#but also i smell Artificer-core

[spotsupstuff]

take this as you will……..

bro nah, i feel threatened, y'can't just leave with "take this as you will"

[spaghettiandart]

memories in three

Originally posted this on the aminos sometime during march, but decided (as of may 3 at 12 am) to post it here too! Yay spur of the moment decision! The rest of the post is from the blogs on the UT and UTAU aminos, and the story is under the cut.

author's note: this was mostly made to be part of my oc's backstory, but then i realized it could exist as a nice character development thing. the art was done on medibang paint and took 2 weeks.

characters: w. d. gaster, grillby, oc

categories: fluff, angst, friendship.

warnings: non-graphic violence, death, blood, mild language. 

word count: 4092

[I] |        one - the calm 

The time they had was always finite. Even at the genesis of it, they knew. They'd look at eachother, a circle of three, assigned to stick together and be loyal to one another, and they knew there'd be no way they'd get along. 

It was so easy to pretend, but with five months gone and passed it was getting harder to feign ignorance. 

The violent crackles and pops of Grillby's flames match the rapid beating of his SOUL, colors rising to the white and lowering until it was a pathetic red in uneven jitters of anxious panic. He focused on pouring the rum into the barbarously crafted wooden mug, the familiar motions soothing his shaking hands until he felt some semblance of normality surround him. 

The background quiet set him on edge, still. He could feel the flames on his shoulders worming their way through the openings on his armor, fingers immediately twitching to cast a flame ball, or reach for his sword, or pour another drink, or so something so that they weren't empty and susceptible to the whims of his ever-twisting emotions. 

The tension- oh, how he hated the tension. Being silent was his favorite sport, his carefully cultivated talent, but he was a creature born and bred to exist in the midst of warm chatter and noise. He was not the type of man to be relaxed in silent, cold hate, and neither was he the type to mediate it. 

Grillby picks up the three mugs by their handles, two hanging precariously from one hand, cradled to his chest, and the other already making its way to his mouth. The liquid stung at him, but not in the way human beverages did. While their concoctions were tasteless and lowered his HP by decimals, this was warm and fuzzy and the bubbly froth filled his mouth like cotton. 

His team was already there. WingDings Gaster, Grand Arcane Battle Artificer of the Deltarune Legion, and Igneous No-Name, Grand Arcane Battle Mage-Scribe of the Deltarune Legion. The names were long in Human English, even longer in traditional Monster languages, but Titles had Meanings and must be Specific and Precise so as to grant Monster the Respect they Deserve. Said verbatim by his own King when he was given his title. 

(Grillby No-Name, Fifth General of the Deltarune Legion, was what was inscribed on the back of the wings of his own silvery Deltarune-Symbol pendant. Every Monster soldier got one, regardless of their station and their specific designations. His own was cold enough for precipitation to collect on the metal, enchanted to withstand heat damage.)

His enchanted helmet is resting on a stack of parchment like a paperweight, turned away from the table so that its face was pointed at the wall. The silence was turned up tenfold the minute Grillby sheepishly walked into their section of the "room", and the two magic-users turned their mutual cold shoulder on him as well.

It shouldn't hurt, but Grillby had to stop himself from reeling as if he were struck by a physical hand. Oh, this wouldn't do. 

They were a team, after all. Of the same Legion, of the same Fifth Division, of the same status. The silence killed him, repulsed his being down to the core because it was so very anti-him. Anti-Flame Elemental, even, because even when they were quiet the crackling of their flames were enough to communicate their feelings to another. 

He only had body language to go off of the two. They may be masters at putting up facades, but he was a master of interpreting them, so the minute he sets the mugs down on the table he immediately pushed the stack of books piled in between Gaster and Igneous like a great wall crumbling to the ground, uncaring of the way the two jumped and jolted at the noise. 

His SOUL pounded, filled with anxiety and slight reprieve at the sound, but he needed more. He hated speaking, he much rather would be the one spoken to, but there are little people to be found who'd like to ramble for hours on end to a stranger save for drunken heretics at the little old tavern he used to manage decades ago. 

"What in the goddamn are you doing?" Igneous exclaimed, hood haphazardly slipping off her head and catching onto her big ears, holding on for dear life in a losing battle. 

"I concur. What on Earth is wrong with you?" Gaster snapped the large tome he was pretending to read shut, the sudden action too surprising for him to not address.

Grillby takes the time to sip from his mug, before setting it down lightly. "... You're both acting like children when we are all adults. Talk out your problems."

Igneous glared at him with an impressive amount of venom. For someone with only two eyes to convey emotion, she knew how to convey it. "I am not talking to a child murderer."

The remaining monster in the room scowled at Igneous, and then at Grillby. "Tell the Mage that human children are the easiest and most reliable source of SOULs to harvest to bolster our ranks."

Igneous' eyes narrowed and her glare intensified. "Tell the Artificer that by killing the humans' children we'd only encourage them to attack as harder. Also tell him he's a shitbag for suggesting it in the first place."

"Tell the Mage that she's a naive twat if she thinks that war can be won with no sacrifices."

"Tell the Artificer that sacrifices of that degree are uncalled for and that he smells of elderberries."

"I do NOT smell like elderberries you-"

Grillby clapped his hands once. A burst of flame shot out from the vents on his shoulders and the palms of his hands, making the bickering pair freeze simultaneously from where they were slowly turning their heads to face each other. 

"This is what I am talking about," the Swordsman looked at them both with a disappointed gaze from behind his crystalline glasses. "... Children, we are adults. You're going to apologize to each other and agree to disagree, or else I will burn one of the books you collected from the Human Mages."

Gaster slammed his hands down on the table and began to stand, expression thunderous. Igneous' eyes widened to such a degree that they threatened to pop out of her head, and she snapped her head back as if he struck her. 

"Child number one, sit down. Child number two, stay quiet- I know you will say something and I will make you regret it," Grillby steepled his fingers, the effort of speaking for so long already taking the energy out of him. He heaved in a breath, the air making his flames crackle with strength. "... Child number one- it may be hard to realize this, but killing children is inarguably immoral and degenerate. Child number two- I advise you to set your pride aside, else your inability to accept the flaws of your naivety may cause you more harm than good... Now apologize, because I am becoming very annoyed at having to speak so much..."

The two stared at him as if he sprouted a second flaming head from his shoulder. Grillby lit up a single finger and held it over a stray paper on the table that escaped his rampage on their books. 

Gaster was the first to break. "... ahem," he shifted uncomfortably, and stuck his nonexistent nose in the air so that he looked down at Igneous. "I suppose that I will have to concede at that. Your... interesting... worldview is something we can't quite see eye to eye on."

Grillby stared at him harder, and his shoulders slumped as he hunched over the table.

"And I apologize for my unprofessional conduct," he sighed, picking at the knicks and scratches in his hands in a nervous manner.

The Spirit Remnant stared at the- Skeleton? Shadow Creature? Wraith? Gaster never disclosed what kind of monster, exactly, he was- with clear contempt that faded away into uncomfortable and annoyed vulnerability. She rolled her shoulders, tail curling around her left ankle protectively.

"You're still a terrible creep, and I cannot deny that I would sooner pound you to dust with my bare hands than see you harm a child of any kind," she said, quietly, "but I understand that... things must be done for the greater good, sometimes. I apologize."

The air became heavy with guilt and frustration at that, but at least they weren't outright holding each other in contempt. Grillby prepared himself to speak for hopefully the last time that day. 

"... Good. Adult One, Adult Two, may I present to you your rewards for acting your age," he slid over the mugs of wine to the both of them, glad that he couldn't physically let out the relieved sigh he would have released were he able to breathe at the sight of the suddenly bright expressions the two had.

Igneous casted a furtive, unsure glance at Gaster, who angled his body away from the both of them and glared at the papers beneath him. He didn't cover them from her view when she leaned over to glance at them, her brows quirking in question as she took another sip. 

The mood didn't instantly change to comfortable. They didn't relax around each other, not immediately. But Grillby could feel the tension in his shoulders drift away as he watched Igneous quietly shoot the other with a question, and Gaster exchanging it with one in return. 

The stress of the war was taking its toll on him, but seeing the two gratefully take small sips of his homemade rum and shyly exchange words about their respected professions made the weight on his chest lighten just a little. 

|        two - the storm 

The battle is disorganized chaos, and he hates it. Not for the slaughter, not for the blood shed, not for the dust carried by the wind. He hates the sheer animalistic frenzy everyone on the battlefield was sent into- it's as if the second the fight began the primal instinct in their minds seemed to suddenly reveal itself, possessing their bodies and taking away their willpower to keep their hidden urges hidden. 

Such was evident in the human shoving his sword into the throat of a bunny monster, rendering them to dust before the blade could slice its way out. Or a monster with a dragon's muzzle unhinging its jaw like a snake and snapping up a human mage, their spine crushed under the pressure in an instant. 

