuck with him was the phrase . . . kill or be killed.  Over the next several minutes, Flowey hunted monsters of the Ruins.  Froggits . . . Moldsmols . . . spiders . . . everything.  He didn't care about them.  The only use they served was a rescue from boredom.

           Two froggits bounced away from the flower, hoping to conceal themselves further down a dark, narrow hallway.  With just a couple pellets, Flowey dealt a fatal blow.  Both small monsters fell as dust to the ground.  He was growing stronger with each kill and was curious to know just how strong he could get.  A whoosh of warm air and an orange glow lit the hall behind the flower.

            “Stop!” shouted a stern, familiar voice.  Flowey slowly turned his head to greet her with a happy, fanged grin.  Toriel Dreemurr stood in his path and a ring of fire whirled around her, stirring up red leaves.

           Flowey peered up at the monster he once called his mother.  His petals were torn and dull, stem jagged and bent.  “Oh, finally decide to show up?”  Flowey glanced down, briefly directing her gaze to little piles of white dust that littered the ground around him.  Then he returned his focus to Toriel and spoke in a dark tone.  “You’re a little late . . . Toriel.”

          Her red eyes widened a little.  “How can you know who I am?” she asked.

          “Because I’ve already been to the castle.”  Flowey frowned slightly.  “The king said . . . he missed you.”

           Toriel scowled.  “Asgore is stubborn.  He is foolish to think that I would ever return.”

           “Was,” Flowey corrected.  He smiled again.  “He’s dead.”

           The goat-like monster lifted her hand to prepare an attack.  “Then I will stop you myself before you kill anyone else!”

           Flowey burst into a cackling laughter at the thought.  Vines punched through the walls, blocking off the space between them.  Others grew up around Flowey.  “Hee hee hee . . . Do you really think you stand a chance?” he said.  Toriel took a few steps back just as a vine came up behind her.  She glanced over her shoulder to toss a ball of fire at it.  The thing grabbed at her.  Toriel ducked then seared its twisted shape with a spread of fire, only to be attacked by a couple scattered pellets.  She staggered as the fire around her went out.  Flowey wrapped two vines around the monster then leaned forward with an erie grin.  “No one can stop me,” he growled.

           Toriel struggled to pull free, digging claws into the thorny vines around her.  “What kind of horrid creature are you?”

           Flowey ignored the annoying pain that her struggling caused and continued.  “I am the new ruler of the underground!  I decide who lives and dies!  And I’m only getting stronger.”  His grip grew tighter.

           Toriel frowned.  “Monsters do not deserve what you are doing to them.”

           “Don’t deserve it?  Oh, they deserve even worse.”  Flowey glanced away, letting the vines loosen their grip a little.  “You don’t know what I’ve had to live with.  The loneliness . . . the boredom . . . the pain.  I was abandoned.”  Flowey looked back up at Toriel in the dark, his glowing eyes turning red.  “And do you know what happened?  No one came!”  He tightened his hold of Toriel again.  “I’ve had enough of monsters tormenting me with love that I can’t have anymore!” he shouted.

           “You cannot love when you already hate,” said Toriel.

           “You’re one to talk . . .”  Flowey squeezed harder.  “I only hate because I cannot love!  Do you know what it’s like?!  I used to care!  I used to love you very much!  But now it’s been torn away from me, along with my soul!”

          Toriel gasped.  “Asriel?!”

          Flowey snarled.  “No!  Don’t call me that.”

          She was struggling to breathe yet even then Toriel’s mood suddenly shifted.  “Please . . . I can try to help you,” she said.

          “No!  I don’t need you now!  What I need is someone who actually understand what it’s like to try to live like this!”

           Toriel grabbed at the vines which had wrapped around her throat, their thorns cutting and stinging.  “Asriel . . . you are killing me.”

           “I know.  Good bye, Toriel,” he growled.  Flowey watched her struggle for one last breath shortly before her red eyes closed.  There was a part of him that wanted to regret what he had done.  He wanted to care, to know that she somehow still mattered.  But even as Toriel’s body scattered to dust, Flowey felt no sadness, no remorse.  A small glowing light now floated among tangled vines before the flower.  He burrowed, leaving what was left of Toriel to die alone.  The faint light flickered and trembled for a second.  It scattered and faded away in the dark.  Flowey left the Ruins behind, barren, dark, and desolate.

