#wynne writes

[writingmaidenwarrior]

The Cards We Got Dealt Part 1 - Sin Eaters AU

This is for the OC Kiss Week Prompt "Darkness" and the first part of this little AU. No one needs to know anything about the original WIP. The only thing you need to know is up in the banner are left side Talindra and right side Wynthan, who are the POV characters.

Tagging @cljordan-imperium @jezifster

Minor warning for indirect mentions of sex. Really indirect. Warnings will be added ahead of each part where necessary.

When darkness comes, keep an eye on the light – whatever this is for you – no matter how far away it seem. Jan Berry

The gathering of the clans was always an event no one wanted to miss. All eleven clans came together to forge new alliances, find partners, and praise the gods to gain their favor for the coming years. The clan leaders with their families would always come, along with the young clan members who had no partner yet and a small number of warriors for the safety of the clan leader’s family.

His mother’s laments still on his mind Wynthan entered the gathering place. This was his first time as the leader of his clan after taking over three years ago. His older brother Gilmyrn threw an amused glance at him and even his cousin behind him snickered. Little did they know about his hopes for this gathering.

“I am glad you guys have fun already.”

“It is not our fault you look like you had a run in with a skunk,” Eshfyrr commented from aside after closing in.

“You know he is right. This isn’t that bad. You could also have lost during the fights and be free of this burden, you know?”

Gilmyrn’s tease wasn’t helpful at all. Even less because Melleis walked behind them with the partnerless women as guard and probably heard everything.

“You could have tried a bit more to win. The longer I am leader the more I think all four of you lost on purpose,” Wynthan playful accused his brother but got only a smirk in response.

“And miss mom bugging you to find a partner? No way.”

“You sort this out between the two of you,” Eshfyrr chuckled and vanished in the crowd of the unpartnered men.

“Traitor!”

“I like to stay alive!”

The whole clan laughed and giggled. It didn’t stop when they crossed the open space to reach the usually spot their clan would occupy during the gathering.

Curious eyes of the other clans followed them. Some were weighing in their chances with finding a partner, others curious about the new clan leader.

“By the gods, can’t they be a little less obvious,” Wynthan groaned.

“You mean like the woman over there?”

Gilmyrn nodded towards the camp of their former and usual ally the Sea Dweller Clan. Some spark of a memory ignited itself in Wynthan’s mind as he saw her. This round almost still childish face and those long brunette braids gave him a familiar feeling, but it couldn’t be her. Her horns were adorned with pearl beads and tiny gemstone pendants that gave her already wild gaze more depth, but also was a telltale sign she was either the clan leader or belonged to their family. If you wouldn’t look closer, it would appear she glanced over the place looking for someone and not analyzing Wynthan and his people.

He smirked and licked his lips. It was his plan anyway to reinstall the alliance with the Sea Dwellers since their trading was useful for both sides and maybe he could put his hopes a little higher.

“Find someone who sparked an interest?”

Melleis soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Maybe.”

Her gaze followed him, only for her to huff amused second later.

“Good luck, buddy.”

“Good luck?”

Abrupt he stopped walking and made the one behind him walk into him. Melleis just laughed and motioned to keep walking.

“You don’t know who she is?”

“I think, I remember her from the last gathering…”

“Yeah, you should. She was the one who broke your nose.”

Suddenly Wynthan remember it all and suppressed the laughter. The broken nose was only a small part of the story that happened during the fights in honor of the gods. Little did the others know the part that he and Talindra had shared the nights after this. The only thing that confused him was, he never heard about her being the daughter of the clan leader.

“What do we know about the Sea Dweller’s current situation?” Gilmyrn asked much to Wynthan’s relief.

One of the warriors came close and cleared his throat.

“They got a new leader almost two years ago. A woman named Talindra who won against every warrior of her clan.”

“The old leader had no children?”

“None of them wanted to take the role.”

The group reached their camp and started to clear it out from the debris nature left the last seven years and make themselves at home. The small cabins were mostly functional and only needed little mending here and there.

One by one the last three clans arrived as well as the day came to its end and the sun started to settle down. Satisfied with the camp everyone spread out in the cabins, leaving the biggest one for Wynthan, Gilmyrn, Melleis and Eshfyrr.

Still in thoughts Wynthan took the bedroom on the second floor knowing well the biggest one was on the first floor and Eshfyrr might cherish having one with easy access and left him the second bedroom on the first floor. With the knowledge of Talindra being the clan leader of the Sea Dwellers now, Wynthan didn’t plan to bring anyone up here.

He pushed down the annoyed groan. No one knew he hoped to find her again at the gathering, correcting his cowardice from those past years but surely didn’t expect this.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts.

“You alright?” Eshfyrr inquired with his brows furrowed.

“Yeah, just moaning the past.”

“You are too young for this, Nat. We are about to prepare some dinner…”

Eshfyrr pointed with his thumb behind him. His face held an unspoken invitation.

“I will be right there. Just give me a moment to unpack the adornments for tomorrow morning.”

“Sure, I tell the others.”

The happy grin on Eshfyrr’s face made Wynthan hope his cousin would finally find someone who could keep him happy like this after all the things Eshfyrr did for him those past three years to get used to being a leader.

If Wynthan would have been honest, he never wanted that position, but now he had it, he would make sure he would fill it the best he could.

Done from the journey, filled like a festival pig, and ready to call it a day, Wynthan went for some stroll along the periphery of the gathering place, down to the riverbed and have a moment of peace for himself. Happy he wouldn’t need to wear the horn adornment of the clan leaders until the next when the opening ceremony would take place, he relaxed with a content smile. Leaned against a small dent in the ground he closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the soft sounds of the river at his feet, the sounds of the animals around him either going to sleep or waking up for the night.

His solemn peace didn’t last long. Soft footsteps disturbed his serenity. Careful he listened but didn’t recognize the pattern as someone from his clan.

“This isn’t the best place to sleep.”

The laughter in her voice drew a smile on his face. He would recognize that voice everywhere even after seven years.

“Who says I am sleeping?” he threw back.

“You looked like that.”

With soft ruffles and the gentle chimes of her pendants, Talindra sat next to him and rested her head in his shoulder.

“You look beat,” he stated.

“You look annoyed.”

“You wanna share?”

“Give me the moment to enjoy the fact you remember me.”

Wynthan put his arm around her shoulder, gently rubbed it with his thumb.

“Your new look took me a moment to recognize you.”

Her huff pushed warm air against his cooler skin.

“Yeah, I already regret it. And you?”

“Wonder if I got set up by my siblings. Why do you regret it? I never thought you would have such ambitions.”

With a deep sigh, Talindra curled into his side as the world around them slowly got covered by the mantle of darkness before the stars would shine their light. Right now, and here none of them looked like the leaders they are but more like your common gathering couple who stole themselves away for some time alone like they did at the last gathering.

“I couldn’t let one of the others ruin the clan.”

“That bad?”

“We had the option of scheming idiot who probably will cause a war within a gathering cycle as leader, battle hungry idiot who would cause conflicts just so he can fight, too stupid for own thoughts he would eventually follow the suggestions of one of the first two and my special favorite: only cares for his own pleasure and safety and would run the fields and the clans funds dry in no time. So, tell me how bad it is.”

He placed a kiss on her forehead, knowing she wouldn’t see his smile. Her content rumbling vibrated against his chest.

“Let me guess, now the elders are bugging you to find a partner to ensure heirs for the clan.”

Her laughter rippled through the silence of the night like a deep sounding bell.

“Your mother, too?”

“And my siblings have the fun of their lifetime with this.”

She casted a small fire orb and looked at him in this tentative and searching way Wynthan remembered well.

“The woman you came with isn’t your partner?”

“No, she is my brother’s.”

Glad about the support from the ground in his back he watched Talindra change her position and came to sit on his knees. With a small push she sent the fire orb above their head for just enough light to see each other faces.

He saw her gaze jump around and wondered if she searched for something or tried to decide. The answer came when she raised a hand to his head and aimed for his horn with a heavy breath.

Even if he would love to continue where they left off seven years ago, things changed too much since then, and he stopped her hand.

“You know it is not as easy as the last time.”

“We can make it easy,” she replied.

Her eyes dropped to his lips and her breath heavy and warm on his face, Wynthan wished she was right. Gods knew, they both needed to relief a lot of stress. Instead, he kissed her knuckles one by one and pulled her in a hug.

“Not until the gathering officially started. We are leaders now, and no free clan members as the last time. We need to be the good example. Tomorrow, my fire heart.”

“Tomorrow,” Talindra sighed content and sunk deeper into the embrace.

They knew it was only some stolen time, but they made it last as long as possible. Tomorrow the gathering would start, and it would mean five days of careful maneuvers around the other leaders.

Yes, they clearly will need those nights this time.

#writblr #writing #the cards we got dealt #ockiss24 #part 1 #fantasy #wynne writes

[manderleyfire]

“Myself. I killed the old me so I could come with you.” She plucked the splinter free. “There. Well, I hope old you doesn’t haunt new you. We’ve already got enough ghosts us.”

"Haunt Me" from There Is No Death, There Are No Dead by Gemma Files // "Killing the Love" from The Divorce Papers by Anne Sexton // "The Valley Song (Zoo Lullaby)" from The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Lucy Gray Baird Suzanne Collins // "Wuthering Heights" by Emily Brontë // "Herakles" by Euripides (Anne Carson's translation) // "The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes" by Suzanne Collins // "A Game of Thrones" by George R. R. Martin // "Crime and Punishment" by Fyodor Dostoevsky.

#thgedit #tbosasedit #snowbaird #coriolanus x lucy gray #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #shitty things i do for love #in closing i need to write down two more quotes because they're matchless #*but they didn't quite match THE haunting x doomed theme unfortunately* #when zamyatin said 'she is like a bee: both a sting and honey are inside her' #and when margaret atwood said 'both dark and light like snow' #i mean??????? whaaaat????? that's exactly my lucy gray and that's exactly my coryo #last but not least: god bless maiah wynne for recording every single lg's song #tbosas movie had let me down when i needed it most *the valley song* #and god bless marg for not leaving me alone in this world of suffering #uwuwuwuwwuwu

[zippocreed501]

AUTHOR EXTRAORDINAIRE

'Fantasy for me as a kid was real, and I had a fantasy about what life was, whether it was sort of wicked and dire, or wholly normal, or whatever. Anything really close to home is not, it seems to me, what a good book should be about.'

'If you take myth and folklore, and these things that speak in symbols, they can be interpreted in so many ways that although the actual image is clear enough, the interpretation is infinitely blurred, a sort of enormous rainbow of every possible colour you could imagine.'

'Things we are accustomed to regard as myth or fairy story are very much present in people’s lives. Nice people behave like wicked stepmothers. Every day.'

'It does seem that a fantasy, working out in its own terms, stretching you beyond the normal concerns of your own life, gains you a peculiar charge of energy which inexplicably enriches you. At least, this is my ideal of a fantasy, and I am always trying to write it.'

Author Extraordinaire Diane Wynne Jones

#diana wynne jones #author extraordinaire #fantasy #writing advice #writing inspiration #children's fiction #writblr #books #literature

[1waveshortofashipwreck]

Should've Been Born Later, Nix - Chapter 7: The Boys Back Home

Easy Company x Fem!OCs

Chap. Synopsis: What will happen when some of Easy Company's most valuable soldiers disappear?

Words: 2,135

Find the fic's navigation page here !!

Have a question/want to be on the taglist? Let me know !!

Author's note: Hey everyone! Apologies for the delay with the chapter lol 🫠 This chapter is the point of view of the men in Bastogne!! Also, because this is my fanfiction and I can do whatever I want, there will be some soldiers who somehow survived their demise in previous episodes (Miller? Dukeman? PERHAPS) Anywho, thank you as always for reading and be on the lookout for Chapter 8! 🥰

"Luz!" Carwood cried over the last shell to drop. He watched the radioman dive into the foxhole - George met the same fate as the nine others who dropped into that hole, none of them came out. Lipton was astonished. At most, a foxhole could fit three of the men comfortably, perhaps four if needed. But ten men in one? Lipton should have seen a dog pile of olive drab stretching above the opening. Instead, he saw an empty hole in the ground. The First Sergeant blinked and rubbed his eyes, making sure what he saw was indeed reality. The foxhole stayed empty when he opened his eyes.

Lipton sprinted from where he was taking cover, desperately searching for Lieutenant Dike. He knew that Dike was the least preferable choice, especially in a situation like this, but the officers Lipton would have preferred to ask for help had disappeared. After an agonizing search mission, Lipton finally found the Lieutenant - Dike was absentmindedly strolling along, looking at the trees around him with a glassy, thousand-yard stare. “Lieutenant Dike!” Lipton called out, scrambling over tree roots and broken branches. Dike snapped back to reality, his posture automatically improving when he saw First Sergeant Lipton.