Or even his own... companions, battling back to back against a frenzy of knights, swords gleaming and magic spewing around them. They were beaten down, armor covered in mud and muck, and from the minute trembling carried across their bodies it seemed as if they were ready to topple at any moment. 

Gaster's fists tightened as his Special Attack blasted yet another beam of energy to render a pitiful human to ash, the conjured hands twisting in midair before flocking to his sides like a pair of dogs. He looked down from the cliff he was standing on at the clearing they were fighting in, chest heaving from exertion. He couldn't let it overtake him, not yet, but the exhaustion was close to killing him. His limbs hurt to their very core. 

Igneous and Grillby were practically attached at the spine with how closed in they were. Igneous had snaked a hand around a human's neck, crushing his windpipe before resting her weight on Grillby's back and launching herself in the air. 

Her conjured wings flung out from her back, and she slammed her foot into the chest of another knight, caving it in from the magically-reinforced pressure. 

Despite the human bodies piling up around them, more seemed to flood the two as if recognizing them to be the heavy hitters they were. A human swung out with his sword, and Grillby caught it with his own flaming one, pushing it back. The two were neck and neck, heels dug into the ground as the gleaming blades fought against each other. The human's head shifted forward, as if they were saying something, and Grillby's flames burst into a column of blue, indignant fire. 

The human took the opening his anger gave them by twisting their body and throwing their weight into Grillby's chest, pummeling him into Igneous and the ground. 

Igneous flipped head over heels, wings dissipating as she lied face down. Grillby was shakily getting up, but the human struck out and suddenly there was a hole in the side of his armor, frost creeping around it. 

Gaster scowled, and took a few steps back from the cliff in preparation. A voice behind him interrupted his motions. 

"You meet your end, monster," a voice hissed from behind him. He tilted his head slightly, and upon seeing that it was only a mage he scoffed. 

"Do tell the clouds hello," Gaster flicked the human mage away with little pressure and much disdain from one of the conjured hands, and set his jaw as he hopped onto the back of one of his hands. There was no time to be wasted with meaningless banter.

Hell would sooner freeze over than him seeing his fr- companions, his companions- Fall Down. 

Smaller hands materialized around his body, hitting and punching and swatting away oncoming attackers as he rode the hand down the side of the cliff. The fingers stretched out, and he bent his knees ever so slightly. 

As the end of the cliff was reached, curving into the clearing, he jumped with all his might off the hand and to the side, landing in a roll before hopping to his feet. 

The hand continued on, and barrelled into the human slowly approaching Grillby with the force of a stampeding bull. 

Their sword flew out of their hand and embedded into the bark of a nearby tree with a 'thunk!' and Igneous quickly picked up the slack as the hand dissipated, energy coalescing in her hands. Feathers caged the human in.

"... God... no, no," the human moaned in pain, attempting to get up on their elbows. They glared up at the three just as Grillby picked up his sword from where it lay discarded on the ground, grip trembling. 

"You dirty freaks," the human weakly said, their chest heaving and breath wheezing. Perhaps that hand broke a few bones... oh well. Gaster found that he didn't much care about not knowing, this time, taking much pleasure in watching Grillby advance at the human with his own sword held aloft. 

"You're not m-monologuing, right?" Igneous spoke up, her own breath wheezy. Catching the brunt of Grillby's weight must have hurt, because her entire body was trembling with poorly hidden pain. Almost unconsciously, Gaster shifted his body so that he was in front of her. Her body was trembling in shock and indignation, eyes wide and animalistic as they focused on the human. She looked ready to pounce. "Goddamnit... what are you waiting for, Grillbz? Just end them already!" 

The human ignored her, slowly getting on their knees. Their fists clenched. "Y-you... you won't win this war. Kill me, but my brothers and sisters will avenge me! Our mages, our knights, our horses, our citizens- they'll all fight, all against you monsters!" 

"Please kill them," Igneous practically begged Grillby, her wispy 'hair' flickering piteously. "They’re not useful. They’re not- just- kill them, please.”

"No, wait," Gaster found himself muttering, suddenly. Igneous snapped her head in his direction, eyes wide- and he almost flinched back at the desperation in her eyes. What did that human say? "I want to see what he'll do."

Grillby was examining the human curiously. His masked head tilted this way and that, his hands exchanging the swords as he stood in front of the human, looking down at it. Music, unidentifiable in genre, played in the distance. 

The human looked up at him, glaring through the slits of their helmet. "You know... you know this. And... y-you know what I said before... I w-was right. Kill me, but you'll have to live with that... and that's enough for me to die happy."

There was silence. The two stared at each other, carefully. 

"Well?" The human barked. "You're not going to end it? Take me prisoner, then! Flaunt me around! I still won't-!"

Their head was on the ground in a SOULbeat. Gaster and Igneous took a simultaneous step back as blood stained the grass underneath the human, the armored Flame Elemental examining the corpse before kicking it on its side, stomping back to them.

"... Wasn't going to let their dying words be them telling me what to do," he muttered once he reached them. 

Igneous' shoulders seemed to drop suddenly, and she looked around them. Corpses, bodies, dust- they were all strewn about the battlefield haphazardly. There was no art behind them. No grand imagination from the divines above. 

Just the reeking scent of death lingering over them all. 

She took this in, much like Gaster was, and then looked at him. She had no mouth to smile with, but her eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the edges. 

"You saved our skins back there," she said, voice still quavering from the quiet horror carried within it, and reached out a hand to him. Gaster hesitated, but let it land on his shoulder. The tall monster gripped it firmly, resting her weight on it. "I won't forget this, you know."

"You can start bothering me about it tomorrow," Gaster said, feeling a bit lightheaded. 

Igneous shook her head at that, and gave it a few pats before moving away and CHECKing herself, digging around her small inventory for food. "I don't mean it like that. I mean- yes, I am absolutely going to tease you about this for the next month, but... you... you really do..."

Grillby sheathed his sword suddenly, and looked up at the cliff from where he rode down from. There was a quiet surrounding them. "... care about us."

Gaster shifted from foot to foot. He was no child. He was an adult, for God's sake. Why did he feel so... embarrassed, all of a sudden? 

A cheer rose up in a crescendo of voices from beyond the cliff just as the sun made its way to the top of Mt Ebott and began to hide behind it. The battlefield was painted in a swath of gold and pink, and suddenly he wasn't so much focused on the chaos of it all as he was on the way the colors seemed to highlight the edges and curves of the two in front of him, how it made them all the more... real. 

Gaster stepped closer to the two. "The humans have retreated. We should be... getting back, now."

It was Grillby who set a hand on his shoulder this time, his face pointedly looking away and at the sunset. "... five minutes."

"Ten," Igneous chimed in, brushing his arm with her own. 

The trio stood there throughout the sunset and into the night, and Gaster woke the next morning with his friends resting on either shoulder, the dewy grass fresh underneath him and the battle feeling as if it took place years ago instead of the evidence of it being right behind him. 

He watched the rising sun and smiled. There's the peace he was waiting for. 

|        three - the pieces

The last time Igneous woke up from her  Hibernation Pack, it was to a boss monster with kind eyes looming over her. 

She panicked, at first. Scrambled back, and then turned to alert the Spirit Remnants that she was resting with that there was an intruder in their den. 

All that she was met with was piles upon piles of dust. 

"I was able to stop him from hurting you, too," he had rumbled from behind her, " but I'm afraid that I was too late for your companions."

She turned back around, eyes wide with outrage. 

He held a paw out towards her, offering comfort. It was stained with the humans blood. 

She took it, and pulled him close, demanding that he give her a way to get revenge. His paw clenched involuntarily from surprise, and his dark claws nicked her ethereal skin. 

Her essence joined the human's blood, and in the budding tears in her eyes an agreement was formed. 

Centuries later, Igneous wakes up in a comfortable, warm bed inside a comfortable, warm home underneath the large mountain that she fought for her life on. 

The nightmares were long gone, and memories were reserved for the day to sort through. All that was left for her dreams was darkness and static and white, mutilated hands reaching out for her with holes dug deep into their palms.

She never remembered them, and woke up each morning with the sense of loss lingering heavily in her chest. 

In the room over, the sounds of chatter and the dinging of a bell signifying the front door opening and closing began to grow louder and more frequent. Igneous was frozen in the hallway connecting her and Grillby's bedrooms, curled up in a small armchair haphazardly placed there five years, seven months, and six days ago when the two were refurbishing the building and couldn't decide in which room to put it. They decided to share instead, setting it outside and in between their rooms. 

She pulled her knees up to her chest, the chattering growing louder in her ears. Soon she'd have to step out and start taking their orders, but breakfast doesn't officially start in another… ten minutes, or so. 

She can take her time. 

The swaying pendulum hanging on the wall across from her demanded all her attention, grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes and reflected her past to her. Her stomach flipped with each sway of the object, hands traveling from her knees to her ankles and gripping them tightly.

It's been centuries. But that loss… was it only from the monsters dusted? Was it only from what that human revealed to Grillby and to her during that fateful fight? Or was it from that missing piece, the hole that separated both her and her friend, the dust-ridden and empty guest bedroom untouched that rested at the end of the hall? 