           Elsewhere, Sans rushed down a dark castle hallway toward the throne room.  Ash drifted through from the direction of Hotland.  When he reached the throne room’s open gate, the skeleton slowed to enter a dark interior.  “King Asgore?” he called.  There was no reply.  Sans reluctantly stepped further in, his eyes darting left and right.  Among the shadows, he could make out dark, thorny vines that had grown up the walls.  As soon as he saw the king’s empty throne, Sans stopped.  “Asgore?” he called.  The skeleton glanced around the broken room once more before his eyes drifted down.  He was standing in white dust that lay among chard Golden Flowers.  Sans gasped and his eyes went dark.  “This is bad,” he said.

           When Flowey reached Waterfall, his welcome to the dark caves was not a pleasant one.  Most of the smaller monsters had gathered together in order to fight him off.  Their efforts were pitiful.  At this point, Flowey passed through them with no difficulty, only gaining more strength in the process.  His determination was growing.  And at the mere thought of wanting to save his progress thus far, a tiny yellow spark lit up the cavern before him.  After he cleared most monsters in Waterfall, Flowey started for Snowdin.  He had gained decent practice moving along the ground with his roots.  And without any immediate threat to his life, he saw no reason not to.  Flowey froze when a blue, magic spear flew just inches passed his head.

           “Damn it!” shouted Undyne further down the dark path.  Flowey turned to look just as Undyne and Papyrus emerged from shadows to block his way.  Undyne wore a full suit of metal armor with a magic spear ready in her hand.  Papyrus looked about as ready as he ever could for a fight, even though beads of sweat were already forming on his skull-like head.

           Flowey giggled.  “Aw, you both want to fight me too?”

           Undyne pointed her spear forward.  “You!  Flower!  Whatever you are!”

           Flowey’s smile switched to an innocent look of surprise.  “Me?  What would you want with little old me?”

           “I’m not about to let you leave Waterfall alive, punk!” said Undyne.

           Papyrus stiffened up with a tough look as well.  He put his hands on his hips.  “Yes!  We shall prevent you from destroying any more lives!  You can be sure that I, the Great Papyrus, will give my best to end your journey!”

           Undyne snarled.  “Your life is at an end, flower.  I will strike you down like the weed you are!”

           Flowey smiled pleasantly.  “Finally . . . an actual challenge?”  His voice slurred lower.  “I accept!”  He tossed a couple half-hearted pellet attacks to start with.  Undyne stepped forward to take most of the hit against her armor, protecting both herself Papyrus from damage.  The skeleton summoned several bones and threw them passed Undyne.  Flowey simply ducked below ground to avoid the attack.  As soon as he came up again a couple feet to the right, Undyne swung her spear at him.  It barely scraped one of his petals.  Green magic coated the flower’s body but he took no damage.  Flowey grinned.  “You missed!”

           Undyne grinned back and raised her spear.  Several magic javelins appeared around Flowey.  “Did I?” she asked.

           Flowey tried to burrow, only to find that he couldn’t move.  This green magic was holding him, preventing him from fleeing the fight.  He frowned.  “Uh . . .”  Undyne pointed her spear forward, commanding the others to strike.  A quick, sharp pain overcame him followed by darkness and silence.  Flowey growled.  “No!  Go back!  I’m not done!”

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#undertale #fan fiction #undertale spoilers #violence #flowey #Flowey the Flower #toriel dreemurr #toriel #undyne #papyrus #sans #part two #apathetic loner #foraflower au

[littlesoufflecafe]

One For The Road | Chapter 14 Cut Scene: “Invites, Grief, and a Faint Pulse”

A/N: Chapter fourteen of this fic was initially going to be much darker than what it ended up being. Instead of Emma waking up Clara, she wakes up by herself, and that scenario in itself grew rather difficult to write. I wanted Clara to have a source of hope in this chapter, and that hope manifested itself in Emma in the final draft.

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"Do you want to go to this?" he asked her weeks after it'd happened. Clara was at the kitchen table pushing Cheerios around a bowl of milk, and had looked up to see her father holding an invitation to her Top of the Class Banquet. Her last one before going off to university. "It says here you're allowed two guests."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, wanting to disappear into her sweater. "Who else would I take?"