“What is it, First Sergeant?” Dike asked, trying to be authoritative. The yawn that followed his words worked against him. Carwood began to speak, but his words were caught in his throat… how in the world was he going to tell the lieutenant what just happened?

“Sir… we um…” Lipton tried to force the words out of his mouth.

“Spit it out, First Sergeant Lipton!” Dike ordered, irritation evident in his voice. Lipton paused, taking a breath before responding to the officer.

“Sir… several men are gone…”

“First Sergeant, this is war, we're going to have casualties every day.”

“Not like that sir, I mean… they've disappeared…”

Dike stared blankly at the NCO, wondering if he heard him right.

“Where did they go, Carwood?” Hearing Dike use his first name gave Lipton a feeling he could only describe as ick, but nevertheless, he continued.

“Sir, I saw ten men go into a foxhole, but when I reached them, the foxhole was empty.”

“And you’re sure you went to the right foxhole?” Lipton had to pause and take a breath before answering.

“Yes, sir.” In a flurry of urgency that Lipton had never seen from Dike before, the lieutenant had rounded up Compton, Peacock, Shames, Foley, and Welsh, as well as radioed to Colonel Sink. Lipton hastily repeated his experience to the officers, who were just as hesitant to believe Lipton as Dike was. 

“So they’re just… gone?” Harry asked, still skeptical.

“I wish I had more information for you sir, but all I saw was the men go into the foxhole and not come out,” Carwood replied, defeat evident in his voice.

“Shit…” Welsh muttered under his breath. The Irishman stared at the ground in front of him, wondering how he let two of his closest friends just disappear.

“So who all are we missing?” Buck interjected. He stood with his arms crossed, instinctively taking command of the conversation.

“Captains Winters and Nixon, Lieutenant Speirs, and then Roe, Luz, Liebgott, Guarnere, Toye, Malarkey, and Randleman,” the NCO listed off the men he saw disappear, and prayed he would see again.

What Lipton did not see was Skip Muck quickly scrambling back to his foxhole. He had originally made his way to CP to ask Captain Winters a question, but when he overheard the discussion between Lipton and the officers, panic consumed the soldier’s thoughts. Muck all but fell into Penkala’s foxhole, unaware that he inadvertently elbowed his best friend in the face.

“HEY! What the fuck!?” Penkala yelped in surprise, his hands shooting to his cheek.

“Keep it down, Penk! I gotta tell you something,” Muck hushed the soldier, looking to make sure no one else was around. “I just heard Lipton telling Buck that we lost a bunch of men.”

“Like, to a sniper?”

“No, like they fucking disappeared.” Alex rolled his eyes, figuring Skip was just up to his usual mischief.

“Yeah, and I’m marrying Rita Hayworth.”

“Penk, I’m serious. Winters, Nixon, and a few others are gone and they have no fucking idea where they went.”

“Wait, what’d you say?” Muck and Penkala looked up to see that Shifty Powers had joined them in their foxhole. The rifleman looked at his two friends with shock and concern - how could the soldiers just disappear, especially vital officers like Winters and Nixon?

“He said we’re missing half the fucking company!” Penkala’s voice raised again, becoming more distressed by the minute.

“I said keep it down, you ass-hat!�� Skip punctuated his interjection with a sharp whack to the back of Penkala’s head. “Look, we all know Dike isn’t gonna do shit. When Colonel Sink gets here, we need to back Lipton up and make sure Sink knows what’s happening.”

“I can go round up some of the other NCOs and tell them,” Shifty offered, gathering up his rifle to go find the rest of Easy Company’s leaders.

“Alright, we’ll come find you once Sink gets here,” Penkala replied before Shifty set off on his solo mission. Before long, the Virginian had gathered up Alley, Christianson, Grant, Martin, McClung, Perconte, Sisk, Talbert, Popeye, and Smokey Gordon. Of course, the trio of Hashey, Garcia, and Miller wanted to tag along as well - even if they did not have a leadership role, they wanted to help their company however they could.

“I really hope Bull’s okay…” Hashey muttered to no one in particular, crossing his arms to conserve the little warmth he had. “First he went missing in Holland, now we lose him in Bastogne…”

“Yeah, we need to keep a leash on him or something!” Miller snickered to his friends before Babe Heffron bumbled up to the group. The redhead resembled a baby horse learning to gallop as he jumped and weaved past tree roots and foxholes making his way to the group of soldiers.

“The fuck is this I hear about Gaurnere missing!?” Babe’s respirations were loud and labored as he attempted to catch his breath. Before anyone could respond, Lipton came across the group of soldiers all congregated near CP.

“Hey fellas, everyone doing all right?” Carwood asked nervously - he loved his men, but he knew they were up to no good if too many were in one place without a good reason.

“We heard about the men going missing,” Smokey replied, Mississippi accent thick in his words.

“We want to help, Lip, however we can,” Floyd Talbert added. He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other, Smokey glancing a look of concern at his best friend. 

Lipton was about to express his gratitude to his company before Colonel Sink’s Jeep was seen pulling up beside the rest of the group. Lipton quickly went to grab the company’s officers as Sink nodded in thanks to his driver and stepped out of the car. With a loud, abrupt command to “Ten-Hut!” from Buck Compton, the gathered men snapped to attention and saluted the colonel, who offered a gentle salute in return.

“At ease men,” Sink instructed before turning to the officers, “I knew it was bad when I was getting a call from Dike.”

Lipton and Welsh needed to bite their cheeks to hide their amused smiles. “We’re not sure what to do, sir, or if anything can be done…” Buck replied to the colonel before taking a step back - the blonde gestured for Lipton to step up, an instruction to inform Sink of their predicament.

“Carwood, tell me exactly what you saw.” The rest of the gathered men leaned in as Sink spoke, anxious to understand what was happening.

“Ten men went into a foxhole while we were getting shelled, sir, but the foxhole was completely empty when I went to check on them afterward. There was absolutely no trace of anyone being in that foxhole, sir, and now we can’t find any of the men I saw go in.”

The older man nodded in understanding, silently processing Lipton’s words. “Who all went in?” The NCO repeated the names from earlier, ending with Captains Winters and Nixon. Sink simply looked down at the snow. “And you have no idea where the hell any of them went…”

“No sir,” Lipton replied quietly.

The colonel simply let out a sigh and shook his head, “I’m sorry boys, but since it was during a shelling and they were last seen going into a foxhole, the higher-ups probably aren’t going to authorize a search party,” he sent a determined look to the men, “I’m going to do everything I can to push the request through, but I better not hear of anyone taking matters into their own hands.” Before getting back into his Jeep, Sink turned to Lieutenant Dike, or rather, where Dike should have been. “And where the hell is Dike?”

“We don’t know, sir, we looked for him before you arrived but didn’t find him,” Welsh chimed in. Sink rubbed his forehead in irritation before turning to Buck and Welsh.

“All right, I’m making this an official order. Lieutenant Compton, if Dike isn’t to be found and a decision needs to be made, your company comes to you. Harry, you’re second in command. You kids do what you think is right. You’re good soldiers with smart heads on your shoulders.” Sink nodded to the officers and saluted the men before getting back in his Jeep and driving back to Regimental HQ - the poor man put his head in his hands, his most trusted officers were gone without a trace, and there was virtually nothing he could do to help them.

As if on cue, Dike returned to the company, “What are we all standing around for? We have a line to protect!” Dike crescendoed his voice to try and be more authoritative, but his efforts fell flat. Eyes rolled and voices groaned as the gathered men all dispersed and returned to their assigned duties - well, all except for Babe, Talbert, Smokey, McClung, Shifty, Alley, Grant, and Popeye. As everyone was trying to leave, Smokey grabbed the sleeve of whoever he could.

“Y’all, this isn’t right, we need to do something,” the machine gunner pleaded in a hushed tone.

“You heard Sink, though, there’s no way they’re gonna authorize a search party,” Moe replied, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Popeye took a beat before he chimed in, “...why do we need to wait for authorization?”

“Because only a general can authorize a search party,” Talbert answered the Virginian - while he did not agree with the policy at all, he knew that there was no getting around it.

“But didn’t Sink say that he left Buck and Welsh in charge if Dike isn’t around? They’re not the type to snitch,” Grant offered to the conversation, scrunching his shoulders up for warmth like a turtle retreating into its shell.

“Hell, they might be happy to help out,” Gordon affirmed the NCO. The men looked around at each other with uncertainty - what if Dike found out? Or Peacock? To be honest, it was probably worse for the latter officer to discover the plot. Thomas Peacock tries his best to be a good captain, but these efforts cause him to be rather heavy-handed with the rules. If Peacock were to hear of the plot to find the missing soldiers, he would surely either tell his superior officers or try to stop the soldiers himself.

“What if we get caught?” Shifty asked nervously - while he wanted to help his friends, the poor boy was nervous to hatch a plot like this.

“We can’t just do nothin’! We all know they’d do the same if it were any of us out there!” The man from Philly interjected, earning Babe a smack on the head from Grant.

“Where would we even start?” McClung asked the group.

“Well, best thing to do would be to investigate the foxhole and see if there are any clues,” everyone turned in shock to see Lipton returning to them. “I needed something from CP, and then I noticed all of you still over here, I figured you were up to no good,” the first sergeant said with a smile, earning him a loving slap on the back from Grant and Johnny Martin. The rest of the afternoon was about to be spent brainstorming, at least until one of the men needed to take their turn watching the line.

