#and feel absolutely free to let the soil completely dry out in between waterings

[throwing-roses-into-the-abyss]

I saw (part of) a video compilation of plant tiktok yesterday and I got annoyed so here are ACTUAL basic plant care tips & also some mythbusting:

-misting plants does absolutely nothing for increasing humidity, and can in fact be incredibly counterproductive since constantly wet leaves massively increases chances of pests & diseases like mold & gnats & lice. If you have a plant that does best in humidity, put it on a pebble tray with water or keep it in a terrarium of some sort. If you have a couple, group them closely together, since that will increase humidity too. (That said, most commonly available plants that like humidity will do fine without it too. They might not thrive as much, but most of them will be okay.)

-that said, do clean off leaves every now and then, and either rinsing them off in the shower/sink/bathtub or putting them out in the rain in summer (my preferred method) ocassionally does wonders for them. Plants need clean leaves for good photosynthesis, and rainwater has lots of good nutrition for them (plus it’s free water!). there’s some debate going in plant world right now about using wax shine and other products on leaves. I personally just grab either a damp cloth, some dry tissues, or a small paintbrush, depending on the plant and how much effort I want to put in that day.

-things you need as a beginner in my opinion:

a plant you like and that’s easy to take care of

a pot to put it in (get an inner pot with holes in the bottom for drainage, and an outer pot to catch the water that drains out)

a place to put it

(if you get a cactus or anything with spikes/poisonous juice: gardening gloves)

that’s it. I saw someone say you need ph-level kits and hygrometers and different kinds of soil and all kinds of products, and I seriously wonder if that person was sponsored or actually an employee at some company because that’s some bullshit right there. I do absolutely recommend researching plants before you go to the store, to make sure you’re getting one you can actually take care of in the long run, and also so you don’t get overwhelmed by all the choice. but you don’t need all kinds of fancy equipment unless you’re not a beginner and you’re maybe specializing or going pro in some way. Honestly, I don’t even have a proper watering can??? I use old drinking bottles that I stopped using because I didn’t like them lmao. I use 2, because I have 2, and now I can keep different fertilizers separate, but honestly if necessary you can even just pick up your plant and put it in the sink for a bit. we do that all the time in this household.

-before you bring a plant home, check it - IN the store - for visible pests/diseases. A lot of lice will be on the stems/on the bottom of leaves. don’t get that one. (I very often forget to do this, don’t be like me.). If you have the space, I recommend quarantining plants in a separate space for a week or two after you bought them, just to see if anything shows up you couldn’t see in the store. you’d be surprised at how often you accidentally bring home lice with your cool new plant.

-instead of getting a hygrometer, if you need to know if your plants need water, just stick a finger into the soil about one or two knuckles deep. is the soil dry? water it. is it a bit moist? wait with watering. tadaaaaa done. and for free!

-contrary to popular belief, cacti & succulents DO need water fairly regularly. aside from the part where there are succulents native to almost every environment on the planet, it does rain in deserts sometimes too. Don’t spray them with a mister, just put some water on the soil around them/on their roots. Mine get almost no water in winter because a lot of plants go into a dormant phase then, about once a month in spring, and weekly and sometimes more in summer. A lot of succulents will actually show when they need water, because they’ll get all wrinkly and thin and sad instead of full and plump. don’t overdo it, because they tend to be prone to rootrot, but definitely do give them water and even some fertilizer every now and then.

-speaking of dormant phases: a lot of plants go dormant in winter. look up if this is the case for your plant too, and adjust how you take care of it. some might look like they’re dead but come back in spring, some might need to be cut back a bit, some want less or even no water. depending on what kind of plant you got and where you live, you might also want to move your plant to a different spot temporarily (windowsills get much colder than the room, and cold climates can completely kill a tropical plant that was doing fine all summer)

-you WILL have to deal with pests & diseases and you WILL lose plants at some point. doesn’t matter how experienced you are, these things just happen. best to just accept it, you literally can’t save every plant, try as you might. learn to identify what’s going on quickly, and by all means experiment! but if it’s not going to work or your other plants (or you yourself) are in danger somehow: chuck it out. losing a plant doesn’t make you a bad plant parent, it just makes you a normal plant parent like the rest of us.

-EDIT BECAUSE I FORGOT: sometimes you will get a bit of fungus/mold on the top layer of the soil. this is generally fine and completely harmless, though maybe a sign you’re overwatering. if you want to get rid of it, try putting some cinnamon on the soil. it’s worked for me so far, though I won’t make any promises it works for everyone and every plant. (also, coffee grounds can help against lice, but I do recommend just leaving it in spoons or smth and putting those near/on the soil and not putting the grounds themselves directly on the soil. coffee is toxic to a lot of living things, including some plants.)

[legends-live-in-memories]

Focus On Me

i want yall to pretend i dont have outstanding wips i need to finish lmao. Have this instead:

Dickinette One-shot 1.9K words

Summary: 

“Dick is pissed as hell after arguing with Bruce.

His solution? Go to an underground fight club to get the shit beaten out of him.”

without further ado

Richard Grayson was many things. He was a professional acrobat. He was a dedicated vigilante. Son of freaking Batman himself. And now? Now he was pissed as hell. The fallout between him and Bruce wasn’t supposed to get this bad. Wasn’t supposed to go on this long. The radio silence was deafening and the cold shoulder burned hotter than any flaming hoop he jumped through as a kid. He knew Bruce had issues about Dick’s decision but that had nothing to do with his capabilities as a vigilante and everything to do with Bruce’s own fears and insecurities. Thinking about it just gets him riled up and he keeps replaying the harsh words they threw at each other before fists started flying too.

He needs to get out of his head for a few hours before he plans what his next move is. No. He needed to get out of his head, yes, but he needs to breathe and maybe punch someone who he doesn’t fear disappointing or someone who hasn’t dumped a ferry’s load of emotional bullshit on him. Planning what comes next can have the decency to at least wait a week. 

Trying to distract himself, he went to an underground boxing club he discovered when he was sixteen. The club was deep in the East End, hidden between the Black Bass Bar and 83rd Street. He’s been sneaking there every now and again when he wanted the time to recenter himself and get grounded before facing the world. It was therapeutic, the bruising knuckles, the blistered lips, the burning sweat in his eyes. It was rough, jaded and unpolished. Everything he wasn’t allowed to be. 

He snuck in through the regular back entrance that was reserved for fighters. The air reeked of tequila and piss and cigarettes. He could already hear the cacophony of roars and jeers from the club’s patrons as a match went on in the center ring. Making his way to the side of the ring to put his name into the bracket, he sees the current fight come to a close with a knockout. The poor guy was lying limply with a twisted ankle and a suspiciously dark bruise forming on his left side. The mat is soiled with blood, spit and what was possibly bile in one corner. Dick swung his gaze over to the fighter left standing. 

His breath feels punched out as he takes in the absolute powerhouse before him. A lean figure clad in simple matching black spandex and sports bra that left nothing to the imagination. Her bare feet were bruised and taped in seemingly random places but Dick recognised an arch to them that was only achieved through professional dancing or gymnastics. She was light on her feet, strong on her toes. Chiseled abs that put Superman to shame were marred by scars on pale skin and a fresh bandage over what could possibly be a recent stab wound resting near her hip. He eyed her wrapped fists that were caked in blood and dirt as she flexed and curled her fingers repeatedly. 

If he was left breathless by her physique then her face left him dead and buried. Bold blue eyes narrowed in concentration with her busted lips curled up in a sneer. Her cheeks were flushed and her entire face was covered in a light sheen of sweat. Her hair is pulled back into a regular ponytail with loose strands framing her face. Her hair, pure black, except for bleached blonde ends, looks greasy and unkept, highlighting her lack of care regarding her appearance. Her shoulders are hiked up to her ears and her muscles twitch and flex with pent up energy. She carries herself like someone who’s addicted to pain and the worst parts of themselves, desperate for a quick fix; the perfect reflection for how he feels right now.  Dick can’t wait to get in the ring.

“I’ll pay you $50 to get me in the ring with her right now.” He turned his neck to the fight coordinator who was counting a wad of cash. The balding man barely looked at him and just held out his hand for the payment. Dick couldn’t get his money out fast enough and before he even confirmed that he was the next fight, he was already taking his shirt off and going between the rope barriers to the floor.

The loser of the last fight was being dragged off with no concern for his well-being, while the victor stood off to the side guzzling some water. She barely side-eyes him, a quick sweep of her eyes without turning to face him, and he already feels himself flushing hot from the attention. He preens and starts stretching out his shoulders, rolling his ankles and warming up his legs at the same time. 

He barely registers the presence of the announcer, ears filled with cotton and eyes narrowing at his opponent. He looks for weaknesses, anything that would get him an edge, as he crouches into a starting position. Her wound is an obvious target and she’s short enough for easy face and neck shots. Hair pulling is also an option if he feels particularly brutish. She mirrors his stance, crouch closer to her feet and legs wider to increase lunging distance, and the full force of her gaze almost bowls him over. His eyes harden into ice shards, not willing to be swayed by twin pools of blue fire. The bell dings. He charges.

He swings an uppercut that just grazes her chin and she recoils, spins back and jabs an elbow in his ribs. He grabs her by the same elbow and twists his wrist. She twinges in pain but the hold doesn’t last long. She follows the rotation of her arm and faces him. He smells faint traces of beer on her lips and his mind swims. Pain erupts in his nose as she smashes her forehead into him. She kicks into his knee and sweeps his other leg out from underneath him. She clasps her fists together and drives them into the protruding knobs of his spine, ramming him into her awaiting knee. She moves to pin him and he uses this to his advantage. He grabs the arm that was about to press into his throat and spins her around on top of him, his chest to her back. He locks one leg around hers and cants his weight to the side, pinning her face first into the disgusting mat; he completely blankets her with his much larger body. This position doesn’t hold for long either. She still has an arm free and she uses it to punch into the side of his head. It’s not a particularly strong hit, but with the pain in his nose, and his brain feeling like it’s underwater, it is enough to disorient him and she pushes him off by her hips. 

Her narrow escape lights a fire under his skin and he reaches to grapple for her again. She slips away, again, and stands. He scurries to stand as well and immediately ducks from a leg swinging for his ribs. 

“What brings you here?” Dick almost gets whiplash from how fast he has to move. He was not expecting her to engage in conversation, much less initiate it. But she doesn’t sound malicious, just curious, and she pauses in her assault in attacks to display how genuine she was.

“Same as everyone else,” he says. He swings right for her head and follows left when she ducks, knocking her in her shoulder. “I want to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist and get slapped around for a while. You?”

She snickers at his honesty and drops into a leg sweep. He jumps over the leg but clearly she was expecting it. She rides her momentum into a roundhouse that knocks him flat as he descends. She doesn’t hesitate and charges to pin him again. 

He lets her.

“Why does someone as pretty as you want to risk ruining that nice face of yours?” Her face is close, much closer than this pin requires but he doesn’t want to push her away. But the show must go on so he kicks her in the stomach, digging his toe into her bandaged side to get her off. She recoils like a snake about to spring and regards him with cold resentment. She clearly doesn’t like the reminder of her injuries. 

“I could ask you the same thing, sweetheart. What’s a lovely lady like you doing here getting down and dirty with the local dogs?” She is many things he regards, but lovely is not one of them. ‘Stray cat’ would better describe the scrappy woman before him. The address sets her on edge and he almost regrets describing her as such. Almost. Her next series of punches have him on the defensive and he’s pushed back all the way until he feels the ropes rubbing into the bare skin of his back. The flurry of sensations is exhilarating. Suddenly it’s too much and not enough. He ducks the next punch and grabs both wrists. He made the mistake the first time and knows better now. She won’t escape him unless he lets her. Not one to be outdone, she pulls one more trick out. She doesn’t resist his grip and instead leans up closer to his ear. Her chest is pressed flush against him and he knows she’s tipping just to reach him. Her lips, damp with sweat and cooling blood, brush against his ear and a weight settles at the base of his spine.

“Got a firm grip there?” her voice is soft, almost delicate, and he almost doesn’t register the question. His tongue feels like lead and his mouth has run dry; his brain can’t make the right connections to form words. He tightens his hold on her as an answer instead. She gets it though because she chuckles a swift ‘Good’ before she’s leaping and bracing her feet against his stomach. She leans back and uses her weight to pull them both to the ground, then she lifts her feet and flips him over. His fingers loosen and she slips out of his hold again. She follows the momentum of her roll and sits firmly on his hips, one leg pinning each of his down. She grabs both of his wrists in her small hand and uses the other to tip his chin back, his skull crashing into the mat harshly, blunt nails digging into his skin.

Her face looms over his, again closer than is strictly necessary, and she smirks at him. Her tongue peaks out and swipes at the sweat above her upper lip. He holds his breath, waiting to hear what she has to say next. His patience doesn’t reward him that satisfaction, however. A ding echoes into the room, cutting through the shouts and growls of their captive audience. She won. 

Her victorious smile is a thing of beauty, he can’t really lament his loss. Before he could overthink and get lost in his head he takes a dive headfirst and gives into his impulses.

“I’m Richard Grayson. Call me Dick.” He sounds breathless and rung out. 

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” her name is perfect like her. She releases his arms and moves to get off him. She offers a hand to help him up and he takes it. Before he could say something stupid she continues her introduction.

“You can call me Nette. I hope to see you next week.”

She will.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

June Prompt #2- Carpe Diem

A POINT OF NO RETURN FLASHBACK 

A/N: Shh. It’s still June. Couldn’t leave past Clara and Ezra in the past, so here is another flashback from those three happy years on the farm before everything fell apart. This is closer to the three year mark in the PoNR timeline. I loosely based the stream behind Clara’s farm on the photo below- it’s one I took a few years back at Enfield Falls in NY. (The darker parts right under the small waterfalls are the deeper pools) 

Request: “skinny dipping” from @cannedsoupsucks​ 

WC: 1.6k

Warning: oh just a little hint of zesty times. can’t really skinny dip without those. 

Seasons turned quickly on Kamrea. 

The Thulian harvest spanned only three weeks before the rains came, soaking the land and raising the water level in the streams. After the month-long deluge, there was a blip in the weather patterns lasting anywhere from a few days to a week or two when the combination of the planet’s position and the clarity of a sky scrubbed clean of clouds made for breathtaking views. During that indeterminate window, the Vernal Star was at its brightest, giving the world a golden yellow glow, but the cerulean hued ocean planet Lao and its moon Brizo were also visible to the naked eye, and at certain times of day the light refracting off of Lao’s waters made the whole sky flash green. When the winter came it did so in a hurry, too, sweeping in under the dim purple light of the Hibernal Star, flash freezing the fields and orchards, and turning the Lakelands to ice. Snow flurried lazily for a fortnight or so and melted before it ever added up to an inconvenient amount. Before long the rotation of seasons was pivoting back towards planting and tending and time to get to work before the harvest crept up again.  

To an outsider, someone who hadn’t grown up there, life on Kamrea might easily seem rushed, stressful. Clocks ticked and calendar pages filled with Xs as Kamreans bustled along to keep with their constantly shifting time constraints and limitations. Nothing lasted long, and if you blinked you could miss things like the malachite color of the spring starshine bouncing off the waves on Lao or the iridescent glow Brizo gave off, even the faint but sweet smell in the air that signaled the beginning of the Thulian growing season, and you would have to wait an entire year for another chance.  

But to those who had spent enough time there, whether they grew up on the fertile planet like Clara or had transplanted themselves on Kamrean soil as Ezra had done, the pace and rigidity of the seasons wasn’t something to fight or fear. Instead it was a constant reminder that life was happening now, not later, that there was beauty in catching a moment that was meant to be fleeting, in appreciating small slices of time. Each day came with the potential to see or hear or feel something never experienced before, and the potential to miss those moments seemed only to invigorate the Kamrean philosophy of making every moment count. 

Which is precisely what I am doing. 

Ezra looked up between the branches of the crater-oak that the swing he and Clara occupied hung from, at the thunderhead that had been gathering in the sky over the last hour or so. Kamrea was about to experience one of those split-second switches, where it would cease to be Harvest season with the first raindrop to plummet from the fat-bellied clouds. Any minute, they and the fields and the barn and the town over the hills and everything else on this side of the globe would be caught in a deluge and soaked to the bone, to the roots, to the bedrock. He moved his arm from the backrest of the wooden swing to wrap around Clara’s waist, hand resting at her hip. 

Any minute now. 

Looking back down at Clara, he saw that she had taken her eyes off of the rippling stream that the swing was situated on the bank of, and turned her attention skyward as well. What little daylight that hadn’t been squeezed out by the clouds and managed to make it down through the foliage lit the profile of her face in clean, green-tinted hues and he briefly wondered if other people felt this level of awe and devotion when they were with the one they cared about most in life, or if this was unique to the two of them. If they don’t then I truly pity them. 

He watched her shoulders rise and fall as she sighed, the small motion one he had seen her do countless times before but still always bringing a flush of warmth to his chest. “End of another season.” She gave him a smile that quirked to one side, a mixture of pride and nostalgia and love for her farm twinkling in her eyes to make her face light up more than the leaf-filtered, cloud strangled starshine could. Oh, look at you, my Clara. Her tongue poked out then to wet her lips, and she stood from the swing, both of her hands clasping around the one of his that had been at her waist to pull him to his feet. “We should get inside before it starts coming down, or we’ll be soaked.” 

We certainly will be, that’s correct. 

“I think that you are absolutely right, Huckleberry.” Ezra took his turn to smirk then, catching her completely off guard as he stood only to use her own grips on his much larger hand against her. Pulling back, he yanked her into his arms, the second one swiftly enveloping her to make sure she was tucked tightly against his body, and then he jumped from the bank into the stream, plunging them both into one of the naturally formed deep pools at the base of one of the stream’s small cascades. Clara’s surprised gasp of his name devolved into a laughing shriek as their clothing suctioned to their skin, their hair dripping in their eyes, rivulets of cool, clear liquid running down their cheeks.  

The pool that he had jumped into was shaped like a circular basin, cut and carved by the force of the water spilling over the tiered rocks that brought the upper level of the stream to meet the level at the bank. It wasn’t rushing with extreme force now due to the dry harvest season, but once the rains came and filled the stream past its bursting point, the water would fall in relentless torrents that over centuries had created a deeper pocket in the streambed, an ephemeral pool that was currently deep enough for both of them to be submerged when he jumped, but still shallow enough for him to be able to touch the bottom. 

He set his feet down, thankful that the two of them had kicked their shoes off before sitting on the swing, both pairs still dry under the tree, and Clara wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms winding around his neck as his hands bolstered beneath the pockets of her denim shorts. Her eyes were still wide with shock, her lips wide in a laughing grin, and her sopping wet ponytail sprayed him with droplets as she shook her head. “Ezra! What are you- why did you do-” 

Before she could get a full question out, ripples started appearing on the surface of the water, a slow pattering sound accompanying them as rain started to fall, hitting the leaves of the crater-oak and plopping into the stream. “Well, it’s like you said,” he leaned in and used his tongue to collect a bead of water from in front of her ear, lips brushing her skin as she shivered and clutched him closer. “It was inevitable that we would end up water-logged one way or another.” 

He pulled back in time to see her breastbone sink, her breathing labored from his warm tongue on her damp skin, her light colored tank top nearly see through and plastered to her curves. Ezra had seen Clara come in from the rain. He’d seen her after a shower, Kevva, he’d seen her in the shower. He had seen her get wet when making adjustments to the irrigation system, or when he’d splashed her with soapy dishwater in the kitchen. But he had never seen this- the unexpected look in her eyes, the rush of excitement, the sheer absurdity of trying to avoid getting rained on and ending up in chest high water instead. You are the most ravishing woman in all of Kevva’s creation, Clara.

She laughed, pressing and rolling the curve of her forehead against his before replacing it with her lips. “Yes, but now our clothes are all-” 

Ezra took one of his hands away from where he held her to work its way between her shirt and her body, pulling upwards until his fist with the material bunched in it surfaced, and he peeled the soaked garment over her head. Making expert work of the clasp on her bra, he rid her of that, too. Before he returned his hand to the globe of her ass beneath the water, he let it trail down the valley of her chest, thumb and pinky grazing the inside curves of her breasts and pulling a breathy sound from her throat. “What was it you were saying about our clothes, Huckleberry?” 

He tilted his chin, cocking his head to one side as he switched hands beneath the water, bringing his other one between their bodies to the zipper of her shorts, yanking down as she stuck both of her hands under his shirt, running up the sides of his body as she followed his lead and rid him of his top. Flinging the olive green shirt that now looked black with how soaked it was onto the bank, Clara reached under the water to help him free her from the cutoffs she wore, their eyes meeting as their wet fingers bumped together in their hurry. 