"Well, we could ask your Aunt Linda, or Gran, if you like."

Aunt Linda always looked at her as if she were a piece of chewing gum she'd picked up on the bottom of her shoe, and her grandmother lived two hours away. She doubted either of them would appreciate the invite, for they were smart enough to know that their presence would merely serve as a filler for the one person they couldn't have. And the idea of sitting next to an empty seat all night was appalling.

"I'd rather not go," she told him, dropping her spoon into the bowl with a plunk. Flecks of milk flew atop the dark green tablecloth; she tried drying them out with her thumb. "It's on a school night."

"You've never missed an academic banquet before."

"Yeah, well, I've never been without a mum before, so I'd rather not go," she said coldly, averting her father's hurt stare but absorbing its impact nonetheless. He hated when he looked at her like that. It made her feel like a bad daughter. Wasn't she allowed time to grieve? Didn't she at least deserve that? Often times, she wondered if her father thought he could smooth out paper after it had been crushed. Because he was certainly giving her a similar treatment.

Underneath her quiet disposition and snide comments, she knew he was trying to be strong for the both of them. Why that involved bouncing back to normal programming as quickly as possible, she never knew. All she was certain of was that she was the only one looking after him. Buying groceries from Sainsbury's, driving her to school—it provided Dave Oswald with a structure that required him to care for himself in turn. Without it, she doubted he'd get out of bed in the morning at all.

There was a picture on the dresser of her childhood bedroom. Clara was six when it was taken. Her father at her left hand and her mother at her right, she swung between the two of them with the most elated smile on her face. The fact that she could never recreate that picture angered her. Why did she have to be the one to lose someone who mattered to her? She was a good kid—she performed well in school, never partied or drank. Her family was nothing but loving and supportive of one another. Why did the universe feel the need to tear that apart?

At sixteen, she was pompous enough to believe that she had a choice between life and death. That whatever path she chose, she'd never be completely alone.

This was not one of those times.

Her eyes fluttered open and the scent of grass and wet earth filled her nostrils. It took her a few minutes for her vision to adjust to the darkness, but even then, all she could make out were tall, looming silhouettes against a nuanced night sky. Not even the stars were poignant enough to pierce through the dense canopy of trees.

Lifting her head from the grass, Clara felt the weight of her helmet strain her neck and shoulders. A dull pain throbbed behind her eyes, as if trying to find an escape route though the thick layers of padding and synthetic fiberglass. Where was she? Where had they parked the TARDIS? She couldn't recall agreeing to sleep on the forest floor, but given her strangely impulsive decisions these past two days, she wouldn't put it past her.

Suddenly, memories began to resurface. The sputtering sound of the TARDIS engine. The thick odor of gasoline contained between the walls of an auto-repair shop. The unkempt hair of a nineteen year-old boy, smiling at her from the corner of a motorbike license. The Doctor's motorbike license. His name alone was enough to careen her back into reality.

Clara shot up like a bullet, moaning from the stinging pain distributed throughout her body. Her world appeared muddled behind the visor of her helmet, more specifically the dirt streaked across the tinted plastic like war paint. Every breath she took was heavy and amplified. Using the remainder of her strength, the young woman unclasped the buckle and pried her helmet off. The night air never felt more soothing.

It was brighter now; she could see rays of moonlight bending around the trees, illuminating certain parts of the forest floor. Her eyes scanned the terrain with a disoriented perception, until eventually latching on to the helmet in her still-shaking hands. A crack had caved into the surface, branching out in several directions. Had she not worn any protective gear, her skull would've suffered the damage instead. Her stomach recoiled. The helmet tumbled into the grass.

She tried to face the damage spread across her arms and legs. Dark red scrapes appeared on most of her fingers. Her denim jacket was destroyed, bloodied flesh poking out at each elbow. The right pant-leg of her jeans was torn open at the knee, revealing a ghastly wound where skin once held intact. It hurt to move, more so form a coherent thought. Help. She needed help. She needed to know where she was.

"Doctor—?" she called out, her voice hoarse. Clearing her throat, she yelled, "DOCTOR!"