Her fingers clenched tighter, digging holes into her pants that would be covered up by her boots later. 

Was it the unfortunate fates of her pack? The piles of dust she woke up sleeping on, almost ready to join them before Asgore interrupted their murderer? 

Was it what the human said? The quiet words, so low but loud enough at the same time to be heard from miles away, repeating in her ears? The truth, maybe even the sneer in their voice when they spoke, "Don't worry. We didn't dust all of our prisoners… but you will never find them." 

Or the missing piece? The unknown factor that frustrated and scared her to no end, the pounding in her ears whenever she looked at the words unscripted on that silvery pendulum swinging back and forth and back and forth in a maddening rhythm from where it hung on the wall? 

Her claws dug deeper, caught onto fabric, pulled. The seams of her pants ripped at the ankle, and her flickering, pseudo-fiery essence darted out in quick licks at the air. 

The words stayed in her mind whenever she looked at it, dissapeared when she looked away, reappeared with all the context behind them when she looked back.

Every morning was the same routine. The same, desperate staring at the Deltarune-symbol pendant hanging from the wall. The same hope that she'll remember the name after she looks away. 

The dread of not knowing if she'll remember to do it tomorrow. 

She reread the name for the four hundred and thirty fifth time, desperately imprinting it on her mind. Grillby had long stopped even glancing at the thing decades ago. She won't forget. 

She looks away. 

"Shit, I'm going to be late," Igneous muttered, staring at the clock instead. She stood from the chair, confused and wobbly in the knees. "I could've sworn I was just sitting for a few seconds…"

She hurried off down the hall, pulling on her boots as she walked through the Fire Exit. 

The pendulum swung on the wall, shaking as the door slammed closed, its name forgotten. 

Wing Dings Gaster

Grand Arcane Battle Artificer

Deltarune Legion

Division V

[thetravelerwrites]

A New Generation (Pt. 2)

Rating: Teen Fandom: 魔法使いの嫁 | Mahou Tsukai no Yome | The Ancient Magus Bride Relationships: Hatori Chise x Elias Ainsworth Characters: Elias Ainsworth, Hatori Chise, Chise Hatori, Silver Lady, Silkie, Ruth, Titania, Oberon, Shannon, Stella Barklem, Angelica Burley, David Burley, Althea Burley, Lindel | Lindenbaum, Merituuli Trigger Warnings: Pregnancy, Childbirth, Babies, Infants, Depression, Anxiety, Discrimination, Unplanned Pregnancy, Abandonment, References to Abuse, References to Abandonment, References to Child Murder Words: 8551

As Chise's pregnancy progresses, Elias is consumed with worry that his child will be rejected by both fae and humans, as he had been. Chise struggles with the fear that she might abandon or harm her own children, as her parents did. 

When Elias returned home from London, he sat down with Chise and had a very long, solemn conversation with her about the pregnancy, and for the first time, they talked about a future that also involved their child. Or children, if Chise was correct in her belief that there were two.

He told her about going to speak with Lindel, Simon, and Angelica and what their advice had been. Like him, Chise found Angelica’s tale the most consoling. Knowing that the artificer had felt similar apprehension about procreating helped Chise feel less isolated.

Calling Angelica and talking to her at length also did much to improve Chise’s disposition, not just about Chise’s ability to parent but also about the pregnancy itself. It didn’t cure her of her worries, but having someone to talk to who knew exactly what she was going through was a great comfort to her.

Finally managing to convince Elias to install a landline in the house had been a pretty recent accomplishment. He fought this "modern indulgence" for quite a long time, but when he finally understood that it meant she didn’t have to walk to town to use the public phone every other day, he was more open to the idea, especially since walking long distances was going to become rather difficult for her as time went on. The noise the device made was annoying, but seeing her smile when she answered it was enough to keep him from being too bothered by the sound.

The change in her mood greatly eased Elias’s mind. Watching Chise spiral into a deep, black pit of terror and depression was difficult for him to bear, especially given there was little he could on his own to improve it. As much as he wanted to help her, he had eventually come to understand that sometimes people could only find solace in others who’d had comparable experiences. This was just not his ken, so it was better left to those suited to the task.

He tried to quash his own fears for her sake, but she knew him too well to let him get away with keeping those thoughts to himself. At night, before they slept, she would talk to him; just talk, not expecting him to respond if he wasn’t in the mood to do so, and it helped him. Hearing the sudden shift in her voice from cold despair to tentative hope had done much to alleviate his woes. She encouraged him to be honest with her about what he felt, but didn’t push him to talk if he didn’t want to. More often than not, though, he would. They would lay bear their worries to each other and try to find the bright side. They were both still afraid, but they were facing that fear together.

And it helped.

Summer was in full swing, and Elias was twice as busy as normal now that Chise was limited as to what she could do. He didn’t grumble about it much; after all, he had done everything himself before she had come along. But they had become a well-coordinated, efficient team over the years and he had come to treasure her reserved, supportive assistance in all things, whether practical or magical. He rather missed working in tandem with her.

Though she was no longer allowed to do any of her normal seasonal chores beyond a little light weeding and watering, she would often sit in the garden with him as he worked and help whenever she could, not content with staying in bed all day like an invalid. Besides, having Chise within Elias’s sight and hearing was good for his heart and mind.

Ruth spent his time keeping a close, watchful eye on her, reporting any physical ills that Chise might keep to herself to Elias. As long as she was at rest, though, they were happy enough.

Late one night, he walked into their bedroom to prepare for sleep and found her naked in front of a mirror, standing to the side, looking down at her belly.

“What are you doing?” He asked curiously.

“Look at my stomach,” She said, her hands gently probing her lower abdomen. “It’s bigger. And it’s hard, too. Feel.”

Elias came close and laid his hand on her stomach. It was indeed hardened, as though she had swallowed a large stone, and there was a swelling between her hips; not big, but definitely noticeable.

And perhaps he imagined it, but he thought he felt a strange swirl of energy embedded there underneath the flesh and muscle, lodged deep in her body. No, two swirls. Perhaps Chise’s instinct was more credible than he first thought.

“Hmm,” He said. “Why is that?”

“Angelica says the uterus thickens and becomes more solid to protect the fetuses,” She said, reaching for a book on her nightstand. “It says so in this, too. Alice sent it to me. I told her about the babies, by the way, but I swore her to secrecy. I haven’t told Stella yet, but she’s busy at university and I didn’t want to bother her during finals.”

Elias bent to peer at the book. “What is it?”

She flipped through the rather large paperback volume. “It’s a book about pregnancy and birth. It’s actually pretty informative. So many things make sense now.”

“May I read it, then?” He asked. “There is much I still need to learn. I have a distinct dearth of knowledge about this particular subject and I feel compelled to rectify that.”

“Sure,” she said, handing it to him. “I’ve read up to the third trimester, so I won’t need it for a little while. I hope it helps.”

In some ways it did, and in others it didn’t. During gestation, he learned, the woman’s body produces excess blood to carry extra oxygen to the baby, which in turn causes the mother’s heart rate to accelerate for the duration of the pregnancy, which in turn causes her core temperature to rise. That explained that part, at least.

But other aspects of pregnancy and childbirth were, to put it mildly, horrifying. Things like nosebleeds, strange cravings, extreme mood swings, increased sex drive, swelling of the extremities, sudden hair growth or hair loss, violent fits of vomiting that lasted for months, soreness almost everywhere, food aversions, heighten sensitivity of smell, touch, and taste… the list of physical oddities was extensive. Bones would often be pushed out of the way and change position to compensate for the growing child, sometimes even fracturing or breaking in the process. And all of this was considered normal.

And those were just minor possible symptoms. The more severe ones were downright ghastly. There was no end of ways that it could go wrong, no end to the possible damage to the mother, no end to the ways the child could be born ill or malformed, and that was just for regular, non-magical children. There was no telling what kind of ailments could befall the child of two mages, especially if both parents were cursed.

And the descriptions of the birthing process itself, including the many, many things that could go awry, was nothing short of nauseating. Several times, he had to shut the book and put it aside for a while, appalled at what he learned. He hated to admit it, but sometimes knowledge for knowledge’s sake wasn’t always a good thing.

Once the first physical changes had begun, time seemed to speed up. Chise’s body changed rapidly, her stomach growing larger every day to carry the new life safely. She seemed especially breakable these days, and Elias couldn’t help being even more protective than he had been before.

For years before he had bought Chise, nothing had changed. Things went on as they always had, and it was as comfortable as it was dull. Then, once he met her, things changed, but it was a slow change. Even though things happened that never had before, it came at a pace he could understand and absorb.

Now, everything was new and happening too fast for him to process, and he was trying his best to keep up. He did not adapt well to change.