“Just that we need to get them off, Ezra.” That clean, innocent light in her eyes that was filtering through the trees just moments ago was gone, replaced with a burning desire that the stream nor the rain could do anything to quell. “We need to get them off, right now.”

.

.

.

*taken from JSTOR:  Gathering flowers as a metaphor for timely enjoyment is a far gentler, more sensual image than the rather forceful and even violent concept of seizing the moment. It is not that as a culture we can’t understand what it means to harvest something when it’s ready—we do have related metaphors like “making hay while the sun shines,” after all. But there is something in the more Hollywood phrasing “seize the day” that has clearly resonated with people in the last thirty years. We understand the phrase to be, rather than encouraging a deep enjoyment of the present moment, compelling us to snatch at time and consume it before it’s gone, or before we’re gone.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the tags for this or any of my stories/characters, please feel free to let me know! :) 

Tags: @something-tofightfor​ @alraedesigns​ @pheedraws​ @shoopidly​ @fific7​ @valkblue​ @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan​ @cannedsoupsucks​ @tobealostwanderer​ @paracosmenthusiast​ @gracie7209​ @dihra-vesa​

[danked-piccolo-shit]

Beerus x Fem! Reader ( NSFW )

Warning ! NSFW ( This is, like, kinky I guess ? 🤔 But just a little bit, don't worry. Have fun anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it ! )

Second Warning ! Grab some popcorn and roll your best one, this shit is long!

Awakened by an odious nightmare wasn't the most pleasant way to wake up, let alone for a God. He could not help the grunting, it had been a long time since he had made such an horrible one, after all. His dry throat begged for some water, and so he decided to leave his bed before making his way out of the room nonchalantly. He had slept for three months, nothing but a nap, for him. However, thirst wasn't the only reason that brought him out of his sheets.

A lovely smell did came to tickle his nose, and he knew exactly the provenance of it. You. The charming little human whom he had put at his service to cook for him, and to avoid him having to constantly return to Earth to eat some delicacies of your planet that he was so badly mad of.

Everything you cooked was tasty, and you always seemed to do your best to please the delicate palate of your God by creating new stuff here and there. Sure, you took some time to accommodate, but it paid off. You were happy, befriended Whis in like 2 days and always hanging around with him when Beerus was asleep. He would bring you back to Earth when you needed raw materials, or just to see your family, even if the Lord would like to keep you at home as much as possible...

A yawn resonated in the corridors, before the big cat entered in your kitchen without you noticing it. Daydreaming of the sweets things you surely have done in his absence, and especially still timidly awake, the deity didn't notice the imminent collision that followed.

" Ouch... S-Sorry Lord Beerus, I didn't saw you coming " You proclaimed shyly before welcoming him properly.

It was only in the middle of a conversation that the God looked down, before making a huuuge leap backwards. A panties with drawings on it... It was the only thing you wore ! A little earlier, his gaze dared to meet your bare chest, with your hair successfully hiding each one of your nipples. Yeah, the Destroyer was fully awakened, now...

" How dare you walk around dressed like that ?! Aren't you ashamed, you filthy nudist ?! "

"Oh, sorry, but... How could I have predicted that you would come to my kitchen at 3 a.m, Lord Beerus? ^^" Besides, we don't see anything at all ! A-And my cookies are almost ready "

" Don't you try to justify yourself ! "

Despite his reprimands, the deity could only compliment your physique: on the criteria of his planet, your body was much more than magnificent. The way your hips swayed to face the oven where your cakes were still cooking, the way your buttocks lifted by the mere act of leaning forward... As if you wanted to make him admire a little more the fine fabric that prevented your nudity.

" Ah ! As you are awake, now, do you need anything ? A special meal or cake you want me to cook for you ? "

" D-Don't you turn around so fast ! "

Geez you really wanted him to have a heart attack, don't you ?

" Give me a glass of water... And maybe one of those 'cookies' you made... "

You move and offered him what he came for. However, you couldn't see the lustful look that devoured your thighs as you carefully put your cookies in a jar.

" And here is one for you ! " You said in a cheerful tone as you gave him the fruit of your work, unknowingly letting a nipple show itself to the God in your action.

_______________

The still warm cookie came crashing to the floor, smashing itself into a multitude of small pieces in a dry, clean sound, contrasting with the scream of surprise of the adorable servant you were. Your chest bounced gently as the destroyer seized you on the wrist and made you turn by force to face him completely. Your eyes filled with fear mirrored in the amber pupils, and the simple vision of it excited Beerus even more. The situation which you were in couldn't make room for a step back, and the worst was that you knew it. You had awakened the desire of a God, and you were going to pay for your insolence.

" How dare you get scared. You are the one who started it all, remember ? "

" L-Lord Be- "

" Shut up "

Without warning, he removed the strand of hair that once again hid your nipple before letting his free hand play with the sensitive skin of your breast, admiring your oh so lovely reaction when he did. His other hand released your wrist, before also enjoying the more exquisite and softer feel of this particular area. You did not oppose any resistance. You knew all too well what was waiting for you if you did. And, maybe, a part of you still believed you'll have the deity's mercy if you went along with what he was doing to you.

Wrong.

The tail of your worshipped lord slowly found its way between your thighs, pressing the soft fabric of your panties against your clit. His action made you shiver, and the growing smile Beerus showed you when you felt your nipples hardening under his touch only helped you realise how screwed you truly were.

The iron grip of the destroyer threatened to crush your breasts, and the sharp teeths that came to gently bite your neck sometimes changed into kisses. You couldn't stop a loud moan to escape from your lips when he bit you a little harder than before, and some hot tears to run from your cheeks as he pinched your nipples so.fucking.hard.

" P-Please, my Lord- Aaaahh ~ ♡ "

Did he just...whip your ass with his tail ? Sure he did. And for some reason, you liked it. You liked the red mark that traced its passage on your buttcheek, you loved the bites marks you'll surely be able to see tomorrow... The god of destruction was going to fuck you, and that idea made your whole body warm up instantly.

You didn't have sex in a long time, and being wanted by a powerful deity was kinda flattering to say the least. You had no way to escape, anyway, so why not letting the part of you that wanted it to express itself ? That's what you told yourself to justify the sinful desire that was starting to flow more and more in your heated body as Beerus stole your lips in a passionate kiss.

The tail that still rubbed between your thighs came to whip your ass again, letting another of your moan to break the deep kiss you were receiving from your Lord.

" You're only waiting for that, huh? I warn you, I would be absolutely not lenient with you. You deserve no favorable treatment after having excited me so much ... "

Unconsciously, you bit your lips, causing your God to rip the one and only piece of clothing you possessed.

" Be... Lord Beerus ~ "

" Silence ... On your knees before your God of Destruction "

His hands slid over your body one more time before you obeyed, leaving the thin strips of tissue of his clothing to fall down, now revealing the imposing cock of the deity.

Instinctively, you began to suck, despite the growing pain in your jaw to have something as big in your mouth. Your tongue danced around his dick, only wanting to please the god in front of you, as you slowly slipped a finger in your wet entrance in hope to prepare your body for what will be coming next.

Beerus was in paradise. You did it so well ! Gradually, you gave him a pleasure to which he had lost taste for since, what, a few billion years already ? You were such an obedient little human ! The least he could do to congratulate you was to give you the honor to help you a little bit, didn't he ? A strong grip came to grab your hair, much to your surprise, only to push his cock further into your mouth, smothering the cry of pain you let escape in his action. What the God didn't suspect was that he too ended up moaning as he aggressively continued to abuse your throat. Enough, he had enough, ENOUGH ! Without warning, he removed your head quickly before pushing you down to bump into you brutally.

The scream you obviously let escape immediately made him grab your hips, now letting your loud moans to resonate in the kitchen in a mix of pleasure and pain that Beerus was truly content to hear. Your walls menaced to break at each movements from the Destroyer, and the simple pressure of his hands on your hips could break your bones at any time. Never in your life did you felt so....full.

" Little pervert ~ You love it, don't you ? "

The deity gained in intensity, bending your spine much more than what your body could normally bear. To hear you shout his name again and again was starting to drive him crazy, as well as to revive his impatient temper...

" Answer.... NOW ! "

His tail that crashed once again on your buttocks has only made you shed more tears. Your whole body shivered against your will, impossible to make it stop. You came so hard it made your head rock against the floor, and the divine cum that came to spread in your pussy a few seconds later couldn't had help to contain a second orgasm that ravaged you.

He slipped out of your abused hole, waaay to open now to keep all the fluids inside. You were a shivering, still moaning mess, even if you already had finished.

" Didn't want to answer, my adorable servant ? "

Beerus lifted you up, using once again his prodigious force to press you against the wall, placing his still erected dick in front of your entrance. You didn't have the strength to answer, you didn't even remembered which you needed to answer for, to be honest.

Your blushing face, your pained moans, your trembling body, the way you avoided his gaze... For Beerus, this was awfully cute. You were awfully cute. So cute, in fact, that he wanted to do it again ~

After all, your lack of response was an affront to your God ;)

You screamed in pleasure before you had the time to recover your senses, and your still sensitive body collapsed again under the grip of the destroyer. Cradled by your cries and your moans, Beerus allowed himself to soil your work space a little more, during the different orgasms that followed.

He left no place of your body untamed, he even redoubled strength and caresses to make you say everything he wanted you to tell him.

His dick was good ? Of course it was !

Be filled with his cum ? Yes ! Every part of your body must be !

Never going back on Earth, never see your family again ? Sure ! If it was what you Master and Lord wanted...

Your mental health slowly broke with each one of your orgasms, to the point that you were finally convinced and even happy to become his pleasure object for the rest of your mortal life.

It's a little surprised and disappointed that Beerus saw a solar ray illuminate your body, despite the closed shutters. It was time to end this little game that was his, and to let you recover a little ... At least until tonight ~ Before cumming for the last time, he let his eyes filled with lust contemplate your kitchen, and particularly the few places where he didn't take you to make you beg for more. He filled your belly once again, as he finished to admire how hoarse your breathing was.

" When you get a little better, clean me all this mess. I leave you all the rest of the day to do it. No need to cook, today, just make sure you have enough energy to go to my apartments at the end of the afternoon ~ "

You barely had the strength to nod, your throat was so dry from the screamings that you couldn't let any word to escape from your lips. The clothes and jewelry regained the burning skin of the destroyer, now satisfied with the scarlet color that your buttocks took. He exited the room, not without exchanging a last accomplice gaze with you. You truly were his favorite little human ~

_______________

Beerus growled at the touch of his erection rubbing against the soft fabric of his pajamas, making him regret to actually have gone back to bed, while he could have realized this scenario that he couldn't stop to visualise in his mind. If one day he had been told that he would use his mental visualization for that purpose ... He wasn't going to hide it, he was a little bit ashamed of himself to imagine all of that, but you were so tempting... And thinking of you this way was better than waking you up brutally in the middle of the night to satisfy his impulses... Yes ? No ? HE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW !

Why did he leave after eating one of your cookie ? Did he was too shocked by your beautiful body ? Or was that because he didn't wanted to loose the precious food you provided him everyday just for a little bit of amusement ? He curses himself for his indulgent behaviour towards you, while the sinful nipple of yours shown again in his memories.

His sleep was going to be hard to regain... :(

You truly were lucky your cookies were so good....

He growled again.... Godammit... ( or Zenodammit ? XD )

_________________________

This is it ! Hope you've enjoyed it so far, and, as always, thanks for reading, pal 👋

[pressedinthepages]

Chapter 8: Petrichor

Summary: You're stuck waiting out a storm, and Eskel takes the opportunity to fill in some gaps.

Series Masterlist

Words: 1773

Tags: @whitewolfandthefox @havenoffandoms @MishaFaye @criminaly-supernatural @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @magpie343@queenxxxsupreme @belalugosisdead

 (There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: mild language

    The rain flies to the ground in sheets, soaking the earth in nourishment. You’ve always loved the smell of rain, refreshing and musky as it pours out of the sky. However, it can still be frustrating, especially now.

    You’re sitting under the overhang of a small cavern at the foot of the Blue Mountains. Typically, you’d only have maybe two more days of travel before you reach Kaer Morhen. But the rains started early in the morning, soaking both you and Eskel as you raced to the bit of shelter that you found. It was as if the sky had opened and was giving every last drop of water it had, because it is now sometime in the evening and it had shown no sign of letting up.

    The air is cold around you, chilled by the rain and the darkness, and the sounds of the downpour echo around the stone walls. Once it was clear that you would be staying here for a little while, you had gone about making a fire and drying off your armor. You’d done the same for Eskel’s, laying everything out to dry in one of the empty corners of the cavern. 

    You have your eyes closed and are kneeling, now, trying to use this time to meditate and refresh your senses before getting back on the trail up the mountain. You’ve always been shit at meditation, though, needing just the right environment and absolutely no interruptions. You take a deep breath through your nose and let it out through your mouth, focusing on the motions and slipping slowly into a peaceful trance. 

    Though, Eskel apparently had other ideas. He stomped back into the cave, much louder than necessary, probably so as not to startle you. You open your eyes with a sigh, not moving as you flick your gaze over to him. He is drenched, wearing only his chemise and trousers that drip cool rainwater onto the floor of the cavern. There is a deer draped across his shoulders, and he carefully bends down and places it on the ground.

    “Dinner,” he grunts, pulling his dagger out as he starts breaking it down. You huff, the defeated noise bouncing off the walls as you move to rise. Eskel looks over at you, his scar highlighted in the light of the fire.

    “What’s wrong?” he asks, holding out the first piece of meat for you to take. You hum your thanks, striding back to the fire as you spear the meat on your own dagger. You place it on the rocks around the fire so that the meat is resting near the flames, cooking as you come back to kneel at Eskel’s side. You’ve eaten raw meat plenty, but you would really rather not if you didn’t have to.

    “Do you remember when Sorel would have us meditate?” you ask, reflecting back on the memory yourself. Once he went over the basics you were expected to have mastered it, and he would walk around the room, critiquing whenever someone was not perfect. You had never fully been able to meditate inside of the walls of Kaer Morhen, only able to do it in times of desperation and exhaustion along the Path.

    “I remember you being really, really bad at it,” Eskel grins, his lip turned up where his scar cuts through. You give him a playful smack as he stands, setting up his own dinner to cook alongside yours. He moves to sit by the fire and pats the ground beside him, inviting you to join. 

    You settle next to him, turning your dagger over so that both sides cook evenly. “I always envied you, watching you just instantly slip into that trance, coming out of it fully rested and relaxed...I’ve never been able to really do that.”

    He looks over at you, his eyes alight in the glow of the fire. “Well, I could help, if you like…”

    You grin, turning away as you ponder his offer. “Yeah, I think I would like that. Not now, though, I’m fucking starving.”

    He laughs, the low rumble sounding like thunder in the cave. The both of you eat in silence, watching the rain relentlessly pound against the earth when you finish. 

    “At least the wind has slowed, maybe we’ll be able to leave in the morning,” Eskel mumbles, wiping his dagger off on his trousers before resheathing it and placing it with Scorpion’s saddle. He is laying next to Lady, Lil’ Bleater smushed between them as they all sleep. 

    You undo the bedrolls, setting them close enough to each other so that you can both see the entrance of the cave. You lay back, watching as Eskel removes his chemise and places it to dry with his armor. Your eyes rove over his form, admiring the strong lines of his back and the muscles of his arms that ripple with every movement. You can feel a telltale heat unfurling in your core, but you quickly shake it off, not wanting to break the relationship that you’ve been in the process of repairing. 

    His body is littered with scars, lines that speak of decades of pain and mistreatment. You have many similar ones, but you see some that criss-cross his back that look suspiciously like a whip. Your heart breaks at the sight, but you know that he doesn’t want your pity. The life of a Witcher is one filled with scars, but that doesn’t make them hurt any less.

    As he lays down on the bedroll next to you, Eskel turns to rest on his side facing you. You’re close enough to reach out and touch him, but he does it first. His hand brushes along the scar at your brow, a shiver running down your spine with the touch. You keep your eyes locked on his as his hand trails down your cheek before falling back to his side. You let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding, and you feel like the mages at Aretuza would be able to hear your heart with how loud it is pounding. 

    You return the gesture, slowly lifting your hand to Eskel’s cheek. His eyes close as you touch him, completely still as your eyes trail the movement of your hand. Your fingers brush over the ridges and valleys of the scar, wishing that you could take the pain away. You gently stroke your thumb along his face, trailing across his nose and down to where it turns the top of his lip. 

    Suddenly, Eskel moves, holding your hand with his own against his cheek. He sighs into the touch, your heart breaking at the sight of the man so starved for a gentle touch. If he asked you, you know that you would spend the rest of your life right here, holding him as he wars with himself. 

    “Would you like to know what happened?” Eskel whispers, his hand squeezing yours lightly. 

    You swallow, willing your voice not to shake as you reply, “Only if you’d like to tell me.”

    He opens his eyes, the golden rings shining with decades of torment and betrayal. “I’d like to.”

    You scoot just a little bit closer, resting your hand on his chest as he takes a deep breath. You can hear his heart beating quicker than normal, and you tenderly run your fingers over the wolf medallion that hangs from his neck.

    “Right after we left Kaer Morhen the first year, I was stupid.” You watch as he swallows before continuing, his voice husky with long-buried emotions, “I ended up saving some prince from a bunch of werebbubbs, and instead of asking for something normal, like gold or a hot meal, I claimed the Law of Surprise.”

    Your mouth falls agape, shocked that he would do such a thing. You had heard the rumors about the fabled custom, and while you know that it used to be the standard for Witchers to request that, the practice had long since died out. 

    “I ran as soon as I heard that the prince’s wife had just fallen pregnant. I couldn’t face that, couldn’t bring myself to tear the family apart,” Eskel continues, still cupping your hand with his own. “About fifteen years later, the girl showed up at the bottom of the Blue Mountains, seeking asylum with us. She had heard about the Surprise, and knew that I had a claim to her. It’s a whole long story, but her brother came out of nowhere and tried to kill her. She fought back, but she accidentally slashed me instead.”

    You feel tears begin to well in your eyes, wrapping your free arm around his neck and pulling him close. You hold him like this, trying to show your pain and empathy for the whole mess. 

    “She sent me a letter, later,” Eskel mumbles into your hair, “I never opened it. I know it was an accident, but I think that we were all just better off living our own separate lives.”

    “I’m so sorry, Eskel,” you whisper, still holding him tight. “I can’t imagine what that all must have been like, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

    Shame rises through you as you pull back, but Eskel tightens his hold on you as he looks deep into your eyes. “No, you have nothing to apologize for, you had no idea-”

    “But I would’ve, if I had just been there!” you curse yourself once again, ashamed at all that you could have done if you had only been able to face your past. 

    Eskel’s fingers tighten around yours and pull them away from his cheek, holding them between the two of you as he brushes his thumb over your knuckles. “It doesn’t matter what we could have done, we just have to move forward. And I am so grateful that I’ll be moving forward with you by my side.”

    You lean into him, resting your head against his chest as your mind reels. You know that he’s right, but you can’t help the wave of regret that washes through you. You fall asleep like this, tangled up with Eskel as you fight off nightmares of slashing swords and black suns.

…

You wake to the sun shining into the cave, the smell of soaked soil and morning dew tickling your nose. Eskel has the horses ready, giving Lil’ Bleater a piece of carrot before turning to you.

“Looks like it’s cleared up, let’s get moving.”

You rise, rolling up your bedroll as you head back onto the trail, no turning back as you begin to trudge through the Killer.

[fics-not-tragedies]

In a Week: Chapter 7 🌲

I feel like a poser writing about walks in the woods when I wasn’t even in a stupid park since like summer. Somehow I forgot how it’s like to be in a place inhabited by the wild. Also I forgot how weeks work, Thursday was yesterday, oops.

Words:  2619; Warnings: none, but really, none; Summary: Andrew and Flo wander back into the woods to retrieve the missing pieces of clothing they’ve left by the creek last night.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight​​​​​​​​​​​​; @angelpeachamber​​​​​​​​​​​​; @sgt-morgan​​​​​​​​​​​​; @julessbrown​​​​​​​​​​​​;

Monday, 10:15am

“Are you sure you’re done with the coffee?” Flo teased as they stood from the breakfast table, nodding to his three empty cups as she tucked her chair in slightly. She was feeling full, content, more at ease than she prepared herself for today and when she looked at Andrew, his sleepy smile and scrunched up face, she reminded herself just how much fun she was having.

Fun.

She rolled the word around in her head for a while - it was like she already forgotten how it worked.

“I needed it, em, quite desperately this morning” he grumbled back, half smiling, still achy, pushing his glasses back on to cover his eyes as he stood, “…don’t be too judgy…”

“I’m not judging you” she laughed, her hair fanning over her shoulders as they shook, “Besides, I think I ate more than you ever did in that one breakfast sitting.”