Nothing. Her voice echoed through the trees and sent birds cawing back in reply. She held her head in her hands and tried to stop the forest from spinning. This is not happening. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough, she could break from this dream and wake up where she was supposed to be. At this point, she didn't even know where that was. And each time she opened her eyes, she was met with the same, agonizing fate.

She was so far from anything that felt familiar. And she was alone, without anyone to pluck her out of the chaos like her mother did on Bank Holiday Monday. The panic began rising in her once more, filling her lungs until she began drowning in it—

You need to get up, a voice inside her head hissed. Pull yourself together. Nothing will happen if you just sit here and cry.

Swallowing back her tears, she dug the heels of her palms into her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. She needed to accept the fact that no one was coming to save her this time. She needed to be brave enough to stand and navigate her way out of this. Even without The Doctor by her side.

Pushing herself up off the ground, she winced from where her damaged skin stretched and tore from the movement, but managed to stand without feeling lightheaded. At least nothing was broken, to her knowledge.

Hooking her finger around the strap of her fractured helmet, Clara squinted into the darkness, and began walking. Her gait was stiff-limbed and awkward, and it wasn't long before she spotted the faint outline of a body lying face-down on the side of the road. She didn't need to come closer to know who it was. The pain suddenly became the least of her problems as she broke out into a sprint towards him.

"John!" she cried out, the name foreign on her own tongue. Knees barking in pain as she fell beside him, she mustered up the strength to flip him onto his back, the entirety of his right side bloodied and bruised. A web of cracks adorned the visor of his helmet. She quickly removed it and pushed back the hair plastered to his forehead in sweat. "John, please...wake up. I need you here with me..."

For a few horrifying seconds, she thought he was dead. The sight of his face devoid of its usual smile was enough to make her heart stop. But she refused to succumb to the worst of her thoughts and instead took action. He still had a pulse. It was faint (likely because she was rubbish at finding it), but she could feel it nonetheless, pounding beneath her fingertips pressed just beneath his jawline. Alive. He was still alive.

Lowering her ear to his lips, she could hear his breaths, rhythmic and reassuring. She tried to detect a chest rise and fall but soon gave up, as she couldn't trust her own vision in providing her with a sound resolution.

"You're gonna be okay, alright?" she told him in a whisper, placing a hand over his still-beating heart. "Someone will come and find us, I promise."

Just as he had been there for her, she would be there for him. She owed him that, at the least.

"HELP!" she hollered from the side of the road, cupping her bloodied hands around her mouth. "PLEASE, I NEED HELP!"

This went on for minutes, bile burning at the back of her throat. She must've looked like a lunatic, that is, if there were anyone there to witness her screaming her head off in the first place. But she couldn't care less for her appearance, or sanity, for that matter. Whether she attracted wolves or pulled The Doctor from his unconscious state, she'd shout louder and louder until someone heard her.

It had gotten to the point in which she pulled The Doctor closer, dragging him from the armpits to situate him closer to the road. They needed to be ready for when a car arrived to pick them up. Not if, when. She was determined to get them out of here, even if she had done permanent damage to her vocal chords by the end of it. They'd had so much luck throughout the entirety of this trip. There had to be some of it left.

But it eventually became clear to her that she was only hurting herself. The road remained deserted as far as she could tell. No one was coming for them. No one within a hundred mile radius even knew they existed. They were strangers lost in uncharted territory, with no food or water or shelter. Even her willpower to finish the trip was wearing thin. It was better to fret when there was another person beside you to share the stress with.

At first, she wasn't aware that her pleading had turned into cursing. She cursed everything—from those two men back in Reno to William in Salt Lake City, until she was eventually cursing Wayfarer Industries themselves from bringing her out here in the first place. She hated how much she cared about that stupid interview. She hated how much she had endured in these past forty-eight hours. She hated how much she actually believed that she could do something like this.

"Stars, as much as I wish you were awake right now, I'm a little glad you didn't hear any of that," she told The Doctor, having collapsed beside him out of pure exhaustion and fatigue. "No, you know what I wish? I wish you were the one who woke up. That way, you'd know what to do. You always know what to do."

It was because of him they were alive in the first place. If not for his split-second decision to swerve right, she likely wouldn't have woken up at all. The thought in itself was terrifying to her.

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Read the full fic here!

FanFiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12799845/1/One-For-The-Road

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14986580/chapters/34731947

[readbookywooks]

INTO THE FOREST

"I wish the Macready would hurry up and take all these people away," said Susan presently, "I'm getting horribly cramped." "And what a filthy smell of camphor!" said Edmund. "I expect the pockets of these coats are full of it," said Susan, "to keep away the moths." "There's something sticking into my back," said Peter. "And isn't it cold?" said Susan. "Now that you mention it, it is cold," said Peter, "and hang it all, it's wet too. What's the matter with this place? I'm sitting on something wet. It's getting wetter every minute." He struggled to his feet. "Let's get out," said Edmund, "they've gone." "O-o-oh!" said Susan suddenly, and everyone asked her what was the matter. "I'm sitting against a tree," said Susan, "and look! It's getting light - over there." "By Jove, you're right," said Peter, "and look there - and there. It's trees all round. And this wet stuff is snow. Why, I do believe we've got into Lucy's wood after all." And now there was no mistaking it and all four children stood blinking in the daylight of a winter day. Behind them were coats hanging on pegs, in front of them were snow-covered trees. Peter turned at once to Lucy. "I apologize for not believing you," he said, "I'm sorry. Will you shake hands?" "Of course," said Lucy, and did. "And now," said Susan, "what do we do next?" "Do?" said Peter, "why, go and explore the wood, of course." "Ugh!" said Susan, stamping her feet, "it's pretty cold. What about putting on some of these coats?" "They're not ours," said Peter doubtfully. "I am sure nobody would mind," said Susan; "it isn't as if we wanted to take them out of the house; we shan't take them even out of the wardrobe." "I never thought of that, Su," said Peter. "Of course, now you put it that way, I see. No one could say you had bagged a coat as long as you leave it in the wardrobe where you found it. And I suppose this whole country is in the wardrobe." They immediately carried out Susan's very sensible plan. The coats were rather too big for them so that they came down to their heels and looked more like royal robes than coats when they had put them on. But they all felt a good deal warmer and each thought the others looked better in their new get-up and more suitable to the landscape. "We can pretend we are Arctic explorers," said Lucy. "This is going to be exciting enough without pretending," said Peter, as he began leading the way forward into the forest. There were heavy darkish clouds overhead and it looked as if there might be more snow before night. "I say," began Edmund presently, "oughtn't we to be bearing a bit more to the left, that is, if we are aiming for the lamp-post?" He had forgotten for the moment that he must pretend never to have been in the wood before. The moment the words were out of his mouth he realized that he had given himself away. Everyone stopped; everyone stared at him. Peter whistled. "So you really were here," he said, "that time Lu said she'd met you in here - and you made out she was telling lies." There was a dead silence. "Well, of all the poisonous little beasts - " said Peter, and shrugged his shoulders and said no more. There seemed, indeed, no more to say, and presently the four resumed their journey; but Edmund was saying to himself, "I'll pay you all out for this, you pack of stuck-up, selfsatisfied prigs." "Where are we going anyway?" said Susan, chiefly for the sake of changing the subject. "I think Lu ought to be the leader," said Peter; "goodness knows she deserves it. Where will you take us, Lu?" "What about going to see Mr Tumnus?" said Lucy. "He's the nice Faun I told you about." Everyone agreed to this and off they went walking briskly and stamping their feet. Lucy proved a good leader. At first she wondered whether she would be able to find the way, but she recognized an oddlooking tree on one place and a stump in another and brought them on to where the ground became uneven and into the little valley and at last to the very door of Mr Tumnus's cave. But there a terrible surprise awaited them. The door had been wrenched off its hinges and broken to bits. Inside, the cave was dark and cold and had the damp feel and smell of a place that had not been lived in for several days. Snow had drifted in from the doorway and was heaped on the floor, mixed with something black, which turned out to be the charred sticks and ashes from the fire. Someone had apparently flung it about the room and then stamped it out. The crockery lay smashed on the floor and the picture of the Faun's father had been slashed into shreds with a knife. "This is a pretty good wash-out," said Edmund; "not much good coming here." "What is this?" said Peter, stooping down. He had just noticed a piece of paper which had been nailed through the carpet to the floor. "Is there anything written on it?" asked