All of the men felt nervous, but especially Babe. Guarnere is his best friend, it would be one thing if Babe knew that he was wounded, even killed, but not knowing what happened to Bill was eating away at Babe worse than anything he had ever felt before.

~~~~~

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 (coming soon!)

Taglist: @b00ks1ut , @blueberry-ovaries , @bucky32557038ww2 , @claudycod , @dontirrigateme , @easycompany123 , @emilee1421 , @executethyself35 , @hanniewinnix , @ithinkabouttzu , @jump-wings , @panzershrike-pretz , @stolen94 , @themysciraprincess , @xxluckystrike

Thank you so much as always for reading and stay tuned for Chapter 8! 😁

#band of brothers #hbo #hbo war #easy company #should've been born later nix #band of brothers fanfic #easy company x oc #my writing #emily shut up #edward heffron #babe heffron #BaaaaAAAaAaaaAaaAAAAbe #carwood lipton #clifford carwood lipton #buck compton #lynn compton #harry welsh #chuck grant #floyd talbert #skip muck #warren muck #alex penkala #smokey gordon #darrell c powers #shifty powers #earl mcClung #one lung mcclung #popeye wynn #robert wynn #James alley

[wynndynights]

𝔾𝔼ℕ𝔼ℝ𝔸𝕃 ℝ𝔼𝕃𝔸𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ𝕊ℍ𝕀ℙ ℍ𝔼𝔸𝔻ℂ𝔸ℕ𝕆ℕ𝕊

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: 𝙼𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚓𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚜, 𝙴𝚛𝚣𝚊 𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚎𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙹𝚞𝚟𝚒𝚊 𝙻𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚎𝚛

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙼𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙹𝚞𝚟𝚒𝚊'𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝.

𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜: 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝! 𝚃𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚛𝚣𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚘𝚋𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜. 𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛!

𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢

❀When you first get together, Mira would likely want to keep your relationship a little more quiet, at least for anyone outside the guild. It’s inevitable that the news would get out amongst your guildmates, but when it comes to the public eye, she doesn't want it spreading too fast. This is to keep you from having any trouble more so than anything else. She’s a famous model and extremely popular wizard, and she probably has more than her fair share of crazy overly obsessive fans that would be filled with jealous rage over the news. She fully believes you can handle yourself, but she sees this as something she can do to take care of you even when she's in a physically weakened state. Her form of protectiveness is unique, but it shows that she cares.

❀Get ready to have the entire Fairy Tail guild ready to throw hands with you at a moment's notice if you ever upset her in any way. Even so, for as overprotective as they can be, they're all very glad to see her as happy as she is anytime you're around.

❀Mira is very very sweet, and overall just an amazing person to spend time with. She never runs out of stories, jokes, or things to talk about, so no matter what you're doing, you’ll definitely never have to worry about getting bored. You can't count the amount of times you've spent entire days hanging out with her behind the guild's bar just serving drinks, helping clean up, and chatting about whatever topics first came to mind. If you're not a very talkative or chatty person, she doesn't mind in the slightest. She would never force you to carry on a conversation, but you should be prepared to do a lot of listening. In her mind, a one sided conversation is still an exciting and wonderful conversation if it's you she's getting to talk to.

❀She loves having you help her in the bar and around the guild hall. If not for the conversation, then just for the help and company. She loves the job she does for the guild, and it never lacks as a source of entertainment with all the shenanigans that occur, but whether she admits it or not, It would definitely get stressful sometimes. Having even just a little bit of help takes a lot of weight off her shoulders. Plus, getting the work done faster just means all the more time off to spend together outside of the guild hall.

❀She's not one for super elaborate dates. She doesn't mind going out to nice places or having planned activities, but some of her favorite time spent with you is when you can just take some time to relax together. She loves at home dates, just eating home cooked meals, chatting about your days, and resting after a long day of work. When you do feel like getting out of the house, she really enjoys quiet late night walks.

❀More often than not, whenever you do have the chance to have a meal at home, her siblings will join you. Elfman and Lisanna both look up to you a lot, and really enjoy your company, though they probably wouldn't admit it out loud for the sake of keeping up the tough protective siblings act. From the start though, you became such close friends with both of them that you're already practically part of the family. They’re hoping to keep you around for a long time, and definitely run your secret ship fan club.

❀Mira really likes letting you style her hair for her. It's very relaxing both before heading out into the chaos of a new morning, and afterwards to help wind down from the excitement of the day. One of her favorite things to do is lay with her head in your lap and let you just play with her hair however you want. She has definitely accidentally fallen asleep like this a few times. She also loves this in the reverse. Whether you have long hair, or short, she just likes playing with it, running her fingers through it, or even just resting her hand on your head.

❀She has a very playful side to her, and you’d be surprised by the amount of pranks you'll have to deal with on a day to day basis. A particular favorite anytime she wakes up before you once you're living together is changing into either one of your guildmates, or some other friend or acquaintance of yours, and waiting watchfully for you to wake up. Almost every time, you end up waking up to the sound of her being unable to muffle her own giggles, and almost every time, you still end up falling out of bed in tired baffled confusion. She always apologizes and checks in to make sure you're alright after though and then makes you breakfast to make up for it. At least every once in a while, she'll ask you for help with jokes or pranks on other guild members. Sure you get into trouble, but nobody can stay very mad at the two of you for long.

❀She likes having your company when it comes to performances and photoshoots. If you can sing or play an instrument, she would be absolutely thrilled to have you up on stage with her when she's performing at the guild or city events. Even if you can't, just being able to see you at the front of the crowd or backstage behind the curtains gives her a big energy and confidence boost. When it comes to photoshoots, she just likes being able to see you nearby while she's doing them. While it's one of her jobs and you've never had any problem with it, she has some very showy shoots sometimes, and now that you're together, she just feels a lot better and more comfortable with those particular types of shoots when you're around to keep an eye on things and cheer her on.

❀A relationship with Mira is signing yourself up for a serotonin overload. Not a day will go by that she doesn't make sure she's gotten a good deal of smiles and giggles out of you. Seeing you happy makes her happy, and vice versa. She's very affectionate and loving, and generally just a very positive person to be around. You're never going to have to feel lonely with her around. You get an amazing sunshine girlfriend, two caring and supportive siblings, and the whole guild family backing you both up to boot.

𖤓For starters, Erza is definitely the most quiet about your relationship of these three. She prefers to keep your relationship less public, not for lack of loving you, but actually quite the opposite. While she definitely doesn't mind those close to you knowing that you're together, announcing every little detail of your relationship for the world to hear makes it feel much less intimate to her. She believes that your love is something that should be shared between the two of you, so even if it's no secret that you're in a relationship, she's not one to go parading information or bragging about it.

𖤓Despite this, she actually has no problem with simple acts of PDA as long as they're not too intimate. While she's far from being the type to go clinging to you in public, she actually quite enjoys having physical contact with you while out and about. Holding hands, linking arms, resting her head on your shoulder or vice versa while seated, or simple kisses on the cheek are some of her favorite things, though she may not admit it out loud.

𖤓Erza’s also definitely not one to go hopping from relationship to relationship. With her past, she’s not letting herself become 100% emotionally invested in any one person unless she can truly trust them to stay by her side and return those emotions and trust. If you’ve managed to work your way into her heart, you can expect to be there for a long, long time. Even with the unpredictable lives you live, she has no fear in saying you're someone she would like to spend her whole life with.

𖤓Especially at the start of your relationship, Erza won't be one for talking about feelings much. She thinks verbal affection and communication are extremely important, but would shy away from deeper emotional conversation by instinct. Especially with any questions regarding how she grew up, she initially waves them off and avoids the topic whenever possible. She trusts you immensely, but she feels that the emotions of her past are hers to bear, and feels a lot of guilt about letting that weight fall onto others.

𖤓Further into your relationship, however, she feels much more comfortable allowing herself to be vulnerable around you. Be it physically or emotionally, she trusts you to see her and lend her support in her weakest moments. This goes both ways, as well. Just as you're there for her, she'll be there to lift and support you through the hardest of times with unwavering devotion.

𖤓She thinks communication is one of the most important things in a relationship, so you rarely have to deal with any conflicts between the two of you lasting very long. In the case of any disagreements, while she isn't opposed to giving you your space when you need and want it, she thinks the best thing to do can be to just stay in each other's company in silence until you're both ready to talk through the problem.

𖤓Her love languages are definitely quality time and words of affirmation

𖤓She has a lot of somewhat unusual hobbies and passions. She'll pick up almost any activity that strikes her interest at any point in time, and nothing brings her more joy than seeing you express interest in those same things, even if just to humor her. You support and invest time in her odd endeavors, and in return she's happy to try out any hobbies and interests you pick up as well.

𖤓She places a lot of value in the time she spends with you, and therefore likes to spend as much time as she's able to with you. She enjoys having you tag along on jobs with her, be those solo jobs or with the rest of the team. Whether you're a strong fighter or not, your support is extremely meaningful to her especially in tough situations. When you're unable to tag along on jobs with her, especially if they're longer ones, she enjoys writing you letters or sending you back souvenirs.

𖤓Expect to have a LOT of dates out to cafes or bakeries. If you are a fellow enjoyer of strawberry cake, be glad that you are one of very few people she would allow to share her cakes with her. If you are not, that just means more for her, but you'll be sitting around for a while waiting for her to finish. If you can bake those cakes yourself, oh boy be ready because there's definitely no way you're ever getting rid of her now (though you're insane if you’d even want to).

𖤓The rest of the guild has a tendency to hide behind you and rely on you pretty heavily to calm her down in some of her scarier moments. She has a hard time saying no to you, so you're definitely the person to go to for anyone trying to escape her wrath for any given reason. That being said, sometimes if they really deserve it, it's best to just let her dish out punishments unless you want to be dragged into them too.

𖤓All in all, while Erza has her more intimidating moments, she can be an extremely gentle and caring lover. She can be a lot of fun to be around, be that at home, at the guild, out traveling, or on jobs, you'll definitely never be bored in her company. Every day is going to be an adventure with her, but you're going to get your fair share of love in return for putting up with the shenanigans that seem to follow her wherever she goes. Being in a relationship with her is not something for the faint hearted, but it’s undeniably well worth the trouble.

★Juvia is by far the most open about your relationship. If someone around you doesn't know you two are together, they definitely will by the time you've left. She doesn't mean to overshare or brag, she just finds a lot of joy in expressing her love for you and making sure everyone she comes across knows how much she cares. She also feels a certain sense of security in being able to say that after so long of being alone, she has someone who loves her just as much.

★She can be extremely insecure about both herself and your relationship, and tends to need a lot of verbal affirmation to keep her from getting into her own head. She was bullied so often as a child that it's very easy for her mind to spiral to dark places. However, having you around always helps clear away some of that gloom, especially if you are willing to help talk her through whatever may be bothering her at any given point in time. Most of her doubt comes from herself rather than from anything you do, so giving her compliments or pointing out things she does well is always a huge help.

★This goes for jealousy as well. We've all seen how she can be when she feels like something may be threatening your relationship. She can be extremely protective and over reactive about anyone else spending too much time around you. While it will take her quite a while to get used to getting along with your friends without feeling threatened, she'll come around a lot faster with extra reassurance that that's all they are. Now if a stranger were to flirt with you, that may be a whole different story. Be ready anytime you're out in public to have to hold her back if anyone tries.

★Another of Juvia's love languages and one of her favorite things in the world is gift giving. Sometimes her gifts can be a bit on the odd side, but she just enjoys giving you tangible tokens of her appreciation. She'll make you meals at home or pack you some if you have to go out for the day, bring you home trinkets or objects that she says reminded her of you, or make little craft projects to give you for special occasions. Reciprocating this and giving her gifts in return may cause her brain to short circuit. She never gives you gifts with the intention of having the favor returned, so when you show up with any gifts for her, it always surprises her and brightens her entire day.

★Adding to the note of her love for making meals for you, she's surprisingly a very good cook. She can make a bit of a mess in the kitchen sometimes when she’s scrambling to decide what to make or frantically get meals ready to surprise you with, but even when it's a bit messy, everything tastes amazing. She absolutely loves cooking food with you too. It tends to help keep things a bit less messy when she's working together with you and has you around to help pace out the cooking process a bit more. Whether you're a good cook or not, she always enjoys having your help. She would also eat any food you make her even if it’s the biggest culinary disaster in history.