One afternoon in late July, while Chise was having her afternoon nap, Elias awoke her with a touch to her cheek.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Little Bird,” He said softly. “But there is a guest downstairs who has come a long way to see you. Are you feeling up to greeting them?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

Downstairs, she saw a tallish, pale man standing in their sitting room in modern clothes, looking around the room curiously. His blonde hair was separated into two bunches and hung over his shoulders. The the pupils of his bright blue eyes were slits, like that of a wild predator.

“Lindel!” Chise exclaimed in surprise.

When he saw her enter the room, a wide smile split his face. “It’s good to see you, my daughter,” He said, his arms open toward her.

She rushed forward to give him a hug. “What are you doing here? The dragons--”

“Can survive me being gone for an hour or two. Besides, Merituuli is to inform me right away if anything should happen while I’m here. I haven’t heard from you in a while and I wanted to check on you.” He held her at arms length and looked at her belly. “You’re coming along rather quickly, aren’t you? I sense very strong life essences brewing in there. Your offspring will be incredibly powerful mages. I can’t wait to meet my grandchildren; you must bring them to the aerie once they’ve been born.”

“More than one?” Chise asked.

“Oh, yes,” Lindel replied. “Two separate, distinct energies, hale and healthy, growing well.”

“Ha,” Chise said quietly. “I knew it.”

“Now,” He took her hand and hooked it around his arm. “Why don’t you give me a tour and tell me all about your preparations for the little ones? I’ve never actually been to Thorn’s home, you know. The ungrateful brat has never so much as extended an invitation.”

Elias sniffed slightly and sat in his chair, picking up a book he must have been reading before Lindel arrived.

“Of course,” She said, turning. Silver was looking in shyly from the kitchen, where Ruth was having a snack. “This is Silver Lady. She’s a neighbor who runs the house and looks after us. She’s been a big help to me.”

Lindel bowed. “A pleasure.”

Maybe it was Chise’s imagination, but she could have sworn Silver blushed.

“Good to see you again, Ruth,” Lindel said pleasantly. “Keeping a sharp eye on our favorite girl, are you?”

“Of course,” Ruth said. “She’s been getting plenty of rest, but she’s not eating as much as I’d prefer.”

Chise sighed heavily. “Elias’s fussing is bad enough, but having a fae nanny breathing down my neck all day is really irritating.”

Lindel laughed softly. “I would imagine so.”

Chise showed him her old room upstairs with Ruth trailing behind, where Silver had surprised her one day by converting it into a nursery. Silver, at least, seemed very excited about the new additions to the family and was going to extraordinary lengths to make sure the house was ready for their arrival.

The brand-new cupboards were stacked with blankets and swaddling and dressing gowns and cloth diapers, all handmade by Silver. There were double changing tables and bassinets, set side by side, and even a rocking chair next to the window. Chise had no idea where all the new furniture had even come from. Silver had used neutral colors to decorate the room: a mix of light and dark browns and soft purples and blues. The walls had been painted with a mural of wildflowers and trees, and the floor was plush grass-green carpet, as though the room was outside in a meadow. It was beautiful. Chise had cried and hugged Silver for quite a while when Silver presented it to her.

Ah, mood swings.

Elias had not been prepared for these emotional outbursts and, quite frankly, neither had Chise. She’d go from really happy to really sad to really annoyed all in the span of a few minutes. It was rather dizzying for the both of them. Ruth tried to warn Elias when they were coming, but he couldn’t always tell, so they were often blindsided by a sudden explosion of emotion that even Chise didn’t always understand. He supposed there was some comfort to be found in the fact that she was just as confused as he was.

Chise showed Lindel Elias’s study, and her workroom beyond where she practiced her spellcraft, and then decided to take a break in the garden. Lindel sat with Chise, talking animatedly about the baby dragons and happily eating Silver’s sandwiches and cakes. It was probably a nice change from stew. He even coaxed a song from Chise, one he had taught her in Icelandic about a hungry raven that slept beneath rock rifts. She had missed singing with him.

The sound of their voices raised in song brought Elias out to join them. He hadn’t heard her sing in some time and was pleased to hear it. She only sang when she was in a good mood. The resonance of their voices made the trees stand straighter, the flowers bloom brighter, and the sunlight shine gently upon them without being overpowering. When Lindel and Chise worked together, everything they touched was magic. Elias couldn’t help but be a little jealous of that.

The visit was a splendid one that did much to brighten Chise’s spirit. Before long, Lindel felt the aerie calling his heart home and left Chise with a hug and well-wishes. He even shook Elias’s hand.

Lindel snapped and sparked and was gone in a flurry of snow and cinders. Chise was sorry to see him go. She really felt as though Lindel was a surrogate father. When he called her his daughter, there had been weight to it. He genuinely meant it.

Chise made to go inside, but Elias took her by the hand to stop her, looking off into the woods.

“I believe we may have further visitors,” He said, taking his veil and flinging it over his face. He pointed to the treeline.

There, almost invisible under the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, stood a fae woman of indescribable beauty. Her black hair trailed behind her and brushed the ground as she walked, and her skin was as smooth as the petals of a lily. Her eyes, the colors of which shifted as though iridescent, were locked on Chise from where she stood motionless in the shadow. How long she had been there, no one could say, but her attention was on Chise and nothing else.

“Lady Titania,” Chise breathed.

As though summoned, Titania stepped out of the shelter of trees and began to walk toward them. Spriggan stepped out of her shadow, the gold rings adorning his staff jingling as he walked. He looked as surly as ever.

“My dear, sweet robin,” Titania said, holding her arms out to Chise and she stepped forward. “Oh! Isn’t it so wonderful!”

“I assume the little folk have informed you of Chise’s condition,” Elias said.

“Oh,yes, my child. I can’t tell you how pleased I am! Oberon is beside himself.” She glanced back to the forest’s edge. Chise and Elias followed her gaze to see Oberon running to and fro, giggling like a child and throwing flowers into the air. Chise laughed softly and shook her head.

Titania returned her attention to Chise and touched her hand to Chise’s belly. “Look how far along you are! I must say, though, I am terribly put out that you hid it from us for so long.”

“I’m sorry,” Chise said. “I… it’s been… difficult.”

Titania took her face in her hands. “Poor child,” She said. “Do not despair. This is a blessing. What a wondrous gift it is to be mortal. The fae do not breed well with each other and as such, our children are rare. That’s why there are so many old tales among mortals about halflings, though such things are far less likely in this millenia.” Her gaze brushed across Elias’s tall form briefly. “I suppose it’s how your race proliferates so effectively. You’re like rabbits, in that way.” She giggled.

“Oh, what a wonderful turn of fate!” Oberon crooned gleefully, skipping around the group of them. “I can’t wait to see the new little mages. Is there any chance at all they’ll be blonde? Oh, nevermind, they’ll be adorable either way!”

“Titania,” Elias started, ignoring Oberon as he pranced around them, laying a flower crown on Chise’s head. “You have the gift of foresight. Can you…” He paused, clutching the fabric of his shirt over his chest, as though in pain. “Is there any way to tell… that is to say…” He stumbled to a stop.

“Elias,” Titania said kindly. “Ask your question plainly, and I shall answer as best as I can.”

Elias sighed. “The children… our children… will they be… like me? Half-creatures, hated and shunned for the sin of merely being alive in a world where they do not belong?”

Chise’s heart bled for him. It must have quite a blow to his pride to ask that question. She knew he’d never admit it to anyone, not even her, but the constant reminder that he was neither one or the other was something that caused him perpetual grief. The idea that he was terrified his own children would share this fate made Chise’s heart ache. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it consolingly.

“Oh, Thorn,” Titania said sadly. “I see branches; roads that split and diverge like serpents in the sea of potentiality. I see many possibilities, though some are more likely than others. I cannot give you a solid answer because the paths are still many and multiplying. I cannot tell you for certain what will be.” She laid a hand on his chest and smiled. “But would you like to know what I feel?”

He nodded, apprehensive.

“I feel love and joy,” She said. “I hear laughter echoing within the walls of this dwelling. Your children will have fragments of their father residing in them, as all children do, but they will have the protection and favor of all who love them. And there will be many who love them. They are blessed by the Queen of the Fae herself, and my blessing is no paltry trinket.”

“Titania, I…” Elias said, unable to continue.

Oberon slid over to his wife and winked at her, a wide smile on his face. He then turned to Elias.

“Do not fret, thorn child,” He said. “However tainted your lineage may be, you are still one of us, and your bride is beloved by our kind. Your children, then, will be doubly revered by all fae. You have no cause to worry.”

“Thank you. That is… very comforting,” He replied, though his tone said to Chise that he was still rather troubled.

Chise endured another few minutes of Titania and Oberon’s doting before they decided to depart. She felt rather relieved when they left. They could be a lot to handle all at once.

That night, lying in bed with Elias, the question he had asked the Faerie Queen revolved over and over in her mind.

“Elias?” She asked softly, trying not to wake Ruth. “Are you still awake?”

She couldn’t see his pupils, but he did answer. “Yes.”

She lay her hand on the back of his neck and stroked it. “Are you really worried about how the children will turn out?”