Susan. "Yes, I think there is," answered Peter, "but I can't read it in this light. Let's get out into the open air." They all went out in the daylight and crowded round Peter as he read out the following words: The former occupant of these premises, the Faun Tumnus, is under arrest and awaiting his trial on a charge of High Treason against her Imperial Majesty Jadis, Queen of Narnia, Chatelaine of Cair Paravel, Empress of the Lone Islands, etc., also of comforting her said Majesty's enemies, harbouring spies and fraternizing with Humans. signed MAUGRIM, Captain of the Secret Police, LONG LIVE THE QUEEN The children stared at each other. "I don't know that I'm going to like this place after all," said Susan. "Who is this Queen, Lu?" said Peter. "Do you know anything about her?" "She isn't a real queen at all," answered Lucy; "she's a horrible witch, the White Witch. Everyone all the wood people - hate her. She has made an enchantment over the whole country so that it is always winter here and never Christmas." "I - I wonder if there's any point in going on," said Susan. "I mean, it doesn't seem particularly safe here and it looks as if it won't be much fun either. And it's getting colder every minute, and we've brought nothing to eat. What about just going home?" "Oh, but we can't, we can't," said Lucy suddenly; "don't you see? We can't just go home, not after this. It is all on my account that the poor Faun has got into this trouble. He hid me from the Witch and showed me the way back. That's what it means by comforting the Queen's enemies and fraternizing with Humans. We simply must try to rescue him." "A lot we could do! said Edmund, "when we haven't even got anything to eat!" "Shut up - you!" said Peter, who was still very angry with Edmund. "What do you think, Susan?" "I've a horrid feeling that Lu is right," said Susan. "I don't want to go a step further and I wish we'd never come. But I think we must try to do something for Mr Whatever-his-name is - I mean the Faun." "That's what I feel too," said Peter. "I'm worried about having no food with us. I'd vote for going back and getting something from the larder, only there doesn't seem to be any certainty of getting into this country again when once you've got out of it. I think we'll have to go on." "So do I," said both the girls. "If only we knew where the poor chap was imprisoned!" said Peter. They were all still wondering what to do next, when Lucy said, "Look! There's a robin, with such a red breast. It's the first bird I've seen here. I say! - I wonder can birds talk in Narnia? It almost looks as if it wanted to say something to us." Then she turned to the Robin and said, "Please, can you tell us where Tumnus the Faun has been taken to?" As she said this she took a step towards the bird. It at once flew away but only as far as to the next tree. There it perched and looked at them very hard as if it understood all they had been saying. Almost without noticing that they had done so, the four children went a step or two nearer to it. At this the Robin flew away again to the next tree and once more looked at them very hard. (You couldn't have found a robin with a redder chest or a brighter eye.) "Do you know," said Lucy, "I really believe he means us to follow him." "I've an idea he does," said Susan. "What do you think, Peter?" "Well, we might as well try it," answered Peter. The Robin appeared to understand the matter thoroughly. It kept going from tree to tree, always a few yards ahead of them, but always so near that they could easily follow it. In this way it led them on, slightly downhill. Wherever the Robin alighted a little shower of snow would fall off the branch. Presently the clouds parted overhead and the winter sun came out and the snow all around them grew dazzlingly bright. They had been travelling in this way for about half an hour, with the two girls in front, when Edmund said to Peter, "if you're not still too high and mighty to talk to me, I've something to say which you'd better listen to." "What is it?" asked Peter. "Hush! Not so loud," said Edmund; "there's no good frightening the girls. But have you realized what we're doing?" "What?" said Peter, lowering his voice to a whisper. "We're following a guide we know nothing about. How do we know which side that bird is on? Why shouldn't it be leading us into a trap?" "That's a nasty idea. Still - a robin, you know. They're good birds in all the stories I've ever read. I'm sure a robin wouldn't be on the wrong side." "It if comes to that, which is the right side? How do we know that the Fauns are in the right and the Queen (yes, I know we've been told she's a witch) is in the wrong? We don't really know anything about either." "The Faun saved Lucy." "He said he did. But how do we know? And there's another thing too. Has anyone the least idea of the way home from here?" "Great Scott!" said Peter, "I hadn't thought of that." "And no chance of dinner either," said Edmund.

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