#I was so tempted to write “no they actually just permanently fade”

[mud-castle]

Do the guardians get to go to starclan when their time is up?

Yep!

[french-toast-enjoyer]

Writing Share Game:

Rules: share some writing!

thanks to @rkmoon for the tag, here's a snippet from a symbrock fic I'm not sure is good enough to continue! I also submitted it to @funkycave so if you see it on their blog hey, same hat. lemme know if I should actually write this:

To the world, he was once known as Ediliaphon. The scribe of creation, and the angel of all to be known by man.

Now his collar simply reads “Eddie”. A bastardization of the name given to him by the god he once loved. The God who had abandoned him for daring to question his divine plan.

The God that had left him there, in the writhing city of Pandemonium with every other rejected angel. Tossed like an unwanted, unruly pet. Weighed down with a rock and thrown in a river to die.

And he would’ve died.

For nine full days after the collapse of Lucifer’s army, Eddie and all other now fallen angels had lay in the depths of what was now hell, paralyzed with the never-before-felt sensation that would come to be known as pain.

That fateful period had brought to birth several new, unbearable concepts.

Suffering came forth in the physical anguish of broken bones and hellfire-charred skin. Agony crept into the faces of those lost, regretful angels. And annihilation–

It claimed half of all lower angels on the first night.

Without a master or cause to tie themselves to, without faith in either their love or hatred of God, many of the regretful, lost souls had simply ceased to be. Succumbing to their injuries with no hatred to empower them to stand up and keep fighting.

But for those who did hate?

It disfigured them. Morphed their wounds into splitting heads. Their faces became permanent snarls, their halos had cracked into horns, and their bodies had melded into darkness from days of bitterly crawling on their bellies.

Eddie was lucky. Eddie had avoided both fates, somehow.

It eluded him, how he had fallen without shattering his soft white wings. And how he felt so little in the advent of his fall that malevolence had not consumed his broken, once divine body.

Much like the others, however, he was frail. Fading in real time without a deity to uphold him.

On night one, his wings had wilted, night two, his skin began to burn.

He'd have given up forever to touch God again. Just once.

There were nights when he’d remember his time as a scribe. Appointed by the Father to pen the histories of all that had been created. It'd been so brief, yet so blissful. To think he gave it all up, out of pride. Out of the want for more accolade than the ultimate honor of witnessing the birth of all the world. What a fool he was.

He would’ve died. But on his knees, something had found him.

It called itself Venom. A manifest of sin much like those conceived with Lucifer’s first betrayal. In perpetuity, it was meant to be the lord of treason. Of biting the hand that feeds.

He'd been despondent when the entity had found him. Useless. Too tired to curse God and too prideful to beg for forgiveness.

It had sensed the angel’s weakness. Known it to be the closest thing to a lamb this wretched pit could offer. Only in appearance, of course.

Much like that which tempted Eve, it'd crawled to the angel on its belly, whispering sweet nothings about divinity and reclamation. Offering him protection in exchange for devotion.

Eddie, feeling bloody tears welling in his eyes, knew that his choice was either to obey, or so begin the process of fading away completely.

He'd looked to the heavens. They couldn't be seen. God was not coming to forgive him, much less save his life.

In short, he'd agreed.

So began his life, given up to the first and last entity that'd shown him mercy.

Herein begins the true fall.

I'm gonna tag @spibbb and @bunsofhoney because I like what I've seen of their writing! as always, no pressure to participate:)

[buckysgoldenheart]

Angel in the Dark

Demon!August Walker x Reader

Summary: After a one-night stand, or what you thought would be one, a demon drags you to his world and forces you to grow wings like he has so you would have to stay with him, unable to permanently return to Earth.

Notes: (So this is like a one-shot that is little snippets/summary of something I might turn into a multi-chaptered fic. I’m not sure if I’m going to do that yet or if anyone would even like this idea, but if it seems a bit choppy, this is why.) I know its been an age and a half since i posted anything, but college, ya know? Also to those who have made requests, I have started all of them and they are to be posted next. I just started this fic a long time ago. I havent written anything for a while so it might actually kinda suck. 

Warnings: Implied smut, kinda. Unhealthy attachment on August’s end. If I make this chaptered then there would be actual smut. I think cursing. Eventual Stockholm syndrome if continued.

Words: 1713

 Angel in the Dark

You didn’t believe in fate, not really. You didn’t believe your life was predestined or anyone else’s to play with. It was yours alone, to make choices, good or bad. Only you decided when you did things and where you did them. And no one would have ever been able to convince you otherwise, until you met him.

Seeing him in that club, kissing him before you knew his name, now you couldn’t help but feel was in some way a trick, manipulated in his favor. That maybe bumping into him, quite literally, was his orchestration. Maybe whether you spoke to him or not, he had his sights set on you, and a one-night stand was never going to just get to be a one-night stand.

It was all too simple. Meeting you and not taking advantage, kissing you but following your lead, sleeping with you like you meant something to him. It didn’t add up. You could sense the kind of man he was; dominating and possessive. Too dominating and possessive to be as gentle with you as he had been. And all of it fell into a perfect line for what you now realized he wanted from you: not just sex, but more; nothing less than your life. But admitting all of that to yourself was entertaining the possibility that you were stalked like prey and any training at staying away from bad men had been a useless waste of time.

-------------------------------------------------

It was the third day, third of eight. August promised the pain would subside as the days passed, but so far he was proving to be a liar, not to your surprise. Every few hours, the wings ripped your skin wider to accommodate their size as they grew from the inside of your body pushing out. At three days, they were now the span of a couple feet, shining an opalescent white in the glare of the sun.

As you laid on your stomach, frozen in place against the mattress, wings bloodied and draped across your back with your eyes closed tight, you tried to understand the depth of the pain; how it was able to hurt the way it did. The feeling couldn’t compare to anything Earth may dare to offer. So different, so unnatural in its entirety, and indescribably excruciating. It was merciless, not letting you escape, not letting you find the will to walk without your bones threatening to crack. You could barely speak for fear fire would thrust itself up from your lungs and incinerate your throat. It was all-consuming, swallowing your body whole instead of localizing where the skin of your back had shredded open.

“Just a few more days,” August said, and you flinched at his voice. Every time he spoke it was a shock he was still there beside you, with his massive, black wings hanging over the back of the chair he sat in. Those monstrosities weren’t attached to his muscled back when you met him; nowhere in sight when he was in your bed.

August dabbed at your broken and bleeding skin with a cool cloth, eliciting little whimpers passed your chapped lips. “I know it hurts, Angel.”

“Don’t—" You forced out despite the heat in your throat, acid on your tongue, waves of nausea you knew would follow. “…C-Call me that.”

He sighed and continued to wipe the blood from your naked body. “I wish you wouldn’t say that. When the time is up, you’ll feel so much better about this, about me, and you’ll see how beautiful they are. You’re already so gorgeous, the wings will only add to your beauty.”

“I di-didn’t want--

“Don’t talk, Angel,” he said. “I know how you’re feeling about this right now, but humans are not allowed to live in this world. I had to do this so you can stay.”

You screamed as the wings tore your skin open a few more centimeters, and August quickly scooted his chair closer to brush the hair from your face.

He softly shushed you the way one might soothe a kitten, before leaning down and placing a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “It’s ok. I’m not going to leave your side.”

You would have slapped at him, pushed him away with all your might if you had the strength, but your lungs were tightening, body burning as if it had been licked by the sun. You were dying, slowly morphing into a horrid creature from fantasies, leaving behind any trace of humanity. In your veins you could feel something coursing and altering your DNA. You knew you still looked like you, for the most part, but you weren’t you, not anymore. All because you met a man who got attached and wouldn’t let you go. All because he couldn’t remain in your world and decided with certainty that if he couldn’t be in yours, he would drag you to his. A place some believed in and some didn’t, a place no one could prove the existence of, now your iron cage.

 ------------------------------------------------

It was five more nights of torture before you felt like you could really breathe again, and even then, the oxygen was just as foreign as the pain you had trudged through, and you found little comfort in it fully filling your lungs.

“You’re awake.”

His smooth voice drew your eyes away from the scenery out the bedroom window; the first glimpse of true, heavenly beauty you’d seen since he brought you here. But you weren’t convinced it wasn’t an illusion crafted by his devilish fingers for your comfort. Much like his own beauty, a trick tempting you to call off your desire to leave this world and go home. You tried your best to ignore how perfect he looked; the curls of his hair, the scruff of his jaw, the black wings you first saw the night you met him when they had suddenly appeared only after you’d slept together.

“And you’re standing already. I hoped to come help you, but you’re clearly much stronger than I was after I had to grow my own wings.”

Your eyes flashed in anger before your tore them away from his, back to the rolling hills overlapping one another outside your window. The breeze rustling your hair, the chirp of the birds, the glisten of the sun off the small lake dotted in the landscape, distracted you from August’s approach. You stilled at his breath hitting the back of your neck, but when he slipped his rough fingers through the layers of your shimmering feathers you couldn’t contain the shiver that shot through your body. His own black ones ruffled when his skin touched his creation.

“So beautiful,” he whispered.

“I’m glad you’re proud of your work.”

August let out a puff of air, a weak laugh. “My work? Angel, this was all you. I knew they would be beautiful if they were going to be a part of you, but you really outdid yourself.”

Twisting your body fast, you met him chest to chest, your eyes burning with a heat to match the devil. “I outdid myself? You forced this on me. You injected me with that—that poison without my permission.”

“And you survived. Not many can say the same. You’ve come out stronger.” Fingers trailed through your feathers again and you ignored the heat it sent to your core.

“I’ve come out of this wanting to kill you more than I did before,” You said, shifting the wing back and away from his reach.

Without a moment to pass, August gently grasped your chin between his thumb and index finger as his gaze landed on your lips. “That will fade with time,” he whispered, then inched his face closer. You shoved him away just before his lips could meet yours, and August stumbled back with a chuckle. “Certainly stronger.”

“I’m not going to let you kiss me,” you snapped.

“Not today, it would seem.”

“Not ever again!” Somehow the words felt wrong, each one more sour than the last. Wrong, as if your lips called to his and a portion of your mind was so disappointed at the fight you were going to force it through by trying to keep yourself away from him. But it was a small portion, and the rest of you was much stronger.

“We will see, Angel,” He crossed his arms. “You and I have eternity. One day you will wake up and realize I am all you have, I am all you want, and this memory will be lost. All you will know is me and my touch and our world.”

As he spoke, his eyes held a gentle sincerity that you wished wasn’t there. You wished the blue of them wasn’t so calm and casual and certain of the way he was feeling. Shaking your head, you matched his stance. “You’re a monster,” you said. “You really are, and here I thought I’d seen the worst of monsters, but clearly not.”

August slowly stepped back into your space again, catching you off guard with a flush to your cheeks as he loomed over you. But you kept his stare, even with your back against the wall, wings spread against the stone. “You may breathe your sweet words all you’d like, Angel, but it changes nothing,” He said, running a knuckle down your cheek. “If I am a monster, I am your monster, and I’m not going anywhere.” Smiling, his eyes glanced at your lips again. “Luckily for me…neither are you.”

Tags:

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[sabraeal]

Provocateur, Prologue

[Read on AO3]

Written for @krispy-kream in honor of her birthday. Many years ago, back when I first joined fandom, I came up with the idea for an Obi Works For Izana AU, and both Sharon and I ended up writing small pieces of a much larger whole. And now FINALLY...I’m actually writing the very beginning 🤣

When it comes down to it, in terms of area and amenities, the royal dungeons has some of his last few flats beats.

There’s light, for one. He’s never liked basement apartments-- he’d take a stifling attic room over a place with only one exit any day-- but the windows here are high up on the wall, enough that he can watch the sun paint his cell floor as the hours pass. They’re ground level, at least by the foot traffic outside of ‘em, and with how loud these guards gossip, he’ll know whose girlfriends are pregnant and who’s nursing a nasty boil by shift change. Just like sitting in a tavern for a few hours, only with less ale.

There’s a cot too, straw-stuffed and a little too soft, with a blanket that doesn’t even itch. Seems like it might be warm too, for when the nights get cold. Not that he has an intention of testing out that particular hunch.

The guard down the hall is decent in the way authority figures never are; when he calls out to ask where his piss bucket is, the man-- boy? It’s hard to tell beneath those helmets-- ushers him down a hall to a water closet, and when he pops out, reminds him to take care to wash his hands. He’s prompt about mealtime too; when supper comes, the man says to expect three square and leaves him with with a dinner that would put most publicans to shame.

All in all, this isn’t the worst trouble he’s gotten himself into. Worlds better than that stint he’d had in Eurikenna’s gaol. Or that night in Port City.

Still, he’s got no plans to linger. No point in sticking around for a punishment when he's got no interest in redemption. But he’s got a prince to wait for.

Oh, His Highness might say he’s above getting his hands dirty, might look down that noble nose at a man like him who makes his living in trade, but he’d seen his look. Not the first, when his little mistress was watching, all puffed cheeks and disapproving brow, but the second, that glance over his shoulder as the Big Man frogmarched a dirty rat down into the dungeons.

That one was a man who had found the right tool for the job. Hands don’t stay clean without gloves to cover them, especially if they mean to hold a mistress who collects trouble like some ladies collect hairpins. If he wants to keep his side piece quiet, it’s only a matter of time before he’ll have to make a statement. And nothing says don’t touch what’s mine like a few accidents. All he has to do is wait out a royal conscience.

The light fades as he waits, just the last stretch of dusky light yawning on the sill. It’s almost time for all good little princes to be in bed, but this one-- this one will be working instead. The hand that grabbed him had been stained with ink and calluses both; the kind of man who longed for action but was stuck behind a desk. He’ll be up late, managing men and supplies miles away on paper, but in his head--

Oh, in his head, he’ll be thinking about the man he’s left to rot in the dungeons. The one that might be just the right fit for what he needs, for the jobs he can’t give that giant or the pretty girl at his side. It’s the sort of idea that’ll eat at him when the lamps are low and the night is quiet, and oh, how a conscience can gnaw when there’s no more work to feed it. There’s a reason he’s never idle. Not usually, at least.

He casts a long glance down the silent hall; the guard sits at his table, log book spread in front of him, another smaller one laid atop. A novel, by the slack-jawed look that’s slapped across his face. In Eurikenna, his reputation had preceded him, and they’d bound him hand and foot, bolting his wrists to the wall and his feet to the bench. Viande had put him in a cell with a single window and stone on all sides, his only escape leading into a moat rumored to be prowled by sharks.

Here he has a single guard and bars he could probably squeeze through if he skipped a meal or two. It’s insulting to be so underestimated-- or it would be, if he wasn’t already planning to stay. He’s paid out his room at the inn for a week; a few days to enjoy the impeccable food and passable mattress he’s got here won’t hurt-- just as long as he makes it back before the innkeep tosses all his worldly goods in the gutter. And if he does need to make a quick escape--

Well, it’s hardly the first time he’s slipped the noose. But it won’t come to that. Younger Highness is on the hook.

The door to the dungeon clanks open; it’s a softer sound, barely loud enough for him to hear, but he hasn’t made a name for himself by being the sort of person who only hears what he ought. The guard’s gone-- book too-- and his hand itches to have something that ends with a point in it. He should have known, this was all too easy.

A shrouded figure sweeps through the threshold, prowling with the easy confidence only men born to power possessed-- or a professional. His hands flexed, too empty. He’s a loose end, an embarrassing stain on a proud man’s reputation, and there’s only one thing to do with that-- rub it out.

“You’re not the prince,” he says, keeping his voice even, maybe a bit petulant. Boldness wins a bluff; all he needs is time. Just a second, a hesitation--

Which he gets; the figure’s boots scuffing to a stop. Its head cocks, curious. “Is that so?”

It’s a man’s voice, higher than he expects, but resonant. The sort that people listen to when they’re not looking for a way out. The sort that won’t care for a man turning his back on it.

“You’re too tall.” He saunters to his cot, the mattress sinking under his weight. Not quite the attitude he’d been hoping for, but close enough. Gives him enough time to realize his cloaked friend isn’t talking-- no, instead he catches the barest tremble of cloth before a gloved hand tugs it smooth.

“How...astute,” the man hums, a strange lift kicking that first vowel before he smooths that out too. Everything about this man is slick, from the shine of his boots to the way he says, “That must be the observational skills that tempted even the marquis to hire you.”

His grin flicks into a grimace, but habit wipes that all clean before he says, “I wasn’t hired by anyone. Just wanted to...advertise my skills. In case anyone with a fat wallet found themselves needing a problem taken care of.”

Another pause, this one heavier. “And this girl seemed like a likely target?”

“A commoner nosing around a prince?” A laugh huffs out of him. “What about that isn’t a problem? At least when it’s a lady, she doesn’t have pockets that need filling, but some little herbalist girl? There’s a long way between lady slippers and slippers for a lady. And not everyone wants to kiss hems to get a mistress in their pocket.”

Not when it’s just as like to be covered in mud. If there’s one thing he’s learned about these bluebloods, it’s that they only suck up, not down.

The shroud shifts, arms folding across a chest too slender to be called broad, and shoulders too wide to be scrawny. Lithe, perhaps, the perfect size to slip through a man’s guard.

“The job is over, you know.” Boot heels clack as the man draws closer, just enough to see a defined chin beneath the shadows of his hood. “There’s no need for all this cloak and dagger. Haruka has already confessed to the crown that he was the one to hire you.”

His fingers flex behind his head, longing for something besides bristle to cross his palms. “Don’t know why he’s going through all the trouble. I don’t know him.”

This isn’t his first interrogation, but it’s certainly the slowest. The man stands silently outside the bars, a single finger lying along his diamond-cut jawline. No questions, no speculation, just a shadow staring out of a hood, observing. This must be what it’s like to be boiled alive; put in the pot when it’s barely a simmer, the heat raising so gradually that it’s not until his chest is near bursting to speak, to fill the silence, that he knows he’s been cooked.