★She is also huge on physical affection. She's not always the most composed or best with words, so she'd much rather express her feelings through physical touch. Wherever you go, she always wants to be holding hands, clinging to your arm, hugging, snuggling, or just having some form of physical contact with you. In private, this is even more true. Hopefully you enjoy snuggles and kisses, because you're probably going to be smothered in them. Nothing makes her happier after a long day than coming home to curl up and fall asleep in your arms.

★Juvia enjoys dates that take place outdoors. Now that she's able to enjoy sunlight, she likes to do so as often as possible, and it's all the better if she's enjoying it with you. You'll be eating at lots of outdoor restaurants and cafes, taking walks in the park, having picnics, and cloud gazing.

★Juvia also really likes training with you. She'll take it easy on you of course if you're not all that strong. She doesn't want to hurt you, but your presence motivates her to work harder and makes her even stronger, so especially sparring against you, she has a lot more confidence in herself. Same goes for cases where she's training with or sparring against others. If you're watching, it's like a massive strength boost for her. She tries to go on long rants about how the power of love gives her strength, but everyone knows she's actually just extremely determined to show off and look cool in front of you.

★It can be a handful getting her to prioritize herself every now and then, especially if you're hurt or in any danger. Juvia would put her happiness, health, and even life on the line for you without question, so you may have to put a lot of effort into getting her to actually take care of herself as well. Making it a sort of trade off is a good way to start with her. Take care of her the way she takes care of you, and over time it will help her to recognize her own value and importance. This still probably wouldn't stop her from throwing herself in harm's way if it came down to protecting you, but she can be much better at rationalizing situations where you're in any sort of trouble now.

★While she has her many ups and downs, Juvia is overall very sweet and loving especially when you're willing to put in the effort to show her you care. Even though she can seem overbearing at times from outside perspectives, she just wants to show you how deeply she cares about you, and returning that deep love and devotion is one of the best ways to put her more at ease and calm her down. Many people may not quite understand or view your relationship as normal, but you boost each other up and give each other strength both physically, mentally, and emotionally, and that's all you could ever ask for in a partner.

All works belong to @wynndynights. Please do not copy, translate, or repost. Reblogs are welcome!

#✮Wynndy Writing✮ #✉Wynn's requests✓ #fairy tail x reader #fairy tail #mirajane strauss #mirajane x reader #mira x reader #erza scarlet #erza x reader #juvia lockser #juvia x reader

[hermitsandcrafts]

BACK ON MY WYNN AU: Joel Smallishbeans

Trapper Joel who is the Worst trapper that has ever been, but is Amazing at close combat, similar to how a Fallen Warrior would fight.

He attacks with heavy hits and takes high risks but is so awful at having foresight with his traps, but he won't let them go and just decides to go bigger the next trap (thinking the Xb demise death)

Maybe later on embracing how he truly shines and switching to a Fallen Warrior

#wynn au #wynncraft #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #hi ive got joel brainrot #i actually did make art of him for this au #will I post it? maybe #probably not #thinkin I might write out for Etho next(boat boyysss)

[etirabys]

there's a little demon in my brain that, every 200th or so time I think about having kids, says, "give them the diana wynne jones childhood. it sounds low effort for you, and she turned out so well"

#rambl #dwj #(diana wynne jones is an amazing writer whose parents neglected her‚ and were eccentrics who had a lot of Weird Old Books in the house) #(she grew up reading those Weird Old Books and you can tell that from her writing)

[evenstar-s]

diana wynne jones on tom bombadil 😭😭

#i love her writing #lotr #tom bombadil #diana wynne jones

[outpastthemoat]

for the three sentence prompts: howl & sophie—sophie locks herself in the bathroom

So this is why Howl spends so much time in here, Sophie realizes with grim satisfaction once she’s alone: The door to the castle bathroom is solid oak and a foot thick, allowing almost no sound through; she can only faintly hear Howl pounding away on the other side of the door and plaintively demanding that she open up and let him back in, for pity’s sake, Sophie, he hasn’t even put on concealer yet, and Morgan won’t stop crying—

“Morgan wants his nappy changed, that’s why he’s fussing, and you can be the one to get your hands dirty for once,” Sophie bellows back as she busily turns on the bathtub faucet and begins dumping the contents of Howl’s fanciest bottles into the steaming water, and then croons to the door, in her most persuasive voice, “Aren’t you just the door to keep noises out, mmm?—That’s right, not a single peep, my good door, for the next two hours.” 

Sophie plans on emptying every single bottle of Howl’s perfumed bath oils and draining an entire spring of hot water before she comes back out.

#howl's moving castle #diana wynne jones #outpastthemoat fics #3 sentence aus #thank you!!! this was so much fun to write

[writingmaidenwarrior]

The Cards We Got Dealt Masterlist

All parts of the Sin Eaters AU in one place

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Epilogue

#writblr #writing #the cards we got dealt #masterlist #sin eaters au #wynne writes

[full-on-sam]

GUYS.

The Ideas Devil stroke again. I want to write a children's book and illustrate it as well.

Why I got an idea again, you ask? Chrestomanci by Diana Wynne Jones. That's why.

#creative writing #writing #writeblr #childrens books #diana wynne jones #chrestomanci

[kadavernagh]

Dead End || Regan, Elias, & Wynne

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Saol Eile PARTIES: Regan, Elias, and Wynne SUMMARY: After a couple of stumbling blocks, Wynne and Elias both manage to find Regan at the clinic. No one gets quite what they want. CONTENT: Self-harm

How do you tell someone they wasted their time crossing the Atlantic for you?

“That’s no excuse for an infection,” Regan insisted, as she finished wrapping the hand of a young banshee. The dressing matched that of her own hands hiding under her gloves, but this child – only 14 years old – needed her hand smothered in antibiotic ointment before she could be bandaged up. Regan was vaguely aware of the bell above the door jingling, sounding the next patient’s arrival, a drop-in like most. 

No one was screaming. It could wait. 

She stayed focused on the child, one who was probably more adept at existing as a banshee than Regan was. “It will slow you down. You’re thinking of it as punishment when it should be acknowledged as a tool. You help no one and nothing if you allow your hand to fester off. Tell your mother I said that.” Such an exchange would have afflicted her voice with fragility a few weeks ago. Not such now. Regan gave the young girl a dull nod, which around here, was as good as an official discharge. She still stuck to the paperwork, though. The old band-aid dispenser never did. She was better than that thing.

“One minute,” she called out to the waiting room (which was really just a bigger room abutting her one and only examination room, neither designed sensibly with the intent of being used as a clinic). The child left. She rolled off her bloodied gloves into the trash and frowned down at her bandages. How had she managed to cast a stone in a glass house when there was no glass to be found? Regan knew what would come next. The girl would say something to her mother, her mother would say something to Cliodhna, and Cliodhna would see the irony in Regan giving anyone advice, then coat the cruelty on her fangs, waiting for the right moment to–

There was a strange sound, clanging, like something metal falling. Regan rose to alert like an old, dreary hound from a nap – with little haste nor care. “I said one minute,” she repeated flatly, without irritation. Then, for good measure, she said it again in English just in case. Come to think of it, she didn’t detect the presence of another fae. Was there not another patient here for her? After jotting down a couple of encounter notes and filing them away in the solitary file cabinet (which, again, the dispenser would have never done), she finally turned to the open door to face who she expected was to be her next patient, if anyone was there. 

Except, it wasn’t real. Why was she seeing Wynne staring at her from across the room? Perhaps she really should call it a day if such phantoms were paying her a visit. But this Wynne was far more substantial than the other Wynnes, her brothers, the Jades, and Eliases that cast a flicker of doubt and then vanished; this one was not jumping around in her periphery or splitting from her senses upon recognition. Regan narrowed her eyes. Wynne remained both with and without her fís bháis, but she quickly flitted between the two anyway, now doubting her brain rather than her vision. Did the source of the delusion matter? It changed nothing. 

“You’re a stubborn one.” There was no amusement in her tone, but when she realized she had switched to English, as if this Wynne would not be able to understand otherwise, a tickle of something heavier rose up in her chest. She was quick to smother it out. “Anyone out there waiting behind you? At least make yourself useful, if you are going to be my tormentor for the moment.”  

-------

Something about this place reminded Wynne of home. Mostly in sinister ways, with the way death hung in the air and seemed to be part of every breath taken and move made. They understood why both Siobhan and Regan had mistaken them for their ilk and found that even here, it was doable to seem like they fit in. They knew animal bones, after all. They knew what it was like to respect death, to see it as something with as much purpose as life. They knew sacrifice.

And though these were all things they had escaped, they had twenty one years of experience with thinking in such a way. They fell back easily into it. If it weren’t for the people at home they missed, they might even grow filled with longing for a community like this again. But they didn’t, because they weren’t here for fun or play — they were here to help Regan as she’d helped them. They were here because places like these were bad, restrictive, perhaps even cruel at times. Because there was community to be found without sacrifice and constriction. And it was terrifying, to be somewhere so foreign yet familiar, to wonder if maybe – if they were sniffed out – they would become just another banshee sacrifice. 

They had found their way to the clinic, which was where Dr Kavanagh supposedly was. Wynne felt tense taking up space, but that wasn’t much out of the ordinary. They didn’t understand the Gaelic spoken anywhere, so they just did what they were good at — bow their head and keep quiet. The waiting room was thankfully empty, save for a bowl of bone-shaped candies. They were hesitant, trailing around and wringing their hands, growing increasingly tense at the sound of Dr Kavanagh’s voice, but eventually reached for one. Maybe Nora would like one. And really, they were curious. Curse their trembling hands, though, as the subtle attempt to take one singular candy led to the bowl clanging onto the floor loudly. It seemed nothing could be done quietly in this corner of the world.

They crouched down, starting to sweep the bones into a heap and pouring them back in a bowl. They were trying not to cry, were trying to gather the courage to just walk in the room that Regan’s voice was coming from. But eventually she showed up, standing in the doorway in a white coat that was stained with blood. Wynne dropped a bone candy and it skittered away and they raised to their feet. Mouth agape (this was rude — so they shut it the second they noticed), eyes searching for a source of the blood. Had someone hurt Dr Kavanagh? The way people had tried to hurt Wynne when they’d come back home? How did banshees dole out discipline? Was Regan’s mother like Padrig had been to them, responsible for her obedience and duty? They blinked slowly, confused by Regan’s words. “It – yes – I maybe am stubborn. And it’s just me. I can —”  They swallowed. “I can help. That’s what I’m here for! Not torment. To help. Are you okay? What’s that on your coat?” 

-------

Wynne’s voice came out of Wynne’s mouth. Which would have been grand, except Wynne couldn’t be here; it was impossible. Not only impossible. They couldn’t be here. It would be their death, or someone’s death (no scream – right, there was no scream). Regan thought of Hamstring, the lie, how she increasingly spoke of Declan with fondness despite Regan’s pleas to pretend she had no interest in the boy, the spare. How it would inevitably unravel in bloody strands. Good intentions only brought more death and more suffering; here, it was in opposition to Fate. 

“Blood… not mine.” She pointed lamely to the room behind her. “Clinic.”

Help. What a notion.

Wynne. Who should not have had the spine to follow her here. What happened? How was this even possible? Regan wasn’t sure why she was humoring it. The ham child snuck in with her luggage, but this place was not on any map. And did Wynne even have a passport (as if that was the most outlandish part of this)? No, this was some conjuration from part of her brain that she came here to ablate. For now, Regan would proceed under the assumption that this Wynne was just some manifestation of a mind gone rogue, of her longing for Wicked’s Rest (or rather, the people she left behind there– no, backtrack, do not think about Jade, do not get soggy again). She stared some more. She could not stop staring. When would the apparition vanish?

Regan’s eyes did not leave Wynne as she circled to the door, opened it a crack and flipped the sign. It now read: Dúnta. Scread más éigeandáil é. 

Her face stayed impassive as her mind raced. Don’t speak to the macallaí, her grandmother once said. They only cling more. They become real. And what was Wynne if not an echo, a ghost? Regan no longer heard herself calling back, so others, like Wynne, were offering their voices.

“If you’re real…” She started, tone flat yet steeped in skepticism, and she circled Wynne as she spoke, “...then you’re on the wrong side of the Atlantic. Are you aware of that? Do you know where you are at all?” What a foolish question. But then, she felt like a fool. She just wasn’t yet sure if it was for entertaining the possibility that Wynne was here, or doubting that they were. Saol Eile was practically impossible to find and enter.

But Reilly had found her a year ago.

“Prove that you’re really here.” On some level, Regan knew it wasn’t fair to ask something of Wynne when she had no idea what Wynne could even do to fulfill the request. On the other hand, what in the putrid ulcer was this?

-------

It wasn’t her blood, which was some relief. Wynne remembered that Dr Kavanagh was indeed a doctor, and that it wasn’t just part of her name and there was some reassurance to be found in that, even if it was slim pickings. Why were there people bleeding here? They remembered Nora’s wounds with a grimace, remembered the blood spilled at home. Spread on cheeks, drained from a chicken, a lamb, a youth.

They blinked. “Oh.” They swallowed. “Does it get … busy? Is it … good work?” 

Would the clinic look the same as her office, with the walls lined with dead things? The place that Wynne had come to without invite as well, bringing gifts. Their hands were empty now. No time for homemade yogurt and if they had found a dead bird, they were pretty sure another person would have taken it off their hands before they could have gotten it here. But they brought other things, didn’t they? Themself, though that wasn’t very spectacular. Elias, who wore his bleeding heart on his sleeve. (They had lost him, though, and they were trying not to think about the implications of losing a tall man among murderous banshees.) And then there were the messages from others who Regan and subsequently Nora had left behind, back at home. 