“Quite impressive” he replied, like he really meant it.

Andrew thought about pressing his hand against the small of her back to guide her out of the restaurant, anything to touch her again, but she was already ahead of him, her strides nearly twice the speed of his. Then, sensing his sluggishness, she turned her head to look over her shoulder, indicating for him to hurry up with a wiggle of her finger. He huffed. At her side again, he raised his eyebrows from under his glasses, as they thanked waiters and shuffled out of the restaurant, passing the bar and back out into the lobby.

Andrew had been relatively calm until this point. It was only when she turned to him with an expectant look on her face that he realized he didn’t actually have a plan. He’d spent an hour or two last night before he could fall asleep, alcohol keeping him awake, trying to put together the perfect week for Flo - the complete stranger who he had somehow come to know more deeply than logically possible. This week was about her, everything was suddenly about her and his original intention of resting and taking some time alone had been thrown out the window.

But now she was waiting for his green light, the curious tone of her expression making him nervous. She demanded so much from him, without actually asking for anything. He had ideas, parts of the days sculpted out roughly in his head, but they weren’t perfect yet. Andrew decided to buy himself some time, give her the option to pick something first, whatever she wanted.

“So, em, what’s on the agenda today, love? What do you want to do?”

“Do I have to plan everything today?” Flo replied, pulling her jumper sleeves to her palms and crossing her arms with indecisiveness, “You promised me a wonderful week, remember?”

“I’ve got few things planned for, em, later but you gotta pick first. Your move.”

Flo thought hard for a moment and Andrew laughed when he saw the idea strike her, her expression too obviously plastered on her face. He loved how easy she was to read, how he could tell that she cared when she said she didn’t, how he knew when she was hungry or thirsty or when she was feeling insecure.

“Okay, fine” without further explanation, she grabbed his arm to drag him down one of the corridors feathering off from the lobby, down to the back patio, her march determined now that she just settled on an idea.

“Wait, em, where we going?” Andrew chuckled, his free hand quickly scooping back the hair that had come loose in the movement.

“The woods” she announced, the suggestion from earlier at breakfast too good to resist. So what if she had to resist Andrew again? She could do it. Right? Right?

“Oh-” Andrew drawled, “then I think we’ll need something to, em, distract those wild animals, I don’t think they’d, em, be scared of your underwear.”

Monday, 10:25am

She bit her lip when he again kept moving in silence, a few steps ahead of her as always when he took the lead, navigating through the woods like he spend here his entire life in here. Flo shook her head as he turned another left and ran a hand through his hair which was falling into his face. The woods looked much different in day time.

They were passing by the branches she saw last night and they look quite familiar or it was just a false impression, because to her all of the trees really looked the same. Andrew pushed apart the thick bushes, just like he did last night and she silently followed him, watching him push them further apart and she moved onto the patch of green grass covered in small flowers walking carefully, passing under his long arms quickly and stopping at the tiny meadow by the creek.

All of the clothes they’ve left there were still laying under the small bush close to the creek. They were still damp, from the rain that were pouring in the night, but they were still in the exact spot they were laid and there wasn’t any sign of animals tracks near them.

“Looks like you were right” Flo said, picking up her underwear and pushing it deep into the back pocket of her jeans, “boars doesn’t fancy lace lingerie.”

Andrew couldn’t help, but laughed a little, wrinkles appearing at the top of his nose.

Monday, 10:35am

He picked up his flannel shirt and tied it around his waist, tucking the sleeves into his pockets, so they wouldn’t disturb his movements. Fixing the sunglasses back onto his face he sat down onto the grass right by the shrub and inhaled the fresh air deeply.

“Don’t you ever think about smoking in here” Flo scolded him before he even had the chance to think about the pack of cigarettes that longed in his pocket.

“I’m not…” he mumbled, turning his head to look at her. She was kneeling by the tranquil water, her hand dipped into it, stirring the surface. The water was cold, but it was the pleasant kind of cold, the one you yearn for in the hot summer.

Flo tilted her head just to have a better look at Andrew, the smug smile on his lips never disappeared whenever she was close to her. There was something in that woman that captivated him fully. He felt like she owned his soul, even though he knew her only for one day now.

“You really seem like the man of the woods” she giggled a little, playing with the water again, feeling how it cools her fingers.

“I just simply like being here” he ran his hand through the grass, feeling the damp soil under his palm that didn’t had the chance to become dry in the harsh summer sun, “I like, em, the sounds of the forest, the birds sing so beautifully…”

“Probably not as beautifully as you do” she was smiling widely at him, brushing the strands of her fair hair from her face, while her other hand was still playing with the creek’s water.

“The birds are much more beautiful in every field.”

“No, you’re just too humble, Andrew…”

Monday, 10:40am

A wild creature roared from the opposite side of the creek, striding towards them. It was a boar, a huge one, streaks of dark fur well visible on its both sides. It roared at them again and they both quickly stood up, Andrew arm extended towards her and she gently grabbed his large hand, her fingers entwined with his somehow like Flo always did it, the gesture automatic.

He pulled her closer as they started to back off slowly, trying not to annoy the boar even more.

“Just… be calm” Andrew mumbled, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

“It’s just a boar, it can’t eat us!” She raised her voice a little and the boar roared at them even louder, moving towards them.

“You ever climbed a tree?” He pulled her closer, his long arm languidly wrapping around her shoulders, like somehow he tried to shield her with his own body from the dangerous creature.

“No, never…”

“Then it’ll be your first time” Andrew quickly turned around, pushing Flo to the front with his arm and started to running through the forest with her pressed firmly to his side, “come one, love, let’s climb that one!” his long finger pointed to one tree that was few meters away from them and they ran to it as fast as they can.

Monday, 10:45am

“I think we’ll have to, em, spend few moments up in here” Andrew said, looking down at the boar family that was looking for a full course meal in the ground right below the tree they were both sat on.

“At least we have our clothes back” Flo held onto the thick branch she was seated on, trying not to fall onto the ground right between the boars.

“I can tell you’ve never climbed a tree before” he chuckled a little, seeing how she clutched with her whole body to the mossy trunk of the tall tree they both climbed for safety.

“And I’ve never run through a forest desperately trying to escape a really annoyed boar” she added, looking up at him. He was few branches above her, sitting on a particularly wide one with such ease, looking like he was comfortably hurdled up in a leather arm chair rather than on a really big piece of a still living wood. His curls looked absolutely stunning in the morning sun, the different shades of auburn and maroon visible only now, in the once-a-lifetime experience and she was living through it now. Those black-hued sunglasses were back on his nose, but it felt like somehow he was reading her mind, because when she thought how badly she wanted to see his muddy eyes he just simply took them off and stuffed them into the pocket of his flannel shirt.

“Come here” he stretched his long arm for her to hold onto and she carefully stood up, her body trembling and he held his hand like it was a lifebuoy. After she threw her underwear into the back pocket of her jeans, she took few small steps and looked up at him again, letting out a shaky breath, before she decided to move upwards, “Don’t worry, I got you, honey.”

His both arms were wrapped around her waist now, carefully helping her onto the branch he was sitting on. When she finally hopped onto the wood next to him she felt exhausted, sweat dripping down her back, her breath caught in her throat. Flo rested her forehead against his arm for a moment, but only for a brief one, every touch they exchanged was sending shivers all over her body and she was frightened she’d fall to the ground.

“You should teach people how to climb, really” she breathed, breaking the silence that fell between them like the thick morning fog.

“It comes naturally to me” he flashed her a wide smile and she was glad she still held his hand, because that damned smile would be the reason of her quite literal downfall.

“You sit here like the king of this forest… perhaps you really are a fae” she raised her eyebrow at him, receiving a small giggle as a response, his nose wrinkling as he tried not to laugh out loud.

“Those boars don’t look like they want to listen to me” he stretched out his long neck to look under the tree, only to see them digging in the ground closer to the trunk of the tree they were sitting on.

“If you’d use your charm on them I’m sure they’ll listen” Flo changed her position, trying to balance herself on the branch, clutching his arm tightly. The sleeves of his flannel were rolled up and she could feel his hot skin under her fingertips, dying inside just to caress it, just to touch him in more proper manner, feel more of his skin, “... maybe if you’d sing them a song they’ll go away, but since you’re like a Snow White it could summon more of them” she laughed a little, fixing her straw hair behind her ears and Andrew couldn’t help and joined her, the sound of their giggles filling the forest.

“If you’d like, I could, em, sing you something… if you want to, of course. I don’t have my guitar here with me, but, em, I can go acapella, just for you” he looked at her, tilting his head to the side, seeing how she tried to nest her on the branch, before she finally pressed her back against the trunk, legs hanging from both sides of the branch they were sat on.

“No man ever sang to me while sitting on the tree, so I think I’ll take that opportunity” she winked at him and it seemed like his face turned an even darker shade of pink, “Do you have any songs about woods, Andrew?” Flo asked and her question somehow felt like a challenge to him.

“I have a few of songs about woods, which one do you want?”

“Surprise me, Andy”

“Flo…” he breathed out, before clearing his throat and awkwardly pulling one leg up and onto the branch, then leaning closer to her.

She could feel the tension that grew between them with every minute they spend together. And she couldn’t deny the fact that there was something wondrous about the man that shared the branch with her. Somehow his eyes seemed like the perfect shade of green that reminded her of that kind of muddy bog water she’d like to drown herself, yet she never planned to become his version of Ophelia.

“My head was warm

My skin was soaked

I called your name 'til the fever broke

When I awoke

The moon still hung

The night so black

That the darkness hums”

His words, like the most precious poetry, leaving his mouth, the dulcet tone of his voice filling the air hypnotizing her somehow. It seemed like every time he sang Flo was catapulted to another realm, with him as the guide that showed her the wonders of other world.

“I raised myself

My legs were weak

I prayed my mind be good to me

An awful noise filled the air

I heard a scream

In the woods somewhere”

There was only his voice and the occasional chirping from birds that had nests above their heads. Andrew’s eyes were half closed, she noticed how his lower lip trembled slightly with the last word of every verse.

“A woman's voice

I quickly ran

Into the trees

With empty hands”

A fox it was

He shook afraid

I spoke no words, no sound he made”

The way he sang was much more than captivating. She could stay on that branch with him forever, listening to the peculiar, yet overly pleasant way, every letter rolled of his tongue and entwined with the sound of silence.

“What if I kissed you now, Andrew?” She mumbled under her breath, the thought slipping out of her mind and coming up onto the surface, her face in a quite appealing shade of crimson.

“What?” his eyes grew wider, the muddy greens staring right into hers.

“I think they’re gone…”

“Who?” He asked her, pulled back to Earth from his singing haze.

“The boars, Andrew” Flo said, before slowly moving down the tree.

“Oh-” he hoped she’d repeat herself, say that again, but louder, for him to hear properly, for him to answer that question, “yes, they’re gone now.”

Miss Florence, I’d feel honored to kiss you back.

[pitviperofdoom]

AA daemon ficlets are just really comforting and fun to write. So here’s another!

Maya’s POV is really weird to write because she’s a 170-year-old witch so like she’s still Maya but she also says dope shit sometimes.

---

The glass between them frustrates her.

It seems to Maya that whenever they talk face to face, there is either glass between them or the threat of glass hanging over their heads. And now she is free but the glass remains, because he has taken her place in that cage.

Because Redd White has put him there.

Aunt Morgan often speaks longingly of the old days, days that Maya is too young to remember well—when a witch could slay a man for an insult and no one batted an eye, much less put her on trial for it. Normally her aunt’s bitter words make her uncomfortable, as they once nettled Mia, but now…

Now part of her wishes she could turn back time two hundred years, just so she could put an arrow in Redd White’s heart herself. For Mother, for Mia, for herself, and now for Phoenix Wright.

He puts on a brave face for her benefit, his smile bright and reassuring even though it has to hurt, with his face bruised and ugly scratches across his nose and one cheek. The smile and the marks are nearly enough to blind her to the darkness beneath his eyes. But even if she couldn’t read his face, his dӕmon is too big to hide.

Mother knew how to read dӕmons, including human ones, because as queen it was a useful skill. She taught Mia before she disappeared. Now she’s gone and Aunt Morgan says humans aren’t worth their time, so it was left to Mia to pass on what she knew to Maya. Dogs are expressive dӕmons, she’s found, and Wright’s Dawn looks like she’s been caged for days, not mere hours. Her head is low, her tail between her legs, and her white fur is ragged and unkempt.

“Please tell me there’s something I can do,” she says. “You need evidence, don’t you? I’m not a lawyer, or a detective, but I am a witch. If there’s somewhere I need to search, or retrieve something, or question people—well, most people don’t say no to witches.”

“No,” he says firmly. “No, don’t do any of that. That’s what got me in here, and it’s what got your sister killed.” Maya swallows her anger and grief at the reminder. “Besides, I know a few things about White that I didn't before, and that’s what tomorrow will be about. He’s going to ‘prove’ me guilty by going up on the witness stand and lying. All I have to do is pick apart his lies until the whole story falls apart. Hopefully, I’ll get him to crack that way.”

Maya nods. She knows about that part of human legal customs, because Mia told her about it. It was one of her sister’s secrets to success. But it doesn’t feel like enough. “Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“Cheer us on tomorrow, I guess,” Dawn replies.

“I can do that!” she says eagerly, almost too eagerly. Aunt Morgan would be appalled at the display. “I can stand beside you in court, can’t I? Now that I’m not a prisoner anymore?”

He blinks at her, surprised. “W-well, I guess? You could act as my co-counsel, but…”

“I’ll do it,” she says fiercely. “You stood with me when no one else would, and you sacrificed your own freedom to give me mine. This is the least I can do for you, short of killing Redd White with my own hands.”

One of the officers shifts uncomfortably, and Wright splutters. “Okay, definitely don’t do that,” he says. “Because then you actually would be guilty of murder, and there’s not much I could do about that.”

“I won’t,” she says, offering a reassuring smile. “I don’t want to make this any harder for you. Even if I do think it would make things easier…” Wright gives her a pained look. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding. I’ll stand with you in court tomorrow, and maybe I can find a way to support you properly.”

“It’ll be fine.” Phoenix smiles again, wincing when it bothers his bruises. “Trust me.”

She wants to believe him, she really does. But Dawn’s tail is still between her legs, and the fear shines through in their eyes. There is no promise of victory, only tenuous hope.

Maya returns to her sister’s office that day, because there is little else that she can do but wait. As she approaches the building, she comes across a familiar face leaving it. In an instant she is wary, because the first thing he did upon meeting her was arrest her, and now that she’s free, she isn’t sure where that leaves them.

“Um... hello, Detective,” she says, and he startles like a big, ungainly rabbit.

“Oh! Y-yeah, hello, uh, Miss Witch! Detective Dick Gumshoe, at your service!” He stands rigidly before her, wide-eyed. At his feet, his pit bull dӕmon pants nervously and tries in vain to tuck her stubby tail.

“Can I go in?” she asks. “I won’t disturb anything, if you’re still looking…”

“By all means, Miss Witch! Don’t worry about disturbing anything, we’re finished here and the crime scene’s been cleaned up!” He shuffles out of her way, and she realizes that he’s afraid of her. And why wouldn’t he be? He accused her of her sister’s murder. A little over a century ago, that would have earned him an immediate arrow through the heart.

“It’s Maya,” she says, taking pity on him. “Maya Fey. Thank you.”

“No problem, Miss Fey! Sorry for yesterday, just doing my job, very glad to see you’ve been released! Have a nice day, ma’am! C’mon, Bobbie, let’s go.”

He and his dӕmon make a hasty retreat. Maya watches them go, then walks into her sister’s office. She sits down by the window where Mia’s body lay, and doesn’t move until her legs are stiff and achy, and the sunset casts long shadows throughout the room.

There’s a plant in the corner, still green and healthy, but the soil is dry to the touch. While she waters it, Zech flies to the desk to have a look at the computer. The distance tugs at their bond—another reminder of the ritual they haven’t completed, and that Mia won’t be there when they do.

When she’s satisfied with the plant’s condition, Maya goes to her dӕmon’s side to find the computer on and Zech scrolling through it. “What are you doing?”

“Just trying to answer an earlier question,” he tells her. “Since Phoenix already knows about Redd White, and we know that White’s dӕmon is—”

“A water moccasin,” Maya says. “Also known as a cottonmouth. I remember what Mia said.” On the screen, an encyclopedia article on the Felidae family slowly loads.

“I figured that was self-explanatory,” Zech says dryly. “So I thought it might be helpful to glean what we could from Mr. Edgeworth’s dӕmon. Starting with what she is. Maybe it'll give Phoenix an edge.”

“Makes sense.” Maya sits down in her sister’s chair, doing her very best not to think of it that way. “Let’s see what we can find.”

And they do. It doesn’t take them nearly as long as Maya feared, and she shares a triumphant look with Zech before sitting back and turning the machine off.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Zech says, feathers ruffling eagerly. “And rare, isn’t it?”

“Among humans, yes,” Maya replies, tickling his ruff feathers. “Almost unheard of, with witches.”

“Obviously.”

She’s not sure if it will help. But Mia says that court is a battle fought with information, and if Maya cannot fight with Phoenix tomorrow, then the least she can do is arm him.

Phoenix looks worse, somehow. He doesn’t look like he’s slept much, and beneath his battered smile, Maya can see that he’s scared. Dawn hardly looks any better. Her fur is still poorly groomed, her tail droops, and she presses close to her human like she’s afraid they’ll be separated.

“I’m fine,” he assures Maya when she asks. “I mean, if you think about it, however this trial ends up, I did what I said I’d do. Win or lose, you’re still innocent.”

She scowls, even though Aunt Morgan has always told her that it makes her look childish. “That’s not good enough,” she argues. “You’re innocent, too.”

“I know. And you know that, too. That’s what matters right now.”

“When this is over, everyone else will know it,” she reminds him.

She’s not sure how to describe the way his face softens at that. For the first time since yesterday, his dӕmon’s tail gives a tentative wag. “Thank you,” Dawn says softly.

“I’ve hardly done anything,” Maya answers, a little flustered.

“No, really,” Phoenix says. “You… it means a lot that you’re standing with me. With us. It really does. It’s just, we know what it’s like to have everyone against you but one person, and—” He hesitates. “I guess… thanks for being that one person, this time.”

“We haven’t done anything you didn’t do for us,” Maya reminds him.

The moment ends when Dawn goes rigid, and Zech lets out a warning croak, and Maya turns to find Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth approaching them, with his long-legged cat dӕmon stalking at his heels. This time, her hunter eyes pass over Maya and Zech to settle upon Dawn instead. Edgeworth’s eyes are likewise on Phoenix. Maya may as well not even be there.

“Wright,” Edgeworth says coolly.

“Edgeworth.”

Are lawyers always like this? If they were witches, the spells would already be flying. Human justice is a strange thing, if those who uphold it are at war with one another.

“I received a call from the Chief Prosecutor today,” Edgeworth says. He is straight-backed and composed as he speaks, his voice calm and conversational. At his feet, his dӕmon’s tail flicks from side to side, and her claws slide from their sheathes. Steady, serene, and ready to pounce.

“Did you?” Phoenix asks. He’s not quite as good at sounding calm.

“Apparently, anything that the witness says on the stand today is to be taken as the absolute truth,” Edgeworth goes on. “And the judge’s verdict will agree with it.”

“The judge, too?” Dawn yelps, pawing at the ground. Phoenix curls his hand into her bristling fur, either a calming gesture or a warning one.

Edgeworth ignores her. “I’ve been assured that any objection I make will be sustained, and any evidence I present will be accepted without question.”

Dawn starts forward, pulling against her human’s grip. “And you’re just fine with that, are you?” she growls.

“Dawn,” Phoenix warns her, tightening his fingers in her fur.

She pulls herself free to round on him, teeth bared. “Phoenix, the entire court is in White’s pocket and he’s telling us to our faces, I can’t just—”

“Save it for the courtroom,” he tells her shortly. His eyes haven’t left Edgeworth.

The prosecutor finally deigns to look at Dawn, if only for a moment. “I suggest you keep better control of your dӕmon, Wright. For an outburst like that, you’d be held in contempt. Though I suppose that would save everyone else a great deal of time.”

Phoenix shifts, in such a way that it’s almost a flinch. “So you’re saying I’m guilty, then,” he says, his voice tight. “End of story?”

“I’ll do whatever is necessary to obtain a guilty verdict.”

Maya sees red.

“How dare you.” He may be a head and a half taller than she is, but she is almost one hundred and fifty years older, and still young enough for her grief to boil over into fury. “Just yesterday you were convinced that I was guilty! Have you changed your mind so easily?” She feels Zech’s claws dig into her shoulder. “I’ll bet you don’t even have a shred of evidence that Phoenix is guilty! All you did was listen to that man’s lies and decide that your job was done!” Her eyes blaze. “Do you even care about finding my sister’s murderer, or would you rather cage another innocent and tell yourself it’s victory?”