“What would you have done?” the man says, finally. “If you had your way with the girl.”

The girl who, in the face of danger, tore an arrow from the wall rather than run. “Nothing permanent.”

What little he can see of the shroud’s mouth curves. “How very vague. So many unpleasant things only take a moment.”

“The job was to scare her off,” he admits, wondering why his belly quivered in his gut. There’s bars between them, and his hands are faster than any nob’s, no matter how good the costume. But still, his muscles lay coiled against his bones, ready to strike. “Seduce her, if she seemed...amenable. Bribe her if she didn’t.”

“And what then?” It’s a quicker response than he expects, but the man isn’t agitated-- far from it, he’s never seemed calmer. “If the girl proved impervious to your more...gentle measures.”

There’s a question in that, one the shroud won’t voice. But he hears it, loud in his ears as a bell’s gong.

“I’ve killed before,” he says, each word on thin ice. “And I still sleep at night.” Barely. “I could have done it again.”

“But would you?”

For once, he hesitates. Imagines looking into those bright eyes, the ones that flamed so fiercely in defiance, and with the flick of a wrist, snuffing them out.

“It’d be a waste.” His hands tremble where they cradle his head, a command he hasn’t given them. This is the last thing he needs right now, losing control. “That girl’s got a lot of pluck. And if rumors around the pharmacy are right, a lot of brains too. Besides, bodies make more talk than bribes.”

“That they do.” There’s a lilt to those words, almost amused. “You know, you called it a job. Implying that you received compensation for your services.”

It’s a sting to realize he’s slipped. “Doesn’t mean it was the marquis.”

“It certainly doesn’t,” the man agrees, and if this room weren’t so dark, if this conversation wasn’t so serious-- well, he’d be tempted to say this guy is laughing at him. “Do you have a name?”

He turns to him real slow-like, one utterly dubious brow arched toward the guard’s register. “You want me to believe you can’t read?”

That shadow of a mouth lifts again. “Am I to believe a man of your skill gave your birth name to the royal guard?”

His mouth cocks into a grin. “You must if you think I’m gonna give it to you.”

The man comes closer still, one gloved hand wrapping around his bars. He’s visible to the tip of his nose; a long, patrician one.

“Of course. But you must have something you would like to be called.” His lips-- bowed, the most fashionable in Clarines’ court-- twitch toward a smile, but fall perilously short. “An alias, if you will.”

“Obi.” It’s too short, too quick, but already he likes it. It’s a more playful name than he’s had in a long while. Easy to lose, too, if he needs it.

“Well then, Obi.” His arm rests over one of the cross bars of his cell. “I believe I have a proposition for you.”

“Haah.” He hops to his feet, hoping to seize the high ground. “I appreciate the interest, but I’m already waiting on an offer.”

To say the hood recoiled would be an overstatement, it merely pulls back, barely more than an inch. “An offer?”

“Well, maybe more like...I have prospects.” Obi restrains his grin to little more than a twitch. “I just gotta see if they’ll pan out.”

The hood stills, thoughtful. “What if I could guarantee you a better offer?”

“You couldn’t.”

The man hums, amusement changing his pitch. “I quite sure I could.”

“Nah.” Obi shakes his head, almost wishing it weren’t so. This guy seems like he could be real fun, if he got his hands on his reins. “I don’t think so.”

“Please.” He opens a hand; an invitation. “Try me.”

“Fine.” There’s nothing to lose by telling, besides some face, if he’s wrong. Which Obi knows he’s not. “I got a feeling the next guy through that door’ll be His Highness.”

The man rocks back, like he’s been hit. “Zen? You think...?”

Obi expects some bargaining, some disbelief, maybe even some haggling, but--

He does not expect the laugh.

“Oh,” the man coughs, lifting a hand as if he might wipe tears from his eyes. “I promise you, I can give you a...far more attractive offer.”

Now that’s a rich one. “What could be better than a second prince?”

The man’s hand raises past his eyes, right to the edge of his hood. With the barest flick of his fingers, the cloth falls back, baring bright gold and Wisteria blue.

“Why,” drawls His Highness Izana Wisteria, crown prince, soon to be first of his name, “the first.”

[gohoubi]

Can we still send prompts? If so is there any chance you could write melaudrey reuniting on the train after melanie’s rescue from the research station? (a sort of continuation of that 2parter you did where the 10car train saves melanie and she has that talk in bed with alex) i’m curious to see melanie’s reaction to audrey being held captive lmao

Hey anon! I really liked this prompt, and I have finished a fic for it! I had to sit on it for a while, but it’s there! Under the cut :) this will be posted on AO3 later! tw for suicidal thoughts.

When the door to Audrey’s mini-prison slides open, she doesn’t expect Melanie to be standing just beyond the threshold. It’s been a long, torpid day—Till came to check on her, but she seemed distracted—Audrey was left alone while everyone was busy with looking after the newly-reclaimed Melanie. Evening settles over the room slowly: the light turns pink, then orange, then dark red. Audrey spends the day pacing the room, her head empty. She’s sitting in the corner when the other woman shows up. “Melanie?”

“Yeah,” she says, her voice hoarse and weak. “It’s me. Back from the dead.”

“I thought I’d lost you,” Audrey says. “When I saw you on the tracks.”

Melanie is holding an oxygen tank, and catches Audrey staring at it. “Yeah. It’s my newest accessory. I hate it, but I can’t breathe without it.” At Audrey’s expression, she adds, “It’s not permanent. Just until my lungs heal.” She sits on the floor next to Audrey, leaning against the wall.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see for myself if they actually took you. I didn’t believe it when Layton told me.”

“Well, I’m here now. Unsurprisingly.” Audrey remembers Alex’s snarky remark: are we bringing anyone we actually want? It still stings, three days on. She chooses not to mention this, however. “How are you feeling?” she asks instead.

“Like I’ve been gassed. And run over with a truck.” As if to demonstrate, she dissolves into a fit of dry coughing. Audrey moves to help her, but Melanie pushes her away. “I’m okay,” she says once she’s regained her breath. “It just happens sometimes.”

Audrey feels a shot of guilt, for every injury Melanie sustained can be traced back to Wilford’s doing. Why didn’t she try harder to stop the train? Instead it was Alex who ended up going against Wilford, slashing his neck. It occurs to her that Melanie has no idea what she did. Audrey went to Big Alice after Melanie left. She doesn’t know that I’m hated, or that I pushed everyone away. It’s so tempting to not reveal it at all, to not add Melanie to her shit list. 

“By the way, Alex told me everything,” Melanie says, ruining that fantasy. “I’m surprised you were with him. I thought you’d never go back.”

“He has a way of dragging you in.”

“Don’t I know it,” Melanie sighs. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. They roughed me up when they brought me here.” As if to demonstrate, Audrey shows Melanie her wrists, with the bruises refusing to fade. She doesn’t expect sympathy, but Melanie does say she’s sorry about it.

“It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t there when they took me.” Audrey sighs, leans back against the wall. The train shakes and judders as it goes over the tracks. “You probably hate me now. For what I did to the others. What I did to Alex.”

“Yeah. I must admit, when she told me everything, it was hard not to storm in here and slap the shit out of you.” Melanie scoffs, then says, “You’re lucky I feel like shit. The only thing that stopped me from doing that is the fact I can’t breathe.”

“Does that mean I have something coming later?”

“Maybe. I mean, a fucking tiara? Seriously, Audrey?”

Audrey groans. “Don’t remind me.” She thought she was on top of the world then, safe by Wilford’s side as train royalty. You should dress in a way that reflects your status, darling. What did that matter now? Audrey was lower than low. A hostage on a pirate train, the bottom of the pecking order. “I acted like an idiot.”

“I almost didn’t believe it. That’s not you. That’s not who I remember.”

“He does a damn good job of making you think it is.” Audrey swallows. “It felt good being like that. Not caring about anyone else. Living in luxury. Until you realise you’re nothing more than a lapdog.”

“Did he hurt you?” Melanie asks softly.

“No, he didn’t. Until he let them hurt me.” Audrey indicates the axe scar on her neck. She almost wants to cry thinking about it. “Anyway, why do you care?”

“I don’t know. I’m just asking.” Melanie might have said more, but she drops into coughing again, desperate and wracking. Audrey holds her up while she goes at it, and even though it finishes quickly, the other woman struggles to catch her breath. “Fuck,” she says. “My lungs feel like they’ve been shredded from the inside.”

“It’s only been three days,” Audrey says ineffectually.

“Yeah, I know.” Melanie sits back, looks out the window. “The cold strikes again.” They sit in uncomfortable silence for a long time; the only noise being Melanie’s laboured breathing. The sun has set properly, and the cabin is rapidly descending into darkness.

“I’m genuinely sorry about Alex,” Audrey says. “She didn’t deserve me treating her like shit.” She means this: if there’s any regret she has, it’s how she treated the younger girl. Audrey remembers, far too vividly, the look of pain on Alex’s face whenever she said something cutting. Lighten up, she’d say. Why do you take everything so seriously? Alex had tried her best to hide it, but Audrey knows how painful it must have been, to be shut out of Wilford’s graces because of her. She’d tried to apologise to Alex yesterday, but was received with open hostility. Exactly what Audrey deserves.

“I’m sorry too,” Melanie says, surprisingly. “I shouldn’t have left her. That was my biggest mistake. Thinking that she’d be safe with you and Wilford.”

This remark doesn’t even sting, because Audrey knows it’s true. “I tried to apologise yesterday. For what it’s worth.”

“What did she say?”

“It wasn’t good. I can’t say it.” You can shove that whiny apology up your ass, Audrey. That was what she’d said, before storming out of the cabin. “I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Melanie says tiredly. “My daughter doesn’t owe you anything. Not after what you did.”

“I get it.” Audrey sighs. “Where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know. I think we’re at an impasse.” Melanie draws her knees up to her chest. “I know you’re just a victim like everyone else. But I can’t see past what you did to Alex. In that way, you’re no better than Wilford. Why? What did she ever do to you? She’s just a child, who was missing her mom. Didn’t you ever feel like that once?”

“My parents were awful to me. I was glad when they died.”

“Even so.” Melanie lays a hand on Audrey’s arm. “I know this isn’t you, Audrey. I know it’s not. You’re kind, tenacious, and fiercely protective of everyone in Third Class. I want to give you another chance, because I know how Wilford is”—her voice cracks—“but I can’t stand seeing my daughter hurt. Especially by someone like you. I thought you were better than that.”

“I thought so too.”

“I can’t reconcile it,” Melanie says, drawing away. “Every time I look at her, I think of all the abuse she suffered at you and Wilford’s hands. I can’t look at you the same way. Knowing you were capable of that. Are capable of that. I really am sorry. If it wasn’t for her, this might have gone differently. But Alex is my first priority now.” She sighs, readjusts the nasal tube. “Can you help me stand? I don’t think I can get up from this floor without passing out.” Audrey does so, pulling Melanie up from her seated position. She wobbles, but stays on her feet.

“When are we getting back to Snowpiercer?” Audrey asks.

“You’ll have to ask Layton that,” Melanie says, her face distant and impassive. “One last thing.” The slap comes so fast Audrey doesn’t have the time to dodge. It’s not a ladylike action: Melanie puts her whole shoulder into it, and it nearly takes Audrey off her feet.

“Ow,” Audrey says, rubbing her jaw. “Fuck.”

“That’s for Alex. And everyone else you screwed over.” Melanie lets out a breath. “Now we’re even. If I ever catch you mistreating Alex again, I promise there’ll be more than that coming. I will never let you hurt her again.”

“Alright,” Audrey says, her ears ringing too hard to say much else.

“I’ll ask someone to bring you food,” Melanie says by way of farewell, then she sidesteps Audrey and leaves the room. She’s left alone again for a couple of hours, when the door opens just a crack and a stale sandwich is pushed through the gap. Audrey catches a glimpse of Alex’s distrustful face before the door slams shut again.

Pretty lousy dinner, Audrey thinks as she chews the sandwich made of Snowpiercer cheese and raggedy lettuce. It’s hard to feel grateful for it, even though any ‘nice’ food is a considerable indulgence. She overheard Alex suggesting they give her the protein blocks from the Tail.

The sun has fully set, and Audrey can’t find it in herself to turn on the light. She crawls to her sleeping bag, zips herself in. The darkness matches the gloom she feels inside. She has nowhere and no-one—not on this train, or Big Alice or Snowpiercer. Is there even any point in living? Audrey knows the others won’t let her die—she’s too valuable. Wilford will almost certainly kill her, though, and that seems almost enough. Zarah might not even intervene.

When I die, Audrey thinks, I won’t be around to see everyone hate me. Everyone will get their wish—and so will I. She doesn’t even have the strength to cry about it: she just lets the numbness wash over her, and guide her into a fitful sleep.

[jackjots]

14 Tarot

Wayward Guide for the Untrained Eye 30 Day Prompt

(This takes place after Episode 7 and in the nebulous space that has yet to have filling as well as touches on Episode 7 of the podcast)

Day #14 @30daysofwayward

(I do not own any other characters or place names outside of Shelby St. Ranger, this is just for fun)

Darkness was setting in as I carefully lifted myself off the ground. Even though I must have hit my head, to account for whatever drugless drug trip that had been, my head felt fine. My arms stung a bit, but nothing had made its way through my layers. I brushed the leaves that had clung to my clothes and the small amount that had found its way into my hair. Once standing, I contemplated that the darkness meant time had passed and I now did not know whether to go forward to Miner Mole and see if Artemis was okay or if she was even there at all or turn around. 

I did not go forward. I didn’t go to Miner Mole. I was too startled by my dream or whatever that had been and decided it was time to go back to the Dead Canary. When I arrived, my heart sank. They were closed. I tried to peer through the glass to see if Desmond was still in there. There was a light on, but after the few minutes I awkwardly stood there and saw no one, I decided I should just go home, deciding it was my only choice. I walked down the street when I spotted Prism’s shop. I had an urge to go toward it; the image of Paul and Prism sitting at the table still bright in my mind; the intense silence in the silent movie my mind had seemingly created as Prism laid the cards down one by one. I walked up and outside of the door, there was a tarot card on the ground. In the darkness, I could just barely make out the hint of a wolf face. I shoved it in my back pocket. A noise made me look back toward the Dead Canary.

When I turned I saw Desmond cleaning the window. He nodded to me, and I made my way back. “Closed early?” I said as casually as I could as my heart thundered in my chest at the discovery of the tarot card.

He nodded curtly. “Your room is ready. I wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”

“I, uh, tripped I think? Hit my head.” Was it a lie? Yes, a lie I was telling myself that Desmond just happened to be overhearing.

“You’ve got real bad luck lately.”

“Honestly, I would not be surprised if I did. Thanks for getting it ready for me even though I took off.”

“No trouble.” 

“Did Artemis get back okay?”

His reaction to the name surprised me. His expression hardened. It was like his face had shutters, and he’d just closed them. “I couldn’t say. Don’t get too attached now, Shelby.”

“What does that mean?” 

“Only that I might’ve encouraged them to leave a little early. Tomorrow.” 

That didn’t make sense to me. “Why?”

“Shelby, you aren’t from this town, you can’t understand what’s at stake.” 

“So help me understand.” “What, so you can write about it?” “No.” 

“I don’t see why you insist on asking so many questions. Just keepin’ your head down and not trying to understand anything would do you some good.”

I felt a coldness I didn’t like feeling, and decided to give up. “Thanks again for the room. Have a good night Desmond.”

“You too, Shelby.”

Sleeping was impossible. I rolled on my side and something in my pocket pinched into my thigh as I rolled over. I pulled the tarot card out of my pocket. I got up and laid it on the desk. I turned on the lamp and it was indeed the wolf card I’d seen in what I now realized might have actually been some sort of vision. Giving in to this reality, I took out my notebook. 

I wrote down everything I’d seen and how I’d felt when it happened. Which was good, since by the morning, the memories had faded to wisps and the words helped me tie these wisps to something solid, something affixed in my mind. I recorded the entire thing, and then at the end I added that the tarot card had actually existed. This was the part that made everything too real

I was used to having weird dreams. Especially at the end of days that for whatever reason I hadn’t had a chance to write anything; extensive plot driven dreams would burst into my mind’s eye and often lay their seeds as story ideas that I would scribble down at 2am and balk at as ridiculously in the light of the sun. But this was different. This had felt different than a dream. Not real, exactly, but almost too real. As if I had been looking at things clearer than I could have through my own eyes. I wrote down “out of body experience?” in small letters on the side of the page as if tucking it away and keeping it small would keep it from being real. It was as if this whole werewolf thing had started a leak in my brain and all of the things I had solidly put in the “impossible” container within my mind were starting to bleed into the “possible” corner. What else was real? Vampires? Ghosts? And as I was starting to wonder now, astral projection? 

Or had I just noticed this tarot card without realizing, walked right by it and my brain had thrown it back at me. Had I just supposed what everyone had looked like as they talked at the table behind me? Had my mind filled the gaps that it wanted filled?

Also what had I tripped on? Had I left my body before it even hit the ground, if that’s what happened? Was I ripped from my flesh like a bandaid from a scraped knee?

A heavy sigh collapsed my shoulders into my chest and I held my head in my hands. It had been a long time until I was comfortable in my body, and even that was touch and go some days. But the idea of leaving it entirely left me shaken. The idea of sleep seemed less tempting now that the mere thought that I was not permanently tethered to my physical form had crossed my mind. 

I looked back at the bed, and I looked over at the door. I thought about all of the answers to all of the questions that I had heard, and how that had blossomed more questions. I thought about the fact that I did not want to think about what had happened to me and wanted instead to know more about werewolves.

I knew who three werewolves were now.