They took in the doctor as she circled them, saw the wings laying flat against her back and felt their breath get stuck in their throat. It tended to do that every time they saw a banshee with their wings out, a sight that filled them with awe. They hadn’t yet dared to ask any of them if they could fly. They hadn’t asked to touch them either. 

They refocused on Dr Kavanagh’s face and mouth and the words she was saying. “I … yes, I know, I saw it in the plane beneath me. I don’t think I ever saw anything prettier.” Wynne didn’t think that was relevant, but that too had filled them with awe. “I am in your commune. I – we, we searched for a long time. We sat and waited until we heard a scream and then we saw it, everything. Elias and me, that’s we. He’s — we got separated.”

Wynne was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how they could prove they were really here. “Um…” They crouched down and picked up a bone candy. Slowly they got back up to their full height and threw the candy at Regan, where it bounced against her chest and fell back onto the ground. “I’m here. Really.”

-------

“Some days. It’s fine.” Regan said tersely, still half-convinced she was speaking only to herself. Injuries she treated were mostly self-inflicted, which hollowed her out a little more each day. Back when Regan had lived here in the past, it took a couple of years before Cliodhna and the others trusted her to be able to do this, to have some sort of purpose beyond the great one being prescribed to her. It was simultaneously one of the few pockets of comfort here, and one that stripped away her pericardium the fastest. Her grandmother might have recognized that before Regan did. That might have been the whole point.

Wynne’s small voice was the gentlest she’d heard in days that felt like months. Even when Regan imagined others from back home (don’t, don’t, don’t), they did not speak to her like this. They were limited by what kindness Regan could extend to herself, which depleted like a skeleton getting picked clean by the hour. What would be left once the soft tissue was gone (please, wouldn’t it go?) would be perfect, stark, eternal.  

She frowned at the familiar vision, interloper, whatever they were. Regan would not have called this place a commune. That was Wynne’s term. And… we. Who– her heart thumped for a certain impossible answer. When it wasn’t that, surely that should have been better. Not really. Elias’s name was like a bone snapping in her ears. “What? You brought him with you? Are you mad? Both of you?” Even she was surprised by the lack of rote monotone… just when she had been improving. Sort of. Tiny specks of improvement awash in failures. Regan pressed her hand to her forehead. This headache had to leave her. Because it was that, right? A migraine. She had never had a migraine, but that was beyond the point. It was never too late to start (yes it was, you could be too old to succeed at something, it was easier to fail after so many wasted years).

Regan didn’t know what Wynne had in mind when they reached for one of the candies. Were they going to eat it? That didn’t prove a thing. But then it arced through the air and bounced like a bird hitting a window when it struck her sternum. Narrowed eyes filled black and met Wynne’s.

She did not want to think about what her grandmother would have done in response to the insult. A human throwing a piece of candy at a banshee. But she was thinking about it anyway. Would Cliodhna have reached for Wynne’s wrist and pulverized their carpal bones? Regan found her boot hovering over the candy, but… she bent down and picked it up instead, turning it over in her hands. Pocketing it. 

No. She could not think about her grandmother and Wynne ever being in the same place. 

But… were they? The answer started in her chest, twisted her stomach, and then made her brain feel like it had been starved of oxygen. Wynne in Saol Eile. How? She wasn’t sure yet. But clearly she should have tied more than only Jade to their words. A mass of questions formed in Regan’s mind and clotted there, but she couldn’t cough them out. Where was Elias? Was he somewhere safe? He shouldn’t be alone here. Was Wynne safe? Had they talked to anyone? How was this possible? And how could she even begin to ask about Jade? Should she? No matter the answer, it would be sharper than any blade. And Van, Erin, Metzli… even Emilio. The names started tripping over themselves. Her breathing, the same. She paced across the small room. Wynne was here. They hadn’t stowed away like the ham child. How had they even found this place? They weren’t safe. Had there been glass in here, it would have cut a thousand times.

“Wynne…” How do you tell someone they wasted their time crossing the Atlantic for you? How do you tell their heart that? “I’m not going back with you. I’m sorry.” Something heavy and thick welled up inside her chest, but there was no scream to lock in. “You… it isn’t a wasted trip, though. There is someone you need to take back with you. The ham child is here. I don’t know how you managed to find this place, but you will collect her, and you will leave.” 

-------

Maybe they weren’t the best person to judge whether Dr Kavanagh was happy here. Wynne hadn’t often seen her happy in Wicked’s Rest, after all — but there had been that moment with the rabbit or when they had brought the bird. Most of the time, though, she seemed as contained and closed as most things they had encountered in life and they’d accepted that much. But hadn’t Regan told her to demand more? Shouldn’t she demand more? 

Because despite them not being in any position to try and rule on her happiness, Wynne did have a feeling that Regan wasn’t happy here. She didn’t talk of her work the way she had back at home. She didn’t ask if they’d brought a creature of some sort. And then there was all Nora had said. (And maybe, as they often did when it came to the other, they were projecting — maybe they didn’t want her to be happy, because if she was happy that might mean that they would be happier back home.) 

They pressed, a little. “Do you miss your old job?” It was innocuous enough. Emilio had taught them, hadn’t he? Play the role of the naive. Was it playing when that’s what they were? They weren’t sure.

They remained standing there as Regan asked them about Elias, no flinch coursing through their bones. Part of them had wanted to, though, but they’d both known that Dr Kavanagh wouldn’t be happy if they showed up. Wynne hadn’t expected a hug and a tour. “He … well, we brought each other. I don’t think I could’ve done this alone.” They shrugged. They were quiet for a moment. “Maybe. But I think being here might also be mad. I don’t want you to be somewhere that’s bad for you.”

Though they hadn’t flinched before, they did feel themself tense in anticipation the moment they’d thrown that bone. As narrowed, inky eyes landed on them they shrunk a little, expecting to be berated and disciplined, to be told off, for Regan to mirror the elders they’d once had in their life. But for those people Wynne wouldn’t do this. For those people Wynne hadn’t gone after that demon, either. Regan was different than their former elders — she was better. But she was also – perhaps just like those other elders and certainly just like Wynne – misguided.

But the hammer didn’t fall, as it never did. Regan was kind like that. It would have been forgivable, had she yelled, but in stead she just picked up the little bone and put it away. They just hoped it was enough to prove they were there — Wynne wasn’t really sure how else to go about it as everything around them felt surreal. It felt surreal in Wicked’s Rest too, though: that’s just how they tended to feel about the world and their body in it.

Regan spoke again and said the dreaded thing, the thing they’d already known. They nodded, because they did hear what she was saying. It made sense to Wynne, who had stayed for years and years in a place that wished them dead. “I know. I mean, I knew you’d say that. But I am here to try anyway.” They thought of Nora. “I know Hamstring is here. She told me you don’t want to leave, but you also know she won’t leave without you. I think the same goes for Elias.” A beat. Did that go for them, too? Wynne wasn’t forceful, weren’t as determined as Nora or as brilliant as Elias. They were here, once, in a place where a perfect hole was cut out for them and they belonged. Where they were with people like them. They understood that Regan didn’t want to go, even if it was better. But they understood that Regan had left once before, just as they had. That there was more than what blood demanded. “Me too.”

Wynne didn’t like idle hands, so they knelt down, starting to gather fallen bones while looking at Regan. “Why do you want to be here?” They looked around. “What is there here that you don’t have in Maine?” They put the bones back in the bowl, they clinked merrily even though there was nothing happy to find here. “I … I understand duty. I understand sacrifice. I understand that home isn’t always kind but that it’s still home and that that isn’t a place you should leave.” More bones gathered. Why were there so many? Why did they feel so heavy, like rocks? They turned one over in their restless hands. “And that you feel you don’t want to leave. I just think maybe …” They swallowed. “There is more.”

-------

It hadn’t taken long for Elias and Wynne to get separated. With all the fantasticalness that was being surrounded by a bunch of fae, Elias forgot to stick to the buddy system. Which, par for the course, really. After rooting around for what felt like hours, he finally found himself captured by a tall, very serious banshee woman. She had long copper hair and piercing green eyes. Elias could find himself very easily lost in them if he wasn’t careful. He needed to be careful. “Who do you belong to?” She spoke plainly, clearly annoyed by his very presence. 

Elias blinked owlishly in return to the woman’s question. “Uh…” he trailed off, realizing he had no idea if Regan went by Regan here. “Great, you’re stupid, too.” The banshee rolled her eyes and tugged him along. “Come, we’ll get you checked at the clinic.” She insisted, hand gripping tightly on his arm as she forced him to follow. The clinic, that’s absolutely where he’d find Regan. He tried to stifle his enthusiasm. 

As he was dragged along, he caught glimpses of women with wings and fantastical things, but it wasn’t something he could stop and take notes about, no. This woman had him in a choke hold and was dragging him along to see Regan, the whole purpose of his mission here. As they entered the clinic, the woman shot him a withering stare. “Stay put.” She hissed before turning to Regan and Wynne. “I found this one wandering without a chaperone.” She spoke, her voice dripping with disdain. Elias looked over to Regan finally and gave a bright smile. He didn’t dare wave. He didn’t dare move. He was still stuck to this scary banshee woman.

-------

“I don’t miss, and I don’t want.” It was a lie that took a smaller bite out of her each day. At least Wynne registered no surprise at Regan’s refusal. This mission was dead on arrival. Normally, she liked that. Not right now. She didn’t approve of the mission. “So you’re aware this is mad, you’re aware of the ham child’s situation, and you have no idea what is keeping me here. Yet you will not leave without me.” There had been a pause before Wynne’s declaration, though, and Regan was curious what they had been weighing. Some weakness she could use to call Wynne back to Maine? The girlfriend, maybe. Others left behind. So many cared for them, as evident by what happened at Moosehead Lake. This would be at their expense, all of those people; did Wynne realize that? Did Elias?

Regan pulled a long breath through her teeth (she was not frustrated, she wasn’t) and hunched down, scooping up the candy with Wynne. Not to help. Only to rid the floor of hazards. And it gave her somewhere to look that was not into Wynne’s sad – and mature beyond their years – eyes. Wynne did deserve more answers at the least, and perhaps they could bring them to Elias and then home to others so no one else had this foolish idea take root in their brain.

“Like I said, I do not want. But if I go back, I will hurt people. I do not mean the temporary sting of separation. Not tomorrow, maybe not the day after, but it’s an inevitability. My grandmother always said control only comes with duty, and for us, that’s true. And why should Fate look kindly upon a rogue instrument?” Regan swept the last of the nearby candies back into the bowl and rose again, practically looking through Wynne. “We give up a lot for control. Nearly everything. If a banshee is… suitable, the lessons stick, the mind and heart quiet, and control is as simple as breathing. That can only be learned here.” She hesitated, unsure how much to tell Wynne about what went on at the cabin. Vague, as always, was where she landed. “I tried to continue what I was learning while in Wicked’s Rest. It did not work. It lost effectiveness. I lost effectiveness. Should I have waited until Jade exploded into millions of pieces against me? Or until I brought down a building? Until something terrible happened that I would need to live with for centuries? No…” She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. Speaking that name nearly choked her.

Regan crossed her arms, letting the weakness pass, but she could not completely shake it. Her voice grew quiet. “Here, I have the potential for more, someday.” But she would not want it when it came. “Does that–”

The door was thrown open and time seemed to slow down for a second, affording Regan three thoughts in quick succession. One, had they not read the sign on the door? Two, she needed to hide Wynne or at least be ready to provide an excuse for them being there. And three, it was Brenna, an acquaintance of her grandmother’s who seemed to be… strangling someone? Very tall. Male. Elias. Regan opened her mouth to protest but there was no telling how this was going to shake out yet. Give it a moment. Regan stood a little straighter – other banshees always stretched out her spine – and whatever weakness Wynne and Jade had drawn out was wiped from her face. Even with Elias there. Especially with Elias there, if he was to remain in one piece. The fool, what was he– “You were right to bring him here,” Regan cleared her throat, returning the Irish from Brenna. “Long and lanky, yes? It’s no wonder he’s unfamiliar; he probably sees little sunlight.” Lucky Elias didn’t know Gaeilge. Regan sighed, feigning boredom, and stretched new gloves over her hands. She stared down, making a show of wiggling each finger into the perfect fit as she spoke. Ready to do a full cavity search. “Leave him with me. I will do a thorough examination and find where he belongs.”

Brenna’s radiant hair swished as she turned to Wynne. That was bad. And, worse: Brenna’s eyes went dark as she searched for answers, clues, but she would not find any on the human. Regan’s mind jumped to a lie, however unnatural it felt – she had spared Hamstring some danger for now, and she might be able to do the same for Wynne. “I am preparing the human for an chéad scread.” Regan supplied it in English this time (at least the parts she knew the English for), so Wynne did not do anything rash to contradict what they did not understand. Her stomach felt molten at the flagrant lie, but just as she had with Cliodhna, she did not let it reach her face. “It will not be for some time – it’s for one of the children who came of age while I was gone. You won’t scream now.” Brenna seemed to accept this, and pushed a flailing Elias in Regan’s direction. Regan caught his arm and steadied him, not too overtly caring, only practical, given their company. Brenna switched back to English too, a show for the humans. She craved the drama, always did. Regan’s grandmother had some limited fondness for Brenna, but complained of her histrionics frequently. “Doctor. I changed my mind, it is good you’re back. We finally have someone to handle all of these humans. The old band-aid dispenser was not as thorough.” She waved a deceptively delicate hand toward Elias and Wynne. “Someone has to do it, right, this low work? It must feel like such a waste.” Regan didn’t have to respond; Brenna was already out the door, and when it slammed shut, she was left with the two humans. 