The cat hisses at their feet, and Zech rasps out an answering challenge.

Edgeworth’s expression darkens, but he doesn’t back away. “Innocent? Can you even say for certain that he is? Or that anyone is?” His eyes return to Phoenix. “Criminals lie to escape justice, and they slip through the cracks thanks to cheap tactics like the ones I’ve seen you employ. All I can hope to do is have every defendant declared guilty.”

Phoenix holds his gaze for a moment longer, while Dawn growls and Maya swallows another furious outburst. But when Phoenix speaks, there is no anger, only sadness. “You’ve really changed, haven’t you, Edgeworth?”

In an instant, Maya’s rage plunges into ice-cold water. She looks to Phoenix in shock, and sees the answer to her question written all over his face.

It’s more than just the animosity between opposite sides of a conflict. There’s history there. As cold and aloof as Edgeworth holds himself, there is something deeply personal in this.

“…Don’t expect any special treatment,” Edgeworth says, and turns to go. His dӕmon glares balefully at them before turning to follow. The time for parley is over, it seems.

Except, it’s not.

Dawn steps forward. Her voice, laced with a growl, echoes in the lobby. “Thea.”

Halfway across the room, the cat dӕmon freezes. Edgeworth pauses as well, turning back to urge his dӕmon onward.

“Dawn,” Phoenix murmurs, but she doesn’t listen to him. She steps forward as far as their bond will allow, standing tall with her tail held high for the first time since Maya saw them in detention yesterday.

“Come on, Thea. This is wrong and you know it.”

“The only thing I know,” the cat replies calmly, “is that you are the defendant, and that makes it our job to find you guilty.”

“You’re being played,” Dawn growls. “I know you’re not in his pocket too, but you have to see that!”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” The cat takes another step toward her human.

“What happened to you and Miles?” Dawn demands. “Don’t you see what you’re doing?”

Edgeworth's face turns thunderous. The cat’s tall ears turn back, flat against her head, and she whirls around and storms back to face Dawn with a snarl. “What did you expect, Dawn?” she spits. “That we would throw away everything we’ve worked for, for—what?” Her lip curls back scornfully. “Childish sentiment?”

Dawn’s tail drops, and her white coat bristles with fury. When she finally speaks again, her voice is harsh with disappointment. “It’s not about sentiment, Alethea. I just thought you were smarter than this.”

Maya can almost hear the cat dӕmon’s claws scrape against the tile. Without another word, she whips around and stalks after Edgeworth.

Beside her, Phoenix’s hands shake. They don’t still until his dӕmon is within reach again, offering her fluffy coat to curl his fingers into.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“I know.”

“I couldn’t just—I had to say something—”

“I know.” Phoenix straightens up, his face set. “We’d better go in.”

This is their last chance for a private word. Maya catches him by the sleeve before he makes it to the door. “She’s a hybrid.”

He looks at her, confused. “What?”

“There’s a breed of cat called the Savannah,” she explains. “Though, it’s not really a breed in the truest sense. It’s made by crossing a domestic cat with a serval—that’s a wild cat from Africa.”

Her meaning dawns on him, and his eyes widen.

“I’m not sure if it helps,” she says. “Maybe it doesn’t. But hybrid dӕmons are said to indicate some kind of… split. A contradiction or duality in the soul.” She squeezes his arm in what she hopes is a reassuring way. “So, you could be right about him. He’s a hunter either way, but he may be more conflicted with himself than he lets on.”

The hope in his eyes is nearly enough to make her cry.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

the one who blooms in the bitter snow (chapter 2)

Chapter 1 | ko-fi

Caduceus has found a new friend in the widower father Caleb and he watches him grow happier, more comfortable in himself. He dares to hope that he's finally healing from the death of his husband.

He dares to hope for too much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was one of those days when he felt like he was utterly alone in the world.

Caduceus looked up from the flowerbeds he was kneeling in front of and stretched out his back until he felt a series of dull pops, groaning in relief and raising his eyes to the sky. Still slate grey, still scattering fat raindrops down in erratic sheets.

He smiled.

He took the trowel from the loose grip of his tail and set back to repotting the seedlings in front of him. Days like this were perfect for them, nourishing and encouraging, the Wildmother welcoming them to the garden.

That was why days like this didn’t drive him inside, the way it seemed to do for the rest of the world. The cemetery around him was completely deserted, fog clustering around the stones and the bases of the taller trees, the only true colour aside from greyish green being the dull stars of the flower heads, muted but beautiful still.

Caduceus thought it incredibly beautiful. Though he could see why people thought his little corner of the city was sort of eerie on days like this.

The seedlings safe in their dark black soil, thick and healthful with the rain, Caduceus stood, shaking crumbs from his sodden knees, not caring really seeing as the rest of him was already sodden. His trusty straw hat kept the rain out of his eyes but nowhere else.

There were other odd jobs to be done in the many thick gouts of plant life that sprung up all through the place. Weeding, pruning, scattering used coffee grounds from the café, telling off those who were being greedy with space, encouraging those who were flagging.

It was the kind of work Caduceus loved more than anything, the kind that was familiar, the kind he knew he could do well. He let his mind wander as he walked between the beds, the taller plants boughed by the weight of the rain, letting it drip down perfectly for their shorter cousins below. He would often sing or hum while he worked, something he worried contributed to people’s belief that the Blooming Grove was mildly haunted, when they would hear his lowing voice on misty days.

But not today. It was past time he sent a letter to his mama back home, she worried if he didn’t send at least one a month. Well, she’d worry about him anyway but at least the letters served to reassure her that he hadn’t been hit by a bus.

Mama had always worried about him, being the youngest and smallest of her gaggle of children. And when he’d announced he was leaving the clan- something firbolgs rarely did- to  move to the city- something firbolgs even more rarely did- she’d been close to locking his bedroom door so he couldn’t go.

Caduceus smiled fondly as he knelt by a family of sweet peas whose trellis had gone lopsided. He’d always struggle to explain it to his mama, he knew that. Wanderlust was something that was supposed to be completely alien, something other. As such, there really weren’t words Caduceus could find to help his family understand why he’d decided to see some of the wider world and push the boundaries of their tiny corner where things were still allowed to grow wild.

Caduceus set his jaw, feeling a raindrop run down the back of his short despite his hat.

There were a lot of things he didn’t have words to explain, a lot of feelings and compulsions held inside him that he couldn’t categorise and sort, couldn’t make plain. Some he was less proud of.

But his mama loved him. She understood that his life was his own. And if a letter every week or so would help her feel better, Caduceus would gladly write it.

He used his teeth to bite off a length of twine from the roll in his pocket and began retying the bamboo sticks that held his sweet peas up out of the shade and thought about what he might write.

He could tell her he’d joined a yoga class and how it wasn’t as fun as doing it in the dappled sunlight of the family grove with Clara trying to trip him at every available opportunity but it would suffice. He could tell her how he’d started making little scent bags out of his leftover lavender and vanilla pods to sell at the café and Caleb had said it was the first thing he’d ever found to actually help him sleep. He could tell her about how he’d made her recipe for mushroom risotto and took the leftovers to Caleb and how he’d said it was delicious. He could tell her how Caleb texted him sometimes when he needed someone to talk to. He could tell her how he was falling for Caleb.

The slick, rain soaked wood slipped suddenly in his hands and Caduceus hissed, drawing his hand sharply back to see a large splinter embedded in his thumb, blood beading around it like yew berries.

He groaned and swept his head from side to side, irritated with himself for more than not looking where his hands were going.

He couldn’t be having those thoughts. They shouldn’t be in his mind at all, let alone in his letter to mama.

Caduceus sat back in the wet grass, not caring as rain soaked into his trousers, worrying at the splinter with his teeth and trying to draw it out.

He didn’t understand emotion as well as other people, that much he knew. His social skills would be considered stunted by most standards. But even he understood that thinking those things about someone who’d so recently been widowed, who clearly wasn’t healing well from it, who was vulnerable and anxious and broken inside, was a bad idea for everyone involved.

There was absolutely no purpose at all to longing after something that could only end in pain. Sometimes the briars were just too high, trying to clear them in the hopes that something good would be on the other side would earn yourself bleeding palms and little else.

The splinter came free with a bite of pain. Caduceus tossed it into the grass and sucked at the blood that immediately welled up in the wound. He could take a hint.

He took the long way back to the café, winding his way through the clusters of headstones. There was no neat grid system to the Blooming Grove, things were patchworked together, no size or shape uniform. Caduceus had inherited the dilapidated cemetery like that, time and disinterest having warped it into something far from neat. But even after all the care and attention he’d poured into it he’d kept it without regular squares, clear paths, any kind of uniformity. He liked it like that, he admired the way it had grown free like a wild oak tree twisting and curving erratically towards the sun of its own free will.  

That was how it had chosen to be and he wouldn’t dare tell it any different.

Lugging his bag of gardening tools over his shoulder, he rounded the next corner, finally allowing himself to imagine the honey cake he’d reward himself with when he got back inside.

And saw Caleb standing in the middle of the uncovered pathway, under the arch of hawthorn trees.

He was turned away from Caduceus so he thankfully didn’t see him freeze in ungainly surprise or his fur puff up and send rainwater flying. But, unfortunately he couldn’t miss the loud shout of shock that also leapt out of him and startled several birds from the trees above.

Caleb turned, eyes wide and fearful at first but they softened as soon as he recognised his very wet, very embarrassed firbolg friend.

“Hi there,” he called once he was close enough to be heard over the pounding rain. He looked, rather unfortunately, like a drowned rat even more than Caduceus did. Water ran in rivulets down his face, his many layers were dark and dripping and his hair was plastered to him. By the looks of things he’d long ago given up on moving it out of his eyes.

Who went out in the rain without a good hat on their head?

“Hello, Mr Caleb,” he smiled, “What are you doing out here?”

Caleb gave a wan smile, “What does anyone ever do here?” He inclined his head back towards where he’d been standing in front of one of the graves. His husband’s, Caduceus realised. He’d never looked for it before but he could see now it was one of the newest ones. In amongst some very old ones, strangely, he wondered why that was.

“Of course,” Caduceus smiled back, “I more meant everyone else seems to be hiding from the weather, not going out in it.”

Caleb looked abashed, once of the many expressions that looked unfairly adorable on him, “I know…I didn’t have any clothes right for the weather but Trinket’s at playgroup and the apartment was so quiet, I…I didn’t want to be alone…”

There was a long, stiff moment where the two of them realised how wet they were getting and how there was no sensible way to navigate themselves out of this conversation.

Eventually Caduceus just sighed and smiled a little, “Caleb?”

The human looked up, of course he always had to look up to meet the firbolg’s eyes. Rain slid down his face, looking like tears.

“It’s really good to see you,” Caduceus murmured.

The café was dark, a little naked without the music and the smells of sugar and coffee, the people at the tables. But it was calm, it was dry and it had tea. That was all Caleb needed right now.

He’d started sniffling before they’d taken five steps, his breathing wheezy and ragged by the time they reached the door. Caduceus’ fur kept him good and insulated but after one look at Caleb he’d known he had a nasty chill on the way.

Fortunately, he kept a tin of the perfect remedy for that down behind the counter, hand tied bags of muslin he would often press on customers who came in with runny eyes, sniffles and coughs.

While Caduceus poured, Caleb gingerly stripped down to his shirt, darkened with rain on the shoulders and chest but it was as dry as he could get. Still, it clung to his body in ways that Caduceus caught when his eyes flickered up from the mugs and held in his mind greedily until the guilt twisted again and made him drop them.

“So how is Trinket finding preschool now? Settling in?” he asked, a little more loudly than really necessary to cover his own thoughts.

Caleb looked up from pulling his boots off, distracted immediately by the mention of his son, leaving him with one large black boot on and one stripey orange sock with a hole in the toe.

“He was so excited to go today,” he sighed, sounding proud and sad as only a parent who’d only recently sent their only child off to school could be, “He didn’t cry at all, he let go of my hand straight away and ran through the gates. He only just remembered to wave to me.”

Caduceus smiled fondly, bringing their cups over already redolent with the smells of cinnamon and lemon, a puddle of deep golden honey right at the bottom, “He was always going to take to it like a duck to water. I’m positive he’ll be there tonight with a huge hug, ready to tell you how he missed you like crazy.”

Caleb looked so open heartedly grateful for those words that Caduceus almost couldn’t bear it. The trust it showed, coming from a man who’d spent the last four years stitching himself back together with shaking hands and was terrified of letting anyone else find loose threads.

He was especially vulnerable right now, with Trinket starting preschool- nursery school to his Zemnian father. There was a time when Caleb would rather have lost his own hands between the hours of 9am and 3pm, three times a week, rather than his son.

The fact that he was bearing it so well, still functioning through his anxiety over the loss of control when before it would have bent him double and froze him, was a testament to how far he’d come. Caduceus felt so proud of him for that, for eventually wading tentatively into bereavement therapy, for getting back into a more regular work schedule, for making so many incremental but incredibly important steps since they’d first met in this café.

Caduceus hoped he’d helped Caleb get there, in some small way.

Caleb took a deep drink from the mug though as soon as he swallowed, he began to cough, a deep wheezing cough as thick and dark as the clouds that had caused it.

Caduceus winced, “We need to get you dry and warm.”

“I’m kind of down to my last clothes here?” Caleb said, raspy voiced, plucking at his damp shirt.

“But all of the tea in the world won’t help if we don’t fix that,” Caduceus turned towards his back room, “I must have a clean blanket around here somewhere.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did have all of the tea in the world here,” Caleb went for a smile but it was interrupted by a hacking cough, one that left him shivering, “Fuck, I can’t get sick, Trinket will get it…”

“Well…that’s a possibility,” Caduceus allowed, coming back in with the softest blanket he’d been able to find, a fairly easy task seeing as he rarely bought any for the café that weren’t thick and soft as fleece, “But also you’d be sick. And that’s bad in itself.”

Caleb looked up, the thought obviously not having registered until Caduceus said it, “Well…yeah, I guess.”

Caduceus frowned, turning his back delicately while Caleb stripped off his shirt and pants that were clinging to him like a second skin, though his large ears twitched at every whisper of fabric against skin. He sighed and grabbed hold of the loose trail of hair, wringing the rain out of it sharply, hoping those thoughts would wash out as easily.

“Caleb…you know it’s okay to worry about yourself every now and again…” his distracting annoyance at himself made his tongue more daring.

“You told me to worry less,” came the slightly pointed reply, “And you can turn around now.”

There was a moment then, after Caduceus’ eyes slid down Caleb’s makeshift red tartan toga, before he sharply brought them back up again, when it seemed to occur to both men that Caleb was essentially naked in front of his friend. His friend who was quickly finding himself falling more and more for him, as much as he tried to deny it. Though Caleb wasn’t to know that, at least Caduceus desperately hoped he didn’t.

“I know I did,” the firbolg sighed, deciding even that emotionally testing conversation would be better than going any further down that trail of thought, “But you’re allowed to have a bit of…concern, let’s call it, for yourself. It doesn’t always need to be about you protecting Trinket or anyone else.”

Caleb idly flicked one of the tassels on the blanket, feet shifting awkwardly, “It is though. That’s…that’s all I’ve got left, looking after Trinket. Keeping him safe.” He flinched, face colouring red, “Sorry. That was too much. Sometimes I say things and I don’t think about whose in the room…”

“No,” Caduceus’ voice was soft, his hand even softer as he reached out and pressed Caleb’s shoulder, “You don’t have to say sorry. I’m glad you said it.”

“But it’s a horrible thing to think, isn’t it?” Caleb gripped the blanket tighter, voice taut like a drawn bow, “He’s my whole world, my Mollymauk gave everything to bring him here, I love him so much…but gods, every time I look at him…”

Caduceus sensed his words running out, wanting him to know someone was still listening. He got the heart breaking impression that Caleb had been missing exactly that for a very long time.

“What?”

Caleb shook his head, voice now clearly splintering like ice, “I just want to feel something other than grief. I just want to put it down for a little while, that’s all…”

The rain beat on the windows, marbling and warping what little light there was outside, casting it in waves across the two of them. Caleb looked up, following the ebb of it, meeting Caduceus’ eyes. The helplessness in them was worse than the sight of blood caught in his own fur.

“Please tell me I’m not wrong to want that?” Caleb murmured, his voice less than a whisper.

Caduceus was so rarely still, his ears and tail nearly always twitching as the world went by around him. But he was still now, nothing else in the world mattered to him but Caleb In front of him.

“No,” he said softly, “You’re not wrong.”

With the look in his eyes, he shouldn’t have been surprised when Caleb kissed him. But it was so sweet, so soft, so vulnerable, the kiss of a drowning man, he couldn’t help but give a brief gasp of shock.

Caleb drew back at that, pale everywhere but the tips of his ears which were bright red. The blanket slipped a little, showing a thin chest covered in rust coloured hair.

“I’m sorry…” he started, but Caduceus stopped him with one large hand, coming up to cup his face tenderly.

“You don’t have to say sorry.”

This time, Caduceus kissed him. So he could never say he was entirely blameless.

When he imagined kissing Caleb, Caduceus had always imagined himself bent slightly, compensating for their height difference. But instead, Caleb came to him by rising on the balls of his feet, practically climbing him, to bring their lips together so hard it almost hurt. Hands roved, never settling in one place. Caleb was the far less shy of the two, immediately pulling at the laces of Caduceus’ pants, letting them fall to just above his knees. His linen shirt covered him still but now the shape of his erection was even more prominent.

When they broke apart, they were both panting, lungs burning, neither of them having realised they were prioritising kissing over oxygen.

“Fuck me,” Caleb panted, pupils blown wide like a cat in the dark, “Cad, please.”

Caduceus’ heart fluttered at the nickname and he felt like a teenager again in the blush of realising what wanting truly was. The doubts he’d always nursed about Caleb not finding him physically attractive dissipated.

And fresh doubts about everything else they were doing surged up stronger than before, a tide he wasn’t going to be able to outrun.

No matter how much he wanted to.

Caduceus took a step backwards, in his mind and in the space, “Caleb, listen…”

“What?” the blanket was around his waist now, slipping open just enough that Caduceus could see…

“We can’t do this, Caleb, not right now,” he shook his head regretfully, “Not like this.”

“But…I want to?” fear had begun to creep into his eyes, an uncertainty.

“You’re upset and that’s completely understandable but…it would be too much like taking advantage. I won’t do that to you.”

“I want this, I promise,” Caleb insisted, hands shaking, “I do, I miss it. I miss you so much Mol-…”

He stopped. Caduceus stopped. Everything stopped. But it was too late.

Caduceus took another step back, pulling his trousers back up, lacing them tighter than before. Caleb, sickeningly pale, hands at his mouth as if he could stuff the words back in and have them never be said, looked like he wanted to say something.

Eventually the words came, like blood from a wound, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry Caduceus.”

Caduceus nodded, “I think your clothes will be dry now. Here’s a box of the tea but if you keep coughing, go see a doctor, okay?”

He turned and quickly busied himself behind the counter, moving around jars of coffee beans that didn’t need rearranging, resolutely not lifting his eyes.

“Caduceus, please…”

“It was good to see you, Caleb. Come by any time.”

More sifting of fabric, and a muffled sob before the rain grew momentarily louder, buoying the sound of the bell ringing out as the door opened and closed. Caduceus finally felt safe then to look up, seeing his blanket puddled on the chair, still in the vague shape of Caleb’s body, two cooling mugs on the table.

With a deep sigh, Caduceus sat by them, taking his and drinking for something to do with his hands. The rain was falling as strong as ever, so implacable and constant he wondered if it would ever stop.

And once again he felt alone in the world.

[this-lioness]

Weekend Review

Long, boring and mundane, as usual, but I find it relaxing.

The last two grocery orders for my Mom were only about 1/3 to 1/2 full, and I knew that wasn’t going to hold her very long.  Food is readily available in the stores, it’s just that the stores are no longer doing substitutions for out-of-stock items, so if there are six versions of a given item available online you have to hope that the one you pick is one they have in stock, otherwise you’re not getting anything at all.  Your only choice is to keep ordering and ordering and ordering or physically go into the store.  Ugh.

There’s a Grocery Outlet up the street from us, and we decided Friday afternoon would probably be less crowded than a Saturday morning, and took our chances going out.  We wore masks and gloves, to be safe, and I left most everything home -- purse, glasses, phone.  I didn’t want to have to decontaminate more than I absolutely had to.

It went pretty smoothly, all things considered.  We have a full decontamination area in the pantry now: drop cloth on the floor, rolling rack with a bleach-water solution, washable wipes, clean grocery bags and gloves.  So we bring everything in through the back gate, I spray everything down with bleach (or SimpleGreen, if we’re worried about bleach getting on it) in the pantry, let it sit, then Marc wipes it dry and transfers it either to our own cabinets or into clean bags for my Mom.  Produce gets transferred directly to the sink where it’s washed with warm, soapy water and then dried.