I could go find them.

[peaceisadirtyword]

Secrets XVI (Modern!Ivar/Reader)

A/N: 3am, I made it. Sorry it took so long, I hope you like it💕 Ivar might be a bit out of character :( sorry about that

Warnings: smut (a bit), angst (an attempt), fluff (another attempt), mentions of death and violence, and that apparently I cannot write anymore. 

Words: 3775

gif belongs to @honestsycrets

Your hand grabbed the backpack so hard your knuckles were white. Your whole body trembled, and you bit your lip so hard you tasted your own blood. 

In front of you there was the Lothbrok mansion. The entrance was full of people, and there was cars everywhere. A lot of people had attended to pay their respects to Aslaug and her sons. 

To say sorry and goodbye. 

Honestly, you had gone for the same reason. What happened between Ivar and you was another thing, but Aslaug had been very kind to you, and her death hurt you. 

It didn't take a lot to get out of the school. You only asked for permission to attend to a funeral, and then called an Uber and in less than an hour, you were there. 

Maybe regretting it a bit. 

Breathing deeply, you approached the door. It was open and inside there was too many people to count. Everyone dressed in black and chatting around. They seemed scared and sad at the same time. 

You recognized some faces from Ragnar's funeral, but others were completely new to you. 

And now what the fuck do I have to do? 

You were tempted to turn around and leave the house, call the Uber back and forget about this nonsense. 

But a familiar voice prevented you from doing so. 

"Y/N?"

You almost yelled in relief when you saw Ubbe, approaching you with widened eyes and a confused face. You managed to smile a bit and walked to him. 

"Hi, Ubbe" you bit your lip "I'm sorry"

He frowned, but then hugged you tightly, you could swear you saw him smiling. 

"What are you doing here?" He asked, getting away from you and guiding you through the crowd.

"I..." You were going to say the truth, but... "I came to see all of you... As soon as I heard the... News" 

All of you. Not Ivar. I came to see you, Hvitserk and Sigurd too. 

"I appreciate that" he gulped, looking away. He was her eldest, and, alongside Ivar, the closest to Aslaug. You understood he had to welcome everyone who came to his mother's funeral. You sighed, softly caressing his arm. 

You couldn't even imagine how it would be like to lose both your parents in a few months, though you technically had lost yours years ago. 

"How have you been, Y/N?" He asked, looking at you with a gentle smile. 

"Do you want me to lie?" You muttered, shrugging. 

Ubbe sighed and nodded. He already imagined it. 

"If it comforts you, Ivar had a bad time too" he raised his eyebrow. Actually, it didn't make you feel any better "Come here, Hvitserk will be happy to see you"

Of course, he was in the kitchen. He was dressed all in black, but unlike his brother, he didn't wear a suit, just a black t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans.

He raised his head when he heard you entering the kitchen, and his lips curved in a big smile when he saw you. 

"Hi" you smiled awkwardly, biting your lip.

"Y/N" he practically throw himself at you, hugging you tightly. Ubbe looked at the both of you with a small smile.

"I better go and help Sigurd with the guests" the eldest Lothbrok softly tapped your shoulder "And we better find a room for you to sleep, there's more people staying the night, so maybe you'll have to share" Ubbe frowned. 

"What? No, it's okay, I can take an Uber and go to Copenhagen to find some hotel or something..."

"Are you crazy, Y/N?" Hvitserk chuckled "No, you're staying here" 

You opened your mouth to argue, but Ubbe had already left the kitchen. 

"I'm sorry, Hvitty" you pressed your lips together and hugged him again "I'm so sorry"

"Thank you" he smiled, caressing your back as he hugged you "I'm fine, we're all fine"

"Really?" You sighed "I was worried about you"

Hvitserk chuckled, shaking his head.

"You didn't have to, you should worry more about yourself"

"Well, I'm not the one fighting dangerous people every fucking day" you raised your eyebrow.

"I'm glad you came" he smiled softly "Though I should be mad at you, for ignoring me when I said you should stay away"

"I can't" you bit your lip "Not when your mother..." You looked at the giant living room. In the center, there was Aslaug's coffin, closed and surrounded by flowers. There was a beautiful portrait of her next to it. 

"Ivar had that portrait painted for her a couple of years ago" Hvitserk muttered "She looks beautiful"

"She was" you felt the now familiar lump in the throat, and looked away from her portrait "And she was so nice" 

"She loved you" he chuckled "When you left, she scolded Ivar for hours, she was upset with me too" Hvitserk rolled his eyes "She thought you were perfectly capable of handling everything, like she did, and it wasn't fair the way we pushed you away" 

"I agree with her" 

Hvitserk smiled at you again, shaking his head.

"Want to go outside? To have some fresh air, I need it"

__________________________________________

The Lothbrok's backyard was as big as the house. It had a beautiful bench next to a small fountain. It was surrounded by flowers and it had an arch just above it, covered by vines. 

Ivar had told you it was his mother's favorite spot. She loved taking care of the flowers she had planted herself and relax reading a book sitting on the bench. He said it was her way to get her mind off of everything. 

One could see Ivar's window from the bench, and you stomach clenched when you saw the lights on. 

Hvitserk offered you a beer, which you gladly accepted. If you were going to do this, it would be easier with alcohol. 

"I think I've met someone" Hvitserk said abruptly, and you almost choked with your beer.

"What do you mean?" You coughed, your eyes tearing up. 

"Hey, don't be jealous" he chuckled, patting your back "I mean, I met a girl, and... I think I like her" 

Your smile was genuine. You loved Hvitserk with all your heart. He was your best friend, and had missed him terribly, and his confession when he left you in the school had worried you. You loved him, yes, but not in that way. The fact that he could have found someone else made you happy. 

"Who is she?" You smiled widely "How did you meet her? Tell me" 

"Her name is Thora" he was smiling like an idiot, and his eyes lightened up when he said her name "She works at a restaurant, and we used to meet in there with other people for... Business" he raised an eyebrow "We went last month there and it was her first day, she poured an entire bottle of water on me"

"Wow, romantic" you smiled "Have you talked to her?" 

"Yes" he bit his lip "I went there another four times" he giggled.

"And..."

"And I asked for her phone number" 

"And did you call her?" 

"Not yet" he smiled "I want to take my time, you know, not fuck it up"

You giggled.

"I'm happy for you" you smiled "You deserve it, Hvitserk"

"Thank you" he smiled back at you "I wanted to introduce her to mor" his smiled faded "I suppose I'll never have the chance to do it" 

As you expected, Hvitserk wasn't as devastated as Ubbe. He wasn't close with his mother and, like Sigurd, he even resented her. But it was his mother. 

"I'm sure she'd be really happy for you" you squeezed his hand with a sad smile "She loved you, Hvitserk, she loved all of you"

He opened his mouth to say something, but a noise interrupted him. 

Both of you looked to the entrance of the house, not too far away. 

You gasped when you saw Ivar. He was already using the crutches, and he walked down the path to the bench. 

Hvitserk stood up, looking at his brother. Ivar didn't say a word until he was standing in front of you, looking down at you with his intense eyes, now reddened and puffy. He was wearing black too, a black shirt and black trousers. Black was his color.

"I'll leave the two of you alone" Hvitserk sighed, patting his brother's shoulder softly "You have a couple of things to talk about"

It wasn't until Hvitserk had already entered the house that Ivar opened his mouth. 

"You came"

You nodded, trying to control your breath and the tears that threatened to fall down your cheeks. 

"I did"

"I didn't think you would"

You didn't reply. He just sat next to you on the bench. His face was even more beautiful than you remembered. His pouty lips were pressed together and had his semi-permanent frown. You knew you had missed him, but in that moment it hit you so hard that you had to control yourself to stop your hands from caressing his soft hair and your lips to kiss his warm cheek. Then the words he yelled at you the last time you saw him replayed on your head, and you felt like hitting him. 

But he looked so miserable...

"I'm sorry, Ivar" 

He didn't look at you, only scoffed and shook his head.

"If I got paid a kroner for every fucking time I heard that on the last couple of days..."

"I mean it" you bit your lip "I'm sorry, she... She was so nice to me, and I... I'm truly sorry" you took a deep breath, trying to control your tears. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of him. 

"I know you mean it" he shrugged "You're one of the few persons that mean it"

He lit a cigarette. His long, dark hair was down, and you could see tears on his eyes. 

"Who are all of these people?" you asked, looking at the house.

"Far and mor's friends" he said with venom on his voice "None of them care about my mother, they only want to be on our good side" 

"Do you know what happened to her?" You asked softly. 

Ivar nodded, his body tensed and when he replied, he did it with anger. 

"It was that fucking bitch, Lagertha" he growled "Since my father was killed, she has been trying to put her dirty hands on his business and his money, claiming she had the right to do so. Mor told her to fuck off, and she killed her"

You shuddered, remembering Lagertha. She had been surprisingly nice to you, and you had a hard time imagining her killing Aslaug. You hadn't trusted her anyway. 

You didn't know what to say. In your mind, you had rehearsed the moment you'd reunite with Ivar a thousand times. You knew what you had to say. 

But you didn't say anything. 

What could you say to the man that broke your heart but had just lost his mother? 

"My mother wanted me to call you" he muttered, and you could see how he was drying the tears that feel from his beautiful eyes "She thought I was doing things wrong"

"Ivar, I don't want to talk about it" you looked away "It's okay, I get it, I'm not enough for you, I can live with that" you scoffed "I'm sorry"

He looked confused, as if he wasn't expecting you to say something like that.

"Wha..."

"Seriously, I'm not here to talk about that, I just came because I wanted to support you and your brothers after your mother's death, because you asked me to, but when this is over, I'll go back to the school and I'll stop bothering you"

It was the first time you saw Ivar so confused and vulnerable. Some tears still fell down his cheeks. His lips were parted and his eyes widened in surprise. 

"I... That's not what I meant"

"What?"

"I..." He gulped and frowned before his eyes fixed on yours again "I never meant all those things I said, Y/N"

"You said them anyway" now you were the one crying "You said you could't trust me, you said I was stupid, a coward, I told you that I loved you and you rolled your eyes at me, and I'm tired of everyone thinking I'm not good enough" you had raised your voice a little, but you couldn't care less "You act like you're the only person in the world that's been hurt and abandoned, surprise Ivar, you're not, my mother left me in a school in fucking Denmark because she was tired of taking care of me, my father don't want me to go near his family because he's been ashamed of me my whole life" you chuckled, drying your tears with the back of your hand "I'm tired of everyone treating me like shit, and when I finally thought I had found someone who could actually love me, you said that, after that night at the hotel when I felt loved for the fucking first time in my life" 

Well, you were now one of the very few people in history that made Ivar Lothbrok speechless. 

"I get that Freydis hurt you, I get that you feel insecure and you think no one will ever love you, but no one will if you keep pushing people away like that" you took a deep breath, softening your voice "I just spend months feeling like shit and it's your fault"

Ivar blinked a few times. The soft breeze ruffled his hair, and he stayed in silence for a few minutes.

"I didn't know you felt that way"

"Well, you never asked me" 

"I knew about the Freydis thing, you know" 

"What?"

"I saw your face whenever someone mentioned her" he shrugged "You compared yourself to her constantly, that's why I used her to push you away that day"

"So you hurt me on purpose"

"No, Y/N, fuck" he rubbed his eyes "I never meant those things, I said them because... Then you'd leave and... I don't know what I was thinking, to be honest" he scoffed "I only know I lied, and that these months I've been miserable without you, I just wanted to push you away to protect you"

"Ivar, maybe I didn't want to be protected, maybe I was willing to be with you no matter what, did you stop and thought about what I wanted? I don't think so"  

"You don't know what you were getting into, you don't fucking know"

"Well it's still my decision" 

Ivar sighed and rolled his eyes, looking away from you.

"You're right" he said the words as if they were burning in his mouth "But I was scared, after what happened with my father, after that fucking message Hvitserk got, they can hurt you anytime they want to, look what happened to my mother, I..." He rubbed his face with a groan, and started crying again "I've lost too many people"

Your expression softened when you heard his sobs, and moved closer to him to hug him softly. Ivar didn't show his face, but hugged you back. 

You held him as he cried, for his mother and for his father. Maybe even for Freydis. He gripped your clothes and his tears wetted your black hoodie. You caressed his hair softly. 

Then he got away from you, immediately drying his tears. You gave him space, and just looked at him as he composed himself. 

"I missed you"

_______________________________

The house looked cozier when it wasn't crowded by people. Floki and Helga, as well as a few more people, were staying the night, like the brothers, Harald and Halfdan, who had looked at you with curiosity when you had entered the house next to Ivar. 

They'd leave soon, but they had occupied the guest rooms, and as the Lothbroks didn't know you were coming, they didn't have a room for you to stay. 

After arguing with all of them for half an hour and after they laughed at you when you offered to sleep on the couch, you ended up in Ivar's room. 

It was between Hvitserk and Ivar, and though you knew the smart thing was to sleep with Hvitserk, with whom you could control yourself. 

But since when were you taking smart decisions?

The bedroom was too familiar to you. Ivar turned around as you changed into your pajamas and got into bed. He stayed silent and looked almost shy as he undressed. You looked at the wall with your cheeks reddened. 

Honestly, it was even funny. 

"Can I turn off the lights?" He asked with a shy tone. 

You had never seen Ivar so shy, and it made you smile a bit before nodding and getting closer to the edge of the bed, gripping the sheets.

You heard him chuckle and suddenly his shyness went away. 

"Y/N you're going to fall down, the bed is big, come here" he smirked.

"I'm okay here" you muttered, clearing your throat "I'm used to small beds"

"It's not like it's the first time we sleep together"

"Yeah but we are not together anymore" you turned around to look at him. 

His smirk faded, and he blinked a few times. The kicked puppy look returned and you almost felt bad for snapping at him like that. 

Then he pressed his lips together, and accommodated himself in the bed before turning off the lights. 

You woke up an hour or so after falling asleep. You had moved. Your head was leant into Ivar's shoulder, your hands around his waist and his were around your frame. 

At first, you didn't understood what was happening and where were you. Then you realized, and cursed yourself for not going to sleep with Hvitserk. 

He was asleep. He had pulled his long hair into a man bun to sleep and a few locks had escaped the elastic band and fell into his angelic face.

He looked so relaxed and vulnerable that you felt like crying. Why was he so beautiful? 

As bad as he had treated you, he didn't deserve all that pain.

Putting his hair away from his face and kissing his nose softly, you tried to free yourself from his arms. His grip tightened.

And he woke up. 

You hold your breath when his gorgeous blue eyes opened. 

"Sorry" you muttered "I didn't mean to wake you up"

You tried to free yourself again, thinking he'd let you go now that he was awake. 

"I'm glad you did" he whispered. His sleepy voice made you shiver. 

"Ivar, please..."

"I don't want to let you go" he said again, frowning "Not again, I'm tired of pushing you away"

He wasn't talking about his arms around you. 

You shook your head. Don't fall again, Y/N.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow" 

"Good, I don't want to talk right now"

You took a sharp breath as he leaned into you, kissing your lips. 

His pouty, full lips still tasted like heaven. They were softer than you remembered, and the kiss was so tender that you couldn't help but moan softly. 

Ivar's hand gripped your waist, then travelled down and caressed your ass, groaning into your mouth. 

"I missed you, I missed this" he confessed in a whisper, his lips barely touching yours as one of his hands moved to touch your sex, making you moan again "I missed the sounds, I missed feeling how wet and warm you were" his eyes fluttered open, his eyelashes touched your cheek "I missed your body"

"Ivar..."

"No, listen to me" he interrupted you "You said you didn't feel loved. Let me try and make you feel loved for tonight, and if tomorrow you still believe I meant those things, if you want to leave me for good, then I'll let you go" he promised, his fingers softly caressing your face. He had the same look he had that night in the hotel, when he had told you he loved you, that he couldn't get enough of you. 

You sighed, nodding and giving him permission to kiss you again and move his hand. 

You panted into his mouth pawing at his chest as his hand pushed your pajama pants down and your underwear aside and found your clit. The other hand had slipped down your shirt to grip your breasts. 

"I love how warm is your skin, except for your feet and hands, they're always freezing" he smiled softly "I love the fact that if I bit down..." His teeth bit your neck softly, and you moaned "I can leave a small mark" he smirked proudly, moving his hand between your folds. 

When two of his fingers entered you, you moaned his name, biting your lip to stop yourself from being too loud. 

"I love when you moan my name" he smiled, his fingers moving in and out of you "I love how you blush when I pleasure you, and I love knowing it's me who is making you feel so good" 

His words, his raspy voice and his movements almost made you cum immediately. 

"Ivar"

It didn't took him long to make you cum, whispering into your ear how beautiful you were cumming all over his fingers. 

His cock was rock hard when you managed to free it from his trousers. And his breath shivered when you gripped it, eager. 

Ivar made you lay on your back, then he accommodated between your legs, his erection brushing against your inner thigh. He pressed his forehead against yours and moaned your name as he thrusted into you. 

"I love your eyes, your hair, I love how smart you are" he was moaning now, into your ear, and you almost sobbed, digging your nails into his shoulders "I love your body, I appreciate that you're here with me when I need it" he growled "Even if I say otherwise"

He kept trusting in and out of you, muttering every single thing he loved about you. And when you cum for the second time, he whispered it to you again, this time with a tear rolling down his cheek. 

"I love you"

He moaned your name as he came right after you, and you whispered it too. 

"I love you, Ivar"

Maybe it was the worst decision ever, but you slept better than you had in months after that awful decision, cuddling him and stroking his hair until both of you fell asleep again. 

Until the next morning, when you woke up with Ivar's screams on the ground floor. 