Elias sighed. “It does not matter to me what they will look like,” He said somberly. “But it will matter to humans. Experience has taught me well that mankind does not adapt quickly to things that are strange or unusual.” He turned his head to look at her. “The fae will not care about their appearance, either, but they will see them as my children, spawn of the halfling failure. That alone may be enough to draw the ire of the fae against them, despite what Titania and Oberon said. Those two have never failed in their kindness to me, but it is borne out of pity, not respect, and the rest of the fae are not so magnanimous. Some are indifferent to me, but most, like the Spriggan, are openly hostile. I do not wish for my children to suffer because of who their father is.”

“Oh, Elias,” Chise said, holding him close. “I wish I could--Oh!” Chise sat up abruptly, pulling the covers down and placing both hands on her belly.

“What?” He asked in alarm, turning to sit up. “What is it? Are you alright?”

“I felt them.”

“You did?” He asked.

“Yes,” She said, moving her hands around gingerly. “I felt a thumping on the inside. I felt some flutters before, but I was never sure what they were. That was definitely a kick.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking at her abdomen.

In response, she took his hand and laid it down on her stomach, instructing him to wait. He did so, and it took nearly five minutes, but there was a distinct nudge against his hand.

Chise looked up and smiled at him, but his heart was in his throat. He couldn’t decide if he was excited or panicked. Talking about the baby, seeing her belly expand, making preparations: for some reason, none of that made it feel real. But this did. Feeling the tiny movements of the child on his own skin from the inside of her body was what made it reality to him.

“We should call on Shannon tomorrow,” Chise said. “I’m twenty weeks. It’s about time for a check-up.”

“Y-yes,” He said vaguely. “Of course.”

She took his face in her hands. “Are you all right?”

“I do not know,” He answered honestly. “I am… frightened.”

“I know,” She said. She laid her forehead on his.

They stayed that way for many minutes, their foreheads touching, his hand on her belly, feeling the little jumps and thumps of his children moving about inside. Frightened was not an adequate word for what he felt. He didn’t know if there was a word strong enough.

Time seemed to move very fast for a while, and then suddenly slowed to a snail’s pace. Before they knew it, it was winter. Chise had grown very large, and Shannon expected the babies to come a few days after the new year.

Chise kept to the house exclusively now, since moving was more difficult, not to mention that Elias was highly paranoid about her catching an illness in her condition. She spent much of the time nesting, which is an instinctual habit among mothers-to-be to make sure everything was in its proper place and perfect. Silver had taken care of most of that for her, but it didn’t stop Chise from folding and refolding all of the babies’ linens and making sure things were just so.

As the time for the birth came closer, the atmosphere of the house grew more and more anxious. Chise was rather sick of being pregnant and was ready to be able to stand without assistance and not eat what felt like half her body weight every day. Ruth was restless and impatient. He could feel the time getting closer just as acutely as Chise did.

If Chise was anxious and Ruth was restless, Elias was downright terrified. He spent a lot of time alone in his study, unable to control this emotion. He didn’t want to worry her more than she already was, but he couldn’t push away the awful feeling of dread.

He had slowly grown accustomed to the idea of the children, but not the possibility that they would take after him. The idea that they could be subjected to cruelty and discrimination for simply being his children made his blood run cold. How could he protect them against that kind of hatred? How could he shield them from the animosity of both humans and fae? He could weather it just fine; he was used to it, and some of it was deserved. He had once been a monster, after all. But they would be innocent and guileless. They didn’t deserve to be treated as he had been.

As much as he tried to hide his worry from Chise, he knew she felt it. He could see it on her face when she looked at him sometimes. It wasn’t pity that she showed him, but empathy. If anyone would understand, it would be her, but this was just one thing he couldn’t talk to her about. She always tried to soothe him and tell him things would be fine, but she had no way of knowing that for certain. Blind optimism just didn’t work for him.

Very late on the night before Christmas eve, a sharp yelp of pain woke Elias from sleep. It had been Ruth: he had bounced out of his bed and shot to Chise’s side, immediately switching to his human form. Chise was sitting curled around her stomach, gasping.

“Chise?” Elias asked.

“I think my water broke,” Chise gasped. “I’ve been having contractions, but they weren’t bad until now. We need Shannon.”

“Shannon! Silver!” Elias called.

A flash shot through the room. Elias turned on the lamp and found Shannon standing next to Chise, trying to pull her to her feet. The silky came through the door in an instant, a tub of hot water and many towels in her hands. It was almost as if she were waiting for the call.

Shannon had Chise sit on a wooden chair with a curved back, urging her to recline with her pelvis tilted out, putting a pillow behind her to support her back. Silver helped Chise out of her underwear and flipped the hem of her nightgown up over her stomach, exposing her entire lower half. Chise didn’t have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about her tender bits out for the entire room to see. The pain was pushing everything else out of her brain.

“Is it supposed to hurt this much?” Ruth gasped, his arms wrapped around his stomach.

“There are two living creatures the size of watermelons attempting to tear their way out of her body, Ruth. Yeah, it’s gonna hurt,” Shannon said dryly.

“Sorry, Ruth,” Chise said, breathing heavily. “I’m trying to block it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ruth said. “I don’t really care about me right now.”

“What can I do?” Elias asked anxiously.

“You and Ruth, get on either side. Both of you hold her hand with one of yours and then let her use your other hand to brace her feet on. She’s going to need the leverage when she starts pushing.”

Elias and Ruth, took their positions. Chise had already begun to sweat profusely and was breathing shallowly. Silver stood at her head, stroking her hair gently and ready with a cloth to wipe her brow.

“Deep breaths, Chise,” Shannon said, kneeling on the ground and pushing a gloved hand into Chise’s body to gauge her dilation. “Nine centimeters,” Shannon said, removing her hand. “Not quiet ready yet, but it’s going to be soon.”

Chise could only nod, attempting with little success to take deep breaths as she was instructed. Her head rolled to look at Elias with fear in her eyes.

“It’s too early,” She said in a terrified whisper. “I’m not due for another three weeks.”

“It’s all right,” Elias whispered, knowing he might be lying. “It will be all right.”

Chise had no choice but to wait until her body opened up enough to start pushing, and it took a few long, miserable hours of pain and sweating. By the time Shannon got into position, it was only an hour before dawn.

“Okay,” Shannon said. “Elias, Ruth, take one foot each and push it toward her chest, but not forcefully. Chise, take several deep breaths. When I say, take a very deep breath, hold it, and start pushing. When I count to ten, you can let go and breath again. Understand?”

Chise nodded, already very tired from the waves of pain she had been suffering over the past few hours. She steeled herself and began to take slow, deep breaths.

“Ready? Okay, deep, deep breath and push!”

Chise pulled in as much air as her lungs could take and held it, bracing her legs against Ruth and Elias’s grip, and pushed with all her might, her face pulled back in a grimace of pain and exertion.

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten, and breathe,” Shannon instructed. Chise blew out her breath explosively and gulped in air.

“Okay, again. Deep breath, and push!”

It went on like this for quite a time. They only paused the pushing for Chise to drink water and for Silver to wipe the sweat from her face and neck. Elias talked in Chise’s ear during these brief moments of rest, telling her that she was strong and that he had faith in her. She seemed so tired, but she smiled at him and dotted a kiss on his nose in reply.

Finally, as the first rays of sunlight shone through the window, Shannon pulled a small, reddish-purple infant from Chise’s body. It shrieked as it took it’s first breaths of life, it’s color changing as it took in oxygen. Shannon placed the sticky ball of outrage on Chise’s chest for a moment, allowing the new mother to inspect the little creature for herself while Shannon detached the umbilical cord.

“It’s a baby girl,” Shannon said, smiling.

Chise let go of Ruth and Elias and wrapped her fingers around the tiny thing as it screamed it’s fury at them all. Chise was crying, too, but not in anger. Her face, red and sweaty though it was, lit with joy as she held her newborn daughter.

Suddenly, she seized up with a sudden contraction and hissed with pain. The baby was whisked out of her arms by Silver, who took it to a nearby dressing table to clean it.

“We’re halfway there,” Shannon said. “Let’s get ready. On the next contraction, we start the pushing again.”

Chise nodded, letting Ruth and Elias take hold of her feet and push them back.

Once the first baby was out, the second wasn’t far behind. It wailed more loudly than it’s twin, thrashing about angrily on Chise’s chest, though Chise clearly didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s another little girl,” Shannon said with a grin.

Tears poured from Chise’s eyes as she held her daughter, gasping from the effort of pushing. The touch of her mother’s hands had calmed the baby and she was no longer writhing spastically, but wiggling and making little grunting sounds, lying on her belly in Chise’s grasp.

After a moment, this child, too, was taken away for cleaning. Then there was more work to be done. The afterbirth had to be removed from Chise’s body, which caused a small fountain of blood to escape. Elias and Ruth panicked, but Shannon said this could happen sometimes and it wasn’t serious as long as it was contained quickly. She gave Chise a tea that would help stop the bleeding and once she had finished it, Silver lifted Chise as if she weighed nothing and took her to the bathroom for a proper cleaning. Shannon followed, leaving Ruth and Elias alone with the newborns, lying side by side and safely bundled up in the crib near Chise’s side of the bed.