Is it enough?  I don’t know.  It’s certainly a whole process, which makes me feel like we’re doing some amount of good, but I suppose you can’t really know for sure right now.

Saturday morning we had our breakfast biscuit sandwiches and coffee, then packed up (what we thought was) all my Mom’s groceries and drove them over.  En route she texted me to ask for Splenda (*sigh*) and a flashlight, because Jim uses a flashlight to navigate to the bathroom at night.  By then it was too late, but it turns out we’d forgotten all her frozen items anyway, so I told her I’d bring it the next day.

Dropped everything off with her and then went to Lowes to pick up garden soil and some drainage rock.  It was still cold and cloudy out, but warm enough that we got a good hour or so of work done in the back yard -- mostly cleaning up the winter muck.

A few months ago we bought a stack of old icing buckets from a baker ($1 each!) and Marc drilled holes in the bottom and layered them with rock and soil.  He also dug up one of the original three blackberry beds which we decided to retire.  I’d planned to just toss the canes, but they were already greening up so nicely that he took the chance they could be salvaged and transferred them to three new planters.  To my surprise they don’t seem shocked at all, so we may be able to keep them going in a better location!

Marc is debating what to do with the retired bed, but we’ll probably use it to dry firewood or store things off-season.

I went over the blackberry bushes and cut off all the old winter growth and one or two dead canes.  They’re greening up beautifully, and one of them has thrown FIVE NEW CANES, two of which have sprouted in the little gap between beds.  Complete assholes.  I rocked off the gap so it is now unofficially our new third berry bed, and gave it a stern talking-to about behaving itself from now on.  I swear to God those canes grew more since just yesterday.

The raspberries are greening up, but not so vigorously.  I need the time to get them back in order, frankly -- we have to completely redo the training wire.  There’s fucking thistle everywhere, I want to scream.  The harder you try to get rid of the stuff the more aggressively it spreads.

Blueberries are greening up as well.  I acidified the soil as best I could, but we’re giving them just this year to prove themselves.  If they can’t grow berries I can’t spare the garden space, and frankly it’s just too much work trying to acidify their beds.  The blackberries and raspberries would literally kill their mother to take over that space, and I’d love to try some gooseberries or something else new and different.

I pulled last year’s baby maples from their winter bed and gave them a once-over.  They’ve got tiny little buds on them, it looks like they all made it -- a good five or six at least!  I’ve got them in the sun now, anyway, to see if we can coax them fully back to life.

After choring I cleaned litter boxes, showered, then came downstairs and completely tore the pantry apart -- mud room, cabinet pantry, and the two sides of the kitchen island where we normally keep canned goods.

We normally keep a very well-stocked pantry, but I wanted a better idea of everything we had, and it was starting to get cluttered in a way that made it hard to get everything.  I spent a good few hours -- and Marc even got into it, and was a huge help -- taking everything out, combining items, moving some bulk goods to air-tight containers, and then sorting it all back new spots.

I had a bunch on hand that was more than we needed, and offered to bring it to my Mom with her frozen stuff.  In exchange she offered us some polenta and a few frozen items that neither she nor Jim would eat.  Good trade.

I’ve run past Marc the idea of organizing his tool chest as well, which is currently a six-foot-tall column of absolute madness that I have to avert my eyes from, but it seems like that’s going to wait until tomorrow.  Ah well.

Had tacos, watched Onward (I wasn’t expecting much but I actually really liked it), played some Animal Crossing and went to bed.  Good day.

This morning Marc made chocolate chip waffles and then we popped back out again.  The plan was just to drop the groceries off at my Mom’s, but we managed to get a few other things done: brought over the old tiered planter so she can use it for herbs and annuals, and set up the frame for a raised garden bed so she can grow some veggies (with my help, no doubt).  Later this week I’ll go over and lay down some weed blocker for her and fill it with soil.  I’ve got more than enough broccoli sprouts to spare and I’m sure the same will be true with the peppers, so she’ll have that if nothing else.

Afterwards we hit Lowes again, picking up a few more bags of top soil, bird seed, and more buckets.

Today was absolutely beautiful, cloudy on-and-off but warm and good for gardening.  We did a bang up job!

Marc gathered all the old wood paneling and other crap that’s been accumulating and got it into one spot so we can call a haul-away company.  He also cleaned up most of the leaf litter from around the yard and helped me organize the little collapsible greenhouse we got for free late last year.  It’s really handy, we’re already talking about replacing it with something more permanent.

I planted some of the broccoli sprouts and put them out in the sun.  Here’s hoping!  The three onion bulbs I planted a few weeks ago were sprouting up green so I got those into a planter and plugged most of the rest of the bulbs into biodegradable containers to see if we can get them growing as well.  Onions seem complicated, but I’ll do my best.

I’ve been saving every kind of little container I could get my hands on, these past weeks, and I filled them all up with soil and got some eggplant seeds going as well.  The bell peppers are just now starting to sprout, they need a bit longer, but I think they’ll get there.  Also planted some pinto beans and cat grass.  I’ve still got some baby spinach and pumpkins to get going, but I’m holding onto those for just now.

We sorted the “guest” patio chairs off into the side yard, as we don’t really anticipate having anyone over this summer.  We can always break them out again if we need to, it’s easy enough, but right now I’ve got almost every single sunny spot dedicated to something we can grow and eat.

We’ll have tomatoes at some point, too, but I’d prefer to buy them as seedlings.  I’m already unsure just how well the current round of babies is going to do.  I’m so worried about that broccoli, but I guess at some point you have to just let it do its thing and hope for the best.

I hope everything comes up.  I’ve read everything I can, but sometimes it all gets confused and muddled, so at some point I just sort of have to... hope.  Supposedly last year’s corn should return, but man... I don’t know.  We’ll keep an eye on it.  If it hasn’t come up by the time seedlings start appearing in the store we’ll just pull them up and replant.  That was a wonderful exercise last year.

We also put out more clover seed in the front (last year’s clover is BOOMING), and spread some wildflower seeds around as well.  Marc filled up the bird feeders, hosed off the patio and set up the chairs.  We’re going to buy a better pressure washer than the old electric one we have from the old house, both for our use and so my parents don’t have to keep hiring someone to clean their siding.  That will make a big difference.

It’s amazing what a difference an afternoon of work made in the back yard -- it looks and feels so much better.  Afterwards we got showered up and changed, and then a little bit ago I made some veggie fried brown rice with steamed veggie dumplings.  A little later on I’m going to make us some sakura lattes and maybe something light to snack on for dessert.

And how are you?

[thekitchensnk]

and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 7)

Rating: T Warnings: Violent imagery Pairing: Gin/Ran Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 “They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

She frowned in concentration, and her tongue stuck out from between her teeth. She stared with pin-point focus at the knife in her hands, her gaze absolutely ferocious and directed at the object of her wrath.

“Don’t move. Don’t move a muscle. Don’t. Even. Breath,” she gritted out.

Cold sweat coated the back of his neck.

“Nah, Ran-chan-“ Gin attempted, trying to placate her.

“No!” she shouted with determination. “I’ve got this. Don’t you dare.”

With a swish of the knife and a few colourful expletives, she cut carefully at the last of his lopsided, unevenly chopped hair.

“Aha! There,” she said with triumph, her hands on her hips. “All done. You should have a look at your reflection in the river. I’ve done a brilliant job, even if I say so myself.” She puffed up with pride and laughed magnificently. “The girls in town will be fighting after you.”

“Ya’ did say so ya’self,” he pointed out grumpily. “And have those hags in town after me? Thanks a bunch, Rangiku. Done me a real favour there.”

Her satisfaction was incorrigible, and her self-praise had known no bounds even then.

“You’re just being petulant because you cut it lopsided when you did it yourself, and you looked stupid for a whole week because you wouldn’t let me fix it. Face it, I’m the best and you’re the worst!” she sang.

“I was cuttin’ it with a knife!” he said defensively.

“So was I!”

That’s why he had been nervous to let her fix his hair, though he would never say as much out loud. Any man would be nervous with a sharp blade pointed at his neck. “Yeah, well-“ she had him cornered, and he knew it –“let’s see how well ya’ did, then. Can’t be possibly be worse than my job,” he muttered. “Pass me the water?”

She passed one of their water jugs obediently, and he traipsed outside with it. He found a level, flat stretch of rock, and poured the water out onto it. He went silent for a moment, reaching down into the dark plains where his power lay. He inhaled, and reached out for it, and instead of throwing it at the water and the rock, the way he had once done, he shaped it to his intent, feeling the contours and implications of the word frozen in his mind. Stillness, he thought. Fixed. Cold. He looked at the curve of the water, and imagined its fluidity.

The amorphous puddle in front of him froze slowly, and he exhaled in triumph.

Next to him, Rangiku whooped.

“That’s amazing! Have you been practicing?! When did you learn to do that?”

It had taken a degree of incredibly fine, precise control. The power they had loathed being shaped in such measured, purposeful ways. It was as if he was missing some element of the process, some set of commands or rules. The water would unfreeze in seconds, he knew- his power couldn’t really do ice- and so he bent quickly to look at himself in the ice.

There was nothing lopsided about his hair at all anymore. She had done a very good job, he had to admit it. He glared.

“Alright, ya’ win. Ya’ the hair cutting champ.”

He saw her reflected in the impromptu mirror he had made, and her hand made its way to his head, her fingers threading delicately through its newly cut strands; her hand ghosted down to his neck, and tenderly, so tenderly it could break his heart, she brushed away some of the remnants which still lay there.

“Whoops! Missed some. Sorry,” she said, barely thinking about it.

Goosebumps rose on his neck at the casual intimacy of her touch, and he watched her, unaware, in the reflection, turning over in his mind how often it felt like there was no dividing line between him and her, that they were two halves of the same thing made whole; gold and silver, boy and girl, light and dark.

When she turned to look at her own reflection, he looked away quickly, as if burnt, suddenly shy to be caught.

She frowned slightly, and her hand left his neck to play with the ends of her own hair.

"It's getting long," she mused. She turned to look at him, and his gaze jerked upwards, to look her in her forget-me-not eyes. "Will you cut it for me?"

The knife was in her hand and she offered it to him, and for some reason, his mouth went dry.

"After the job I did on my hair? Ya'd trust me after that?" he tried to stall for time.

“Yes," she said simply. "It's different, cutting someone else's hair. You can see properly. You’ll be fine." She paused. “If you leave me bald, I will get my revenge. You know that, right?”

His eyes went to the knife that she held out to him, and he was haunted, suddenly, by the thought of driving it pommel deep through her neck until the blade stuck out her trachea, by the thought of arterial spray and the crimson of her blood splattering over the plants and across his chest, about its hot liquid warmth gushing out over his body and going cold in the morning air; how her body would go slack, and her eyes dull, and her skin gray, and how her mouth would gape in the way that all corpse mouths seemed to gape.

If she only knew the things he had done with that knife, and how easy, how simple, they had been- like drawing water from the river, or pulling carrots from the ground.

Did the ability to imagine doing such things to her make him capable of them? He didn’t know, and he didn't want to know.

He shivered in the warm air, feeling a little sick, but took the proffered knife. Reluctantly, he bid her to sit down in front of him anyway.

Her amber hair lay slightly askew, and he could see a glimpse of her neck, made golden by the sun, between its strands. It would be so easy, he thought, and yet. And his mind kept butting up against that thought. It would have been the simplest thing in the world, like snuffing out a lantern, and yet-

Could he?

He would sooner stab himself.

She bared her neck to him, and let him hold his knife there, millimetres from her, and she did not flinch for a second. It was as if she didn’t realise at all that with one slip, he could end her.

She trusts me, and the truth of that settled across his shoulders like a blanket, like a burden. She trusts me with her life. He felt sick.

Would I trust her with mine?

With a sure and certain hand, he began to cut, and unaware of the thoughts which had raced through his small head, she chattered on blithely.

---

One day in the early autumn, he took her to a sunny spot in the garden and made a cheerful announcement. "This spot is for ya'. Ya' grow whatever ya' want here- onions, scallions, garlic, cress, cabbage, whatever ya' want. I’ll help ya’."

It had come so out of the blue that she was completely thrown.

"What?" she asked dumbly.

He moved from foot to foot energetically. "The garden is ours, but I want ya' to have this bit for ya'self. I'll help ya' turn over the earth so that we can start growin' things."

"To grow anything?" she asked.

"Anythin'," he reaffirmed impatiently.

She hesitated for a moment, but he knew her face too well for it to slip past unnoticed.

"What's the matter?" he asked immediately.

"Nothing," she said a bit too quickly.

"I know what 'nothin'' looks like," he said. "Spill."

She bit her lip, and her ears started to go pink with embarrassment.

"Could we grow flowers?" and for some reason, she felt shy. She looked up at him, and he was grinning. "Don't laugh at me!" she demanded, her face hot.

He laughed, but it was a happy, care-free thing, a laugh which rose up into the sky and into the winds, and carried her up there with it. He would be sad to pass up on regular scallions, but there was always the occasional patch growing wild in the woods, so it would not be too much of a loss.

"I'm not laughin' at ya'," he said easily. "It's ya' patch of the garden. I wanted ya' to grow what ya' wanted. If Ran-chan wants flowers, she'll get flowers. Come down here and help me turn over the soil." He beckoned her closer. "It's a mucky job, so ya'll want to hitch ya' yukata up, like so," He had gathered the fabric above his knees and tied it before kneeling on the threadbare grass.

She had followed suit, and knelt beside him, her calf bumping absent-mindedly against his. Her limbs had been thin and starved once, he recalled, when she came to him, but they had grown healthy and strong in the time since. The sight pleased him

"We're just goin' to turn over the earth with our hands," he said cheerfully. "Ain't got no spade or fork to use."

She glared at him. "You didn't say that we'd have to put our hands in the mud for this."

"Nah, Ran-chan, that's just life. Gotta get ya' hands dirty sometimes and muck in if you want flowers."

The ground gave way easily, even only using their hands, and the air was soon full of the dark, loamy smell of fresh earth. He delighted in picking up worms when they found them, pink and wriggling, and dangling them in front of her, because she'd shriek and laugh and push him away.

"That's disgusting!" she'd shout in outrage. "How can you even touch it, Gin?"

She appreciated it even less when he slyly bumped her with his shoulder, causing her to over balance and land in the mud.

Working together, they cleared the area quickly, though they did not get away unscathed. He had several streaks of mud on his face from when he'd brought a worm too close to her, and she'd swiped her hands on his face in revenge. Her knees and the front of her legs were brown with dirt, and her hands were not worth mentioning. But they had smiled, and joked, and the hot morning had passed quickly.

By early afternoon, the sun was shining thick and fast, and they were almost finished. He had rolled his sleeves up, and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm.

"We're almost done here, I reckon," Gin said decisively. "I'll stay and neaten up the edges. Do ya' know which flowers ya' want to plant up?"

"Some of those spindly red ones that grow by the river," she said, having thought about it whilst they had been digging. "They're not due to bloom yet, but it shouldn't be long." Her eyes shone with excitement.

"Go on then," he said indulgently. "Make sure not to damage the roots. Ya' know what ya' doin'?

Her answer was an undecipherable noise yelled back at him and lost to the wind as she sped off to the river as quickly as her small legs could carry her.

The patch of cleared earth was not large, and was made clumsily by the small hands of children, but it would do.

He attempted for a few moments to neaten up its edges, but was too lazy and content to exert much effort. His knees ached from having knelt too long on the hard ground, and he knew he would be in desperate need of a dip in the river. He almost groaned at the thought. Birds sang in the eaves, an unmelodic, but cheerful twitter, and the sun baked the back of his neck.

Idly, he thought of flowers, and pondered whether they would attract bees, fat and bumbling, and whether they could possibly get honey for their efforts. It would be nice, he thought. Maybe we could dip the persimmons in it.

It was, he thought, a beautiful day, and so he decided to bask in the sun on his back until she returned, a satisfied vulpine smile on his face. Let her catch him, he thought.

She emerged twenty minutes later from the forest, her arms filled with a bouquet of crimson, spidery lilies which she held like a bride. Some were as of yet still only in the bud, some beginning to reach the fullness of their bloom.

Her face peaked out from between the beautiful red flowers with their strange, ungainly tendrils. Her face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled and the sun played in her hair.

She was so beautiful, that day.

She raised the flowers to him in triumph and as she did so, they began to tumble from her arms, and she had to bend and fumble clumsily not to drop them. He could not help but smile softly at the sight.

Looking at her, something in his chest tightened, and he could not say what it was, only that it was half agony, half tremendous sweetness, and entirely of her making.

He rose to his feet.

"Here," he said calmly, "Give them to me. I'll carry 'em for ya’."

She looked up at him quickly, and smiled brightly when she met his gaze, her eyes crinkling warmly. She handed the flowers over.

"They're pretty," he mused, opening his eyes fully, though the flowers took up only the smallest part of his attention. She felt heat rise in her cheeks, and could not explain why it did.

He felt a tendril-like petal between his fingers. "This was a good idea ya' had. I wonder what these are?"

She had no idea. In truth, she knew little about flowers, only that there were certain kinds that you shouldn't eat because they were poisonous, some that came in the spring, and some that came in the summer. There had not been the space to think about beautiful things before she met him.

She had chosen these because she knew that they were bright and interestingly shaped, and it had been as simple as that.

"I don't know," she said. "It’s just a pl-". She broke off, and stretched out her hand, distracted. She could have sworn she felt rain.

The world paused, like the attention of creation was focused on a grand spectacle far off in the distance.

She heard a hesitant pitter-patter.

 And then an uncertain stutter of rain drops bouncing off the ground.

The gentle tapping grew heavier and heavier until, suddenly, it became a drumming cacophony, the sound echoing across the garden, and the world turned green and blurred as the air overhead filled with water, with great lashings of water, pelting down. The sun kept beating brightly and relentlessly, and the raindrops shone like diamonds hanging in the air, and the world tilted and overturned.

She could not see; he could not see.

She grabbed his hand blindly, and startled, he allowed the flowers to slip from his arms and his fingers and crash to the ground. She ran exhilarated through the rain, laughing and laughing deliriously, leaping over the vegetable beds and odd mounds of earth, and he followed, delighted and laughing and letting himself be led after her.

He would have followed her anywhere.

When they reached the house, they were soaked through, and water dripped on the floor. His hair lay flat and drenched across his forehead, and hers hung in a wild mane about her head. They bumped together clumsily, and clung to each other to keep one another steady. Their feet were wet and water pooled on the ground.

His lips had found themselves on her forehead, so tightly were they pressed against one another, and the rain clattered against the roof like the banging of a war drum.

"The fox is- the fox is having his wedding," she laughed, struggling to catch her breath.

"What?" he asked, dazed and blinking, trying to wipe the water from his eyes. There was still mud from earlier in the day on his face, and it smeared where he rubbed.

"I-" she paused for a moment and glared at him. "I don't know! I don’t know why I said that. It's a saying, I think."

"What's it mean?" he said, trying to catch his breath.

"I dunno. It's just what you say when the sun shines and the rain rains at the same time. I think I must have heard it when I was still alive. The fox is cunning, and sneaky, and powerful, right? When he does stuff, he doesn’t like people to see, so he makes it rain.” She explained it all as if it were commonsense. “He didn’t want us peeking in on him."

"Huh. The fox is havin' his weddin'," he echoed, turning the phrase over slowly in his mouth. It was poetic, he thought- but he still didn’t have the first clue what it meant.

But she had moved on, stepping away from him to peer outside. The air was thick with falling rain.

"Will the flowers be alright, do you reckon? Will they die if we don't put them in the ground right away?" she asked, concern written all over her face. "It was tough work digging them up and carrying them here. I got mud under my nails."

"They should be okay," he considered. "They'll get plenty of water in the rain at least, and rains like this never last long."

"Ugh," she groaned suddenly, looking at her arms. "I'm still covered in dirt. I wanted to go and wash up in the river before we ate and went to sleep.” She pouted, her hands on her hips. “Maybe I should just take my clothes off and stand outside in the rain and let it do the washing for me," she said petulantly.

His heart skipped a beat.

"Nope," he said in a tone that brooked no argument. "That would be silly. And anyway, there's not enough rain now for ya' to get clean."

“I bet a bath in a sunshower would feel like nothing else in the world,” she teased, not because she knew what it implied, but because he had forbid it.

But as if his words had intervened directly with the weather itself, the drumming on the roof quietened to a patter and stopped completely soon after.

Birdsong resumed, and with it the lazy background hum of cicada music.

“You did that!” she accused. “You stopped the rain with your powers!”