No, Wynne and Elias. Relief swelled inside of her that Elias was not only located, but here, safe, for now. It was short-lived when the reality of the situation became unbearably obvious. Her eyes lifted blue again as she shot the iciest glare between them, lethal enough to kill the dead a second time. The two needed to see how cross she was, because if anger was going to mark her failure right now, it was better brought to the surface where it might make them leave. If she was going to answer for something, let it not be their lives. “Wynne said you’re not going without me. I was telling them this is impossible, and you have demonstrated why. You just became human sacrifices.”

-------

Regan laid out the flawed plan and Wynne could only blink at it, the foolishness of it all. It was mad, wasn’t it? A lost cause? A problem with no solution. Wishful thinking and a reality that would never agree with that fantasy. Except they had been in impossible situations before. Wynne had spent most of their life preparing for a death that was inescapable, a fate that had been promised to them at birth. Life had been lied out for them and it had been that simple, that definitive. 

But they had left. They had left and yes, someone had gotten hurt. They had left and they’d stumbled like a newly born lamb, wide-eyed and shaky on their legs but they’d left and broken with that definitiveness. Regan had helped them with that. They looked at her, trying to find the right way to put that sentiment into words. Their thoughts were like the bones scattered over the floor. The other was better at scooping up, at putting things into methodical and clear words while Wynne was still scrambling, picking up bone after bone and trying to string a sentence together to explain what had brought them here. “This can’t be all there is,” they interjected, once.

And then the other laid more on the table than sheer logic — there was something like fear, too. Wynne wasn’t sure exactly how banshees worked, how this place worked, and that made it tough. How could they argue something they didn’t know? “I don’t … I just don’t see how this place can help, when back in Maine –” They breathed in. “You have people there.” They were trying to find the words still, but there was no point in the hunt any more as the door burst open. 

Their back straightened, eyes dancing from the strange banshee to Elias. Wide, questioning, wondering if he was okay but attempting not to give an inch. There was the Irish lilt again, the language that was impossible to decipher. They just stood there, waiting for the stranger to leave the room, hoping that she would and that they hadn’t brought any issues to where Regan now conducted her business. When she switched to English to address them, albeit indirectly, they didn’t speak. This was a role Wynne could fulfill, even if they didn’t know what an chéad scread was. They knew what being prepared for something was, and though they were ignorant, their experience came in perfectly. They barely registered the disrespect, watched Elias flail towards Regan and themself and remained that same thing they had been at home — head bowed, submissive, understanding that they were part of something bigger. They were just playing at it now, though. Weren’t they?

Weren’t they?

But then finally Regan spoke again, with cold eyes and an anger Wynne knew intimately. Not from her, but from others. They heard the words echo, those two last ones. Circling around their mind. Sacrifice, human, human sacrifice. Murder with no real purpose. Inevitable, the inescapable grasp of fate in the back of their neck like Padrig's meaty fingers digging in their flesh. And this time they had ran towards it. They paled, stumbled, wished the candies were still on the ground so they could crouch down again and become smaller. Their mouth opened, but it took a moment before a sound to come out, “No.” They heard how pathetic it sounded, how small and scratchy, how desperate. But the sentiment remained.

Regan and Siobhan had both told them that it wasn’t their fate to die, so why did this happen again, again, again? The knife at home, the ustras in the woods, the vampires in the barn, the monster that had attacked Van, and now this. “We won’t. And you — you won’t … you said.” They shook their head, not wanting to speak against fate when it was screaming at them. “You said to demand. That’s what we’re doing.”

-------

As soon as the banshee had left, so too did Elias’s inability to speak up for himself. So much had gotten him to this point, and he wasn’t about to throw that all away because some banshee decided they were now going to be a human sacrifice. A human sacrifice? No, Elias decided. Too long had he been a sitting duck for other people’s decisions. He went to engineering school for his family. He went to Ireland for Regan. He was done letting himself be tossed around from side to side like he was a boat on a stormy sea. As soon as the door shut, Elias’s face went cold and angry. “Regan, we’re here because you’re being fucking ridiculous.” Out went a happy-go-lucky Elias. If this quest had taught him anything, it was that if he wanted to get something done, he had to demand answers. 

“You came here because you decided you needed to be. Why? Because of someone else’s decisions.” He thrust his finger at the door he’d been pushed through by Brenna. “You’re here because you think you can only be a successful banshee by surrounding yourself with archaic views of the past. What about us?” Elias’s eyes widened, and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “What about your friends that you can call a family? Wynne, the freaky girl, and I are in Ireland for you.” He thrust his finger in Regan’s direction this time.

Elias’s voice dropped from the mounting anger to one of desperation and deep sadness. “I told you I’d do anything for you. This is me doing anything. You belong with us. With Jade. You belong in Wicked’s Rest where you made yourself be something more than what your grandmother told you to be!” His voice grew louder as he spoke until he was nearly shouting. He stopped, took a deep breath, and rubbed a hand down his face in clear exasperation. 

Poor Elias Kahtri, always wearing his heart on his sleeve, feels too deeply only to be rejected by everyone in his life. It stopped here. “We’re not leaving without you. And I’m not stopping until I get you to see that what you’re doing here is pointless. If these people cared about you, they wouldn’t force you into a box. I know this is what you think you need, but what about what the rest of us need?” He looked to the distressed and sullen Wynne and shook his head. He didn’t know what Wynne had been through, but he’d picked up on their clear nervousness and naivety about the world to know that there was something deeper he hadn’t been told about. That wasn’t his business. 

Elias stared down at the ground as he made his final point, hands balled into tight fists. “I came here because I decided some people are worth crossing oceans for.” His voice was quiet and nearly imperceptible as he spoke. Finally, he looked up to meet Regan’s eyes. “To us, you’re worth moving mountains for. I told you I would. This is me doing it. So don’t leave us to be sacrificed for some old-fashioned women who hate humans. Come with us.”

-------

Sacrifices. Regan already was one in her own right, carved out at the altar, and now they would join her. What else could she have said? Anything else would have gotten back to her grandmother. And then not only would Wynne and Elias be outed as fr– humans from Maine, but Cliodhna would have figured the same of the ham child, too. And then all three of them would have served a slightly different function, but would be dead all the same (what it would be, Regan wasn’t sure – perhaps they would be blown up as a demonstration to a child, or tossed in the tar pit, or given as an offering to the worms; each possibility made her blood drain downward as her mind flicked through them all). But Elias and Wynne could still get out of here before anyone started looking for them. Or they could hide away until they could be smuggled. It wasn’t too late. She just needed to knock some sense into their thick skulls (unfortunately, this seemed more like a trepanation situation, blunt force trauma only got you so far).

“This is not what I meant by demanding.” Had Regan needed any more proof that Wynne really was there, that would have supplied it. “You were supposed to make demands for your own life, demand respect from those around you and for yourself, so you are no longer satisfied with being pushed around and accepting what is given to you. But you don’t make demands of me. You don’t ask anything of me. Either of you.” The tight squeeze in her lungs would have been sufficient to punch out the lights, had there been any available for the role. What use was anything she had done here, any progress she had made, if she could not keep a lid on the rising tide inside of her? She tried to remind herself of that. Her fingers squeezed against the bandages beneath her gloves, but she only felt the hard jade ring around her finger, assaulted by ghosts both present and far away. 

They should have meant little to her. Maybe not nothing, not yet – it could take years – but why had practically nothing changed? It wasn’t working. Her stomach bled, she coughed water from her lungs for hours, she had struck herself until her cheeks were dry, but everything felt… backwards. Like the clinic was the oddity, Ireland the thing that was out of place, not Elias and Wynne. Ever the failure, she still saw familiar faces when she looked at the two of them. More than familiar. More than acquaintances. There was a harsh pricking in her sinuses and she was quick to refuse it. Regan’s eyes filled with black again, breaking the hold the ghosts had on her. Coward, she thought, knowing she was taking an easy way out of locking in any nascent tears. Did it matter? Not if it worked. She noted trails of darkness wafting from the examination room, bones at their point of origin. There was nothing over Wynne (they did not come bearing gifts like usual) and Elias was alive as ever. Let’s keep it that way, she reminded herself.

There was truth to what both of them said, and Regan rose to challenge it with all that she had to become. She tried to press her voice flat, to cram and twist her hand down on top of it like she could plug it with her palm, and perhaps there was some degree of success, an improvement from how she had sounded back in Wicked’s Rest, a facsimile of a heartless drone, but all she heard was the child Cliodhna knew her to be. “You come here knowing absolutely nothing and expect me to follow you out like some complacent leanbh. I serve Fate, not you. You don’t know why I came here, you don’t know enough to call anything archaic, and you assume I think anyone here cares for me or that it matters.” Regan had never once been under the illusion that her grandmother loved her. That anyone humored her presence for any reason other than her medical expertise and bloodline. She hadn’t come here seeking affection. The assumptions continued: calling her a person, presuming banshees hated humans (could hate anything). Any rising emotion in her voice was exterminated like she’d choked it with a cold fist. Under her gloves, she imagined blood soaking through bandage, and her heart finally, after minutes of attempting to get it to quiet, slowed. “I have already told you, I am not coming with you. I belong here. You do not.”

She could do this. She would. Elias was close, his big, sopping eyes boring straight into hers. And there was Wynne, sweet, timid Wynne, who had the fire of determination kindling in their eyes with every passing moment the word sacrifice still rang through the room. They would scrape away at her composure if she let them and she’d slide back into that marshy affectation; she would not let so many days of her own sacrifice crumble because of a few charged words and too much self-reflection. (Did the ring hear that? It ought to.) 

Regan could prevent this from becoming a complete failure. She knew what she needed to do because she had done it before: she had left, clenching a tangle of the heart’s veins and arteries between her fingers, only some of them from her own body. Her wings flicked once against her back as she turned away. If anything, didn’t they mark her as being something of this place? So let them have a nice, long look. Regan paused in front of the counter, sliding a key on it. She did not face them, and her voice remained stiff as the dead. “There is an upstairs. It will be dusty and uncomfortable, but there are a few extra patient chairs and a bathroom. I expect you to be silent while I have others here. Explain to anyone who stops you outside – as I recognize that you will need to leave – that you are being examined by me. I will arrange for your departure.” Before they died for their stupidity. Somehow.

Her body decided to give her one final test. It froze before the doorway. Her legs knew where the rest of her wanted to be, but this was why the body had to be trained, and it would be trained. Regan inhaled a long breath, her shoulders forcing themselves tight, upright, and she walked out on those who crossed an ocean for her.

-------

Elias did what no one ever had for Wynne back at home. He attempted to shake Regan awake, to demanded that she see reason, that this martyrdom – imposed by herself but her family, too – was something cruel. He was fighting for her in a way they weren’t sure how to do, even if they agreed with some of the ideas he vocalized. And it all seemed so simple, coming from his mouth. Like these were the easiest things to say and ask of another, as if he didn’t feel weighed down with the recognition that made it hard for them to breathe. They were glad he was here. 

Who were they, after all? Stumbling and uncomfortable, all too aware of why Regan was here and why she didn’t want to leave? Their mind traveled to Metzli, who had tied themself up in a small room out of fear of hurting someone. They thought of themself, never daring to step a toe out of line at home, afraid that even thinking of abandoning their duty would hurt their community. But Metzli had left the confines of that place and Wynne had turned their back and eventually made up for the carnage caused — or at least so they thought.

Responsibility and duty weighed heavy, but why should they have to constrict a person? They looked between the two, the difference in emotion that painted their features and they felt hopelessly powerless. They felt their chest grow tight at the prospect of remaining in this place where they might have to climb on an altar after all, and it being all for naught. Would Regan truly watch them die and stand by? 

They would like to think not, but they had been repeatedly disappointed in that area before.

So they were quiet. They didn’t have the speech that Elias had, were dumbfounded and struggling to verbalize what they did believe to be the truth. That there were alternatives, that there were always other ways — that it didn’t have to be the way others always said it had to be. 

But they glanced at Regan, “Shouldn’t you demand better too?” It was said quietly. “Shouldn’t you be respected?” That woman, before, she had been cruel. Nora had said they called Regan a baby. Wynne knew what it looked like to be respected — they had been, once. Sanctified and revered, considered someone of a higher ranking within the commune. They knew hierarchy. They felt it exist around them in this place. 

She was so clinical, so distant and hard to grasp. Wynne felt their voice die out again, just watched the wings flutter and waited for Regan to turn around. Maybe this would be easier without Elias here, who didn’t know about the demon, the sacrifices, the home they had once abandoned. Maybe they should tell him about it in the attic they were being pointed to.

They moved forward and took the key. There was a moment of hesitation and then they pulled their backpack towards them, opening up the front pocket to produce a few slips of paper. Written letters, more eloquent than their attempts at convincing Regan had been. “These are for you,” they said. They didn’t say any more, didn’t beg the other to stay. Some things took time, especially in a mind that was filled with teachings that might not be correct. Wynne knew this, even if they didn’t understand it. Most of all, they didn’t want Regan to be mad again.