While she was gone, Ruth went to inspect the babies up close. “Elias,” He called to the mage, who was still sitting in a daze. “Come and see.”

Elias stood with his heart pounding in his chest and walked to stand by Ruth, looking down at his brand new daughters with a lump in his throat. Now that they were cleaned, he could see them better. They were still wiggly and wrinkly, but there were distinct differences between the twins. One had a full head of white-blonde hair and a peachy-pink complexion, while the other had fine red fuzz on her head and was as pale as bleached bone.

“I remember the day that Isabelle was born,” Ruth said solemnly, lost in his memory. “I had only been with the family for a few months and I didn’t quite understand what was happening at the time. I didn’t know what a baby was. She was so tiny and weird-looking, but I loved her right away. We were together all the time after that. I existed for her; I’d have done anything for her.”

He stared down at the two sleeping infants, his eyes dark with recollection. “I took it for granted, thinking she’d always be there. I didn’t see the dangers until it was too late. I should have done more to protect her. If I had been a better brother, she might have lived a long, happy life. I didn’t do enough, and she died.” He reached out but stopped just short of touching the one with red hair. “For them, I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I promise.”

Elias did not respond. He stared down at his sleeping girls rather blankly.

Yes, He thought to himself. I, too, must be better.

Silver and Shannon returned with Chise, clean, wearing a fresh nightgown, and remarkably able to walk unassisted. Elias helped ease her back into the freshly changed bed, then Shannon handed Chise the white-haired baby girl. Shannon insisted that Chise try to breastfeed the baby, as it would help promote clotting. Silver went to work cleaning the gory aftermath off of the floor. Ruth, as a grim, sniffed each child keenly with his tail wagging.

It took a few tries and some urging to get the baby to latch to her breast; apparently babies weren’t born knowing how to do this and had to be taught, but once she found her way, she seemed to be content and fell asleep while feeding, her tiny arm resting on Chise’s skin. Elias watched curiously.

“You probably won’t be able to produce enough milk to fill both babies at the same time, so you might want to supplement with formula. You may even decide to go formula exclusively, which is fine. As long as they get the enzymes from your breastmilk at the start, it’ll be a big boost to their immune systems.”

Chise nodded without looking up, absorbed in the tiny little girl at her breast with it’s little fist around Chise’s finger. She seemed to finish quickly, and Chise lifted the baby for Elias to hold.

“Chise…” He said nervously. “I don’t… I can’t… I don’t think…”

“It’s okay, Elias,” Chise said with a smile. “You’re going to have to hold them at some point. Might as well be now.”

“Just remember to support the head,” Shannon said. “The neck muscles are underdeveloped.”

“Here,” She sat up and, holding the baby in one arm, used her hand to make a cradle of his. “Like this.”

Exercising more care than he ever had in his entire existence, he took the tiny bundle into his arms, cradling it gently. He could feel the warmth of it’s little body through the blankets, as though he were holding a glowing coal. He lifted her up so he could inspect her more closely. As he did so, she opened her eyes for the first time and looked up at him. Her eyes were the color of evergreens, like her mother. But unlike her, the pupils were not round but slits, like that of a wild creature. The eyes of a fae. The eyes of a mage.

“Chise, look,” Elias said, bending to show her. Chise, who had taken the red-haired babe and was feeding her from the other breast, peered at the child Elias held and smiled. Her smile faded and her eyes narrowed curiously.

“What is it?” Elias asked.

“Look at her head, a little bit above the hairline. There’s a bump. No, there’s two, one on either side. Do you see them?”

Elias brought the baby close to his face, examining her closely. There was, indeed, some sort of bump there. Carefully readjusting his grip, he felt the bumps with his finger. They felt like… bone? No, not bone…

“Horns,” Elias said softly. “She has horns.”

Chise laughed softly, her eyes warm with affection. “You certainly can’t deny she’s yours, can you?”

He looked down at her, a new warmth spreading though his chest. “No…” He said. “I cannot.”

“Have you decided on names?” Shannon asked, sitting on the other side, monitoring the mother and her little ones closely.

Elias was taken aback. It wasn’t something he had even thought about. He’d been so preoccupied with his doubts and fears that he hadn’t room to think of anything else.

“It is Christmas Eve,” Chise said, looking out of the snow covered windows. She looked at the little redhead, sleeping peacefully in her arms. “Her hair reminds me of holly berries, so why don’t we call her Holly?” She smiled and gazed at the white-haired child Elias clutched to him. “And with her green eyes, she should be named Ivy.”

Elias sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, bending to nuzzle her head.

“Yes,” He said fondly. “It’s perfect.”

After both parents had a turn holding both of their infant girls, they gave Silver and Ruth a chance. Ruth was anxious and attentive, fearful of being clumsy or accidentally jostling his new nieces and upsetting them, but Silver seemed overjoyed to hold the tiny babes, smiling brightly and giggling at their noises. A better nanny than Silver Lady could not be found anywhere, either in the mortal realm or the kingdom of the fae. Chise had a feeling she was going to be relying heavily on her for the next few months.

While holding Holly, Silver made a small noise of surprise.

“Silver?” Chise said. “What is it?”

Silver brought the baby to the bed and knelt down between Elias and Chise, where the parents could see the newborn’s eyes. The irises were solid black and didn’t reflect light, instead seeming to consume it. The pupils, however, were red. Not the bright holly red of her hair, but a dark crimson red, like blood on snow, and they too were mere slits.

“Oh,” Chise breathed. “Look at that. Aren’t they beautiful?”

Elias, seeing the trace his own eyes looking back at him from his daughter’s face, was at a loss for words.

His children were mostly human, it seemed, but they retained a piece of him, a fragment of his fae blood, just as Titania said. Before, this thought made him worry about their future, but seeing them now, he felt… what was this? It was a good feeling, but it carried weight with it. Pride? Was that it? Did he feel proud? Perhaps so.

After a while, Shannon insists that everyone leave the room to the new parents and their children, and Elias settled himself in a chair beside the bed, with Chise on his left side and the crib on the right. All three of his girls were sleeping peacefully. Ivy seemed content in being wrapped up in her swaddling, but Holly had kicked her way out of the blankets so that she could move freely.

He watched them sleep with mixed emotions, laying his hands on the stomachs of the babes, comforted by their warmth. As if waiting for this, they both reached out and gripped his fingers in their fists and held on with a surprisingly strong grip.

The world could have been falling down around them, but as long as they were safe and happy, it wouldn’t have bothered him. He found he didn’t care all that much at the moment about the concerns that had plagued him before the birth, though he knew they would come back eventually. He felt warm and calm, with none of the anxiety that had been gnawing at his mind for months. Was this feeling happiness? Peace?

He could identify at least one emotion well enough: love. It was different than what he felt for Chise, but no less consuming. Chains of gold and silver had wrapped themselves around his heart. They sprung from the touch of his tiny daughters’ small hands on his own, an unbreakable link that bound him to his newly-born flesh and blood. Instinct drove this behavior, and it was obvious what it meant. They had laid claim to him.

They do not belong to me, he realized. I belong to them. How fascinating.

He had lived for centuries never having tethered himself to any other being. Back then, loneliness and being alone were mutually exclusive concepts. He’d had friendships and acquaintances but felt no obligation to any of them beyond an occasional favor or trade. At the time, he had thought himself content.

When he had acquired Chise on a whim out of mere curiosity, he had not anticipated how his life would change. The connection that developed between them, as slow as it was to manifest openly, was unlike anything he’d felt before. It brought with it many good feelings, as well as many unpleasant ones. Chise’s love was easy enough to earn, but he soon discovered that while love could be unconditional, trust was not. He hadn’t known there was a difference between those emotions until he had betrayed them.

For a while after, their bond was fragile and could snap with any slight pressure he applied to it. It had taken much time and effort on his part to repair the damage he had done, and he had sworn never to do anything that could sever that link again.

But the bond he felt to these two new lives was instantaneous and indestructible, something over which he had no control. He was, for lack of a better term, spellbound.

“I don’t understand.”

Elias jumped slightly at Chise’s soft whisper. He looked over to see that she was awake and staring are her children.

“What is it you do not understand, Little Bird?” Elias replied quietly.

“I thought,” She said. “I thought when they were born, it would make more sense, but it doesn’t. I thought it would help me understand why they did it.”

“Your parents,” He said. It wasn’t a question.

“I thought that once I was a parent myself, I could see it from their perspective, and I’d understand. But I don’t. I would never, ever leave them. I could never hurt them. Never.” She looked at Elias and took his hand. “What they did still makes no sense to me. I guess you were right, Elias. I am different.”

“Yes,” He said, holding her hand to his cheek. “Do not be sad, Chise. That is a wonderful thing.”