“I wouldn’t know how to do that even if I wanted to!” he complained. “I don’t know why ya’ complainin’ anyway- standing in the rain wouldn’t have got ya’ clean, and now there’s no rain, ya’ can take your bath in the river, like you wanted.”

She huffed at him.

“But we’ll plant the flowers first.”

He sighed in frustration, and ran a hand through his hair. The dirt on his hands transferred, leaving a dark streak, and she giggled at the sight.

“We’ll plant the flowers first,” he said.

 ---

(And they had. They had bloomed through the autumn that year until even after her birthday had come and gone, and they had come back year after year after year without fail, even after they had both left the old house to tumble down into ruin and the garden to be overcome by the wilderness.

The spider lilies had shone in bursts of scarlet and crimson against the verdant trees, and even when they planted other flowers there, they always took pride of place.) 

(They were still there even when she returned years later, a tired woman weighed down by grief and betrayal, but wiser.

She looked at those flowers then and knew too late their irony. She thought of then of the fox’s wedding day, and of a foolish girl who had carried a bouquet of red spider lilies in her slender arms to the boy she had loved, bride-like and ignorant, so ignorant, of what was to come.)

[mileheitcity-blog]

Three Days in Iceland

Pre-Trip

I had planned on hitting Iceland on my way to Europe for some time.  It was around 2012 that I first heard of the extended layover on Icelandair, but never really thought to look much into it, at least until I had a reason to.  Study abroad finally gave me that reason. Turns out you can stay up to seven days in Iceland on your way to wherever you want to go without incurring extra service fees.  Combine that with relatively cheap airfare and it seemed like the easiest way to beat jetlag and see somewhere new.  I figured a place like Iceland would be a little expensive, and not wanting to blow my entire wallet before I even hit Amsterdam, I decided on a three day layover.  It seemed like enough time to see some of Western Iceland and maybe get a feel for the place.  I made sure to pack for some outdoors: raincoat, hiking shoes, swimsuit, sweatshirts.  When researching places to stay, I found my hunch about price was correct: Iceland was more than a little expensive.  Staying in Reykjavik was out of the question, so instead I found a guesthouse in the village of Akranes, about 45 minutes up the road. After the quarter ended in early June, I flew to Denver to see my parents and tie up some important loose ends before my trip.  On June 17, I caught my first flight from Denver International Airport and tried to sleep on the seven hour flight to Keflavik.

Day 1

Our flight was a little late getting out of Denver, so we landed at around 9:30 local time in Iceland.  Running on about 3.5 hours of sleep, I got my rental car and headed straight for my 11:00 appointment at the Blue Lagoon.  I was running about an hour late, of course, but they didn’t seem to mind at all.  In fact, it was one of the best customer service experiences I’ve ever had.  If I went down the wrong hallway, they immediately pointed me in the right direction or let me through with my wristband anyway.  The sushi I had was nourishing after all that time in the air.  The water was nothing short of spectacular: milky white, warm and relaxing.  Two steam baths and a sauna were open and accessible in the corner and both were quite necessary.  One kiosk on the left hand side sold mud masks, like the Dead Sea, and offered a silica one for free.  Two rounds of the silica mask made the skin on my face feel as happy as it had been in years.  Another kiosk in the corner sold beer and drinks, so I got the Icelandic national brew: Gull.  Drinking and driving in Iceland is strictly forbidden, so I wanted to make sure to limit myself to only two drinks on my trip, this being one of them.  I’ll get to the other one later.  Gull isn’t too bad, but not too great.  Something of a standard macro lager, a few shades better than Rainier.  Enjoying my drink slowly allowed me to make friends with some folks around me from the Pacific Northwest, which definitely made the transition to a foreign land a little easier.  My only regret from a place like this is that eventually you’ll have to leave.  But I’ll be back...

Feeling refreshed, relaxed, and sobered up from my one beer, I hopped in the car and went to Reykjavik.  It’s a fairly small city: you can see much of the main areas in a day.  The main landmark in the city is Halgrimskirkja: the cathedral of the Church of Iceland.  It’s fairly impressive, with a really cool looking pipe organ and a statue of Leif Erikson in front.  I had forgotten he was of Iceland, that his father was Erik the Red.  Not far from Halgrimskirkja was the Laugevegur, the main restaurant and shopping district.  It was along this street that I knew where to find my second and final drink in Iceland.  Many of the hot spots along this street carried oddly American names: the Chuck Norris Grill, a pub called Boston that looked like it was taken directly out of Cheers. I finally came upon the one I wanted: Lebowskibar.  It was absolutely kitsch, sure, but I’m a sucker for anything to do with The Big Lebowski.  I had to have my White Russian, and a “hell of a Caucasian” it was.

About 3000 ISK later, I took a short walk to the Icelandic Punk Museum to sober up a bit, but it was nothing special.   The coolest thing there was a little joke at Hitler’s expense, which is never a bad thing. After the Punk Museum it was time to head on up to Akranes.  There was no one at the desk, but my key was waiting for me inside, with the sun still shining at around 10pm.  I took a walk down to the lighthouse at the end of town to catch the closest thing Iceland has to a summer sunset, and caught the midnight sun as I got back to the guesthouse for the night.  A solid day one.

Day 2

Got a late start after sleeping off the jetlag and went right for what I really came for: Hákarl.  I knew that fermented shark was pretty gnarly, but I wasn’t gonna miss it. The spot to go find shark is on the Snæfellsnes Peninsula at the  Bjarnarhöfn Shark Museum.  The museum is located pretty well out in the middle of nowhere, about two hours up the road from Akranes. I didn’t get on the road until almost noon, so I thought I was out of time.  I quickly grabbed a cup of coffee and a full tank of gas (around 250ISK per litre!) found my way.  I found out later I had quite a bit of sunlight to work with. The Shark Museum itself is a small house on a windswept headland on the northern side of the peninsula.  A spectacular view.  Undaunted, I paid my 1000 ISK to see the place.  The museum itself is a rather eclectic collection of maritime memorabilia and Icelandic antiques.  The collection seemed almost unorganized, but I wasn’t there for the collection, I was there for the shark.  The presentation was short, but interesting: a burly Icelander explains how the shark is poisonous when eaten fresh because it doesn’t process urine, so they have to basically let the thing rot in wooden tubs before letting it dry out back for a while, leading to its notorious smell.  The smell can best be described as a mix of ammonia and urine, which makes sense, and though it is indeed quite foul it’s not nearly as strong or permeating as I expected it to be.  It tasted much better than it smelled: like a slightly buttery fish, nothing too offensive.  After a short peek at the collection, the burly Icelander directs you to the drying house out back.  That’s where the magic happens, and the food gets its stinky reputation. Where the fish was pretty mild, the drying house is extremely pungent and stings your nose.  The visual appearance of the shark as its cured is no more appealing: brown, crusty, and oozing with liquid.  Overall though, the shark wasn’t too bad.  A man in need could almost make a meal out of the stuff, and definitely could make a side dish.

Next stop was Kirkjufell and the town of Grundarfjörður about 30 minutes further out along the peninsula.  Kirkjufell was featured on seasons six and seven of Game of Thrones, which was totally why I wanted to see it and not because it was a symbol of Iceland.  But that was a nice perk too.  I grabbed a hot dog in  Grundarfjörður and found a nice little cafe that was also a small library, a great find along the trail.  The mountain itself is impressive, and the nearby stream is fed by a sprawling waterfall across the highway. Very picturesque.  

My third and final stop was the Vatnshellir Cave on the far end of the peninsula, about another hour out.  I pull in at around 17:50, about ten minutes before they close for the day, and this place is remote.  I mean even the WiFi router I brought in the car with me, the one that worked for my entire Iceland trip, couldn’t find anything out there.  If there was an “end of the Earth”, this was it.  The cave itself is an experience onto itself.  They fit you with a helmet and a flashlight, and a friendly guide takes you down a long spiral metal staircase made slick by constant water dripping through the soil.  The cave was created by a volcanic explosion, like pretty much everything else on this island, and is layered with eons of nature’s bidding.  Afteer some time exploring the worn lava rock, you go down another staircase: this one even longer (about 40 meters) and slicker.  At the end of the cave tour, the guide has us all close our eyes and turn out our lights. When we open them, all language barriers between the tour group disappears with a loud “whoa!” in relative unison as we all process the complete lack of light.  Pitch black has new meaning there.  The darkness is absolute, whole, enveloping.  There really isn’t a way to describe just how dark it is with absolutely no sunlight whatsoever.  After a few meditative minutes we all climbed back up, glad we had made the trek down.  On the way out, I happened upon what looked like the keeper of the lighthouse at the end of the jetty lowering the Icelandic flag for the night.  Felt like the perfect symbol to cap off a truly Icelandic day.  

Day 3

My final day in Iceland I wanted to pack in anything else I missed before I took off to Amsterdam.  I got up and headed straight back too Reykjavik.  The Alþingi building is beautiful from the outside, and claims to be the oldest active parliament in the world, however, they had no tours for the day.  Undaunted, I stumbled to the Settlement Exhibition up the street, colloquially called 871+- 2, in reference to the probably year Iceland was first settled by Vikings, within a range of a year or two. The Settlement Museum is very interactive, and contains replica models of some of the houses the original settlers built.  The Settlement Exhibition is part of a museum network with two others, of which I only went to one: the oldest extant house in Reykjavik.  The house held a small photo exhibition of Icelandic life in 1918, and was fairly well curated.  

My second stop of the day was...shall we say a little different: the Icelandic Phallocalogical Museum.  This guy, for some reason, had a large curated collection of animal penises, and somehow found it within himself to mount and display them in a complete museum dedicated to his collection. There are large penises, like that of a blue whale, and small penises, like that of a hamster. He even has a couple of bronze casts of human penises.  The voice on the audio guide never explains why he has such a collection, and why he decided to display it on the wall for everyone to see, but boy does he go into detail about each penis.  Far more than I wanted to know, but still worth a chuckle.  

The Icelandic Rock and Roll Museum was only 30 more minutes down the road in Reykjanesbær , and contained a well curated mix of materials dating back to the early days and some bands I had never heard of. I mostly just went to geek on bunch of Björk and Sigur Rós and Of Monsters and Men.  The collection did not disappoint.  The museum was interactive, and even had a karaoke booth (that wasn’t soundproof, as I found out later).  I was able to get my fill of guitars and strange costumes and even a band made out of wood.  Fans of MoPop in Seattle (formerly known as the Experience Music Project) might be a little underwhelmed, but this was a fun tribute to the fascinating music history of such a tiny place. I may have spent a little too much time and energy in the karaoke room singing some of my favorites; the woman working at the desk barged in about halfway through song six (I think?) to tell me the room wasn’t soundproof. Oops.

My next two stops were a bit far away, and it was already 3pm, so I needed to hit the road. Only about nine more hours of sunlight.  Reykjadalur Hot Springs got some rave reviews on YouTube, and was only about 90 minutes up the road. Or so I thought.  The parking lot sits down at the bottom of a steep mountain pass near the town of Hveragerði.  A little coffee shop greets visitors, but it had shut down for the day.  It was pretty chili outside so I grabbed my sweatshirt for what I thought was a short walk to the river. Turns out the springs itself is a three kilometer walk up the hill.  And people swim in the river.  I immediately regretted forgetting both my hiking shoes and my swimsuit.  The hike up to the springs is stunning.  Sweeping valleys and steep canyons give way to open fields full of sheep.  So many sheep.  They graze in the valley, drink some of the colder water downstream, and even walk right up towards the trail for the freshest grass.  Off in the distance steam literally billows out of the earth.  The only time I’ve ever seen anything like it was at Yellowstone, but this was different. It was....quiet. Peaceful. The smell of sulfur carries with the wind.  Near the end of the hike, you walk right through one of those steam vents, which was somehow simultaneously refreshing and blinding.  The hot springs themselves are more like a spot in the river.  Something in the soil is volcanic, so the ground heats the water to some naturally balmy temperatures. The bathing area is nearly the opposite of the Blue Lagoon.  There are no amenities, there is no one bringing you a drink or offering you a mud mask.  There are no saunas or steam baths, or any real facilities of any kind for that matter. Not a roof in sight, not even a restroom.  Only a few privacy barriers indicated a potential spot to change out.    I wasn’t exactly prepared for a full swim, so I took my shoes off and soaked my aching feet a while.  The hot mineral water was quite soothing, really softened up the calluses.

The hike up and down created quite an appetite.  I saw a sign on the road back to the main highway for a pizza bar and geothermal brewery: Ölverk. Good enough for me. The place was a little fancier than I expected, but the food and service were both really delicious.  Got a pizza with dates, bacon, and blue cheese on it, and it’s probably the only pizza with fruit I’d do again.  I passed on the beer: around 2700 ISK for a taster flight of four, 4000 ISK for a draft pour. Makes the ballpark seem cheap. Turns out the geothermal thing was just how they generated their power anyway, which is kinda cool I suppose, but that’s how they generate much of their electricity there. That’s like saying a brewery in Seattle is hydroelectric powered.  It was getting late in the day at this point, but my friend recommended I hit a spot a little further up the road: Kerið Crater. It’s a sinkhole, but an impressive one.  The parking lot backs right up to the crater, and there’s a short hike around and a staircase to the bottom.  At the bottom is a pool of clean, cool groundwater. Like everywhere else in that country, it was created by volcanic activity.  Some kind of sinkhole type process. I took the staircase to the bottom, took a drink of the water (tasted great!), and had a lovely conversation with some folks from Russia.  A chat with some folks from the other side of the world seemed like a good way to transition to the next portion of my trip.  I took a windy route back through the southern portion of Þingvellir National Park, but it was around 10:30pm at that point so I knew I needed to drive the couple hours back to Akranes to make my flight.  The back roads were wide open and peaceful: for kilometers on end I might have been the only person.  There was also some gravel, but some experience living in the Colorado mountains served me well.  I cranked up the tunes and thought wistfully of the summer ahead of me.  Amsterdam, I’m ready.

Final Thoughts

Iceland is a place unto itself.  My only regret is that I didn’t allow myself one more day.  More than that though, oof.  It gets expensive.  Outside of Reykjavik is extremely rural and provincial, and Reykjavik is indeed lovely, but not exactly the most cosmopolitan or bustling city. I would go back, and would recommend it to almost everyone, but unless you plan on doing some hardcore expeditions you can see pretty much everything in three to four days.  For me, it served its purpose: I relaxed at the Blue Lagoon, ate Hákarl, slept off the jetlag, and adjusted to some of the differences of European culture.  Overall, a lovely experience. Oh, and be aware the tap water smells like sulfur.

[chooseywoozy]

The Elementalists: Chapter One - Open Enrollment

Now playing as… someone not quite yourself.

The wind whips across your face as you race through barren trees, trying to put some distance between you and the creature chasing you!

Shadow Monster: RAAAAAGHHHHHHHH!!

The force of the monster’s roar shakes the ground beneath your feet! You trip at the edge of a pool of black water, catching a glimpse of your scratched and muddy face in the process…

You: Come on, get up. Keep moving!

You dig your fingers into the black soil, pushing yourself toward the mirror you’ve been desperately seeking…

You: Just… a little… further!

When suddenly the beast crashes through the trees just behind you! You roll onto your back as the creature thunders toward your prone body! Out of options, you throw your hands up, and a searing energy pulses through your fingertips!

You: Yueguang Trabem!

(NOW PLAYING AS HELL)

You bolt upright in your bed, clutching your chest.

Hell: That… that felt so real!

Your phone buzzes aggressively on the nightstand, and you look over to see that it’s almost ten. Your alarm has been going off for almost two hours.

Hell: Crap! I’m gonna be late for that meeting with my advisor!

You scramble out of bed and dash to your closet to throw something on… Once you’re dressed, you bolt out the door… Not noticing someone watching you from inside the mirror. You run into your advisor’s office without a moment to spare and drop into the chair across from her desk.

Hell: Sorry! I overslept.

Ms. Robertson: You’re not late, so that’s quite alright, Ms…

She rifles through some papers on her desk.

Hell: Just Hell is fine.

Ms. Robertson: Hell, right. Forgive me. I’m used to dealing with more… troubled students.

She finds the right file and slides behind her desk. As she scans the pages, she frowns.

Ms. Robertson: By all accounts, you’re a perfect student. It’s only a couple of weeks into the quarter, but your grades and attendance are excellent. So I’ve got to ask, Hell. Why are you here?

Hell: It’s hard to describe. I know I should be happy. But I’m just… not. I try so hard, but no matter what I do, it all just feels like… like I’m sitting in a waiting room or something. And no one ever calls my name.

Ms. Robertson: And… what is it exactly that you’re waiting for?

Hell: I guess I’m looking for a life of adventure!

Ms. Robertson: What?

Hell: A life exploring new worlds, collecting ancient artifacts glowing with mysterious powers… That’s not too much to ask, is it?

Ms. Robertson: Those are certainly some original aspirations. But I can’t help you live in a fantasy world, Hell.

Hell: Yeah, I know. I’m only joking. I just wish I knew what I was looking for. Whatever it is… it’s not this.

Ms. Robertson: I know you’re at a crossroads right now. And one of the directions you could go would mean dropping out of Hartfeld.

Hell: It crossed my mind…

Ms. Robertson: Please don’t do it. When this phase you’re in ends, you don’t want to discover that you’ve given up your chance to get a degree, do you?

Hell: But… but what if you’re wrong? What if it’s not a phase?

Ms. Robertson: I tell you what. WHy don’t you go home and think about it? Will you do that for me?

Hell: Sure. I… I guess I can do that.

Later, you stand in the bathroom of your suite and look at yourself squarely in the mirror in front of you.

Hell: I know you belong somewhere. I know there’s more to you than this.

Suddenly, the lights in the room flicker!

Hell: What the hell…?

Something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye… A glint in the bathroom mirror.

Hell: Huh? Why do I look like this? What the hell! That’s… That looks like my face, but…

You raise a hand to your face, but when your reflection doesn’t move, you freeze. The mirror itself looks a little odd… Almost shimmery.

Hell: Am I… Am I dreaming again?

You reach a shaky hand toward the mirror, and when your fingers touch the surface, they press into the glass!

Hell: Whoa!

You try to pull back, but your hand won’t come free! Your palm starts to sink into the glass, then your forearm, and before you know it…

Hell: Wait, wait, wa--

Your whole body is sucked through! Rushing water yanks you forward, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut against the current! Just as you feel your lungs starting to strain, a splash comes from your right! You feel a pair of strong, sturdy arms wrap around your middle and pull you to the water’s surface! You feel yourself being dragged onto dry land and sputter as you wipe the water from your eyes. You try to get your bearings, taking a moment to gape at your surroundings…

Hell: Wh-Where…

In front of you is a picturesque collection of cozy looking buildings with steepled roofs, a manicured lawn, and an ostentatious statue out front. But as you gawk, the carved marble figure keeps moving around, and overhead, people fly around on a variety of objects including an ottoman, a broom, and an ornamental rug!

Hell: This is… This isn’t real. Right? Where…

???: Hey, hey! You’re okay, I got you. You’re a new student here, right?

Hell: … I am a student.

???: Great! You missed the Hall of Mirrors by a mile, but you made it. Welcome to Penderghast College of Elemental Magicks. Since it’s the first day of the new semester, we should probably get you to the dining hall for orientation. If you’re feeling okay, that is.

As you turn to try and get your bearings, you see a tall, haughty guy eyeing you disdainfully from nearby.

???2: I suppose I should have listened to my dad when he said the admissions standards are in decline here. Didn’t you read the information packet? There are arrival protocols, you know.

???: Who are you? Campus police? Why don’t you take her up to orientation then and make yourself useful?

Beckett: Absolutely not. I’m Beckett Harrington. I don’t have time to show the other freshmen around campus.

His lip curls into a sneer as he says this. He gives you one last withering look, before he turns and stalks away.

Griffin: I guess it’s just you and me, then. I’m Griffin.

He smiles at you warmly and offers his hand. You shake it, your fingers trembling from the shock and the water cooling on your skin.

Hell: I’m… Hell. And also… I’m very confused.

Griffin: Here, Hell, let me help you.

You feel a change in the air around him as he brings his clasped fists up to his mouth and blows through them. Suddenly…

Hell: Hey! I’m completely dry!

Griffin: There you, good as new. You might still want to change at some point though, it tends to get chilly in the evenings.

Griffin turns the air current on himself, shaking water off of his shoes as he dries them.

Griffin: Sorry if the work was a little shoddy. Air magick isn’t the most natural to us Earth-Atts, but Professor Englund says I’m getting it. Come on. I’ll take you up to the school for orientation!

He turns and starts to walk toward the front of the school and you stumble after him.

Hell: OKay, wait. So you’re saying magick is real? Like really, really real. For real.

Griffin: Either that, or we’re all trapped in the same fever dream.