_____________________________________________

Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @cbouvier23 @lol-haha-joke@hallowed-heathen @ivarslittlebadgirl @naaladareia @tephi101@captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @readsalot73@moondustmemories @memememememe1-blog @dreamtherapy@rravenss @thevikingsheaux @therealcalicali @thehanneloner@fuckthatfeeling @drowninginyoureyes95 @chimera4plums@blushingskywalker @imcreepinginyourheartbabe@austenkingmylady @timber3 @unacceptabletatertots@awkwardfangirl02 @athroatfullofglass @shipping-not-sailing@miserablecunt @two-unbeatable-beaters @gruffle1 @bucketfairies@tatidark @justacripple @love-dria @heartbeats-wildly@letsrunawaytotomorrow @inforapound @sallylebecks@hellogabysblog @trashcanx @supermassiveblackhope@winchesterwife27 @russian-potatoes @reeree1500 @lettersofwrittencollective @hecohansen31 @youbloodymadgenius

I hope I didn’t forget anyone!💜

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Mood Swings

Thanks to @shasta627 who first gave me the idea from talking about KP and EoA character similarities, and where one of the quotes from KP’s Emotion Sickness pops up here. Also thanks to @lostbutterflyutau for inadvertently helping me with her post about who Carla inherited her physical traits from. So first time writing from Victor Delgado’s perspective, exciting. Also this is all pre-EoA Delgado relationship where I imagine that Ash had dark hair and eyes before becoming a malvago and obviously, their relationship is not that rocky as it is now. Also bits of foreshadowing, see if you can spot it. Enjoy what was originally a comedic, but now surprisingly fluffy story. 

Victor was a tiny bit scared to leave his house.

This was not an unusual occurrence, being a thief on the run led him to be wary of leaving his hiding space for various reasons. The outside world held the guards that were no doubt hunting him down, some enemies that he may have backstabbed in order to save his own hide, as well as the potential to bump into vicious wildlife in the chance he took refuge in the dense forests.

But his fear of leaving, even though he very much wanted to leave, was from a different source.

A source that had been scaring him for the past 8 months with her unpredictable mood swings.

His pregnant wife, Ash.

“Overreacting! Overreacting! How can you tell me that I’m overreacting!” Ash cried, flinging the splintered wooden pieces of what was formerly a priceless Maruvian god statuette to the ground to collapse on the closest chair available. Her brown eyes already watering with brimming tears.

Victor tried to amend the damage done so far. “It’s just, you never seemed to care about that statuette much before. Remember when we stole it in Paraíso. We were about to be caught by the police and you said we can throw away some minor things like that statuette.”

“I’ve grown attached to it, okay.” Ash sniffed, clearly trying to hold back the tears, “I’ve been staring at from the couch during siestas and it helps me fall asleep when the stupid baby is kicking too hard. This is so like you. You never think about how I feel. First you break the statuette like a clumsy oaf and now, you’re leaving me to go join your idiotic buddies to play poker because you can’t stand to be with me. Even though I’m the one doing all the work and carrying your child.”

Victor sighed and went to sit in front of Ash, gently grasping her hands he reminded her, “I’m not playing poker with my buddies. The Capoto gang are not my buddies. We teamed up with them while we’re staying here, and part of that includes me going away to go steal stuff. I’m stealing stuff. Like gold and even those old texts you like, the ones with all the evil spells remember. We like evil, right?”

Ash yanked her hands away from him and buried her face in her arms on the table, “You’re leaving me in my time of need. I’ll never forgive you for this. Ever!”

As tempted as Victor was to leave and go do the heist like he needed to do, he just couldn’t leave her crying like this. Especially if he didn’t know this was going to put her in an even worse mood when he returned. If there was something that he had learned about pregnant Ash in the past 7 months, it was that it was best to agree with whatever she said even if it was wrong and ridiculous and plain confusing.

“Ash, I’m sorry that I broke the statuette, and I’m sorry that you have been feeling that I’m neglecting you. I’ve been doing double the work so I feel entitled to be tired and forgetful but you’re pregnant so you’re even more tired than me… I guess what I’m saying is that I’ll try to think a little more about what you’re going through.” 

Ash lifted her head to look at him, frustratedly wiping away her tears, “It’s not that big of a deal, really. You’re right that I’m overreacting, it’s just that I hate this!”

Victor didn’t have to ask what “this” was. The pregnancy that was consuming every aspect of their lives.

Admittedly, Victor always wanted a family. Yes, his first love was money. With all the money in the world he could do whatever he wanted and people wouldn’t be so quick to put him down and disrespect him as they had when he was a kid. 

“Pay attention, Victor, it’s not like your trickery will get you anywhere in life. You need to be smart.”

“That’s a cute idea, Victor but I think we need someone who has more expertise. Not just a kid’s imagininings.”

“You don’t have a clue what you’re saying, Victor. But you’re just a teen, you don’t know about life.”

He still felt a surge of bitterness when he thought of the glory and fortune that would have come with being number 2 in Avalor if that witch Shuriki and Esteban had kept their part of the deal and hadn’t banished him.

But after that money he wanted a wife and children behind him. That was the ultimate status of happiness to him. Money and a family. It showed how he had it all.

So when it turned out Ash’s mysterious month long food poisoning was actually the signs of morning sickness, Victor was secretly thrilled. He may not have as much money as a king but he certainly could steal it from the king, and now he had a beautiful wife and a child on the way. It was like he made it.

Was Ash as happy as he about the news? No. Though Ash wasn’t entirely against children, she wouldn’t be too disappointed by never having one either. Her main priority in life was to get rich, powerful and to improve her fledgling magic power so she could achieve her goals. And until she became the malvaga she wanted to be, she didn’t plan on getting pregnant.

Until she did.

Everything changed. They had to find a more permanent dwelling since running as fugitives would have caused too much stress for the child. They had to start spending their small hoard on buying a proper crib and other necessities rather than just forging out in the wilderness, away from the long arm of the law. Everything they stole, a profit had to set aside for the future child. One good thing that came out of thinking of all things baby was that they got married. Victor knew it was a bit old-fashioned, but he still remembered his parent’s disparaging remarks about children out of wed-lock and thought it might be easier to blend in if they presented themselves as a legally married family rather than a trio of runaways.

Also, as Ash got bigger, Victor had to step up and deal with double the workload. Not that he minded, if that was what needed to be done for the sake of their child, he would get it done. It was Ash the one who had a problem with it. She wanted to keep her usual independence and join the heists, do her share, and plan strategy even though she was in no shape to do so and most recently, the mere smell of cigar smoke caused her to hurl on the spot. Ash hated to be out of control, and waiting for others to do work that she thought she could do better at. In fact that was one of the things Victor most admired in his wife, how she would do anything it takes to get what she wanted and no one could stand in her way. Now, half of Victor’s morning was devoted to arguing with her over what she was or was not capable of doing and it was draining for both.

“I used to be intimidating and powerful and now look at me. I’m tired of all this crying. I never cried when I was a child, and now that I’m having a child, it’s like I can’t stop. I don’t like it.” Ash ranted, a bit of her old fiery anger returning as she talked and ran her hands through her dark hair, 

“I don’t like it either.” Victor agreed, “I hate seeing you cry.” Ash’s anger faded instantaneously, and she pulled him into an awkward one-armed hug when the baby bump prevented them from hugging normally, “You hate seeing me cry? That’s so sweet. How did I ever get so lucky to have you?”

Victor couldn’t help but blush from the praise. Compliments were very rare coming from Ash, she was always so no nonsense and focused when it came to stealing, and sabotage and staying one step ahead of their many pursuers.. It was rarer still with all these mood swings that left her angry and weepy which could change on a dime. But still, even after all their fights and disagreements, he knew that they were solid enough to stay together. She was the only one who was as cunning enough as he to survive and thrive in this fugitive life and strong enough to do it beside him. He couldn’t imagine life without her.

Taking advantage of the moment, Victor massaged her shoulders, “If you want, I can make you some pan dulce when I get back.” Victor had heard that women’s taste buds tend to change when they get pregnant, and the things they liked tasted disgusting and they craved strange delicacies. Luckily for him, Ash’s pregnancy only seemed to make her crave for Victor’s food and he could always smooth over her bad moods with the promise of stew or dessert.

Unexpectedly, Ash’s mood soured again, “No. Stop giving me pan dulce. It will only make me more fat.”

Victor felt a coil of fear at that statement. It was never a good sign when Ash said that. He always made the mistake of hesitating or saying the wrong thing which usually led to a harsh interrogation about his “wandering eyes” and that he was lying when he said she wasn’t fat.

“You’re not fat, mi querida, you’re pregnant, and even so you’re still one of the most beautiful, stunningly sexy women I know. Sexier than anyone else in Paraiso.” Victor gushed. 

“Sexier than the queen?” Ash asked unbelievingly.

“You are always sexier than the queen, and any other women we come across. Always. I mean, remember that one night in Cordoba when we found those hot springs?”

Ash’s pout faded and her mouth curved into a sultry smirk, “Mmm go on.”

“Remember how we had been trying so hard to deny the attraction between us and kept taking separate baths. But that night, you called me to you. I swear the moonlight was made to highlight your gorgeous face. Ah, the water barely covered your chest. It was painful knowing that your marvelous body was underneath the water and yet I still couldn’t see it, or touch it.”

“But you did..” Ash sing-songed.

“Well I couldn’t stand there and just stare at you. I needed to get bathed too.” Victor retorted with mock indignance before smoothly segwaying to a new idea, “You were so hot that night. Perhaps...maybe after I make you the pan dulce, we can have fun with those rose-blossom potions that you’ve been magicking up, the ones for extra sensitivity? We can have bubbles in the tub and I’ll message you, my amazing malvaga queen? Wait till I have my lips on your skin and kiss your neck and go down lower and lower..”

“Oh, darling, don’t stop!” Ash purred before pulling him into an intoxicating kiss. For a brief moment, it was like he was back in the Córdoba springs. It was just heat, passion, her and him and no one else in the entire world that could stop them until he pressed up against her stomach.

The bump was a stark reminder of reality and what he was supposed to be doing. Stealing the Ramirez fortune with the Capote gang so he can get enough profit to buy whatever baby supplies they needed.

Victor pulled away breathlessly, trying to gather his thoughts into a coherent sentence that wouldn’t offend Ash into another statuette throwing mood.

“Ah ah ah. After the heist, and after the pan dulce. I’ll give you a night you won’t forget.” He winked taking special pleasure in Ash’s surprised face before turning to the door.

“Victor I need you.” Ash cried out just as Victor placed his hand on the doorknob.

Victor inhaled deeply to hide his exasperation in the delay. The Capotes really did not like to be held up waiting.

Victor turned and forced what he hoped to be an understanding smile, “And I’ll be here whenever you need me just not for the next five hours, okay? After this heist I’ll stay with you as long as you-” “No, you don’t understand you idiot. I need you because my water just broke.”

Victor felt the world go dim and into tunnel-vision. Victor wanted to argue the fact but he could see it was undeniable. A tell-tale wet stain spread from Ash’s grey dress to the floor and her eyes were wide with panic.

“I--but--I I- we. No no no. Not-how-now?” And the world went dark for a silent 40 seconds.

THUNK 

“Ow!” Victor clutched his head from the unexpected thunk of pain. He blurred looked around and saw what had hit him. A wooden eye from the former statuette.

“Did you just throw this at me?” Victor demanded. 

“I can’t bend over and shake you awake. I had to.” Ash snarled back, immediately reminding Victor of the situation at hand.

“How is this pos...but you aren’t due for another month!”

Despite the overwhelming fear Victor was feeling at the moment, he also felt a jolt of excitement. This was it. They were finally going to have their baby! 

“Yeah, well-” 

“We’re going to be parents!” Victor exclaimed, still feeling a bit lightheaded, he steadied himself by gripping Ash’s hands.

“Yes, we’ve established that we’re going to be parents for the past seven months. You need to take me to the midwife.”  Ash snapped.

“I-I I do? I mean I know I do. I- well. How? I thought you were going to give birth next month, I haven’t stolen a horse for us yet.” Victor stammered, panic beginning to fully settle in.

“The Capotes must have one. Take me to them.” Ash commanded, straining to push herself out of the chair.

Victor helped her out the door, moving as fast as they could in an agonizingly slow shovel-huffle combination punctuated by stops when Ash’s contractions overtook her.

It was a mile to get to the agreed hideout of the Capotes but for Victor, it felt like the location was 50 miles away and they were running out of time.

Victor saw the cave entrance and what a lucky break, several horses grazing contentedly in front of it. They wouldn’t even have to contend with the Capotoes, they could just steal it.

Victor let Ash lean against a nearby tree, and roughly dragged the horse to her, urging it to keep its frantic neighing down.

Just as Ash grabbed the reins, she sank to her knees, Arrgghh.” “Ay dios mio. Is something wrong? Is it happening now?” Victor helped her up as she clung to him like a drowning victim.

“No, no not now. But the contractions are getting closer,”  Ash panted, and shrieked again.

“What the hell is that screaming about?” A gruff voice barked from the cave rolling away its stone entrance to reveal a wizened old man and two young bodyguards.

“Delgado, what is the meaning of this? Why do you have your lady here?” Even though it was a fruitless tactic to get sympathy from these men, Victor frantically told the truth, “She’s in labor. We need to go to the midwife now.” “Listen to me. That horse is my property and I don’t intend to give it to any pregnant girlfriend of a disposable partner. Hand it over or I will slit your throat.”

“NO! You listen to me. Give us that horse or I will have Victor hold you down so I can give birth on you!” Ash glared, stunning the elder Capote into silence with that strange and graphic threat. 

Victor wasted no time, pulling out a saber that he always kept hidden in the interior of his jacket and nearly slashed the neck of a younger bodyguard, giving Ash to struggle onto the horse’s back.

The lead Capoto was backing away from the fight with a sly smirk as both of his men brought out their double-edged swords when Victor heard Ash yell out, “Leviosa!”

The two bodyguards levitated and hit the cave wall.

Victor gratefully smiled at her weary, sweat-stained face and ran to join her on the horse. He sat in the back, keeping her safely on the saddle as he handled the reins, urging their horse to go the needed 4 miles to town.

From then on, everything went by Victor in a rush. Bursting through the small shack where the midwives congregated with other couples and pregnant women, settling into a shabby room near the back of the house with a straw mattress and a basin of hot water, Ash gripping and cracking two fingers in his hands as the screaming, cursing, and crying enveloped all his senses.

“PUSH! PUSH! THAT’S NOT A PUSH, THAT’S AN EXHALE! COME ON, ONE MORE TIME! PUSH! YOU CAN DO IT!”

Then the world slowed and clicked into place as he saw his baby girl for the first time.

The midwife held her tiny body up long enough for them to see the downy mess of dark brown hair, and her small fists scrunched up, pumping the air as she made her first breath and her first cries.

Victor’s heart swelled and he went speechless. Nothing could describe the magnitude of what he was feeling.

He looked to Ash who always seemed to know what to do or say but she looked at him with the same stunned face that he felt.

“We made that. That’s our daughter.” Victor whispered, gulping back the tears that were welling up but he surrendered to their falling after Ash wordlessly smashed her face against his chest and sobbed.

They held onto each other, trying to pull themselves through the jumble of emotions and adrenaline that was rushing through them. Everything was different now.

The midwife returned with their daughter bundled up in a light purple blanket, “Here she is, all cleaned up. May I just say, you have a-”

“Give her to me. She’s mine.” Ash interrupted, impatiently holding her arms out.

Victor didn’t blame her, he wanted the midwife to leave so he could be alone with his wife and adorable little girl.

It was strange yet so right to think that. His little girl. Hours ago that was just a hypothetical. His little girl. He had tested out the thought a couple of times but it never fit. But this was real. It was so real and so very precious.

“She looks like you.” Victor cooed, cautiously touching the soft hair on their snoozing daughter that was the exact same shade as the woman cradling her. Victor felt an irrepressible smile crossed his mouth and thought he wouldn’t be able to contain, and honestly, he didn’t want to. He was a dad.  

“She has your...you’re right, she mainly looks like me.” Ash agreed, studying their daughter fondly.

They held their breath as the baby stirred, daringly opening her eyes into a squint. Victor swore he could see the color of violet of her irises which only made him more in awe of this tiny creature. Regal violet eyes.

“What do you want to name her?” Ash asked, not taking her eyes away from the small bundle.

Victor settled himself into a more comfortable sitting position, craning his neck over the crook of Ash’s shoulder so he could look, “What about Carla? It’s a regal name and-“

“Oh, oh,” Ash gasped when Carla suddenly waved her small hand before touching Ash’s nose and mouth. The effect completely melted her, and for the first time in Victor’s life, he heard Ash squeal, “She touched me!”

“Me next.” Victor held out a pinkie for the little girl to grab onto which she did handily, making a gurgling noise that sounded like a small crow of victory. Of his hand and his heart that was being claimed a little bit more by her every second.

“Aw, Carla.” Ash whispered under her breath, “Carla. That’s perfect for her. I love her so much.”

“Me too, I don’t know how that’s possible. I-“ Victor trailed off. He couldn’t describe it. He had a new goal now, he would upend the world and drain entire treasuries to keep Carla safe and happy. Everything he’d do, he would keep her in mind every second, every day. His heart felt full to bursting with a new, unending sort of love and warmth and he thanked the gods above for his new baby daughter.

“I have so much to teach you.” Ash pressed a kiss to Carla’s forehead as the baby began to drift off to sleep.

Victor watched Carla, studying her cute face as she dreamt and yawned before pressing his own kiss on the top of her forehead, “I hope I can keep you happy.”

Everything changed. 

[loquaciousquark]

You’ve talked about River Stone already, so I’ll mention Were We Not Called, which is lovely lovely lovely as a Hawke/Fenris story, but one particular bit that sticks is actually the section about Isabela and cockle shells and seaweed and you better believe pre-destination is not a thing.