They watched as the other left without the letters, silent and unmoving and struck with a look of defeat. Soon enough they’d remember how they had left in the end. How Metzli had left in the end. How Regan had left once before. They looked at Elias. “Let’s go upstairs.”

-------

There were so many more things that Elias had wanted to say to Regan, to make her see sense, but in the end, he’d done his part. He’d said his peace, and now it was up to Regan to want it. After all, how do you help someone unwilling to see reason? Who doesn’t think that they need it? You can’t. So Elias took Regan’s response with a blank expression as if he were receiving feedback from a superior. “Fine. Walk into a world where no one respects you. Walk away from everyone who cares about you.” He spoke, tone clipped and angry. 

Yelling at Regan would do nothing. It wouldn’t make him feel better either, but the way he wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her back and forth until she came around, he knew it wouldn’t work. She had to want it. And she didn’t want it. He didn’t say anything as Regan left and didn’t try to fight here anymore. He’d said what he needed to say. 

He looked to Wynne, who looked like they were battling a storm behind their eyes. They spoke quietly, and Elias nodded his head in agreement. He didn’t look up to Regan; he just kept his gaze focused on the floor. If he looked up, it would risk Regan seeing the anger in his eyes. He didn’t want to be angry at her. He wanted to be angry at everyone in her life, which led her to believe that this was what her life was supposed to be. Her life belonged wherever she pleased with Jade at her side. Not this, where creativity and personality were stifled in order to serve ‘fate.’ 

When Regan froze in the doorway, Elias’s face fell. He finally looked up at Regan’s frozen form and sighed. “We came here because we love you. Not because we think you need to serve anything.” He finally said after the anger had dissipated. “Just think about what we’ve said. Read the letters.” He finally tore his gaze away from Regan and looked to Wynne and nodded, a look of defeat clear in his eyes. “Yeah.” He said meekly, shuffling for the stairs. “Let’s… go hide.”

#writing #c wynne #c elias #self harm tw

[herearedragons]

The Warden's New Clothes

As the glow of the healing spell subsides and Wynne removes her hands from the injury, Kyana dares to glance at her side once again. What was a miserable sight mere moments ago is now a perfectly healthy patch of skin, no trace of the burns left on her torso or left arm.

It’s not the first time she wishes Wynne had been there when they climbed the tower of Ishal.

There is, however, a problem remaining. Where skin can be fixed, fabric not so much; the remains of her sleeve are hanging in sorry tatters and the state of the left side of her robe is definitely indecent. Adding insult to injury, the enchantment has evaporated from the garment, the fabric hanging heavier and colder than usual.

“Blast it,” Kyana murmurs - and startles, suddenly remembering that Wynne is still there. Have her manners spoiled so much that she curses at a senior enchanter without a second thought?

To her relief and wonder, Wynne does not express any disapproval, simply nodding:

“We should get you changed. Boys - “ the enchanter steps out of the corner they had retired to so that she could heal Kyana with some privacy - “One of you should go back to the mages’ quarters, see if there are any clothes intact in the wardrobes. We need a new set of robes, as close to Kyana’s size as you can get.”

It’s a strange experience, hearing Wynne give out orders to… yes, to her team; Kyana has to admit to herself that she has come to view them as such. Even Zevran, new as he is to the group. He had sworn his loyalty to her, personally; surely that counts for something?

Speaking of the assassin - it’s his voice that she hears answering Wynne.

“What about this one? There’s barely any blood on it - “

“Maker, ew. Really?”

The second voice is Alistair. At that point, Kyana decides to see what the fuss is about and joins the rest, holding the left side of her robe together with her hand.

The scene which appears before her is self-explanatory. Zevran is pointing at a corpse on the ground. Wynne and Alistair are looking upon it disapprovingly.

The body belongs to the blood mage they just fought. Her clothes are… unusual, definitely not of the Circle, and yet familiar. It takes Kyana a moment to place the image, but then she remembers: the vault. There was definitely a robe of a similar design in there, hanging in a glass case. Was it the same one, or just a similar item? Either way, if she’s right, it’s old, it’s from Tevinter, and it probably bears a powerful enchantment.

Kyana reaches for her magic, just slightly, but enough to confirm one half of her theory: the dead woman’s robe is very enchanted.

She definitely wants it now.

“Zevran is right,” she says. “We don’t have time to search the rooms. This will do.”

With that, she begins to direct her magic further. The force of telekinesis lifts the body up from the ground; Kyana lets it rotate mid-air for a few moments, getting a feel for the object she’s about to manipulate. Then, the same telekinetic force begins undoing buttons, buckles and clips, pulling elements of clothing off of the corpse. 

Part of her is glad that Wynne is watching; she’s been honing her precision telekinesis for a while. Nobody in the camp, not even Morrigan, seemed to appreciate it much - but, surely, the senior enchanter understands the work that has gone into this.

Another part of her wonders whether she’s supposed to be more hesitant to undress a dead body, but it’s not a very useful thought, and she lets it go fairly quickly.

If Kyana had to guess, she would say that the whole process takes less than two minutes; definitely less time than it would require to search the living quarters again.  

The new robe fits tighter than the Circle one, mostly due to panels of some stiff material sewn into it in several places. It's definitely more restricting, though Kyana finds that she doesn't mind that much; it feels almost like wearing armor, or, at least, what she imagines wearing armor feels like.

It is strange, though. She somehow feels more dressed than she ever was before; the Circle robes were so familiar that they were almost a part of her, but this... this is alien, a tangible barrier between her and the rest of the world.

“Well… You know, it is quite pretty,” Alistair says. “It’d be even prettier if I could unsee you taking it off of a corpse.”

“Shall I remind you where your armor came from?” Kyana asks dryly.

“That’s different! The armor’s not touching my skin. Also, I cleaned it before putting it on.”

“I also cleaned it! Who do you think I am?”

Alistair raises an eyebrow.

“Cleaned how?”

“Magic.”

“Well, I hope those spells were effective, because otherwise - that’s pretty gross.”

“If I may, Warden,” Zevran pipes up, “Please do not take this the wrong way, but… may I have your old clothes?”

Alistair gives him a look.

“Is there a right way to take this?”

There seems to be some kind of lewd joke implied - she’s been getting better at noticing those kinds of things - but presently, Kyana doesn’t have time to unpack the exact meaning of it. If Zevran wants the rags, he can have them. 

She uses a small burst of telekinetic force to pick up the robes and toss them to the assassin.

“Many thanks,” he says.

The sound of tearing fabric follows immediately after. It takes her a moment to understand what he’s doing, but when Zevran tears a narrow strip of fabric from the robe and starts wrapping it around his right hand, Kyana finally notices:

“Your gloves are ruined.”

They’re in a similar state to her old robe; the top part is almost entirely burned away. Was he the one to finish off the Rage demon? Likely so, considering the singe marks on his arms and the rest of his armor.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Zevran says. “If you see nice leather gloves on someone here, do let me know.”

He finishes securing the remains of his right glove to his hand and prepares to tear off another strip of fabric.

“…Wait.”

Kyana opens one of the pouches on her belt. There, nestled alongside a few healing potions, is a rolled-up pair of leather gloves.

“Here.” She holds them out. “I bought these a while ago, but didn’t end up wearing them that much. They’re warm, but not that good for spellcasting.”

Zevran stops mid-tear.

“You’re… giving me gloves?”

“Well, I don’t use them. Do you not want them?”

“No, no - I did not mean to sound ungrateful. I’ll take them.”

As he approaches to collect the gloves, something about them seems to catch his attention; Zevran lingers for a moment before finally taking them from her hand.

“These are Dalish, are they not?” he asks.

“Yes. I bought them from a Dalish craftsman.”

Zevran turns the gloves in his hands, runs his thumb along one of the stitches - appreciating the craftsmanship, maybe?

“No one has simply… given me a gift before,” he says finally. “I shall treasure these. Thank you.”

It didn’t occur to her to think of it as a gift, but technically, he’s correct.

It’s just as well. If they’re of a better use to Zevran than to her, he should have them.

“It’s nothing,” Kyana says. “I hope they fit.”

#dragon age #dragon age origins #warden amell #zevran arainai #wynne #alistair theirin #herearedragons writing #oc: kyana amell #me: I don't think I have the time and focus to write right now #also me: writes 1200 words about my warden getting changed #I did say the change was getting its own post #I was considering writing it as just another hc post #but there were so many little things I wanted to include that it was literally easier to write it out #sure I'll tag this as zevkya #it is the beginning. after all #oh also #tw: corpse #I did say I came up with the most Kyana way of giving him the gloves. which is on day two of knowing him. #with no context of what that means to him whatsoever #he does explain later

[muertarte]

TIMING: A little bit after December

PARTIES: @ohwynne @muertarte

SUMMARY: Still learning how to handle their emotions, Metzli has an outburst with a client. Wynne overhears and checks in.

WARNINGS: References to emotional abuse and domestic abuse

Metzli struggled to keep their breath from speeding up, the sensation of crushed velvet sending unpleasant shivers down their entire body. They rubbed their fingers against themselves, the friction warm and rough enough to keep the vampire from having an outburst. Everyone had been skeptical about their return to work, only a week after they had been set free and allowed to experience the full spectrum of their emotions. The collective continued to overwhelm Metzli at a considerable rate, and despite Leila’s urging to continue to rest, they felt as if they had something to prove. 

What the curator hadn’t expected though, was for an artist to come in and demand for frame changes. It was bad enough that he had an attitude and brought in examples of what he wanted to use, but then he forced Metzli’s hand onto the texture that sent alarm bell’s ringing in the vampire’s ear. They supposed he’d wanted them to enjoy it with him, see exactly why he absolutely needed the changes done immediately. The smell of his cologne just added insult to injury, and Metzli ripped their hand away with a bit too much force. The piece of velvet went flying, smacking the artist square in the face. 

“I…I-I…” An embarrassing moment was taking place, a few swear words even tossed around at them, though Metzli thought it reasonable for him to react such a way. That’s why instead of giving the same energy back, they had the forethought to force their stiff body to move out of the room and into their office. That’s where things were allowed to implode and fall apart, and they slammed the door before anyone could follow inside and see them begin to pace. 

Something was different about Metzli. Wynne wasn’t sure what to make of it — sometimes they weren’t sure what to think about the older vampire. They were elusive at times, mysterious at best and though they had shown them nothing but kindness and patience, they also still remembered how Metzli had ripped off heads and locked themself away afterwards. If there was any proof that there were good people who could do bad things out there, they were it.

They didn’t fully understand what was happening until the commotion between Metzli and the customer was reaching a louder volume. Wynne winced at the ugly words, peered quietly from their own workstation to see what was happening. The customer was huffing loudly, face a little red where Metzli had hit them and they bit their lip. He muttered something about going for a ‘fucking cigarette’ and stalked away, leaving them with two people having stormed off. They considered just staying where they were, but in stead quietly moved to Metzli’s office.

Their knock was tentative and soft, as far as a knock could be those things. “Metzli?” They remained, not wanting to open the door. They knew how bad it could be if someone opened a door when you wanted to be by yourself. “It’s me. Wynne. Are you alright?” 

The knock at the door pulled the vampire out of their panic for just a moment, the pacing abruptly coming to a stop by the door. Metzli swallowed, shutting their eyes tightly to force the stress back into themself. It was no use. “Wynne.” They strained to say, tugging at their hair in hopes of that working instead. Still, the panic remained, and the silence that lay between Wynne and Metzli began to gain weight with every beat. They decided to break the silence, voice unable to keep steady and their morals keeping them from lying.

“No.” They laid their head against the door, the coolness of it helping just slightly. “Much…stress. Much, much stress.” The worst part of it all was that now it felt like Wynne was being burdened with a struggle that Metzli felt was a lone one. They were supposed to learn to keep their composure and manage their emotions, like any other person in the world, and yet, they had an overreaction that was now costing a friend. That alone was unfair, but the two of them were also in the workplace, which felt even worse, somehow. Still, with a sigh, Metzli opened the door just slightly, if only to offer Wynne some sort of reassurance. 

“I give apology, Wynne. I, um…I am sorry.”

Two instincts were at war within them. One told them to not stick their nose in the business of their seniors and not prod Metzli in a time like this. It was disrespectful and they were overstepping. Another, stronger instinct was one born out of care. Wynne seemed incapable of just letting someone be upset, especially if they felt a connection to that person. It was that instinct that won out now, which is why they were carefully eyeing the vampire.

“Oh.” They frowned at the answers that Metzli gave, and it was still on their face as they opened the door. “Is it okay if I come in? You don’t have to apologize to me.” Maybe to the customer, but that would come later. Wynne figured that they could kind of understand the other’s predicament. They’d burst out into tears at their previous job aplenty — their emotions hardly ever exploded into anger, after all. But it was similar, wasn’t it? A spilling over of emotion. Sometimes it was all too much. It almost always seemed to be too much. 

“Maybe you can talk about it? Sometimes talking about it helps? Puts things into perspective.” They gave a reassuring smile. “Or so I’ve heard.”

A small, stressed sigh trembled out of Metzli when they saw the frown displayed on Wynne’s lips. Every marker pointed toward displeasure for what the vampire had done, but they were telling Metzli otherwise. They swallowed, quietly tugging at their hair while they attempted to decipher everything from all the reading they’d been doing. People often said one thing, meaning something else. Or sometimes they hide their feelings and lie to themselves so as to not hurt others, subsequently lying to others. Which was bad. Very bad. Metzli hated lying, and Wynne knew this. It wouldn’t make sense for them to do so, even to spare their feelings. This, and they looked to be genuine in their suggestion. 