She smiled, and her gaze returned to the infants. “You’re right. It is.”

During the first two months, which Chise and Elias used to get accustomed to the new routine of parenthood, the twins developed personalities that were as different as their appearance. Holly was an independent little thing and didn’t like to be swaddled or held for too long, while Ivy loved to be cuddled and preferred to be held by Elias over anyone else. He was more than happy to hold her at all times and soon became deft at doing things one-handed.

After this necessary adjustment time, they decided to have a small gathering of friends over to properly introduce their children. They had invited Stella, the Barley family, Alice, a few friends from the college including the brooding Adolf and enthusiastic Tori, and even Renfred. Over the years, Elias and Renfred had forged a tense acquaintanceship. Chise encouraged them to be better friends, but in the end, she figured anything was better than open hostility.

They had invited Lindel, too, but he didn’t want to leave the aerie again. He insisted they bring them to him instead, which they promised to do when the children were a few months older.

“Aren’t they darling?” Angelica said, looking at Holly sleeping in sixteen-year-old Althea’s arms.

“They really are,” Stella said, now nineteen, as she tickling Ivy’s feet while David held her. The baby cooed at Stella as she did so.

“Ya did good, Chise,” Alice said. “You cooked up some real nice babies in there.” She poked Chise’s stomach, which was now much smaller and thankfully no longer sore.

“That’s a weird phrase, Alice, thank you,” Chise said.

Renfred had been mostly quiet during the gathering. Alice had told Chise that babies make him nervous; he liked kids better when they were old enough to follow orders.

Elias was similarly uncomfortable with so many people in his house at once, and eventually, it drove him outside to the garden. Cold though it was, he sat at the garden table with his tea and sighed.

“Are they not lovely?” A voice said to him from his right. He turned to see a small, child-like figure standing there nearby. She wore a simple white gown made of thin silk and a crown of baby’s breath around her head. A circle of snow underneath her feet had melted away and flowers had sprung up all around her. Her hair was black, her skin like petals, her eyes like the wings of a dragonfly.

“Titania,” Elias said, standing. “You’ve come alone.”

“I have, though I shan’t be long,” She said, her voice belying her youthful appearance. “I bring with me gifts for your little ones.”

“Gifts?”

“Yes. The heartache you expressed when last we met has stayed with me. I felt compelled to do something to set your mind at ease.” She opened her hands, and lying in each palm was a ring carved of dark wood, one on a gold string, the other on a silver one. “I told you your offspring held my favor, did I not?” She asked. “That was not a lie. You need not worry for their safety from our kind. These will tell all fae creatures that your babes are my godchildren and therefore under my protection.”

Elias did not recall agreeing to such an arrangement, but accepted the rings with a bow.

“Thank you, my Lady,” He said. “This is most generous.”

“You must bring them to visit us, Thorn,” Titania said. “It’s been so long since there were children in the Faerie Kingdom. Oberon is dying to meet the new magelings.”

Elias nodded without speaking, not committing to this. He wondered if her favor extended to not trapping them in the faerie realm.

“Be well, Elias. Take care of our sweet robin and those beautiful children. Dwell no longer on the darkness in your past and look instead to your future. Your legacy now resides in those new souls that you created, and not the mistakes you have made. You have been given a divine gift. Do not take it for granted.”

“I assure you, Lady,” He said seriously. “I have no intention of doing so.”

She smiled at him, and the body she inhabited burst apart into flowers and floated away like the seeds of a dandelion, carried away on a sudden wind that smelled strangely of spring grass.

Elias lifted his gaze to watch the petals drift away, putting the charms in his pocket.

Once everyone had gone home and the house was quiet again, Elias picked up a wailing Ivy, who quieted immediately, and sat with Ruth and Chise as Silver laid out their dinner. Chise fed Holly with one arm and fed herself with the other. Once Holly finished, Chise passed her to Ruth to be burped and held out her arms for Ivy, who Elias passed carefully over the dinner table. Silver waited at Ruth’s elbow with a spit-up cloth. They all seemed to be easing into this new normal well.

Elias and Chise took the children to their room and laid them down for sleep, with Ruth curled up on the floor between them. He was better than a baby monitor. Ruth was taking his oath to Elias to protect the children very seriously and was just as involved in their care as every other person in the house. It seemed there was no shortage of babysitters to be found for the new parents, and Chise found that comforting. The nightmare she’d once had of being overwhelmed with caring for two children at once with limited help faded from her mind.

With the children abed for a least a couple of hours, Elias and Chise took this time to spend with each other, something they hadn’t had much opportunity to do since the birth. They sat together on the couch of the sitting room, Chise in Elias’s lap and wrapped up warmly in his arms. She was so tired, she could have fallen asleep if she let herself.

“I’m sorry the party got too claustrophobic for you,” Chise said, twining and untwining her fingers with his.

“It’s all right,” Elias said. “I am actually glad for it. I’d much prefer that the girls were introduced to all our friends at once rather than make many trips to achieve the same result.” Reaching into his waistcoat’s pocket, he pulled out the ring pendants he had gotten. “Besides, while outside, Titania left a give with me.”

Chise took the trinkets and looked at them curiously. “That was nice of her. What are they for?”

“Protection, she said. It’ll ward off any of her kind that would do them mischief.”

Chise smiled. “She’s very thoughtful for a fae.”

“Yes,” Elias agreed. “I wonder if she will extend the same blessing to any additional children we may have.”

Chise swung and looked up in surprise. “You want more children?”

“It's not outside the realm of possibility. We can talk about it later,” Elias replied.

“You're serious. You really want another baby?”

“I merely said we’d talk about it.”

“That’s not a no.”

Elias laughed.

“Give me a year, at least,” Chise said in exasperation. “My body isn’t ready for another one so soon.”

“If you wish,” He said, hugging her tightly.

They sat happily in each other’s arms for the next hour, taking a well deserved rest, until one of the babies began to cry. Elias released her and followed her up the stairs to the childrens' room, where he consoled Holly as Ivy fed. When Ivy was done, they switched. After feeding, the infants resumed sleeping. Before they left, Elias affixed the charms to the wall above their bassinets, the silver one over Ivy, and the gold protecting Holly. The parents, exhausted, climbed into their own bed and fell asleep at once.

Every day brought something new, and Elias was learning so much so quickly. His entire universe had shifted, and thought it had taken time to get used to it, he greeted each wonderful development as they happened with an open heart. He awoke eagerly every morning in his new life, looking forward to what might be.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Artifice | Chapter Three

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE START HERE

Everything was silent, not even the birds daring to make a sound in the scalding summer day. Beca's ears usually rung, a sharp and shrill sound that she had grown used to- almost like she couldn't' exactly hear it anymore. A background noise that only became apparent in situations like this one; situations where she could feel the body heat of another- smell the salty brine of sweat that came off a stranger's body.

Now, it was quiet.

Chloe stood there in a bit of a stalemate, the young painter's heart pounding in her chest like she was faced with someone well into lunacy. Perhaps she was, perhaps this woman made up in looks for what she lacked in sanity.

Beca refused to shift her eyes, to let the tension in her body relax. This wasn't the type of painting that she had signed up for or even considered. It made an edge of heat press against her core as she reached blindly for the garment that had been discarded on the large queen-sized mattress to her right.

She shoved it into Chloe's hands, the ginger lifting her eyebrows in amusement as she grasped it, effectively covering herself up like a child at a getaway camp. "While we are both adults, Miss Beale." Beca finally allowed herself to make eye contact. "I do not believe this is what your husband had in mind when he asked me to capture your likeness."

Chloe drew in a sharp breath, one that was laced with disappointment, as far as Beca could tell. She couldn't be quite sure, her focus drawn to the blush that flooded the woman's complexion. "I'm um," She murmured. "I apologize, that was crass. That is the only type of art that has been created so far and-"

She was rambling at this point, a different side of her that made Beca's stomach flutter. Since the second the artist had laid eyes on Chloe Beale, she had been confident; holding her chin high and shoulders measured upon a level. But now, now she was a bumbling mess. One that made a slight smirk pull close to Beca's lips.

"Cálmate Chloe" The brunette eased out softly, raising her palm up to the woman's jawline, it was soft, if not heated. She brought eyes a new shade of navy to her own. "Perhaps this is why they were all fired."

Chloe's stare was wide, mouth propped open in a bit of shock. Beca's touch was gentle, something Garret never possessed. Her movements weren't rushed or seeping with a different motive. They were intentional, every second thought through.

She took a steadying breath, throat raw and stare kind. "Maybe it would be better if we start over, then." Her words soft, barely above a whisper "Something tells me you're not keen on learning about me in this nature."

"You're a married woman, Chloe." Beca gave her a slight wink "I know who not to cross."

Beca took a step back, giving her an encouraging smile before heading towards the large mahogany doors that had grown on her since she stepped into the room. They seemed too extravagant at first, almost like the entirety of the house. The metal cold against her palm as she hurried into the hallway.