You pass the large statue in the center of campus, and it swivels its head to look at you!

Griffin: Oh, that’s just the security system, set to vaporize any Attuneless intruders. But there hasn’t been one on campus in… well, I don’t even know.

Hell: (Oh god, I would really love to not be vaporized…)

You keep an eye on the statue, but soon it looks away. You let out a relieved sigh. When you turn back, you’ve reached the massive double doors at the front of the school.

Griffin: Welcome to Penderghast! If you follow me this way, I’ll show you to the…

Griffin starts toward the staircase, but the loud chiming of a bell stops him. He looks at his watch with a start.

Griffin: Oh, crap. I totally forgot about this Thief team meeting I’m supposed to go to.

Hell: Wait! You can’t leave me…

Griffin: Of course not! I’ll drop you off at the dining hall. We’re just gonna have to speed this tour up is all.

You follow him up the stairs, which lead into an adjoining hallway.

Griffin: The dining hall is just at the end of this hall and to the left. This is the school’s main building, so there’s a ton of offices and stuff in here. Reception, the dean’s office, classroom… Some of the Attunement placement exams are held here, too.

Hell: ‘Attunement placement’?

Griffin: I think it’s kind of silly, too. I knew Earth was my thing when I caused a tiny earthquake throwing a tantrum over dessert when I was five.

Hell: Right. Totally.

As you pass one of the doors off the hall, you hear a small commotion coming from inside.

Voice: Oh, hell!

Hell: Uh, Griffin? What’s this room?

Griffin: That’s the Hall of Mirrors! Where you were supposed to come through.

The first thing you see when you open the door is beautiful girl with long, dark hair, trying desperately to pull her foot out of a floor length mirror.

???: Oh thank goodness! Some assistance, s’il vous plait?

You and Griffin rush over, each take one of her hands, and tug until she comes free. She stumbles right into your arms and blows her bangs out of her face with a smile.

Shreya: Oops. Shreya Mistry, in your arms and at your service. Good catch, by the way!

Hell: Thanks… How’d you get stuck?

Shreya straightens up and smooths out her hair.

Shreya: I always have trouble with these silly mirrors if we’re being honest. I much prefer air travel. But at least I made it. I was about five minutes away from starting my freshman year a month late.

Hell: Why a month?

Shreya: That’s when the first Visitor’s Day is. When the wards reopen, of course. Guess Penderghast is stuck with me now!

Griffin: Well, welcome. I’m Griffin, this is Hell. She’s a freshman, too. I was just showing her to the dining hall if you want to come with.

Shreya: No need, I know just where it is. I’m a legacy student.

She struts out of the Hall of Mirrors. A short while later, Griffin stops in front of a pair of ornate doors.

Griffin: Well, that ends the Griffin tour! Sorry it was kind of rushed. I’ve gotta go, but good luck with the rest of orientation!

Hell: Actually, if you could just--

He’s already bounding away down the hall. You turn toward the giant double doors and steel yourself before you push them open. As you slip into the hall, you’re momentarily overwhelmed by the high ceilings, stained glass windows, and the countless dining tables. A handful of heads swivel in your direction, though the dean continues to drone on up front.

???: Hey! Over here!

A guy with a megawatt smile waves you over to a nearby table, and you hurriedly slide into the seat next to him.

Zeph: Hey, you’re late! I’m Zephyr. You can call me Zeph if you want.

Hell: I’m Hell. No cool nickname, just Hell.

Zeph: So, Hell, what’s your Attunement?

Hell: I, uh, am waiting until tomorrow to find out for sure. Don’t want to jinx it?

He opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by the dean loudly clearing her throat.

Dean Goeffe: In conclusion, I’d like to remind you all that this is an institution of higher learning, not a playground for children. Put in the work or go home.

Around you, students start to rise to their feet and shuffle toward the doors. The dean walks briskly off-stage.

Zeph: She’s just full to the brim with the warm fuzzies, isn’t she?

Hell: Wait, it’s over? I missed the whole thing!

Zeph: Don’t worry, Dean Goeffe’s speeches are notoriously dry. Besides, I’m an expert in listening and speaking at the same time. The gist is, the freshmen will line up at 7AM in the foyer tomorrow to get assigned one of the staff as their examiner for placement tests.

He points up at the stage, where a hairy, kind-faced man with horns is seated behind a table with a few other teachers. As he stands up, you see that the bottom half of his torso ends in thick, furry haunches and hooves!

Hell: Holy crap! He’s a satyr?

Zeph: Yup! You don’t see many of them around these parts.

Zeph stands up as well, and you follow him to join the queue of students exiting the hall.

Zeph: Classes will start after all the freshmen have been placed, and your schedule will be given to you then as well.

Hell: So… what do we do now?

Zeph: Basically, the rest of the day is free. My roommate and I have a fun evening of bonding and laying out the house rules ahead of us.

You follow the crowd of freshmen out onto the grounds and immediately lose track of Zeph.

Hell: Uh… now what?

Voice: Hey, Hell!

You turn toward the voice and see Griffin coming toward you from the direction of the bridge.

Griffin: You survived the orientation! How was it? As boring as last year’s?

Hell: No, it was really interesting actually. Well, not the actual speech, I missed most of that. But I saw a… a satyr, I think, and I’m pretty sure I made a new friend. It’s all so much considering where I was this morning!

In the whirlwind of the day you had briefly forgotten about your situation, but it all comes flooding back…

Hell: (I can’t believe how far away from home I am… I felt out of place at Hartfeld, but now…)

Griffin: Are you okay?

You realise that your eyes have begun to fill up with tears. You swipe them away, forcing a laugh.

Hell: Just, uh, first day jitters, I guess. It’s all a bit… overwhelming.

He puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring smile.

Griffin: Hey, it’s going to be okay. If it makes you feel any better, you’re really bright.

Hell: Uh, I think my third grade teacher told me that once?

Griffin: No, I mean like inside. I can feel your energy through the ground. I felt it as soon as you stepped onto campus, actually.

Hell: Really? What did I feel like?

Griffin: Hmmm. It felt like taking your first sip of a hot drink that’s just cooled down. The kinda warm you get all over your body, you know?

Hell: Is this your way of flirting? I bet you call all the girls hot drinks.

Griffin: Only the ones that warm me from the inside out.

You feel your cheeks start to heat as you struggle to find something to say. He laughs again, unfazed.

Griffin: It gets better, you know. My first day here was awful! I didn’t really know anyone at first, but I figured that thanks to my Thief scholarship, I’d at least have my teammates. And then, next thing I know, I’m running naked across the lawn chasing the clothes my captain magicked to life while I was in the showers.

Hell: No!

Griffin: My point is, that day sucked, but there isn’t a single moment since then that I regret coming here. Especially not now.

Hell: Yeah… Maybe it’s not the worst thing that this is where I ended up.

Griffin: One thing I’ve learned in my time here is that if something happens to you, good or bad, it happened for a reason. I think you’re meant to be here.

He pauses thoughtfully, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Griffin: I’ve got an idea. I could really use your help with something, if you’re up for it. If anything, it might make for a good distraction.

Hell: Yeah? And what could you possibly need my help for?

Griffin: There’s this thing I lost last year. I must have missed it while I was packing up my dorm room, but I’m pretty sure I know where it is now. Still, it’s gonna be hard to spot and an extra set of eyes would be fantastic. Do you wanna help me try and find it?

Hell: You can count on me! You were the first friendly face I met here. The least I could do is lend you a hand with this.

Griffin: Awesome! I have a feeling you’re going to like this…

You follow Griffin through campus and down a hallway very similar to the one from earlier. He leads you past several doors, and right into a dead end.

Hell: Uh, if this is where your lost item is, it shouldn’t be too hard to find, considering there’s… nothing here.

Griffin: Hang on a second…

Griffin presses his palms together, then begins moving his hands back and forth in front of the wall, as if wiping steam from a mirror. With each move, the wall seems to melt away, revealing a door behind it.

Hell: Whoa… How did you do that? There was a wall, and now…

Griffin: Invisibility wards are pretty basic. The key is knowing where to look. Now, watching this.

Griffin clenches his hands into fists. Then, he presses his knuckles together and takes a deep breath.

Griffin: Here we go.

He exhales and places two fingers against the doorknob. After hearing a satisfying click, he opens the door.

Hell: Wait, did you just magickally unlock the door?

Griffin: Yeah. That spell’s a little more challenging. Metal’s usually tough to work with, but it’s close to Earth, so I do alright.

You shake your head in disbelief as Griffin leads you inside. The room is packed full of objects. Boxes overflow with colorful knick-knacks, and shelves bend under the weight of an assortment of curios. To your left, a stuffed raven caws loudly. There’s a thin aisle that winds through, giving you just enough space to walk. Griffin starts to rifle through the shelves.

Hell: Wow…

Your eyes flick about, unable to take everything in. You spot a candle glowing with a bright purple flame, and a large, spiky ball of metal hovering in mid-air.

Griffin: The thing we’re looking for is a silver ball, about the size of my fist, with an onyx button at the top.

Hell: I see why you needed the help…

A bell rings, and after looking around, you spot it in the hand of an eerie doll. It smiles down at you from a high shelf, and rings the bell again.

Hell: Wow. I hate that. What is this place?

Griffin: It’s a lost and found of sorts. Anything students forget on campus ends up in here. I think the professors put confiscated items in here too, hence the wards.

As you walk further into the room, you catch sight of a jar full of shiny jagged ovals, shimmering in the overhead light.

Hell: These are beautiful!

Griffin: Dragon scales. I wonder what they’re doing down here… That’s a lot of money gone to waste.

Voice: Findertook!

You stiffen at the sound and slowly turn, expecting to see someone behind you.

Griffin: Oh, ignore that thing. It’s just going to spew nonsense at you.

Your eyes fall on a pendant, with a woman’s face in profile carved into an alabaster shell.

Hell: Why’s this here?

The woman’s mouth suddenly moves!

Pendent: Thibity!

Hell: What language is that?

Griffin: Honestly, I don’t have a clue. I’m guessing it was some kind of prank gift.

Griffin sifts through some boxes behind you while you scan the rest of the room. You laugh as you catch sight of a unicycle propped up in the corner.

Hell: You’re not telling me magickal unicycles are a thing, are you?

Griffin: Last year some kid thought it’d be fun to enchant it to fly. The professors confiscated it after he fell off of it about three stories up. Turns out unicycles don’t like to be enchanted.

You wander over to an open box full of unusual objects and start picking through it. As you pick up a scarab, the jewels shift colors, cycling from soft purples to bright oranges and everything in between.

Hell: This is beautiful. What’s it for?

Griffin joins you, peering over your shoulder.

Griffin: Oh, I bet the professors used that for Attunement placement. Fire-Atts usually have a connection with scarabs, since they’re a symbol of Ra, the Egyptian sun god.

Hell: I guess that makes sense…

You turn the scarab over in your hand, and it feels surprisingly warm. You walk a little further down the aisle, squinting at the shelves. A metallic glint catches your eye, and you pick up a silver ball.

Hell: Hey, Griffin! I found your… thing!

Griffin: What? Nice! I knew inviting you along was a smart move.

Your thumb slides over the diamond-shaped piece of onyx at the top, and, with a click, several panels pop out on all sides.

Hell: Whoa…

You look up at the ceiling. The lights in the room have dimmed, and all around the room, sprinkled across the clutter, are…

Hell: Stars.

Griffin: It’s a star-tracker. It maps the rotation of the stars! They’re a tool for Astroweavers mostly, but I found this one here a while ago.

Hell: Astroweavers?

Griffin’s voice comes from behind you, suddenly very close.

Griffin: They maintain constellations, mostly. A lot of Air-Atts go into that field after graduation.

Hell: Is that what you want to do after school?

Griffin: Nah, Earth-Atts are a little more… grounded than that. I’m thinking of majoring in natural preservation sciences. I just like having a star tracker. It makes me feel bigger than myself, being able to see the stars so close and in real time like this. What do you think? Worth finding?

Hell: Yeah… This place is amazing. Seriously, it’s pretty incredible. Thanks for inviting me along.

Griffin: No, thank you. I’m so bad at finding stuff. I never would have gotten this back without your help.

Your glance up at him as the stars around you twinkle and shift. He sees you looking and gives you a teasing grin that makes your face heat up. He reaches out and places his hand over yours, covering the tracker. The panels fold in, and the stars disappear.

Griffin: We should get out of here. I don’t like to leave the ward on the door down for too long.

Hell: Sure. Could you show me to the dorm? This campus is huge, and if I tried to find it myself, I’d probably end up sleeping on the front lawn.

Griffin chuckles as he leads you out of the lost and found.

Outside, you follow him to a building on the other side of a campus. A plaque on the building’s door reads, ‘Fletchly Residence Halls.’

Griffin: Here you go. Once you get inside someone’ll help you find your room, I’m sure of it. Hey, and thanks again, Hell. I appreciate you helping me find my star tracker.

Hell: Don’t worry about it! You’ve helped me out so much today, I had to return the favor.

Griffin: See you around?

He gives you a nod before walking away. You steel yourself and push open the door to the dorms…

As soon as you enter the nearly empty dorm lobby, an upperclassman with a clipboard waves you over.

R.A: Welcome to Penderghast! How can I assist you? Need help finding your room?

Hell: Uh…

The RA cocks her head to the side.

RA: You can just tell me your last name, and I’ll point you in the right direction.

You give her your last name, and your stomach rails as her eyes skim the clipboard.

RA: Wait a minute.

She glances at you, then back at the page…

Hell: Okay, I have to confess. I’m not actually a--

Then she flips the page over.

RA: Here we go! Hell Raiser, first floor, room 108. Your roomie has been checked in since this morning!

You hurry away down the hall, simultaneously relieved and even more confused than you were before.

Hell: (If this is all some mistake, how was my name on the list?)

Behind the doors down the hall you can hear music, people laughing, and even… an occasional roar? Finally, you find number 108. You see that there’s no doorknob.

Hell: Come on, does this place come with an instruction manual?

You put your hand out and lean against the door, taking a moment to center yourself… And your hand slips right through!

Hell: Ackk!

You feel a chill go through you as you fall through a transparent blue wall and onto the floor. As soon as you���re in, the door reforms.

Shreya: It’s you again! Well, aren’t I the lucky girl?

Hell: Oh, right, from earlier! I kind of… lost you in the dining hall.

Shreya: Yes, sorry about that. I had friends waiting, and, well, you know how that goes. I’m so pleased! I’ll be a perfect roommate. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I assure you it’s only partially true.

When she pauses for air, or maybe dramatic effect, you take a good look at your surroundings.

Shreya: Glad to see my roommate isn’t completely devoid of style, though you could still use a few pointers. Luckily, you have me to help you! Well? Say something.

Hell: I think you should relax. Please. Today has been, for the lack of a better word, insane. So I could really just use a second.

You plop down on the nearby couch, sinking into the soft cushions. Shreya perches herself on the chair across from you silently, though she leans toward you.

Shreya: So…

You sigh.

Hell: You said before that whatever I’ve heard about you is only ‘partially true.’

Shreya rolls her eyes.

Shreya: I know you’re thinking about me and Fifi’s tiff at Mistry Inc.’s annual charity fashion show.

Hell: Fifi? Mistry Inc. charity show?

Shreya: You know, the one with the lava rock runway? It was all over the news a month ago, not to brag.

Hell: I get the feeling that if I tell you that I have no idea who you are, it’s gonna be a whole thing.

Shreya is absolutely still for a moment, before she finally smiles, though it looks almost painful.

Shreya: Not. At. All. My family is only the number one purveyor of enchanted objects worldwide, but why would you know that? Besides… This was the whole point! To come to college, have new experiences, fly under the radar. Become the person I want to be, you know?

Hell: I know exactly how you feel. Honestly, that’s the same thing I was hoping to get out of the college experience. Do you ever feel like no matter how hard you try, nothing fits? Like the things that you think are going to make you happy never do?

Shreya: Absolutely. It’s how I felt all the time. Until I arrived here, that is.

Hell: This morning I was at this college I used to think was finally going to be my place in the world, but it very quickly became clear that it wasn’t. And then I got here and, yeah, it’s a little weird and a little hard to believe, but for the first time… Something finally feels right. And now it’s… all going to be taken away.

Shreya: Take away? I don’t understand. Why would--

Your voice trembles as you finally tell her the truth, revealing the secret you’ve been keeping in since you’re arrival.

Hell: I can’t do magick!

Shreya: What?

You lower your voice to barely more than a whisper.

Hell: I was in my dorm bathroom at Hartfeld, and there was something weird in the mirror, and when I touched it I just…

You throw your hands up, unable to explain, not even knowing what happened yourself.

Hell: And I don’t know what to do now. I’m afraid of what will happen if I tell someone, but I know I can’t leave.

You watch Shreya guiltily as she stares at you wide-eyed.

Hell: You’re… You’re not going to, like, erase my memory, or melt my brain, or--

Shreya: I’ll help you.

Hell: You will? Why would you do that? I don’t mean to sound suspicious, but you barely know me. Why would you stick your neck out for me?

Shreya: Because it sounds like fun. Part of the reason I came to college was to meet all different kinds of people! And you, Hell, are quite an interesting kind of person. But have you considered that there may be magick in you? Have you tried any?

Hell: Well… there was that thing with the door?

Shreya: No, no, the doors are enchanted to accept the tenant’s genetic code. That wouldn’t count.

Shreya taps her fingers on the coffee table, her eyes roving the room. When they stop, she grins and hops out of the chair.

Shreya: I’ve got it! Come on, let’s go before the shop closes.

Hell: Wait, wait. Where are we going? I thought we couldn’t leave campus!

You follow Shreya across the room and find yourself facing a door with a variety of doorknobs in different shapes and sizes screwed into it.

Shreya: There are a few pre-selected places we’re allowed to go. Like Penn Square, for example.

You notice that each knob has a neatly inscribed label above it.

Hell: ‘Hell’s room’, ‘Shreya’s room.’ ‘Penn Square’... Wait. Are you saying my room is in there?

Shreya: Sure. So is mine, and Penn Square, and the lake. That one opens up in a tree, though. It can be quite unpleasant if you run into a Berkspire.

Shreya examines the labels carefully, until finally she finds the knob labeled ‘Penn Square.’ She turns it and pushes the door open.

Hell: Whoa.

Shreya: Charming, right?

In the afternoon sun, the square is bustling with activity. You see a stately woman with deep blue skin and tusks dragging a kicking toddler with impish horns past a magickal toy store… Beyond that, a pair of men with pointed elfish ears and webbed hands debate over a beaded bracelet at a stall marked ‘Charms.’

Hell: Is that a troll?

The seven-foot-tall woman’s head whips around in your direction. Shreya grabs your arm and starts leading you away hurriedly.

Shreya: God, I foget how backwards the non-magickal worldview is. They prefer ‘mountain folk’ these days. Come on, no time to waste! We need to get you something to help with that whole ‘no magick’ thing.

Hell: And how, exactly, are we supposed to fix that?

She stops abruptly in front of a shop labelled ‘Maison D’Yew.’ The sign in the window describes it as ‘Your one stop shop for one stop shopping.’

Shreya: Let’s get inside and see if they have what we’re looking for.

Inside, every square inch of the shop is packed with clothes, knick-knacks, and all manner of glowing, spinning and rattling mystical objects.

Hell: How are we even supposed to find anything in here?

Voice: That’s where I come in! Oh, um, just a second, please.

A rustling from the pile of lamps on your left makes you jump. A mountain of rusted candelabras avalanches off a high shelf, heading straight toward you!

Hell: AHH!

You duck, bracing for impact! But it never comes.

???: Sorry about that! I was organizing some of the floghart’s droppings we store under this armoire.

You take a hesitant peek up and see that the candelabras have been stopped in mid-air and are hovering just over your head! The girl in front of you flicks a vine-wrapped hand and the candelabras re-stack themselves on the shelf.

???: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.

You stare at her, wide-eyed, and she gives you a knowing smile.

Aster: First time meeting a wood nymph? I’m Aster. I run this shop.

She holds out her hand, and you shake it, you’re shocked at how her skin feels both like polished wood and flesh all at once.

Hell: I’m Hell. I like your shop.

Aster: Thanks! It’s my father’s actually. Well, my grandfather’s. I guess it was his father’s before that. What does ownership really mean, anyway? If I feel the most strongly about something, does it then become mine?

She pauses thoughtfully, looking off into the distance as her eyes grow dark and clouded. After a while, it seems obvious that she’s checked out completely.

Aster: Interesting…

Aster’s eyes lighten and refocus on Shreya as she shakes her head clear.

Aster: Oh! It’s you again! I was hoping you’d be back.

Shreya: I’d assume so. I spent a minor fortune the last time I was here. Listen, love, do you have any marbles? My friend here is worried about the first day of classes and wants a boost.