BOY HOWDY LET ME TALK TO YOU ABOUT THIS FIC AND ABOUT THIS SECTION IN PARTICULAR BECAUSE MAN DO I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT IT. So the soulmate trope is cool. Like, I’ve been aware of it in fandoms for...gosh, ten years? Longer? And I totally recognize that it’s a straight-up romantic like, you for me and me for you and this is how it is, now what? trope, and that is totally fine and good and I get it.

But man oh man, you read enough soulmate fics where every. single. person. is paired up by the end of the fic, and it’s just...it’s a Lot. I remember reading one--I don’t even think I knew the fandom, just fic-hopping on AO3--and while the writing was grammatically impeccable, I couldn’t get over how Stepford-Wives-neat every pairing had become by the last chapter. And I could tell the author loved the fic! And loved the pairings, and tried to do them justice! But man, how do you have eight main pairings, and all of them just...work out? Without effort? Why did every single person just...accept that because this random mark or phrase got slapped on their buttcheek at birth that this other person was totally perfect for them in every way? There were no arguments, there were no conflicts of interest, no one questioning how or where or why these markings happened or what it meant to be a soulmate. It was just--introduction, wild chemistry, and sex, pairing after pairing after pairing. Most of them hadn’t ever had sex before their soulmate, or even considered looking at anyone else, like it was an utterly foreign concept. No one even questioned if their soulmate was a good person.

Obviously, this one fic is not representative of all soulmate trope fics. But it was one of the worst I’d read, and many more fics echoed enough of its issues I was dissatisfied with the--with the basic humanity of the whole thing! More than anything, I was viscerally repulsed by how docile characters tended to be once presented with their match; at that point, the conflict was over. Anything left was external--kidnapping, war, etc; there was no decision even on the table to be made on the parts of the people in the ship. And all I could think of was that passage in the Little House on the Prairie books where Laura Ingalls Wilder tells Almanzo that she’ll marry him, but she won’t have the word “obey” in the vows, and that’s all there is to it. (I know, I know. Stop looking at me like that.)

I remember once Mom trying to give me some candy I wanted as a kid, and even though I wanted it, I refused because she had ordered me to take it. That was what I needed (and wasn’t getting) from these fics. I needed the autonomy, the choice. I needed the characters to acknowledge that they were living, breathing men & women & nb folks with minds of their own who were capable of making their own decisions, that they were staying with these people because they had free will and had deliberately chosen them with their eyes wide open, not because they were forced into this permanent binding relationship by a quirk of fate before they were even born.

(There’s a line in Queen’s Thief that discusses this, and echoes a conversation Jade & I once had in real life about God and free will: “If I am the pawn of the gods, it is because they know me so well, not because they make my mind up for me.”)

So. When I saw this prompt (I think actually sent my way by @thegeminisage?), I thought to myself NOW IS THE TIME, NOW IS THE MOMENT, now is finally my chance to do this thing the way I desperately want to see it done. I want free will. I want complicated soulmates. I want soulmates who choose not to be with each other. I want soulmates who only meet after one’s had their first lover die. I want people loving outside of their soulmates and not being judged for it. I want Isabela to have the ultimate freedom, a permanent freedom, to ignore a demand set on her from birth forever.

So when I got to her section, I knew the feeling I wanted to write. I vividly remember sitting in a Chickfila downtown over a lunch break, writing on my tiny iPad mini while wolfing down a sandwich before I had to go back for afternoon clinics. It was raining--not hard, but enough that it was drizzling, and I was listening to Olafur Arnalds (as always), and as soon as I had the image of the fairy tale (a la the little mermaid) I knew how the rest of the lines went. It was just following them to their conclusion and letting Isabela have all the soft curves and sharp edges she deserves, and making sure that under it all was the firm foundation that every part of this was, and would always be, her decision.

--

Still, even knowing, she finds she's not terribly tempted to search out her own supposed one true love. The name at the hollow of her throat belongs to a fairy tale, a girl dead twenty years, a princess who fled her prison to live instead in the wild dark heart of the sea. Even were they to drag her ashore again, gasping, they would find her changed too far from who she was; made new in cockle shells, and seaweed, and the fine grit of a shark's skin to set a careless hand to bleeding. There's nothing solid in seafoam to embrace.

No. Isabela's body is her own, no one else's, and she'll choose who she likes when she likes and regret none of them, and if she has a missing half it's the grey waves of an early dawn on the ocean, stars just this side of fading in the sky behind her. Soulmate—no. She'll have a first mate instead.

[queen-scribbles]

Watcher, Scholar, Savior

@pillarspromptsweekly 100: Legacy. Running with my orlan daughter’s canon, tempting as it is to write more with Saoirse & Elihu for Emiri’s future.

---

There was nothing like the satisfying thunk of setting a large pile of books down on your desk. It spoke of new knowledge gained or old knowledge refreshed, and either way made Ginella tingle with anticipation. She rubbed her hands together and scanned the spines, trying to decide where she should begin.

He decision was interrupted by a low whistle. “Got enough books there, Nelly?”

“To start, yes,” she laughed as she turned around and crossed her arms. “But you can never have enough books.”

Noli rolled her eyes. “My sister, the scholar. So, are those for school or for fun?”

“Actually, this time it’s both,” Ginella said gleefully. “My world history professor wants us to pick someone we would consider one of the most influential kith of the last five hundred years and explain the reasoning behind our choice.”

“Auroch’s shadow, I know who you picked,” Noli snorted. “You;re doing that archmage you love so much, aren’t you?”

“And why not?” Ginella challenged, gesturing toward her stack of books.  “Anyone you can write that much about clearly had a big impact on the world, didn’t she? And she wasn’t just an archmage, Nol, she also spearheaded the group that developed an alternative to the Wheel. She’s a scholar and historian and quite literally changed the course of history, both with her work on the Turning and discoveries she made in the Deadfire, never mind scribing seven or eight spells. She’s easily one of the most influential kith in history. So I think I can make a pretty compelling case for the last five hundred years.” 

“Especially since you’re so passionate about it. Have fun.” Noli chuckled and lightly punched her shoulder.

“Oh, I plan to,” Ginella laughed, patting the stack of books. “I can’t think of a better way to spend my day.”

Noli laughed again and gave a finger-wiggle wave as she walked away. Ginella sat down, worked free the dark blue tome that was her chosen starting point, and began reading the familiar accounts of archmage and scholar Adela Tecali.

---

She read until the light faded and her neck ached, taking notes on the important points, even though she knew most of them by heart. It was the easiest way to organize her thoughts for the assignment. The spells were notable--largely because most were still favorites of nearly every wizard Ginella had ever met. Inerrant Recall and Lingering Bolt especially held a place of permanence in many a grimoire.

Then, of course, there’s were Adela’s explorations; she’d visited nearly every Engwithan site in the whole of Eora. Published several works on her discoveries that enhanced understanding of the Engwithans and their work, and advanced the study of souls by leaps and bounds. She actually understood Engwithan, a language thought dead for centuries even in her time.

And then there was her crowning achievement, the strongest argument for her impact on history: the Turning. As the leader and widely-accepted foremost scholar among the many who devised a solution to the Wheel’s destruction at the hands of a rogue god, she had indisputably altered the course of the world.

Ginella’s pen flew over the page, scrawling messy lists of the points she wanted to make. By the time she stopped--both due to her aching neck and Noli calling out dinner was ready--she had a rough six page outline of what she planned to write. (Assuming she could later read her own handwriting. It was atrocious when she got excited, which she certainly was now.)

“I think it’s time for a good long break,” Noli commented when she caught Ginella rolling her shoulders on the way down the hall. “Before you hurt yourself. You’ve been at it for hours. Rest your eyes, stop stressing your back. When’s this assignment due?”

Ginella coughed sheepishly. “Two weeks.”

“See, you have plenty of time.” Noli gestured toward the table. “Sit, eat. Take your time. How’s it going?”

“I made it through most of the books,” Ginella said as she followed her sister’s wishes. “Got a lot of material I can use to argue my point. I’m just debating how much attention to give her personal life. There is a biographical component to this project, but it’s not supposed to take up too much of our focus.” She took a good serving of the food. “Smells delicious, by the way, Nol.”

“Thanks. Simon passed along a new recipe for the potatoes I wanted to try.”

“Oh, these are Simon potatoes,” Ginella teased. “I’ll do my best to enjoy them, then.”

Noli rolled her eyes but didn’t take the bait. “You were saying?”

“Right. Pretty much every source agrees on Adela’s achievements as a wizard, historian, or scholar, the one area of dissent is her personal life. It makes me wonder how much to cover it, and which sources to trust.”

“What kind of dissent are we talking about?” Noli probed, “Shining example of a scholar vs proves true every stereotype about orlans, or where she came from, or what?”

“Relationships, actually,” Ginella said wryly. “Her friendships are well-documented, for the most part, but there’s no consensus on whether or not she had a, uh, paramour. It’s not an important detail in the scheme of things, but everyone’s always nosy about that sort of thing, so if I’m touching on her personal life, they’ll expect at least a mention.”

“Historians don’t agree about her love life?” Noli said incredulously. “How is there any confusion there?!”

Ginella shrugged. “Beats me. But still, some say she never had a romantic partner, others that it was a fellow survivor of the bîaŵac that sparked her adventures, still others some stranger from a foreign land she met after becoming Watcher.”

“Wow. Maybe just brush over her personal life briefly,” Noli muttered. “I’m sure there’s plenty to talk about without giving that more than half a page.”

“Very true. I could make my entire case just off the Turning. When you add in the explorations and her being an archmage, I don’t need to dwell on much else for ling.”

Eager as she was to get back to it, Ginella heeded Noli’s advice and took her time over dinner, then rested on the couch for the rest of the evening. There was no hurry, no matter how much part of her wanted to write the entire thing in a nonstop whirlwind of passionately extolling the achievements of Watcher Adela Tecali. She could take her time, do a good job, and present a case not many would argue.

---

Two weeks of thorough, meticulous, completely enjoyable work later, she was proven right. Her professor gave her almost perfect marks(a couple points off for being “overly enthusiastic” a time or two), and her peer-reviewers all agreed she’d made a convincing argument. At the risk of sounding arrogant, none of that really surprised Ginella.

What did surprise her was no one else picked Adela as their influential individual. In a class of twenty five history aficionados, Ginella was the only one to write about her. The others all picked generals, kings, queens. Leaders and warriors. Pirates, in a couple cases. She was the only one to argue for the Watcher of Caed Nua. And even if it was surprising, that was just fine by her.

It wasn’t every day, after all, she got school credit for reading and writing about one of her favorite historical figures; a woman who had saved and changed the world in multiple ways. 

----------------------------------------

Having literally been in Ginella’s position, this was really fun to write. :D (I had an english class in college that used LotR as the base for all the papers/discussion etc. I got college credit to read/watch/talk about literally my favorite topic in the world on a weekly basis for three solid months. It’s such a great feeling)

I did briefly wonder if I was making Adi too OP, But her base intellect is, like, 18, and then she picked up a bunch of bonuses along the way....She’s a smart cookie who absolutely could do all that. And would. 

[infectedpaul]

nell need SLEEP (shriekademy drabble)

i wrote this last night while i was tempting the sandman myself so its kinda trashy after the first 2 paragraphs cause i wasnt In a Writing Mood but was forcing myself to BUT WHATEVER its cute 

them - @theroboticscientist

 The door creaked open to the small forest cottage belonging to the human teacher and her monster...companion (that's all they were, right?) as Nell tried sneaking her way in. The clock read a little after 10PM and she'd hate to wake Them up. Grading singed and scratched up papers from her students took up so much more of her time than figured, most of it trying to read the handwriting of the kids' without opposable thumbs. 

She closed the door gently behind her, yawning and rubbing her eyes. There wasn't enough day old coffee in the teacher's lounge to keep her up, and all she wanted was to crawl into her bed and pass out. 

Too bad she didn't get that far. 

The feelings of exhaustion caught up to her quickly, and she only got halfway to the stairs before she fell face first on the wood floor, letting out a muffled groan. So much for not waking up her roommate.

She heard the quick sounds of shoes coming down the stairs, letting out a small groan of guilt as Them's voice came into range. 

"Darling, are you okay?!" They got down on their knees, pulling Nell up onto hers. She limped back, like a corpse almost, the only signs of life being her slowly rising chest and mumbling nothings. 

"Hghhugh...toooo..laaaate…" She muttered out, voice wavering as her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head. There was a gash on her head that definitely would bruise by tomorrow. Them took off her glasses, which somehow came out unscathed, and folded them up, putting them in their vest's pocket. 

They let out a small sigh, getting up and picking her up off the floor. They stared down at her, half asleep in their arms. Small strands of hair brushing down her face, blowing up in the air by her breaths. Her eyes were near-closed, but either by some last grip of consciousness or politeness she tried to keep awake. 

"I-I'm sorry...I didn't want to wake you.." She yawned, giving them a tired smile. "I didn't...want...t…" Her eyes finally closed, but Them could tell she wasn't actually asleep yet; she hadn't started snoring yet, which was the telltale sign she had dropped for the night. 

Them gave her a small laugh in reply, muffled by their mask and moved in closer to her face. "You're ok, my flower. Let's get you up to bed, darling." 

They quietly made their way up the stairs, the wood muting itself in their wake, like they were a ghost on the steps. The door to Nell's room opened, silent like the stairs. Some simple perks of having an enchanted cottage. Her shoes fell off and 'floated' down to the side of the bedroom door, invisible hands of whatever magic lingering in the home pulling them off for her. 

They laid her down gently on her bed, tucking her in with warm blankets they whispered a dream incantation into, to wish her happy dreams tonight. 

They were on their way out of her room when they heard her groan, and mumble out their name (or the name they told her it was). She was reaching out a shaking arm to them, overly weak from the day. 

"Yes, my flower? Do you need something?" Them made their way back to the bed and knelt down next to her. 

"...Can…" She fought to keep herself awake to ask them the question, "...can you sleep with me tonight..?"

..Well that certainly wasn't what they expected. 

"U-uhm, ...well, okay?" They chuckled, surprised but they weren't one to turn down an opportunity to be close to their daffodil, even for a little bit. 

Nell moved over in the bed, Them moving into the bed with her. She groggily pulled the covers back over the two of them and just...stared at Them for a while. It was honestly impressive seeing her blink a few times in 2 minutes with how tired her eyes looked. 

She brought her hand up to their mask, rubbing her thumb along the cheek. In her blurry, sleepy and glasses-less, vision, she could clearly see the permanently painted grin imprinted on the fake face they wore. Somehow it was comforting to have such a perpetual face of joy look over her in her slumber. 

Without thinking, her heavy head moved up to their mask and pecked it with a small kiss, followed by tired giggling. 

"Haha...gotchyaaaa…" Her smile faded as she finally passed out, face dragging down their chest. 

Them laid there in shock which quickly became loud internal giggling; had she not been asleep they'd be laughing like a crazed lovesick lunatic. But instead, they held back those external feelings, and simply let themself lay there, taking in the beauty of their human...companion (that's probably not what they were anymore, hm?) 

[sweettoothshipperrotg]

FrostedNature- Soulmate AU or College AU? Or whichever one you're feeling most inspired by really, I just need some FrostedNature fluff :))))

Hi! Sorry it took longer than expected, but I went to see Captain Marvel and got caught up with other stuff. ^^;To make up for it I made it a bit longer and extra fluffier

There was also this anonymous ask on my inbox: “FrostedNature- Soulmate or College AU? Preferably something with fluff :)”, so I decided to combine them. Hope you don’t mind.

(Soulmate au where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/whatever the hell you want, it will show up on your soul mate’s skin as well)

Here is some College Soul Mate Au for y’all :D

‘What’sthe answer for question 32?’

Therushed and messy handwriting that appeared in her forearm shouldn’t havesurprised her. She and Jack had been together for almost two years now.

But,really? Right now?

                                                       *****

Shehad been waiting her whole life to meet the owner of said handwriting, dreamingas many others of a sweet someone that the fates had decided to pair her with.

Emilymainly owed that to her mother. When she was a little girl she loved to hearthe story of the first time Kozmotis Pitchiner’s handwriting had etched ontoher skin; long delicate traces, as if he carefully trying to make a good firstimpression through his caligraphy.

Soit had been a surprise when Emily reached the age when she could meet her soulmate and nothing had happened for an entire year. At eighteen was when yoursoul mate could reach out to communicate.

Theyear of radio silence had been a little disheartening in the beginning, but herlife continued onwards and her college life had kept her busy enough. Shedidn’t write to her soul mate either. It wasn’t customary for girls to be onesto break the ice in this strange soul mate texting, but it wasn’t somethingthat had ever deterred her.

Shehonest to god had no idea what to say.

Shewas away from her home, knew no one, and felt like she had been pushed into adeep pool without knowing how to swim. The rhythm marked by these new settingshad her under complete uncertainty and was frankly overwhelming.

Shefelt like a mess and wasn’t confident enough to meet her soul mate just yet.

Solife had moved on and so had she. Slowly, she had adapted to her new situationand carved a small niche for her to build her life.

Imagineher surprise when on a day when she felt like crap – it was the anniversary ofher mother’s death, and she had decided to skip class and cry up a stormbecause she just felt like it –, her soul mate had decided to surprise her.

Shehad been sitting by the window sill, her body clad in pajamas and wrapped inblankets, and drinking a huge cup of cocoa with an amount of marshmallows andcinnamon that could only been described by any outsider as over indulging (asif she cared).

Emilywas almost certain that she had at least killed half a rainforest with theamount of tissues she had gone through, judging by how red and puffy her eyesand nose felt.

That’swhen the itching on her arm started. The foreign sensation wasn’t unpleasant,almost like the kind warmth that invades you when enjoying a nice book or whenfinding out that you still have a few more hours to sleep and don’t have toleave your bed.