Metzli paused, opening the door further to let their friend into the office. They could trust Wynne, knowing they would do what they thought was right, and having seen firsthand that they were similar in more ways than one. “Um…” Words escaped Metzli once again, and they tightly shut their eyes to shroud their vision in darkness. The thing most familiar and quiet, a place they could escape to for a sense of calm, if only for a moment. “Perspective,” They parroted once their mind seemed to finally settle. “You are maybe right. Always…” With a deep inhale, Metzli took a few steps back and shuffled awkwardly to their chair. 

“So wise.” They offered a crooked smile, fidgeting in their seat and wringing their fingers together. “And you are so young. I have heard this means there was forced growth in childhood.” That in itself was a quiet tragedy to realize, a cold and shaky sensation filling Metzli’s chest as sorrow grew with understanding. They knew what that was like, better than most, but there was a stark difference between them and Wynne. While they had become a beast that bristled with excitement at times with blood on their hands, Wynne was a lamb set to slaughter when they were casted out into the world where their kind heart would be exposed. Metzli’s growth ended with a monster, and Wynne’s with a person. What right did they have to relinquish their worries onto them? With another breath, Metzli avoided Wynne’s gaze and stiffly adjusted their seat. 

“Did you…have to grow with force?”

They were relieved when Metzli let them into their office, glad that this bit of trust was granted them. Wynne thought for a moment about the place where Metzli had locked themself away. While they understood a wish to be alone, that sometimes it was just easier to choose purposeful solitude — they also knew there was nothing to gain in it. And so they were glad Metzli was letting them in, even if it was just in their office. They moved in, closed the door behind them softly and eyed the other’s unease. Their lips pushed together in an awkward yet sad smile.

As the other called them wise they frowned, not wanting to disagree and start some kind of debate and yet feeling like they should at some point address the fact that Metzli was wrong to think that. For now, Wynne sat down in one of the free chairs, figuring it best if they were at the same eye-height. “I try.” They bit on the inside of their cheek as the vampire said something about forced growth. They wanted to pivot the conversation back to Metzli, to the overflow of information, on what Wynne could do to make it all more okay, but it seemed their wanting was futile.

They blinked at Metzli for a moment, quiet and wide-eyed. Their question was forward and direct, lacked any beating around the bush. Wynne did prefer it like that — they just weren’t sure what the answer was. But they gave it some thought and nodded. “I guess so. I had a lot of responsibility from a young age.” Ten years old, being told by Padrig that they’d have to die in a decade to serve their community. Sanctified from that day on. “I don’t think I was given what I needed when I grew up. It wasn’t good at home.” They shrugged. “That made me think about stuff a lot. About death and dying and other things.” That was a vague answer. “And because I had a lot of responsibility people often asked me for advice, back home. I think I had to act older than I was, I guess.” They were quiet for a moment. “What about you?”

Metzli didn’t like that Wynne had to grow quickly, and they especially didn’t like that they didn’t have what they needed to prosper properly. Children were strong but also so fragile, absorbing too much too quickly about who they should be and what treatment they should accept. Thus teaching others how to treat them, even if it was to their detriment, maybe especially to their detriment. 

By the sounds of it, Wynne was taught to care for others and not themself. Be seen and not heard. Metzli didn’t like that, and hoped that they could provide an environment where Wynne felt comfortable and like they were being listened to. They couldn’t tell if that was the case though, considering how Wynne tried to take back the role of listener. But perhaps, Metzli thought, if they really wanted to ask and were given the same treatment, it was really about the give and take. Love’s currency being one of reversal, a never ending cycle of reciprocation. Metzli could do that. It was the selfless option that helped them both.

“I do not remember being happy. In trouble much. I…I feel a lot back then. Like-like right now.” Emotions seemed much more intense right then, though. Metzli wasn’t sure if the difference was because their memory was fuzzy or because they were feeling it all at that moment, but they didn’t think that mattered. They chose to focus on the present. “Parents did not like when I behave like,” Metzli gestured vaguely to themself, “This.” They breathed shakily, moving on. “Did work. Father was carpenter and my mother work with bone to make things to sell. Emotions are better when I work. When my hands…” With an awkward smile, they swallowed and attempted to joke. “Hand is busy.” Metzli sighed, a frown replacing the poor excuse for a smile. “They like it better like that and would enjoy it when I was locked in my room. Um…” Their voice cracked. “Did you have a room?”

They understood by now that parents didn’t always do what was best for their children. Wynne had thought all of their struggles were to blame were because of them. That maybe because of their unusual situation, they had felt an ugly distance and lack of safety with their parents. But since they’d ran, they’d talked to others. Alex with her parents who would’ve hated her for what she was. Emilio, whose mother sounded so cruel. Teddy and their demon worshiping parents. And now Metzli, revealing that their past had also lacked the kind of parents they all deserved.

They felt heavy with it, the reality of it. And as Metzli explained how their parents hadn’t liked it when they got emotional, they felt a hint of ugly recognition. These weren’t the kinds of things they wanted to have in common with people. How many times had they been reprimanded if not punished for the same? “That’s not fair. That we – that you got in trouble for things like that. It’s okay to feel things, I think.” Was it? No matter how soft and malleable they were, they still tended to hold their emotions tight to their chest where they grew heavy until they cried in solitude.

“I understand. I think. I also like it when my hands are busy. It’s why I knit a lot. It makes me fret less.” They were quiet for a moment. Metzli locking themself in a room made a little more sense now. It was what they’d known before. They nodded. “I had a bedroom. There were also other rooms. Rooms for contemplation by yourself.” Wynne looked at their hands. They wished they were knitting. “Home wasn’t a good place. I don’t think yours was either.” They looked up again, gave a sad look to the vampire. “It’s okay, though. To be upset. I tried not to be upset for a long time and in the end that just made the emotions worse.”

It was supposed to be good to have things in common, wasn’t it? Connections were built on that, and similarities were meant to help them thrive. So, why, Metzli wondered, did the tethers feel so frayed and worn? Why did it feel like the strings were made of some cruel material? It felt so weighty and beaten, but holding steady as its root was tied to the core of their beings? For a while, Metzli pondered on that in silence, managing to nod along with Wynne’s statements. But they were wrong about one thing, and they were sure it wasn’t due to Wynne’s knowledge being lacking. They were led astray. All of them were. Cass, Leila, Nora, Siobhan, and so many more. 

Their childhood dwellings weren’t home. Wicked’s Rest was, though. Metzli smiled at that realization, a tear surprising them as it glided down their cheek. They didn’t even bother to wipe it away, cementing that what Wynne said is true. It was okay to be upset, to let yourself feel things even if you didn’t understand them. So much younger than them, and yet Wynne had given them more wisdom than they could’ve found within themself, a mind over a century old. That was to be expected given Metzli’s newborn freedom, a birthing of their true self. They’d have to be a little kinder to their process and to themself if they were going to acclimate to everything, and it was thanks to Wynne that they were able to calm down and come to the realization. 

Sometimes the kindest hearts truly did come from the cruelest places.

“Thank you, Wynne. You are…” A sniffle snuck up on the vampire, and they cleared their throat quickly to continue. “A good person.” Out of respect, Metzli  bowed their head for a moment before finally making brief eye contact with Wynne. Their eyes were watery, but much more calm as the fog faded away. “Would you like to take your break with me? We can go to the room I keep locked for myself when I feel like sketching or painting. We can…” They took a steadying breath, clenching and unclenching their fist below the desk. Anxiety was a hard feeling for Metzli to process. The most difficult one, in fact. But they had a feeling it would be good for both them and Wynne to connect while they busied themself with a task. “Make art together. Next to each other. If you will like. We can both talk and have music. Leila has shown me good music.”

There was something so bittersweet about the quiet understanding that hung in the room. Wynne found it was good to speak to people who could understand to a certain extent, but it also made them feel exhausted. A kind of bone tired, as if their limbs were somehow made of a heavier material than simple bone, making every step harder to make. Sometimes it would feel like they’d sink through their mattress with the weight of it, the knowledge that people had suffered and would suffer, that for every inch of understanding they felt and were given someone else had also been in pain.

And now Metzli was crying and they weren’t sure what to do with that. They looked at the vampire who had years and years on them, who must have learned so much in those centuries and who called them good. “So are you,” they said, and they meant it. They had called Metzli a good monster once, but they were more than that. They had learned that over the months working with them, where they were no longer just the silhouette of the person they had been before. That gallery guide who’d come for their rescue, who’d ripped off heads of vampires while doing so and had locked themself away after. 

Wynne nodded at their suggestion, patiently waiting for Metzli to finish speaking. There was a tenseness in their breathing they knew all too well. “I would like that very much.” It would be intimidating, to make art next to Metzli, as they weren’t anything of an artist. Wynne put their creativity in their cooking and crafts, sometimes in the notebooks they filled with scraps of thought. “It would be nice.” They tried to catch the other’s eye. “You know what I do? When I feel – when my chest feels like it’s becoming too small to hold my lungs?” They lifted their hand, placed it flat against their own chest. Over their heart, pressed against their ribcage. “I try to breathe to my hand. To just … feed it slowly, small breaths. Sometimes someone else will put their hand there.” They’d do that at home. Breathe in tandem. Grow calm in tandem. And though there might have been crude reasons for such exercise, Wynne found they still worked for them.

The compliment made them stiff, a slight tremble trickling down their arm and straight into their hand. “I…” A breath hitched in Metzli’s throat and they closed their eyes tightly as they remained quiet and listened to Wynne. Seemed as though they understood what their idiosyncrasies meant, even if Metzli didn’t most of the time. “Okay,” They replied with a nod, eyes relaxing but still closed while they moved their hand over their chest. It helped, more than they thought. 

Each breath loosened their shoulders, the coiled and sharpened weight lifting away as well. With a stuttered inhale, Metzli opened their eyes and smiled ever so slightly. “Thank…you.” They blinked slowly, communicating their gratitude and affection further. Much like a cat would, having no ability to use words. Just as they couldn’t, not anymore. 

Rising silently from their seat, Metzli took a final breath before rounding their desk to meet Wynne at their seat. After a few brushes of their thumb against their palm, they extended their hand to Wynne. It was an offering of trust and acceptance. Not only was Wynne an employee, but they were a friend, too. Now more than ever, it seemed. Metzli hoped Wynne would understand the sentiment and take their hand so they could lead them both to the painting room. It felt like it could be a new beginning. One they both needed.

One they both had hoped for.

Something about it felt wrong, teaching Metzli a tactic they had used back at home. But it had worked, this way of breathing, both in the commune and outside of it. Wynne watched Metzli focus on their breathing and they hoped it worked. A small bit of relief seemed to wash over them and then over Wynne, too, who didn’t want their friend to be in any kind of stress.

“Of course,” they said. “I’m glad it worked.” Maybe one day they’d reach out and place their hand on Metzli’s, should this kind of thing happen again. It would be nice if it didn’t, but experience learned that these kinds of moods came again and again. Sometimes it seemed the best thing to do was to just find ways to deal with it, rather than get angry about the existence. It was what they were trying. 

They watched Metzli get up and then extend their hand. Wynne didn’t hesitate before taking it, fingers wrapping around the other’s and getting up with them. United they moved to the painting room and they were relieved and glad, once more faced with the proof that they had made the right decision by leaving. That they had made the right decision by visiting Metzli when they had locked themself away. It was nice, to work somewhere where there were friends. Where they felt seen and not watched. To be able to simply coexist with someone, without expectation or demand.

#wickedswriting #writings #bloody ink #c: wynne #wynne and metzli #overreactions #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw

[hermitsandcrafts]

Because the festival of the blizzard has come up, I have some thoughts on it so time to share :]

Now my favorite character has always been Asher, the deja vu quest npc. I've always thought out of anyone to take over this quest for him it would be one Jimmy Solidarity

Imagine: Jimmy just minding his business near Time Valley, touches ONE item, and zip zop stuck in a time loop without realizing it. I think the comedic moments plus angst potential are all there. (NOT EVEN TO MENTION OLD MAN MARTYN POPPIN IN TO CHECK ON JIMMY EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE)

The best part of this? Almost anyone can fit the mold of who helps Jimmy in his predicament. Flower husbands? sure! Rancher duo? Yup! I just feel like it fits the many many many team ups of one Jimmy Solidarity

#wynncraft #wynn au #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #BRINGIN THIS AU BACK FOR THE FESTIVAL! #im totally not writing a google doc for this(the liar says)

[ulfrsmal]

Last Seven Lines

I was tagged by the lovely @alexagirlie, thank you! :D

Rules: post the last 7 lines that you wrote. Then tag others.

Halsin’s blood rushed in his veins like it had on Haarlep’s bed, wild and quick and singing an alluring song to Astarion’s senses. His mouth opened slightly as he stared at Halsin’s powerful torso dripping water, chest heaving despite his attempts to hide it, hair wet and fully loose. He looked like part of his surroundings, like he was truly one with nature. Never had Astarion understood the druid’s drive – need – for it better than he did now. The fact that Halsin was undoubtedly hard under the water was secondary, though. “I… had fun, Astarion,” Halsin started. It was entirely the wrong angle.

As you can prrobably tell, this is part of the second chapter for my latest Halstarion fic, The Game. It's been slow progress, but this askgame motivated me right up to continue! >:D

No Pressure Tags: @vveissesfleisch, @captainkilly, @joseopher, @its-tea-time-darling, @aadmelioraa, @wildwren, and @solinarimoon! Have fun lovelies :D

#7 tags for 7 lines <3 #no worries if i tagged you and you aren't writing anything tho #or just don't wanna do this #wynne rambles #thank you for tagging me #astarion x halsin #halstarion #bg3 #videogames #my writing