Hell: Yeah. Anything would help.

Aster looks at you, her eyes shining brightly.

Aster: So you’re a Penderghast student too? You both are so lucky!

She skips off toward the counter and disappears behind it.

Aster: I’ve been begging Papa to let me go, but he’s still bitter about all that wand business.

Aster pops up from behind the counter, coughing and covered in dust. She slams a polished wooden box down on the counter, with ‘Mistry Miracle Marbles’ written in gold curlicue handwriting on the lid. You give Shreya a look before gingerly lifting the edges of the box, revealing four multi-colored orbs within.

Hell: What are they?

Shreya plucks a clear orb from the box. Opaque, white smoke begins to curl inside the glass.

Shreya: One of Mistry Inc.’s bestsellers. Each of these orbs contains enough magick to perform one spell per element. They may be small, but they pack quite a punch. Like one very beautiful, very down-to-earth heiress we all know an love.

With a smile, she places the white orb into your palm, folding your fingers over it.

Shreya: And this little guy is all yours.

Hell: But… why would magick people need something like this?

Shreya: You can use it instantly instead of taking time to build a spell, and it won’t use up any of your own magick so you can cast again immediately!

Aster: They’re the very best on the market! Of course, they’ll only work for the elements with which they correspond.

You look a little closer at the contents of the box, and see a variety of colors in the tendrils of smoke. Blue, green, red…

Hell: How do you even use it?

Shreya: Ah. Aster, do you have any singles?

ASter rummages through a drawer before handing Shreya a dusty blue orb.

Aster: It’ll cost you, and I must insist that you go outside to--

Shreya rolls the marble between her thumb and forefinger, raising it up toward the ceiling… And a raincloud appears overhead as the blue smoke dissipates from the marble. It begins to pour!

Shreya: See? Easy.

Aster: You Attuned never listen!

The leaves in Aster’s hair rustle as she glowers at Shreya. She flicks a finger and a strong blast of wind blows the cloud and the rain away, leaving you completely dry.

Shreya: Oh, don’t be such a tenacious toad, Aster. What do you think, Hell? These will surely come in handy.

Hell: I’ll take the lot. These’ll at least help me fly under the radar until I can figure out what to do next!

You hand Aster a few bills from your wallet. She peers at them curiously.

Hell: I hope that’s enough?

Aster: Absolutely not. This money is worthless. Lucky for you, I can fetch a high price for it on the collector’s market!

After saying goodbye to Aster, you and Shreya head back through the portal to your dorm…

Shreya: So, now that you’ve got a bit of magick to take into battle, do you think you’re ready to face tomorrow?

Hell: Honestly, I don’t see how it’ll matter after this Attunement placement thing. Seriously, Shreya, what am I going to do?

She puts a tentative hand on your shoulder.

Shreya: You’re going to get through this because I’m going to help you. And I’m just too fabulous to fail.

You’re unable to hold your laugh in, and soon, Shreya’s laughing too. Over her shoulder, something catches your eye. In the mirror across the room, you see a smudge… or maybe a shadow.

Hell: Shreya, do you see that?

Shreya: Hmm?

You look around, trying to find the source of the reflection as you step closer to the mirror. The shadow pulses, gros, and you tilt your head even closer…

Hell: Wait, that’s…

It’s only then that you realise the shadow is on your side of the glass!

Shreya: Hell!

Shadow Monster: Chhhhhhhhsssss!

The shadowy creature turns a violent shade of red! An opening appears below its two hollow eyes as it lets out an angry hiss… It launches itself at you, sending you reeling!

Hell: Hnnh!

You trip over your own feet, falling backward as the shadow springs!

Shadow Monster: Chhhhkkkkss!

You throw up a hand to protect yourself!

Hell: AHHH!!!

And a bright beam, golden as the sun, shoots from your palm, blasting right through the middle of the creature!

Hell: How…?!

Even though the light has faded, your palm still glows warmly. The shadow creature has been reduced to nothing. You can feel the energy humming inside of you, and instantly you know it’s been there all along. Somewhere under the surface. Somewhere secret.

Hell: What the hell was that?!

Shreya: I don’t know… But it looks like there may be hope for you yet.

Thoughts on the episode…

This is a pretty standard first episode for any series that contains magic, or powers, that the main character didn’t know they had. Or at least, the ending was. MC doesn’t know they have powers, bad guy attacks them, discover they have powers that are incredibly strong and mysterious, etc. etc.  Nothing new or revolutionary here.

That being said, I liked it. I like Shreya and Aster, I like Griffin and Zeph and I even like Mr. Snooty McRichie III or whatever his name is (definitely gonna be a love interest and I’ll be damned if I don’t make him my love interest). This has some semblance of a plot, we don’t know exactly where it’ll take us but there are plotlines - How did she end up there? Who knew to enroll her at Penderghast? What is her Attunement? Who is that inside the mirror? A far more exciting first chapter than Across the Void which was an absolute mess.

Fave Character of the Chapter: Griffin

Least Fave Character of the Chapter: Zeph

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[cinning-at-midnight]

Alyn Crawford & the Injured Princess

Clean story. Possible Hospital triggers. 

Request by @simplefoodsbydaniellejoy 

Giles strode confidently into the study, approaching where I sat at my desk. My eyes lifted off the documents, and roze slowly to meet Giles’ steady gaze.

“Princess,” he said, “The meeting with Stein has been moved up.”

I tilted my head, “How soon shall we be expecting King Byron’s arrival?”

Out in the hall, several footsteps could be heard moving in the direction of the study. Giles glanced between the empty doorway, and myself, as if flashing a warning sign. My lips formed a straight line, as I slowly pushed my chair back, and stood just behind my desk.

Byron entered the room then, “Princess, please excuse us for arriving early.”

I moved to where Giles stood, curtseying at Byron.

“Thank you for coming to meet with me, King Byron” I said, smiling.

“Let’s adjourn to the conference room, shall we?” Giles said, gesturing for me to lead the way.

In the hall, Albert, Byron’s most trusted knight, stood against the wall. As I led them through the palace, Albert followed Byron silently. When at last we entered the conference room, Byron and I both sat at either end of the long table. Giles sat at my side, and Albert stood diagonally behind Byron.

“King Byron,” I spoke first, “Thank you again for agreeing to meet.”

Byron bowed his head, “Thanks for reaching out to Stein.”

I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, and turned to Giles. Alyn had wanted to attend the conference with King Byron, but with the time suddenly moved up I had no way to alert him. Giles raised an eyebrow at me, urging me against stalling any further.

I cleared my throat, “As I’m sure you’re aware, there’s an issue with imports and exports at the present time.”

King Byron nodded slowly, “My understanding is that this is due to the price of grain rising.”

“Yes, precisely!” I said, pleased by his existing knowledge of the situation.

At that moment, the door to the conference room opened, and Alyn appeared.

“Alyn!” I said, unable to hide my surprise.

“Captain Crawford, please take your seat,” Giles said, in his ever professional tone.

My cheeks flushed at my outburst, and I took a quiet breath. Alyn came to my other side, and stood behind my chair. My hands were rested on the chair’s arms, and Alyn briefly squeezed my hand in reassurance. I exhaled slowly, relaxing at Alyn’s touch.

“While the price of grain is an urgent matter, there’s a more pressing issue behind the price increase,” I explained, meeting Byron’s cool gaze.

His one visible eye squinted, Byron asked, “And what might that cause be?”

“This season has been especially dry for our nation,” I went on.

The meeting progressed smoothly, and Byron and I came to an agreement.

“Then, Princess, Stein will begin preparations to ensure more water reaches the soil,” Byron said, rising from his seat.

“Thank you for your willingness to cooperate-- I know resolving this will do much good for our crops, and farmers, “ I replied, curtseying to him.

I spotted Albert glaring behind Byron, and I looked up to see Alyn behind me with the same expression. I supressed my worry, and turned to face Byron once more.

“King Byron, if I may be so bold,” I said, “It’s nearly evening and our dinner will soon be prepared if you’d like to stay for a meal.”

Byron smiled, “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

Byron and Albert exchanged glances, and I saw the tall knight nod slightly.

“Very well, then it has been decided,” Byron spoke with a grin, “We’d appreciate it if we could join you for dinner this evening, Princess.”

I smiled back at him, and Giles appeared at my side.

“Excellent,” Giles said, “Why don’t we all go freshen up a bit beforehand?”

I nodded, moving toward the door, “King Byron, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Certainly,” Byron replied, following Giles to the washroom with Albert in tow.

In my chambers, I readied myself for dinner by washing my face and hands.

As I dried myself, there was a knock on my door. I hung the towel back up, and opened my door.

Alyn stood before me, a sour look on his otherwise handsome face.

“Alyn, what--” I began, but he quickly stepped around me and I closed the door.

“I can’t believe you invited them to dinner,” he spoke with a heavy sigh.

“What else was I to do, Alyn?” I asked, my hands placed firmly on my hips.

“I know, I should have said, ‘thanks for coming,’ then kicked them out the door!” I said, throwing my hands in the air.

Alyn grimaced, “Well, it would have been better than offering them a meal!”

“What’s so wrong with that?” I asked, in a hushed tone.

“That Stein knight,” Alyn said, through gritted teeth.

“What? Albert?” I asked, exasperated.

Alyn stood motionless, “I don’t know what his deal is-- he’s always standing guard like we’re about to assassinate King Byron.”

I stared at Alyn, my eyes squinting, “What his deal is, Alyn, is that he’s doing his job.”

“Are you saying I don’t do my job?” Alyn hissed.

Completely overwhelmed at the turn of events, I sat down on the sofa.

“Alyn,” I whispered, “This is exhausting.”

Alyn watched me, and I could feel his gaze softening as he took in the sight of me. My breathing steadied, and I rested my head on a pillow.

“Princess,” Alyn said, sitting next to me.

His hand made circles on my back, relaxing the tense muscles.

“Can we please eat dinner in peace?” I asked him, my eyes pleading.

“Of course,” he said, kissing the top off my head. “Let’s go.”

Together, Alyn and I headed to the dining hall. At the table, again, Byron and I each sat at the ends and our company sat by our sides. Leo came to join us as well. Nico began serving the meal.

“Tonight’s meal is comprised of delicious stuffed flank steak, scallions, and pasta primavera,” Nico announced, as he and the other servants delivered the plates to the table.

My mouth watered at the meal before me. Beside me, Alyn began delicately sawing at the steak with a hungry look in his eyes. Our eyes met and I smiled at him, happy to be having a civil dinner after all the fussing.

Across from me, Byron spoke, “Thank you for allowing us to partake in this glorious meal, Princess.”

I smiled up at him, “It’s our pleasure to have you. Please, enjoy.”

Next to Byron, I could clearly see Albert digging into his meal enthusiastically. Well, this meal has certainly been a hit, I thought, grinning to myself. Leo and Giles were happily chatting quietly amongst themselves between chews, and I felt like I’d done well in inviting King Byron to stay for dinner. In no time at all, it seemed, the meal was finished. The sound of forks clinking could no longer be heard, and everyone relaxed back into their chairs.

“Feel free to have seconds, if you’re still hungry,” I said aloud.

“I believe I speak for everyone, when I say there’s no need for second portions,” Giles said, gently patting the corner of his mouth his a handkerchief.

King Byron stood then, “Princess, thanks again for the lovely meal. Your hospitality does not go unappreciated, I assure you.”

I smiled and roze to my feet, “You’re very welcome, King Byron. May I escort you to your carriage?”

He nodded, and turned to leave the dining hall. Albert followed loyally behind King Byron, and I hurried to catch up. Alyn was at my side in a moment’s notice, silently joining me in bidding farewell to our visitors. As we waited for the carriage to pull in front of the palace, Albert began a conversation for the first time that day.

“Princess,” Albert spoke, catching everyone’s attention. “Have you been presented with many suitors?”

I flushed at the question, “W-well, I can assure you I have met with my fair share of eligible noblemen.”

I could feel Alyn growing tense beside me.

“I see,” Albert said, “In that case, should we be anticipating an invitation to an upcoming ceremony?”

Byron spoke up, “Albert, this is none of Stein’s business.”

I stumbled over my words, “Well, no, um, he asked and it’s a fair question and all…” my voice trailed off.

“You see,” I said, “I have chosen a Prince Consort, but--”

Albert smiled faintly, “Just as I had suspected.”

The carriage was now parked at the bottom of the front staircase of the palace, but none of us moved towards it. The air was thick with tension, as Alyn moved to stand beside me, his arm hooked around my waist. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and I bit my lip.

“So, it’s you then, Captain Crawford,” Albert said in a teasing tone, glaring at Alyn.

“Of course it is,” Alyn said, tightening his grip around me.

“It’s a pity-- Stein and Wysteria together could have made for a stronger economy,” Albert taunted.

“Oh, then you thought my Princess would choose the likes of you?” Alyn spat the last word.

“Ha!” Albert scoffed, “Absolutely not, I have no use of a commoner made royalty--”

Byron watched as Albert and Alyn made jabs at each other, mostly at my expense. I squirmed in Alyn’s arms, turning red with fury. At last, Alyn’s arm dropped to his side, and he began pointing his finger in Albert’s face.

“Gentlemen,” Byron said in a stern voice, but he was cut short by the sound of clattering hooves.

Albert, Alyn and Byron watched as the carriage meant for King Byron and his knight trotted out of their sight. The princess had freed herself of Alyn’s grasp, unbeknownst to him, and climbed into the carriage unnoticed. Alyn felt a knot forming in his stomach, realizing what had just happened

“Well, Gentlemen, what have you to say for yourselves?” Byron asked, glaring at the two speechless men before him.

Albert flushed, understanding the gravity of the problem he had just caused.

“I’m sorry, Alyn,” Albert said.

Alyn sighed, a hand on his hip, “No, this was mostly my doing.”

“But if I hadn’t instigated the argument--” Albert was saying.

Alyn walked away, wordlessly, and headed for his training room.

Byron’s hand clapped down over Albert’s shoulder, “Let him be.”

In Alyn’s training room, he wielded his sword with a force he’d never felt before. The anger and frustration he felt towards himself sickened him, and he moved his blade fearlessly. Sweat pooled on his forehead and he wiped it away with a towel, and began his training again. In that moment, Giles walked through the entrance and watched Alyn work through his anger.

“Ahem,” Giles said, the sound of his voice reverberating off the high ceilings.

Alyn’s shoulders slumped and he sheathed his sword once more.

“King Byron alerted me to the altercation that took place,” Giles spoke sternly, crossing the distance between him and Alyn.

“It was my fault,” Alyn murmured.

“Ah, so you do realized that,” Giles said with a fleeting smile.

Giles continued, “However, as helpful as your self-loathing may be…”

Alyn heard the sarcasm in Giles’ tone, and responded, “You want me to go find her.”

“That would be ideal, yes.” Giles replied, curtly.

Alyn sighed, “Don’t you think I would have tried, if I thought she’d listen to me?”

Giles rolled his eyes, “If I know the Princess well enough-- and I believe I do-- then she will gladly return to us if you admit the error of your behaviors.”

Alyn mussed his hair, and thought it over a moment.

“Besides,” Giles added, grinning, “We all know it’s you that she’d prefer to chase after her.”

Alyn was about to leave to find the princess, when Nico barged into the room.

“Giles! It’s the princess!” Nico shouted, bolting to Giles’ side.

“I know, Nico, she ran off but Alyn here is about to--” Giles said, but Nico shook his head.

“No! She did run off, but the carriage moved too quickly around a turn, and it crashed!” Nico’s eyes were full of tears.

“Where is she?” Alyn growled, his eyes downcast.

“She’s in the local Hospital,” Nico cried, “Sid came to inform us.”

Alyn’s feet brought him quickly to the stables, where he mounted a horse bareback. With nothing but the horse’s mane in his hands, and no saddle beneath him, Alyn rode into town. The red cape of his uniform swirled in the wind, and his hair moved fluidly, in dark tangles.

“I’m coming, my love,” Alyn whispered through gritted teeth.

Outside the hospital, Alyn dismounted the horse in a small park. The horse began nibbling at the ground, and Alyn nodded before rushing to the hospital doors. The nurse at the front desk eyed him curiously.

“May I help you, Sir?” The woman asked.

“I’m here to see the Princess Elect,” Alyn said through panted breaths.

“Certainly, Sir, right this way.” She said, and began to lead him through the halls.

At her door, the nurse turned around and returned to her post. Alyn stood still, suddenly anxious at the thought of seeing the princess. His fist knocked on the door, before he’d consciously decided to. There was no response, but he slowly twisted the knob and let himself in. The princess rested in a hospital bed, her hair in loose tendrils around her sleeping face. An IV was hooked up to her arm, and her heart rate was being monitored by a tiny clip attached to her finger.

Alyn swallowed, holding back tears, “Oh, my sweet girl.”

He moved towards her, and gently caressed her cheek.

“The last time I was in a hospital, it was when--” he stopped short, immersed in the tragic memories of his parents’ passing.

A knock on the door took him out of his reverie. A doctor entered, a stethoscope around his neck and a clipboard in his hands.

“Hi, I’m her doctor,” the man spoke.

“Hi, I’m, uh, Captain Crawford of the Royal Guard.” Alyn said, with a melancholy expression.

“Mr. Crawford, it would seem she’s suffered from a concussion caused by trauma to her head in the carriage accident.” The doctor explained in his clinical voice.

“I’m so sorry,” Alyn whispered under his breath.

“These things unfortunately can happen,” the doctor said, “Fortunately for us, we were able to administer treatment quickly.”

“What treatments, exactly?” Alyn asked.

“First, she was brought in with the carriage driver to be checked for brain injuries,” the doctor explained.

“Then, after we were sure she didn’t suffer from any major injuries, we had to give her eleven stitches on the side of her forehead,” the doctor lifted a portion of the princess’s bangs lightly, to show the stitches.

“Why is she still unconscious?” Alyn asked, his voice soft.

“Well, soon after we administered treatment, she fell asleep.” The doctor said with a smile. “It’s a myth, you know, that anyone suffering from a concussion shouldn’t sleep.”

Alyn sighed with relief, “Thank you, Doctor.”

The doctor headed out the door, “You’re welcome.”

Alyn sat and watched over the princess as she rested, the guilt inside of him rising as each minute passed. Why did I have to take Albert’s bait? He thought to himself, reliving the argument from earlier in the evening. How come I feel so protective of her? Alyn’s hand reached out and touched her hand, with the clip still attached to her pointer finger. At last, her eyelids fluttered open, and the princess took in her surroundings. With wide eyes, she met Alyn’s gaze.

“When did--” She started to say, but Alyn shushed her with his finger pressed to her lips.

“I’m sorry,” Alyn said, “I know I let my pride and my temper get the better of me-- too often to count, I’m afraid.”

The princess listened, squeezing his hand.

“If I had never said those horrible things-- which, frankly, I can’t remember-- then you wouldn’t have run off and gotten hurt.” Alyn let out a sigh, after spilling out his apologies and guilt.

“Alyn,” she said, “It’s not your fault I got hurt. It was an accident, and I’m sorry.”

Alyn shot her a surprised look, but waited for her to finish.

“It wasn’t fair of me to run off, and to leave you wondering where I’d gone.” The princess’s cheeks turned pink.

“No, it wasn’t fair,” Alyn said, “But neither was I.”

Alyn leaned over the hospital bed and kissed the princess sweetly.

“Alyn,” she said, in a soft voice, “Can you promise me one thing?”

Alyn’s mouth curled into a smile, “Sure, anything.”

“Promise me that you won’t let me run off like that again,” she said.

“I can do you one better,” Alyn replied.

“I promise to never leave your side, Princess,” he said, kissing her cheek.

--Epilogue--

The next day, I was getting dressed for my dance lessons with Louis, but I sighed at my reflection. There was still bruising on my skin from the places I’d banged up my body when the carriage collapsed on that road. 

“I look like a discarded melon,” I said, with tears in my eyes. 

I decided to try something else from my closet on, when someone knocked on my door. 

“Ugh, go away.” I said under my breath, half-wishing they’d hear me. 

Alyn entered, dressed formally, and not in his usual uniform. I blinked at him, taking in his appearance. 

“I’ve been asked to take Louis’s place in your dance lesson,” Alyn said, quietly. 

I scoffed at him, feeling embarrassed, “Alyn, you hate dancing.” 

“But I love you,” Alyn said, wrapping his arms around me. 

“And you’re so beautiful,” he added, his breath warm on my ear. 

Tears began to pool in my eyelids, and I tried to blink them away. Alyn pretended not to notice, and took my hand. 

“Come on, is it everyday that you get to dance with me?” Alyn gave me a captivating smile, and my heart did a somersault. 

I wiped the corner of my eyes, and smiled, “Okay, just one dance.” 

“That’s a good start,” Alyn said with a chuckle, leading me to the ballroom.