Herforearm tickled a little and when she pulled back the sleeve of her pajama herbreath go stuck in her throat.

Gentleand soft strokes of ink started to appear all across her skin, spreading andtwisting into elaborate shapes.

However,the ink never turned into words but morphed into images of intertwined petals,stems and leaves.

Turnsout her soul mate was quite an artist.

Theywere drawing her flowers…her favorite flowers: Snowdrops, heathers, floribundaroses and freesias.

Tearsswelled in her eyes.

Soulmates felt more than saw theirsignificant other, inklings and sensations on the back of their brains ofemotions the other was feelings or things that they liked.

Despitethat she had never seen her soul mate, she knew things about them. Littleflashes and sensations that budded inside her but recognized weren’t her own.

Hersoul mate liked the cold. A deep feeling of happiness was linked to the idea offresh fallen snow. They also had quite the fixation on peppermint coffee,judging by the wave of satisfaction that invaded her and the ghost taste of thebeverage at the back of her tongue.

Theflowers that appeared on her forearm were to tell her that they were sorry thatshe felt sad and their wish for her to feel better. That she was not alone.

Asmile bloomed on her lips as she spent the rest of the day admiring thedesigned etched onto her skin, tracing it with her finger to appease that sideof her brain that kept on telling her that she was dreaming.

Sheeven took a few pictures of it. Although the markings were not permanent andwould fade eventually, a lot of people opted to tattoo the first phrase thatappeared as a memento of their first interaction – which was all fine and dandybut needles freaked Emily out.

Twomonths flew by before meeting her intended one.

To her delight, her soul mate continued todraw things. Turns out they were quite the artist.

Whenit happened, she was walking back from a class to her dorm, smiling at thebeautiful silhouette of a rabbit. It was drawn in such a way that it almostlooked that it would actually start moving and skipping across her arm. Whenshe got home she would add a new picture for her collection.

Soenraptured she was at how the traces stretched on her skin that she paid noattention to the world around her; her trance only broken when she foundherself stumbling backwards onto the ground and landing on her butt, her thingsscattering everywhere.

Alanky young man was also on the ground in front of her, a fellow victim oftheir collision.

“I’mso sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going!” He profusely apologized whilegetting up and offering his hand to help her get up.

Shecouldn’t hold back a tiny gasp.

Hisforearm sported a very delicate and detailed drawing of a rabbit in the sameplace as hers. The drawing now sported a disjointed line that the marker hadleft across the image due to them bumping onto each other.

Emily’seyes quickly scanned the boy’s face, registering each and every detail. Hiseyes were now focused on her arm, the drawing now matching his, even to theincongruent line that had been added in their little fender-bender.

Theireyes met, a smile spreading across the other’s face.

                                                    *****

Jackhad been surprised to find Emily by mere coincidence.

Hehad not tried to reach for her when he turned 18 and not after a whole year.

Hislife had turned upside down when his mother had become quite sick and he had tostay behind to help her and his sister out during a long and arduous recoveryprocess.

Theresponsibility of taking care of their house and their financial well being hadfallen on his shoulders, and had it not been for the support of his godfatherand family friends it would have certainly crushed him.

Northhad pulled enough strings for his college attendance to go from full time toonline and juggled around his papers and other homework into a more manageableschedule.

Sandywas always available to cover for him if he couldn’t make it to the hospitalwhen Jack was swamped with work at the local ice-skating rink or his homework.

Bunnyand Tooth were glad of looking after his little sister when he couldn’t. It wasalso a plus that they always brought food to his house or refused to chargethem whenever the siblings ate at the couple’s bakery.

Therehad been so much on his plate that finding his soul mate had been placed on theback burner. He had more urgent matters to focus on.

Ithad been hard, taxing every ounce of his patience, strength and spirit. He feltway older that he looked and he had come this close to giving up. But despiteeverything, he had managed to keep them afloat and pass his first year ofcollege.

Jackhad been rather apprehensive to leave his mother and Emma to finally attendcollege, but his friends at home had assured him that they would take care ofthe pair and that he should walk towards his future without feeling guilty.

Nowhe was at college full time and idea of having enough stability around himbrought back the idea of his forgotten soul mate.

Likethe rest of the world, he had learned details about his soul mate.

Thefirst impression came to him in the middle of the night while he was exiled inhis hometown trying to prepare a decent essay on how the influence of ancientart styles had evolved through the passing of time– he almost felt like he hadimagined that one due to the lack of sleep.

Thelingering smell of a floral perfume helped him deduce that his soul mate was agirl. It almost felt like it clung to his skin when in fact he knew very wellit was a sensation his brain was picking up.

Jasmineand coconut.

Judgingby how frequently she used it, it was her favorite.

Thenhe started smelling flowers. The sensation of soft petals and the fact that hedidn’t experienced them as much as the perfume lead him to believe these wereflowers that she liked.

Italso seemed that his soul mate was quite into baked goods. Out of nowhere, hewould find himself craving for scones, chocolate and pomegranate cupcakes,lemon cookies…

Hehad never tried half of the things he now felt an intense desire to eat. Itclearly had to be her influence.

Emmaand Tooth had teased him about his soul mate having an excellent taste when hearrived from his late shift with a box full of the aforementioned cupcakes(courtesy of Bunnymund at Jack’s request).

Afterhe had managed to ease himself into the whirlwind that was college, he had beenmore tempted to write to the girl that had slowly inserted her presence intohis life.

Hewas battling with the idea of what to even say when sadness struck him like atidal wave.

Itgave him an unpleasant sensation at the pit of his stomach and the need to cryalmost overwhelmed him.

Hewas entirely sure that this feeling belonged to someone else. Her emotions hadnever been so strong.

Aftereasing his breath and heartbeat into a normal pace, he sat there dumbfoundedwith his brain scrambling to analyze what was going on.

Hersadness was almost an echo of how he felt when he heard the doctor say his momwas gravely ill, when he felt the weight of the world almost crushing him down.It felt an awful lot like being drowned.

Hewanted, no, needed to make her feelbetter.

Beforehe even knew what he was doing he was grabbing one of his best and finestmarkers he had and drawing onto his skin.

Pushingdown the bout of emotions, he focused on carefully drawing the flowers thatalways seemed to cheer her up. He knew which ones they were. He had spent everyopportunity he had at flower shops trying to discern which ones matched theones that came to him. A vague shape or a tinge of fragrance had been his onlyclues and it had taken him a while to find them, but he had.

Ashe continued to spread the flowers onto their shared canvas, the sadness slowlywas dulled and eventually overcame by a sensation of warmth, happiness, andgratitude.

Bythe time he was done, a pleasant feeling of pride took over him. Not only washe proud of how beautiful it had turned out – he was pursuing a bachelor’sdegree in Art, after all -, but also of how happy it had made her.

Hesensed a ghost touch across his forearm and he closed his eyes, relishing andlingering on her contact while she traced her fingers across the petals andstems of the ink flowers.

Thisevent only served as incentive to keep on drawing. He would always have histool at the ready for whenever the impulse to draw something that may make herday easier struck. Although the desire to get to meet her and speak to her hadincreased tenth fold, he was enjoying their form of communication so much thathe didn’t want to stop. ‘Just a little longer’, he would say to himself.

Itwas an understatement to say that his heart almost jumped out of his chest whenhe saws the rabbit on the forearm of the cute girl he just bumped into.

Andthe rest, as they say, is history.

Theysay you feel complete when you find your soul mate. He had never been a fan ofthe concept, the idea that you feel incomplete and that you’re not truly worthyuntil you meet your other half sounding completely ridiculous to him.

Butnow he had to admit if life had given him a chance to meet Emily sooner, hewould have taken it without hesitation.

Itwasn’t that she made him complete. He had a life before her and it didn’tchange when he met her. But somehow, everything with her feels like more.

Beingwith her gave a particular shine to things: his hobbies, his surroundings. Itfelt more special whenever he got to hold her hand or see her smile.

Ithad been even better when they found out they were pursuing the same degree,and found it even funnier that they had never acknowledged the other’s presenceamong their classmates.

Whichnow brought them to the current situation…

                                                      *****

‘Howcan you not know? We studied this for weeks!’

‘Yeah,well we also made out in between said study. I might have forgotten the finerdetails’

Jacksmiled while imagining her blushing at the memory of said heated make outsessions. He didn’t have to wait too much for her answer, though.

‘You’rean idiot and I’m punching you once we’re out. Do you realize how busted we’reif the catch us?’

‘Maybebut think of what a bummer it would be if I couldn’t show up with you to myhouse on Christmas break.’

Afew minutes go by before she deigned to answer back.

‘Theanswer is B.’

Hesuppressed a smile in order to not bring attention to him. God, he loved her somuch.

Hefinished the remaining questions in record time and, after a quick revision ofhis answers, he handed the test to the teacher.

Onlywhen he was installed at a bench on the hallway to wait for Emily to be donewith the test, he dared to pull back his sleeve.

‘Andyou better be buying me a nice dinner after this’

Hechuckled. God, he loved her so much.

‘Asyou wish, princess.’

                                                         *****

There! Hope you enjoyed it and don’t hesitate to send more requests. It helps me flex my writer muscless ;)

[lunaraen]

I present.... were-Quinn au, any prompt u like,, just,, Were-Quinn thanks in advance

Quinn, for all her attachment to control and to her life havingsome degree of predictability, has come to accept that there are some parts ofher life destined for random chaos and less expected twists.

It hasn't been all bad; they've managed to live through it, eachand every one of them, despite it all.

For as much trouble as she and her friends get into, usually dueto the whims of others, it's said chaos that led to her gaining any realfriends in the first place, to finding and creating their odd little familyafter she was so sure that all she really wanted was to be alone.

It hasn't exactly been all good either, though.

"Ow!" Because maybe Quinn's life was lonely before,but at least it wasn't constantly weird. Or annoyingly painful. She winces,tasting blood as she pushes herself upright from where she's lying on Kate'scouch, and doesn't quite manage to hold back her frustration when she realizesshe hadn't even been talking this time. Her cheek's paying for it all the same,stinging where it rests against her teeth. "What the h--"

Kate, who's put up with this longer than Quinn herself might'veif she was the one listening and not in pain, doesn't even look up from herbook this time, lowering it just enough for Quinn to see her sunglasses slidingdown the bridge of her nose before Kate nudges them back up.

"Quinn, can you not bite your own cheek for fiveminutes?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize how easy it was to deal with stupid sharp teeth-- ow!" Karma rearsits spiky head, and Quinn's fingers dig into the couch, half curling into fistsas she brushes her tongue over her front teeth, the least painful so far."Seriously, why can't they change quickly? Or later?"

"It's a sign somebody wants you to be quiet untiltonight." The pause lasts just long enough for Kate to clearly considerholding back some comment before deciding against restraint, lifting the bookonce again so the bottom of the dusty tome and her elbows rest against thetable while she all but buries her nose in archaic illustrations and crypticwriting. "Me. I want you to be quietfor a few hours so I can piece together some answers without you freakingout."

Tempting as it might be to try and blame Kate, none of this isher fault and she's only tried to help. Quinn can imagine her own temperwouldn't be much better if she listened to someone complain this long.

Still, she allows herself a bit of sulking as she lies backdown, softened pouting tempered by appreciation for how much Kate’s trying todo.

"Nobody ever really goes to you for emotional support, dothey?"

"That's what Zed's for." Zed, sitting on the otherside of the table, waves when Kate gestures to him, still slowly paging througha different, smaller book with his other hand. "They come to me for mycharming personality-- and apparently my library. I'm impressed you think I'll have something on this when youdon't. You're much more of a mythology buff than I am."

If Quinn could rely on that knowledge, she would.

Werewolf would have been her first guess, but none of thevariations she's ever heard of match enough with her symptoms or dreadfullylong transformation.

Never mind that, as far as she knows, she hasn't been bitten orscratched at by a were-anything, so she has no idea what passed this on, andthe potential candidates are too many to list thanks to how many monsters liketargeting her and her friends and how many of them Quinn beats back on theregular.

What little bits of fur Quinn has are both too short and toosoft, currently, to really say what animal or monster she's becoming, otherthan that becoming it's a slow process and that it has darned sharp teeth.

And a hearty appetite for something meaty, which helps not atall with deciding on a cure or preparation steps beyond hoping cooked food willdo.

There’s cooked steaks in her bag, and it better be enough.

She doesn’t want to pay for Kate’s groceries, or steal them inthe first place, and she really doesn’t want to rely on whatever food sourceZed’s been using.

"And you know way more about generally spooky things than Ido." Coming to Kate still wasn't a solely logical decision, if sensible inthe first place, and Quinn at least takes comfort in the familiarity of herhome and the couch she'd currently flopped down on. "There's an endlessamount of creepy islands, and at least one of them has to have had somethinglike this."

"It might, but the closest I know of is the one with themonster livestock." Kate huffs, flipping through several pages beforeglancing back up at her, one eyebrow quirked. "I don't know about all the isles, you know."

It's an odd admission of relative weakness, coming from someonewho was, and occasionally still is, so ready to seem smarmily all-knowing andall-powerful.

"It would be too convenient if you did." Quinn's wordsare slower, clunkier and more careful as she tries to keep her teeth fromsnagging on some part of her mouth. She's not successful, already aching cheeknearly sliced by the largest and sharpest tooth.

She doesn't cry out in frustration or pain this time, insteadgrimacing as her mouth clamps shut, but it doesn't stop Kate from leveling heran unimpressed look.

"You really just want to tear your mouth apart, don'tyou?"

"...I didn't think I'd be jealous of monster farm animals,but at least they got the transformation part over with quickly. I think we'dhave noticed if they were just slowly becoming devil cows."

Kate grins briefly, teeth half showing as she pauses.

"It's possible. Most of you were more focused on buildingyour shelter-- and Durango's hardly that observant." There's a pause,obviously intended to allow for or to signal a reaction, and she gets one,Quinn not quite catching her huff of agreement in time. Kate's smile shifts,fading almost entirely as she shakes her head, turning another page. "Partof what made the island a fun choice was the drama of their quick shifts. Idon't know if I've seen or heard of any situation drawn out like yours."

(Quinn ignores the unspoken, doesn't try to think about whatZed's own transformation was like or how much of it Kate witnessed.

She's glad it was quick.)

"What, inconvenient and painful? We've all been therebefore."

Quinn's smile is tired, strained, and weak.

"Not like this." Kate's smile is nonexistent as sheshakes her head. "Those were all fairly temporary or brief situations, andcertainly never required this much energy or set up."

There's a biting comment to be made there, about how Kate's workwas cut out for her in the first "season" thanks to her command blockand how they had even less time in the second one thanks to Poseidon and his,but Quinn doesn't miss the subtext or the way Kate worries her lower lipbetween her teeth.

As over dramatic as Kate likes being, the action and theunderlying anxiety are too subdued and too realto reassure her any.

"Wait, wait." Quinn's voice doesn't waver, smile hardeninginto something firm and far less smile-like, brow pinching together even as shekeeps the confusion and panic out of her voice because Quinn hasn't gonethrough so much, grown as a person and pushed through everything that's beenthrown at her and her friends, just to panic over a possibility. That's notsomething a leader does, no matter how justified or worn out. "It could bepermanent?"

The possibility is still terrifying.

Her attempt to straighten up further is met by a hand pressingflat against her torso, Kate's book forgotten on the table and Zed also on hisfeet, several steps away from Kate.

"Lie down."Kate's pushing doesn't have the force to actually stop Quinn from sitting up,but her look does, her sunglasses having shifted just far enough down her noseagain for Quinn to see how tired she looks, far enough for Kate to look whollyunimpressed down at Quinn over her sunglasses. "You're not doing yourselfany favors by getting worked up over what might happen. It's a guess, and it'snot exactly my best one- I haven't gotten a chance to talk to many werewolves.Maybe the first shift, or turning, or whatever, is supposed to be long. Yourbody's never done it before."

Kate's grins are as flashy as ever, but Quinn's seen enough toknow when they're just that, all flash and no substance.

There's no audience to show them off for, though, and while Katemight be doing it to try and put Quinn at ease, or even both her and Zed, theyseem more to try and comfort herself, and her explanation sounds more tired andoff the cuff than equally orchestrated and bold.

It's a scary thought.

(Also not helping is that, for the first time since coming here,something's drowning out the scent of rotting flesh. As happy as Quinn could bethat her improving sense of smell isn't flooded by Zed, the new scent's hardlybetter, and while Quinn could try and claim that her growing hunger is just dueto the transformation, because rotting flesh making her stomach gnaw and achethe way it does is gross, it's harder to ignore how the new smell makes hermouth water.

Quinn thinks it's fear, strong and almost unbearably tasty, andshe doubts it's her own. She swallows, and hopes Kate thinks it's because ofany number of doubts not related to eating Kate or Zed alive.

Something inside her is hungry, ravenous and demanding as ittears at her from the inside, and she shoves it down like the animal it is.)

"Kate, we don't even know what I'm becoming." Kate'sseriousness is off-putting, and Quinn gingerly attempts another dry grin, carefulnot to smile too widely as she relaxes, reclining again until Kate pulls herhand back. "Beyond something with stupidly sharp teeth."

"And we don't know if there's a cure, or how long thetransformation's supposed to last, or even how you'll act once it'scomplete." Kate might be tired of her own solemnity, tone more aloof asshe brushes her hair back, examining her nails afterwards with a sly smile."I really don't want to think about you attacking me in my house all alonein the woods. I don't even have neighbors who could react and be properlytraumatized."

"How inconvenient for you." And Quinn, terrified ofbeing stuck in another form, of losing who she is mentally, of wanting to eather friends, revels in the simple act of rolling her eyes. "I promise if Ikill you I'll try to make it more... sensational. Publicly disturbing?"

Another joking offer, light in tone and waved off by Kate.

"Oh, there are few things more disturbing than finding awerewolf den in a dead person's home." Kate lowers her hand, leaningagainst the couch's arm rest, and begins eyeing the nails on her other one."I'd just like to stir up some sympathy before I die."

It's taken a lot of work to get Kate to admit she wantssympathy-- emotional involvement-- just as much as, if not more than, sheerattention.

Quinn can cherish that later.

"Sounds like a deal." It's too much to sit with insilence, and she forces herself to push through the lingering levity, shouldersrelaxing against the couch cushion once again as she looks up at Kate."...you have actually useful potions stored up, right?"

"No, I just buy potion ingredients and shiny vials forfun."

The potion ingredients are more for bragging and shelf decorinside their own jars, Kate's knowledge of making things for herself slowlyincreasing but still sparse, while the potions and elixirs are as useful asthey are shiny and expensive, only the occasional bottle filled with a glitteryparty favor type brew.

Quinn's not looking to sparkle.

"I'll pay you back- or get the ingredients and help teachyou how to make a new one that's just as good- but if you think there's achance I'll hurt you, there's no harm in giving me a weakness potion or twobefore the transformation really gets underway."

"Because drugging you isn't going to have any serious sideeffects mid-transformation."

Kate's tone isn't any less critical, as easy to shrug off asQuinn finds it. Acting weird beats acting homicidal, or predatory, or whateverharming Kate or Zed would count as post-transformation.

"Better if I'm loopy than you dead. What, afraid I mightend up chewing on one of your shoes?"

It's the wrong thing to say.

Kate's finger ends up jabbed against Quinn's chest again, andfrankly Quinn thinks she's the one who ought to sound exasperated after all theprodding. Kate pulls off the unpleased air well, though.

"Quinn, you coulddie if the transformation goes wrong. What if it makes your bones reshapewrong? Or messes with your organs when they move?"

For all her huffiness, Kate sounds legitimately concerned.

Quinn wants to mourn the painkillers she'll be needing but notgetting, but staying alive is a slightly higher priority.

"Alright, then chain me up."

Kate blinks at her, sharing an uneasy glance with Zed, beforecrossing her arms.

"We do have someleft over from a challenge we never got to start. Fine. The things I do forfriends." For you, morespecific, goes unsaid, and it works well enough. There maybe wouldn't be asmuch banter, between Kate and any of their other friends, but it's easy enoughto imagine her chaining them up, for both her sake and theirs.

(Unfairly easy, given prior, but far less constricting,imprisonment.

Quinn guesses she's lucky enough that Kate doesn't considertossing her in one of her more (but not entirely) secured obsidian prisons, asmuch as most of her trusts Kate more than that by this point.)

"Hey, friends who give you attention and keep you fromgoing stir crazy out here."

"It's amazing- I think you've finally shown me that thereare some types of attention I can live without. People desperately coming to mefor help and with worries about dying is one of them."

"I'll pay you back for that later too."

"You will." Rather than getting poked or shoved again,Kate settles for giving her a pointed look. It feels similar enough."Because you're going to transform back after the night's over, withoutmaiming me, and I'll be waiting for my payment. You better craft me something nice."

It shouldn't be a tall order; Quinn'll see to making sure thatit isn't, that things go that well without any of this coming back to bite atKate.

(Literally. Even taking murder or massive physical trauma offthe table, Quinn has no current interest in making Kate whatever she'sbecoming, in making her go through this kind of aching, throbbing pain orconstant background worrying about her own fate.

Whatever she becomes might feel differently about having packmates, but that's tough for later-Quinn.

They'll do their best to make sure it's not an option.)

[thefitzs-blog]

Hello I recently began reading historical fiction (both mystery and romance) and I remember you commenting some time ago that you like to read historical romance. Do you have any recommendations? I’m still new to the genre and am finding what I like and don’t like. Thank you. Ps I like your header , Julia Quinn is grate

Hi Anon,

I’m quite fussy myself when it comes to historical romance, but hopefully I can be of some help - I’m really not into ham joints for hands, musclar men and a lot of authors across romance genre tend to base their hero’s around this image. It’s always important to read reviews especially when you’re testing the waters, they sometimes give more detailed descriptions or offer trigger warnings or just warnings of distress (which are much needed, my heart has been broken many a time and a spoiler would have been appreciated). However, don’t base all your judgment on others views, if you think it sounds good but top reviews don’t, just go for it - but if it’s got mostly 2 star reviews then maybe not.

Amanda Quick might be your cup of tea as she combines mystery and romance in a 19th century setting. If you’re just into period mystery then Agatha Christie is always a reccomendation. She’s actually how I got into hr, well Christie and a really good fic writer who wrote an amazing historic au years ago.

A few of my favourites:

Fool for love by Eloisa James. Some heartbreaking moments in this book, for context the heroine has had an injured hip since birth, “They said you would never marry, Henrietta. You are married. They said you would never dance. We are dancing. And they said you would never give birth. But I know you. I know you want this baby. We’ll go to every doctor in England if we have to. We can find someone who will save the baby. And you.”

A week to be wicked by tessa dare - this book is wild - fake betrothals, sharing a bed, science fairs, scientific dirty talk, impromptu weddings, sword swallowing, pretending to have an affair to hide in plain sight, misunderstandings, highwaymen chasing them and lets not forget being robbed at gun point with our hero left for dead before our heroine knocks the lights out of the unsuspecting bandit. This book seems like fanfiction, more specifically fitzsimmons fanfiction. Once I read it I was tempted to write it but I’m a bad writer. Worth noting this book is one of the few books I enjoy both by the author and in the ‘spindle cove’ series, the book prior to this is a good read, the rest are mixed.)

Seven Years to Sin by Sylvia Day is great, I like-love it but I don’t love-love it. The hero coveted heroine for several years however she married during this time, she becomes widowed and the two meet by chance and explore the sparks that have been between them since the moment they laid eyes on one another.

Scandal of the Year by Laura Lee Ghurke - fyi only a pretence of adultery none actually committed- Hero and heroine are discovered in bed together by heroines husband which results in divorce, yes the scandal! Hero has no idea how he ended up in bed with the heroine, he remembers nothing other than her kiss before all fades to black. One later, they meet again, we learn their lives have intersected since they were 16, each coveting the other at one point or another yet too afraid to say something. Basically, Hero wants a future with heroine, heroine is scared and wants to enjoy her freedom after her horrid first marriage.

Her Ladyships Companion by Evangeline Collins - fyi, adultery is committed but your heart aches for the heroine, she was so young when she married and he is so horrid you just want her to be happy ahh spoilers anyway - Hero is a male prostitute (I blame fanfic for my love of this rare trope), he is hired by our heroines close friend who believes heroine deserves some attention in her life. She has every intention of sending him away until she meets him and everything changes. Their relationship is great until Hero realises he wants more than she can give him. He leaves and asks she not to contact for him again, yet he is summoned once more. Does he go back? Will they ever be able to have a real relationship? 🤷🏻‍♀️

When beauty tamed the beast by Eloisa James - the Hero honestly reminds me of Fitz from aos, he’s such a grump. Our hero is a doctor - an upfront and emotionless one at that. He was injured as a child resulting in a permanent limp and the use of a cane. Our heroine is beautiful, the talk of the town and allegedly pregnant having been spotted kissing a prince then throwing up after eating less than fresh prawns at a season event. The hero’s father thinks that his son will never marry or beget an heir (he believes his son impotent) and so arranges a marriage between he and the hero, believing that she is already pregnant which would provide him his heir. The hero is no fool, as a doctor he knows a stuffed pillow when he sees one. This book is packed with affairs by the beach, a spreading disease, a race against time and thunder storms. This book also includes the heroine coming to terms with what she perceives as her loss of looks, as someone who prided herself on looks alone it is such an amazing journey to see her inner thoughts. This book is great, and I really recommend it.

The Earl takes All by Lorraine Heath - I cannot put this book into words. It’s heartbreaking but it’s worth the pain.

Less angsty books include the Westcott series by Mary Balogh (all save the last, Someone to Care, I didn’t care much for the protagonists as I had grew to dislike the heroine in prior books). I’m currently re-reading this series.

Someone to Love - Anna Snow has lived at the orphanage for as long as she can remember, whilst others left once of age, she stayed on to become a teacher (alongside her best friend Joel). One day she receives a letter from a solicitor to meet him in London. She discovers she is the only legitimate heir to an aristocrat after it is revealed he committed bigotry. She is thrust into a life she could never have imagined, with the help of Avery, a handsome lord, to guide her.

Someone to Hold - Camille Westcott begins teaching in the very orphanage Anna grew up in so she can find herself - if her half sibling can live so lowly, so can she. She meets Joel, an artist who teaches art once a week - they immediately dislike each other, due to his loyalty to Anna who is his best friend and the woman he once proposed to. He admires the way she engages the children and sees something in her that Camille doesn’t see herself. There’s sparks, heartbreak and a new discovery that could change Joel’s world forever.

Someone to wed - upon inheriting the Westcott title as the closest male relative to the late Earl of Riverdale, Alexander, the penniless Earl also inherits a mansion which is in desperate need of repairing. Thankfully for him, Wren, his neighbour, has just the solution to his financial problems. Marriage. Having only met Wren, a woman who hides herself behind a dark vail, ten minutes prior, Alex is taken aback by her offer. It’s the perfect solution but why would she marry a total stranger? And what is she hiding behind the vail?

I would also recommend Anna Bradley, her writings are quite light hearted and The Firstborn by Quenby Olson (latter is a clean romance).

I hope you enjoy these recommendations anon, I have tons more if not. I must warn a majority of these are angsty and so Julia Quinn may be a good read in between books. I hope you’re able to find the trope that you like 💕🦔

[omgkatsudonplease]

I love when you do things like this! Song: Feelings by Hayley Kiyoko :-)

thanks! it’s always a good way for me to challenge myself and get my writing brain going again 🙏

the character anzwei kuhn is stolen wholesale from @exile-wrath! thanks pal

The Armistice Ball is a roaring success, which naturally means Viktor, Crown Prince of Neva and scion of the House of Nikiforov, wants to leave.

He supposes that it’s a bit cliche, sorta like all those Terran holofilms that Gosha likes to watch so much. A privileged little prince, hating the fact that he has it better than most of the people in the world. He should at least smile, and wave, and make nice with the people he needs to be nice to. But even that feels like it’s too much. 

Compliments slide off him like water as he wends his way through the crowd. People know him even through the mask on his face; they bow to him and say all sorts of pleasant nothings. The weather, how good he looks tonight, would he be interested in spending time with them later? 

“I have a pleasure ship docked at the spaceport, if Your Highness would like to see it,” an Allegrian purrs at him, looking up through her long, inky lashes. He can smell the musk of her scent: aggression, passion. Nevans have so many opinions and stereotypes about Alpha Allegrians, and he’s sure she’s quite lovely when she isn’t publicly broadcasting her availability to the entire planet. 

He makes his excuses, but he’s barely taken two steps away when he finds his path blocked by the Kerri delegation. The leader of the bunch sizes him up and down, their iridescent eyes shining enigmatically. Despite that, Viktor can sense much of the same feelings rolling off of them as from the Allegrian.

Sure enough, the Kerri in question then tilts their head, their antennae bobbing and pulsing in excitement. “Truly, it is an honour to meet you tonight, Prince Viktor,” they drawl, in a voice that reminds Viktor of a paper bag crumbling. “I’ve heard so much about you. Is it true that you could –” 

Viktor’s tempted to turn off his translator. He didn’t really need to know what people are saying about him on Kerr. But instead he smiles, shaking his head. “I have never heard of anything like that,” he replies, before sending a long-suffering look towards Yakov, his mentor and the Royal Advisor to the King. Yakov nods towards another cluster of foreign guests, so Viktor takes a breath and makes his excuses to the Kerri delegation.

“We are the Mandalans from the Neva-Mandala Exchange Programme,” says the first person when Viktor draws closer. “And we are gratified that Your Highness has chosen to greet us personally.”

Viktor smiles. The Mandalans bow, one hand folded across their chests. He copies them as well as he can. 

“And I am gratified to receive your delegation this evening,” he replies. “May the Emperor rule for many more centuries.”

“May the Emperor rule,” agrees the first Mandalan. The others mutter stuff much to the same extent. 

“What are your names?” Viktor asks, curiously testing the emotional waters around them. As expected, all he runs up against is a blank, contrasting with the high-strung hysterical adoration or slippery political posturing from so many other guests. 

“Anzwei Kuhn,” says the first Mandalan. “And these are my colleagues, Cale Serfe and Seung-gil Lee.”

Viktor hums. “How are you enjoying Neva, then?”

“It has been satisfactory,” replies Anzwei. “The hospitality accorded to us at the University of Moyka is acceptable.”

Viktor isn’t sure if that’s a translation error, or if the Mandalans really intended to be such harsh graders of Nevan hospitality. The fact that he can’t discern their true emotions on the situation makes everything much harder. 

Nevertheless, he smiles, gesturing towards the rest of the ball. “Well, enjoy yourselves. If you have questions, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”

At his next respite, he goes to seek out Yura. The younger prince is in avid conversation with a Beta Allegrian with dark hair and a surly expression; he glowers at Viktor as he draws closer. “You stink of neediness,” Yura bites out.

“You should greet more people than just old friends,” Viktor says, looking sidelong at the Beta Allegrian. “Otabek, right?”

“Yes,” says Yura. “He’s just told me about his new mediatorship.”

“Really? Congratulations.” Viktor nods at Otabek. “To whom?”

Yura’s expression grows pinched. “Leroy has mated,” he growls, with about as much disdain as if he’d just stepped in a glob of Eterian slime. 

“Oh, congratulations to them, too.” Viktor has no idea who Leroy is, but they’re probably an Allegrian, and Yuri probably hates their guts. He decides not to press the issue further, clapping the younger prince on the shoulder. “Anyway, I think I’m going to step out for a bit, so if you want to take over all of my duties, I’ll owe you –”

“Ugh, who’s caught your eye tonight?” mutters Yura. 

“I – that’s a gross exaggeration. I don’t always end up with –” Viktor sighs. If he can’t even defend his reputation from family, how can he hope to do it with strangers? “You know I don’t. You know. Bond-bond.”

“But you do temporary ones,” Yura points out. “Everyone’s seen those, splashed all over the tabloids the next morning.”

“Those aren’t real.” Viktor waves a hand. Could anyone really blame him for wanting to experience someone else’s emotions for a little while? To have the same intense point of unity without the sticky legalese of a permanent bond? No one could become the strongest empath in the galaxy – and the most talented one in Nevan history – without the accompanying hole inside them where their own feelings should be. 

“Not real, sure, but still. Just say someone’s caught your eye and go, already,” hisses Yura. Viktor squeezes his shoulder, then, with a little bracing twinge, before skipping off into the crowd. 

He’s just making his way past the fountain when he collides with someone, splashing blue wine down the front of his uniform. The person splutters, embarrassment flashing bright across his cheeks. Viktor’s heart does a double take.

They’re the most beautiful Terran he’s ever seen. A shock of dark hair over skin that glows warm like firelight, eyes that sparkle like topaz. For a moment, the world around them seems to go deathly silent, all other emotions fading into static. The clarity sends a shiver down his spine. 

He’d only ever read about these sorts of encounters before. Very few Nevans get to experience such perfect moments of clarity, but in the presence of another it takes on an intensely intimate meaning. Viktor can only distantly hear his own voice as he apologises to the Terran, who takes a step back, eyes widening. They say something about their drink, gesturing to their glass. Viktor tries to will his mind back to Neva to catch what they’re saying. 

“I’m so sorry,” the Terran says. Viktor is suddenly rocked by a bolt of their intense curiosity and attraction.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to ruin this.” He bows to the Terran, smiling at the pink flush in their cheeks. He knew their blood was red, but to see it manifested so is honestly fascinating. “Your outfit is excellent, by the way. But did no one tell you it was a costume ball, not a strip club?”

The Terran bypasses pink and lands right on red, their hands coming up to cover the daring mesh panels on their flamboyantly-cut Nevan suit. “I’m going to murder Phichit,” they mumble. Viktor has no idea who Phichit is, but he suspects they’re going to need to explain why they’d decided to dress their friend in Nevan bondage gear pretty soon. 

“It’s really no matter,” he says. The Terran’s outfit may be a shade too scandalous for a royal ball, but he’s already seen worse ensembles out there. “As strip club outfits go, it’s positively classy.”

“I knew I should have covered up,” says the Terran, shaking their head. “I’m so sorry if I’ve offended your gaze or something. I’ll just –”

“No.” The word blurts out of Viktor before he realises it. “I mean – here.” He unclips his cape, a soft satin-and-fur affair that he only ever wears to formal events, and drapes it over the Terran’s shoulder. “Now you’re modest.”

“Thank you,” mumbles the Terran. “Remind me to murder my friend, too.”

“I’ll be sure to,” replies Viktor. “In the meantime, could I tempt you with a dance?”

He suspects that all the available cameras in the room are now trained on this moment, as the Terran nods and takes his hand. They head out into the other whirling couples, moving in time to the music. The cape flows rather fetchingly behind the Terran as they step together. 

“You know Nevan dances?” asks Viktor, quirking an eyebrow.

“I pick things up,” says the Terran. “My childhood dance instructor was well-travelled.”

Viktor beams. He’s wearing gloves to avoid scandalous touches, but even through the fabric he can sense some of the Terran’s emotions. Besides, they’re broadcasting most of it in their expressions – trepidation, nerves, with an undercurrent of excitement.

And some confusion. They don’t have any idea who Viktor is. 

Viktor wants to know more. “I don’t recall seeing you on the guest list,” he says. “Someone as attractive as yourself would be memorable.”

The Terran looks down, almost demure. “I’m not – I’m a companion,” they say. “My friend Phichit and I are companions for the crew of the Firebird?”

“Mila Babicheva!” Viktor had known Yuri was trying to lure her back home; he had no idea that it’d actually succeeded. “How is she?”

“She came here for a royal pardon. Would you happen to know Prince Yuri? Apparently he’s supposed to give it to her.”

“That’s irresponsible of him,” remarks Viktor. “He can’t just give out royal pardons to anyone.” 

The Terran freezes. “Wait, does that mean –”

“I know Prince Viktor could,” continues Viktor. “I think he could be persuaded, if you know what I mean.”

There’s a pause, and then the Terran’s brows knit adorably. “I’m… I’m not sure,” they manage. “I hear things about Prince Viktor.”

Viktor almost preens. Almost. “What have you heard?”

“He rejected all of the options the Royal Matchmaker provided for him,” parrots the Terran, almost like they’re quoting a Starboard post about how problematic the Crown Prince of Neva is. “Supposedly he’s some irrepressible playboy or something.” 

Viktor laughs. “If he’s a playboy, why would he need a matchmaker?”

“You’re the Nevan, you’d probably know better.” A pause, and then the Terran pauses, flushes hard. “I’m sorry, that was out of line. I mean. I guess it’s a bit strange?”

“You don’t seem to know much about Neva,” Viktor remarks. 

“I’m sorry!” pleads the Terran. “It’s my first time here; I’ve only ever seen pictures and heard stories from Mila. Please don’t arrest me!”

Viktor shakes his head, putting on his best fake-serious expression “We don’t do arrests on Neva. We just kill the offenders.” It’s a terrible joke, but seeing the Terran squirm is a little too entertaining. Still, after a moment he can’t handle it anymore and bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry, that was – we haven’t executed someone in over a standard century.”

“First time for everything,” replies the Terran grimly. Viktor chortles. 

“Well, to answer your question,” he begins, but then the song draws to an end. Viktor spies the door leading out onto the balcony and pulls the Terran there, his heart immeasurably light at how willing the Terran goes, curiosity oozing from their every pore. “The Royal Matchmaker designates candidates suitable for marriage into the Royal Family. However, Prince Viktor has frequently been spotted enjoying the company of other beings, flouting official fraternisation protocol.”

The Terran is silent about that for a moment, their hands skimming across the crystal railing of the balcony. The entire structure glimmers in the moons’ light; the planet’s rings hover just a couple degrees short of perpendicular to the horizon. 

“Why would he want to do that?” the Terran asks after a moment, looking up at Viktor through their lashes. Viktor finds it suddenly hard to breathe.

“Well, when they look so beautiful…” he trails off, swallowing. “I mean. I don’t know. Maybe he’s just really lonely.”

“Lonely?”

Viktor nods, slowly drawing off one glove. The Terran’s gaze rivet to his fingers, their eyes wide. “Well, he doesn’t like any of the prospective candidates, and he’s wondered for so long if maybe…”

His fingers are just bare centimeters from the sides of the Terran’s face. Everything grows hushed, as if the universe is holding its breath.

Viktor is barely aware of his own words. “Maybe the one who makes his world stop, the one who he’s destined to be with is not from Neva at all.” He’s feeling something – so many things – and for once he’s certain it’s not just the curiosity and attraction that rolls off the Terran in waves. It’s his own emotions, slowly bubbling to the tips of his fingers now breaths from the Terran’s skin.

The Terran tilts their head, unconsciously presenting their lips. Viktor knows that’s how they kiss, and in this bright, burning moment he wants to indulge the Terran in that custom, and perhaps plea for them to stay longer – 

And then there’s the sound of an explosion, and seconds later the bright crystal shrapnel of the glass ballroom comes flying at them. 

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

Is there such thing as character developement, but, like... character developement for THE WRITER?

Character developement for the way you write the same story?

Because “Nevermore pt. II” was a really fun thing to write, and one of my absolute favorite scenes between Dove and the Titans.

It’s over here: (WAY old though so please forgive the lack of style, inclusion of lyrics, ableism, and characterization flaws. The scene I’m talking about is under the lyrics break-- you can laugh, because yes, I was That Author once upon a time.) 

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3471952/5/Mindquest-Trilogy-I-Missing-Raven

And it’s basically Nevermore, But Dove’s Mind Instead. It’s getting rewritten. (All of Missing is, actually. WAY overhauled!) And for the longest time, I was just going to refresh and revamp that scene. (Because I had a lot of fun writing it, and I need something for Beast Boy and Cyborg to bond to her in this story...)

Actually, that whole “story” has gotten a ton of developement; Dove learning to be with the team, and not just Raven, is now a MAJOR theme of the whole story. (It was only in that scene before.)

But Nevermore pt. II got slashed to bits when I had a realization about Dove as a person. When I really started to understand just how much being raised pacifist affected her-- when I came to understand how peace can play into a mental struggle.

I glimpsed Dove saying, “I fight my battle with peace.”

And after a grand debate, several months (perhaps, years) of trying to shove that peace into a battle... I realized. That’s just not how the story goes for her.

And like Stephen King makes a big deal about, I had to make the hard, terrible decision to utterly dismantle one of my all-time favorite scenes, remove its entire climax, and 

--

She suddenly felt a strange and unusual mental sensation, and stood up in confusion. Somehow she felt… oddly braver.

(Powers spur three nearby rocks right to the center and nearly shatter the steel target.)

Robin's impressed but Dove nearly panics.

What in Azar’s name-?!

She looked at herself and wondered if there was some odd effect all these emotions had on her and couldn’t help wondering if she really was going insane.

Tells him, "That wasn't me, I-- I think I should stop now." Raises her wide eyes to him. "I'm too tired, I might lose control..."

He's tempted to encourage her to keep pushing herself, but there's a panicked desperation in her eyes that leads him to nod... and her hands were shaking. Whatever she just did scared her enough that her powers were still crackling in the air. "I'd say you made enough progress for one day. Good work."

She nodded stiffly and bolted.

And Robin added one more strange disappearance to the list of [times Dove fled without a word of explanation?] And with Raven gone, he'd have to interpret it himself. [...obvious she's afraid of her own power...]

Racing through the halls as thoughts raced through her mind. Dove's confused by feeling like she could take on the whole world, and WIN. It's foreign, terrifyingly unfamiliar. Felt like her mind was... crowded with external thoughts - using her powers bringing them forth, heightening her telepathy too? She just didn't KNOW! But doesn't want to be around if something goes wrong, and wants to do her best to find out why before it gets out of hand. Having absolutely no idea what to make of it, she decided to go into her mirror and check things out again.

When she arrived in the mental world, she looked around and tried to see what was going on. There were golden-tinted patches in the deep navy-blue infinite sky, and white stars were scattered across it. The air was a lot colder than usual and an icy breeze played with her hair, both taunting and caressing. The structures that rose from the ground were thin and vertical, golden, sharply pointed, almost as tall as Dove. The darkened crystals beneath her feet was rough and looked like dusty glass, permanently obscured windows to another world; she looked at the shards that usually stood alone and realized they were formed in a path already –

Oh, no… Beast Boy, you're going to get yourself killed!

He was her first instinct - but she... couldn't figure out why... She supposed it was because he was always curious and mischievous, and he probably came to her room looking for her and found the mirror instead... She followed the path, hoping that he at least wasn’t too far in already and hadn’t found a certain too-powerful all-consuming facet of her mind…

She looked at one of the arc-like structures and noticed that the doves on top of it were black instead of the normal snow-white color and sighed, once more being reminded of the white bolts flickering around her and hoping with all her desperation that she might be able to at least control them here.

Farther down the path she saw one of the arcs and blinked, wondering how far Beast Boy had gotten in – if it really was him, and not Robin learning from reading in the restricted files again like he did when Raven was sick…

She didn’t want to see exactly what the different facets of her personalities were like when she was almost as far from normal as she could go, and she stopped at the arc... to hesitate, before actually passing under it.

The scenery didn't change much, but she could almost feel which part of her mind this was if the slight alterations weren't enough. The sky became more colorful and the stars blinked a different color each time they winked in and out of sight. Instead of walking on the rock, she was now walking on a dark marbled tile, and rows and rows of books littered the carpeted rooms flanking the path ahead.

I haven't been thinking like this in so long...

It was her rational and reasonable self, the part of her kept calm and placid by the memory of Azarath and her sister's teachings. For the past few days, she had pretty much been desperate - irrational and unreasonable. Walking through her own mind like this was a bit comforting, and she realized exactly how pathetic she had been acting for the past three weeks and a half.

Why do I even let myself get like that? Because I can't help it... She sighed and wondered why she was so much better at controlling herself when Raven was around.

Being in this single state of mind helped, and after awhile she figured it out. When she's here, I know that if I mess up, she'll help me make it right. But now I can't even figure out what I'm doing wrong. I know I can't exactly help myself. Feeling so helpless makes me so nervous. And now I'm so much more afraid of something bad happening...

She passed under another arc and the sky resumed its navy-blue and white-starred appearance. She sighed and continued on, now wondering why she hadn’t been following Raven’s instructions and lessons from before she left.

I really should be controlling myself better… Hey, if Beast Boy is still here, why am I -? I should be looking for him, not walking aimlessly!

She closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths and realized that her powers were starting to settle down.

I guess this place really is more focused… What’s going to happen when I get out though? Will I still be okay when I’m not in my own mind?

She could actually FEEL his presence. Then reasoning clicked a spark of hope in her mind: I’m thinking so much clearer now… Then will my powers work?

She stopped before taking a few more breaths and she felt the energy bolts fading away, and she chanted Azarath Metrion Zinthos and rose up slowly into the air. She looked down, smiled at her small success, then she flew over the path and the arcs.

  They come in because they know something's wrong with her...

They FEEL it, watching them... Diverts and confuses them, throws them off its trail.

Come across her Fear side. She's hiding when they find her...

Why are you hiding?

Yeah, you KNOW us.

"We don't BITE!" Though he added, "...most of the time."

She tells about her mother - people would HATE her...

Aw, c'mon, Dove.

We know, and we don't hate you.

(She blinks, afraid to believe it...) Promise?

Promise.

(Head bows.) ...She's afraid they WILL...

Why's that?

Things are getting bad and when things get bad for me, people get HURT!

[Riling attracts palpable darkness -

She SCREAMS! WE HAVE TO RUN!

Drags them away, suddenly vanishes and they're still running - world shifts around them...

(They see from that side that she's always eternally terrified...)

They're only one section beyond where Dove was.

Find her intellect. (She pops up?) Tells them they were quite unwise to come here...

(something) Of course not. My powers are only unstable when my mind is unstable.

After passing over four arcs, she saw Beast Boy – and a little surprisingly, along with Cyborg – talking to a figure of herself dressed in hot pink. The figure looked over her shoulders and waved at the boys before disappearing, right before Dove landed in front of them.

“You know, you guys should probably get out,” she said as she touched down. "Please."

“Oh, no you don’t!” Cyborg said.

“Don't what…?” Dove blinked at him in confusion.

“We pretty much went through this whole thing with Raven already,” Beast Boy told her.

“What are you guys talking about?”

Beast Boy answered her. “There was this once when Raven was going like rage-crazy psycho, and then we snuck into her room and got stuck in her mirror, and it was a total accident but it was a good thing because there was this bad thing, but then we kinda helped her back to normal.”

“Raven?” Dove tilted her head, only confused further on every phrase, but stuck on the first part - she couldn't imagine her letting herself get 'rage-crazy'. She never mentioned that...

“Yes, Raven,” Cyborg replied. “You know, she has her moments too.”

“What exactly did you guys--"

Distant thunder sounded, reverberating through the crystal, vibrating their feet. And the world consumed in quaking. The doves perched on an arc overhead flew off and scattered.

Dove's eyes flicked up anxiously. “We need to leave. Now!”

The boys glanced at each other and nodded.

"Dude..."

"We know what's up here."

“Huh?” Dove glanced around. "How you can know..."

“Well, we do!”

Dove sighed. “And why should I trust that?”

“Because the exact same thing happened with Raven!”

“Exact?” Dove shifted and looked at Beast Boy questionably. Almost... AFRAID to ask about this story...

“Yeah. She was acting just like you are now, all upset and loner-y and angry at anyone who tried to help, so we went to talk to her. But then we got stuck in this mirror-thing-" He gestured around. "And found like four different versions of her. Then this big red thing came and we fought him, but got our butts kicked until she did this awesome thing and there were like seven Ravens and we helped her win and everything was okay, so we figured, if we could help her, maybe we could help you, too!"

Dove was stunned with both shock and disbelief. "You-- invaded her mind?"

"More like her mind invaded us."

"Yeah, how were we supposed to know some random mirror would take us to crazy town?"

"Crazy town." If that's what they thought of Raven's mind...

Ahh! I didn't mean it like that, I--

( ??? )

"So," Cyborg proposed as he rubbed in hands in preparation, "now we just have to find where you keep your own big, bad, and ugly."

"I don’t," Dove enforced, with a rather desperate edge to her uncharacteristic certainty. "My mind IS big - telepath, remember? And for you to be here is bad. Really bad. And if you insist on staying here, things might get kinda ugly. [Has trouble with mental boundaries, really doesn't want to accidentally mess with their minds!]"

“Guys, get out. It isn't safe here, not in my mind and not with the way my powers are acting-- ”

“Look,” Cyborg told her. “We aren’t going to leave you here to try fighting yourself and lose. Raven did the same thing. Well, until she did this thing and we won."

Dove just shook her head. "That... means a lot to me. It really does. But... My problem, it's... It's not the kind of thing you can fight out. Try to understand... I fight my battle with peace, okay?" And they followed her gaze uncertainly as she turned to the world beyond, watching each glistening star fade in and out of existence, the gentle wind pulling through her hair, tugging at her cloak... a strange sort of wistfulness so faint in her face as they fell silent.

"That's what Azarath means, isn't it," Beast Boy said, in a moment of sudden epiphany, and genuine wonder in his voice.

Dove's head was held low as she turned halfway back. "...pretty much," she offered softly. The name had crossed her thoughts, and being here, in a telepath's mind, with her projective powers... It crossed his thoughts, too. (His was more open than Cyborg's, she realized, more receptive, more... prone to outside reality than Cyborg's scientific reality - there was a cold stubbornness to his mind...)

Even realizing she could understand that much about them made her all the more uneasy. "We... really should leave. The pressure of my mind against yours, it's... It's not safe," Dove warned them, not even knowing how to explain.

"Well, we tried..."

At some point: Dove explains why she was really only able to feel close to Raven – had known her earlier and had no reason to fear her…

Met a part of her that wouldn't stop hiding.

Dove's shoulders sank - surely they'd be so unimpressed. "...Oh...."

Why be afraid [of people]?

Mother taught her that if anyone knew about her, they’d fear and hate her and take her away from home… and she never learned how to interact with strangers because of that fear. Could only get close to one at a time and just attached to her… Raven wasn’t just my friend. Or sister. She was my anchor point. My guide. She’s the only one who can really HELP me…

{{ But they do still have to fight their way out - world won't let them, rather than any specific foe... }}

(They see her smile for the first time in a long, long time.)

"You sure you're alright?"

"I think I'll be fine... I need some rest, or... something, though..."

"What would 'something' be?"

"I don't know... Relaxation and maybe some tea or... I just don't know..."

"I can make it."

"Really...?" She looked at him gratefully.

"Yeah. Raven has stashes of her herbal tea in the cupboards, so - Oh..."

"Don't worry... I think I'll be fine about her, too... Sort of..." She bowed her head. "I still miss her, though."

"I think we all sorta miss her."

"Didn't her note say she was fine?" Cyborg tossed in.

"Yeah... I think she's fine, really," Dove said. "... just have a good feeling about it."

"Earlier you thought she wasn't ever coming back."

"Earlier I was fighting myself, and I was too busy being upset to think about anything but time... and now I realize that she's probably really okay. We're connected... I don't know how to explain it, but I can... FEEL her out there." Dove clutched a hand over her heart as she looked up to them, as if in a pledge of sincerity. "And all of my instincts are telling me she's okay."

Cyborg nodded. "That's all great to know - I hadda feeling that girl could [cover her own butt? I keep saying she can take care of herself?]. Now what do you say we get outta here?"

Dove smiled. "I say definitely."

They headed for the arc with an appearance of a more semi-sphere than an arc, a rough bird carved in marble stone and its diamond eyes reflecting the starlight glow around them, and a vortex lit to life between the rays inside it just before they passed under it.

Dove stumbled when it deposited them in her room. Other two steady her - Dove seemed more disoriented than either of them, and moaned.

But she looked up and called them before they could ask. "Guys? Hey, um... Thanks for that. Thanks for... trying... Nobody has ever done that before, put their minds and comfort aside just to... HELP me. And I'm really glad to know there's someone-- someone ELSE I can trust here. ... even if it's you, Beast Boy."

"You don't think I'm funny either?"

"I take it you really met my other sides... There IS a part of me that wants to be optimistic and smile at everything, but... no. Sorry."

"Well, anything to help a friend, even if she won't laugh at me."

"Oh, I'll laugh at you. Just not your jokes."

So much like the way Raven teased him, he says, "Are you sure you're her sister and not a clone?"

But Dove's smile was already kinda apologetic and he shrugged.

"Yeah, she'll be fine," Cyborg said.

Dove nodded and looked out her window, a sense of victory and triumph glistening just above her feelings of belonging and maybe even a discrete hint of friendship... and a thought crossed her mind that she never would have considered even an hour ago.

Maybe it won't be so bad without Raven after all...

Despite them being in her mind, it didn't hurt their views of her, or strain their relationship at all; seeing what she really is and not rejecting her for it - they actually seemed to EMBRACE it.

She finds it so hard to believe, how much they really CARE about her.