It closed with a light thud as she pressed her back quickly against the wood, clenching her eye shut, so hard that little bright shapes danced across her eyelids in a vibrant irony. Beca let the breath she was holding in, out. That familiar ringing returning to her ears as she struggled to catch her composure.

She dug her nails into the mahogany, not paying much attention to the craftsmanship, or the way the wood folded under a slight touch. Instead, she swallowed roughly, enjoying the cold contrast of an unlikely draft.

"She's not always like that, you know." Beca's eyes shot open, greeted by the harsh light that streamed in from the large bay windows at the end of the landing- expertly assembled. It was Aubrey, Aubrey who had her nose pointed high in the air for more than half of their earlier conversation.

Beca watched her carefully, cautiously.

"You are the first to turn her down." Aubrey dipped her chin slightly, running her fingers menacingly against the nearby banister. She had showered herself, dressed in a pair of slacks and a pinstriped blouse, a tied knot at her throat. "Unless you're just quick with your recovery time-"

"I don't see how that's any of your concern." The brunette's voice broke despite her confidence.

"Oh, but it is." Aubrey turned to face her slightly "Miss Mitchell, do you know how hard it is to see Chloe tramp around with any man brought into this place? Part of me thinks it's because of Garret's lack of attention, but it very well may be Chloe's craving for it."

Beca let out a scoff as she pushed herself away from the door, walking towards the first set of stairs that would get her down to her quarters, or at least the kitchen. Something told the young woman that Stacie's presence was enough to lull the blonde demon into dropping delicate subjects.

"I was hired to do a job," Beca held herself firm, not slowing her pace as the woman caught up with her- stairs wide enough for the two of them to walk hand and hand. The smaller of the two stopping right by the main railing, hand placed simply on the wood as she turned to face her in quickness. "The way Miss Beale presents herself to me and any other artist is not my position to judge."

"So she did try it then?" Aubrey lifted a pointed brow. "You must understand that this is not healthy behavior, and I am just looking out for her."

"I am no threat." Beca sounded out with ease. "Garret want's a painting. I intend to give him one and go back to the Pacific, with all due respect, you're disgruntled because she threw herself at me?"

The logic didn't make much sense to Beca, it almost confirmed her thoughts about wealth. Money made you bored, and expectant of many things. It also made you hollow, that was something that the young girl never saw a need for, the emptiness that clouded painter's judgments and warped them cynically.

"No," Aubrey drew in a careful breath "I am concerned because no man or woman has ever succeeded in turning her down before."

"Does she usually get what she wants?" The brunette asked her simply, Aubrey's dull grey eyes flashing with recognition before she nodded slowly, a hesitant one, afraid of giving too much away about her friend. "Ah, well, that's too bad then."

Night had fallen quickly, the bright blues of the sky fading out to a sharp grey before trickling into the everlasting darkness. The type of darkness that made crickets stir from their nocturnal slumber.

It was a southern thing, the sound of crickets mixing with those of frogs. Big frogs that were slime covered and angry each time you got too close to them. The large estate bordered a swamp- the thick willow trees creating dark shadows against lanterns that stretched and morphed their colors.

Beca pushed her back further into the little metal bench, staring out at the murky water graced with lily pads and duckweeds. Even in the black of night, it was easy to see their vibrant effect.

She barely looked up as the soft scent of lavender filled her lungs, palm resting on her leg as an edge of sweat collected against her collarbone. It was hot- humid even. The bench shifting the second the girl lowered herself onto it- listening to the quiet.

"You don't have fireflies here." Beca finally mumbled, running her fingers over the seam of her pants silently, air heavy against her throat. "The swamp it, uh, it's darker than it should be."

Chloe shifted her lapis stare shifting to look at the aloof gaze on Beca's face. She hadn't noticed the small leather-bound book in the girl's lap until now, it's pages worn and even water stained. Her thumb held the charcoal pencil to the cover like glue.

She redhead had never seen fireflies, her mind wandering.

"Usually there are these little specks of light," Beca continued with ease. "They kind of dance, like a waltz. You know? Makes the place look a little less murdery."

"That is not a word," Chloe cracked a smile, voice humorous. Beca chuckled took, turning her head to get a good look at the woman. If it was possible, she had grown even more alluring over the process of the night.

The moonlight was pale and dominating compared to that of the lantern, it's flames stretching her features and shadowing them with soft edges. "It's true, you could perish in this place."

"It's easy for you to say that," Chloe nudged her softly "You're not the one living here."

"Oh, but I am." Beca joked, lifting her hand to point at some random tree as she tilted her head. "You're telling me, that tree doesn't look like something an ax murderer could hide behind?"

"Well, now it does!" Chloe exclaimed, grasping the girl's hand and shoving it down into her lap. The two of them breaking out into another round of laughter- quiet, as if not to disturb the nature around them. Finally dulling down to a small bout of silence.

"Can I see?" Chloe finally asked, lifting her chin towards the journal that was in Beca's grasp. She instinctively tightened her fingers around it before they loosened a bit. Her sketchbook was never something that she had shown anyone, her work special, and messy, and evolving every single time she was taught a new method.

She pulled the pages open to a random one, not sure what part of her travels it would open to. This wasn't her first book, and it wouldn't' be her last, but something told her Chloe didn't care either way. As long as she could see the lines drawn.

The pages were painted with a city, large and looming over cobblestone streets. You could see the depth of the multi-window buildings, clotheslines stretching between structures while large trolleys rushed past on established train tracks. The sky was colored with the parchment that rested under it.

Chloe let out an audible gasp, gently shifting the book further into her gaze, running her fingertips over the indentations on the paper. Her eyes twinkling as she flashed the towards Beca for a split second before returning her attention to the page.

"Barcelona in 1910," Beca said, scooting closer to run her finger down the stain of the page close to the edge. "I was sitting in some random apartment window when the guy caught me, he had a terrible aim- but his coffee cup didn't."

"It's gorgeous," Chloe husked, "Is that how you learned Spanish? By squatting in Barcelona."

"I didn't squat." Beca leaned back, letting her arm outstretched behind the woman to her side for pure comfort, the bench small and her warmth overwhelming. "I simply found the best view. Aprendí por necesidad."

"Right," Chloe sounded out her words carefully, running her fingers down the pages, "May I?"

"Go ahead." Beca gave her a nod of approval, the girl not wasting much time as she flipped to the next page. It was a picture of clear water, icy corners that revealed a dark cavernous bottom. A girl sat by the edge, her complexion dark and muddy as hair fell into her eyes.

"Is this Barcelona too?" Chloe asked, stare questioning.

"Jordan, actually." Beca shifted her stance once more, scooting closer as Chloe's shoulder leaned against her side, her sweet scent meshing with that of a swamp. "The dead sea."

"The what?" Her voice was innocent, filled with wonder as she made sharp eye contact with Beca.

"The dead sea," She reiterated with a gentle quiet. "It's the lowest part of the world. It's filled with salt and is probably one of the most therapeutic places I have ever been to. Calming."

Chloe swallowed thickly, pressing the pad of her touch right under the woman in the picture. "And her?"

"A stranger." The brunette whispered. "No one special."

Chloe breathed out softly, pressing her back further into the bench, stare focusing on the lines and curves that Beca's pencil had made years ago, her touch toying at the edge of the leather. She was quiet, mouth dry and senseless as the heat continued to press against her cheeks. Not jealousy, never jealousy. Not even discomfort.

It was a yearning, a yearning that both Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale felt in this desolate moment.

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Time’s Running Out: Romeo

... whoops? Has it really been since March? OH WELL, MY COMPUTER'S FIXED, I'VE GOT FREE TIME AGAIN, AND I'M READY TO KICK THIS FIC'S ASS, ENJOY SOME FEELINGS.

Summary: The Reds and Blues; and their respective Freelancers, find themselves stranded on a strange planet named Chorus. Secrets, lies, and the unexpected seem to lie around every corner, and there might be even larger threats looming over the horizon.

They’re possibly even less ready for Chorus than Chorus is for them.

Pairings: Lots of friendships, Suckington, Yorkalina, Chex, eventual Yorkimbalina, possible others.

Start

Previous

Ao3

There was a moment of heavy breathing, with York staring up at her. There was blood everywhere, and for a second, she thought she saw fear in his body language.  

It was only a second, but it was quite possibly one of the most terrible seconds of Tex’s life.

She stepped over the corpse and offered him a hand up.

York reached up and accepted, taking it and then using the momentum to collapse against her. Relief coursed through her. If he was able to trick her into a hug, he was going to be fine.

“Is he…” York said, staring at the body behind her.

“Yes.” She said. She offered no explanations or apologies. She knew that Locus had been his friend once. The thought was strange in her mind, sharp like jealousy and bitter like rage.

York’s shoulders stiffened for a moment, then he exhaled sharply.

“That is excellent news, Agent Texas,” Delta said, appearing on York’s shoulder, as if attempting to reassure himself that York was, in fact, still alive. It was as close to physical contact that an A.I. and host could get.

“Dee, when did you get so bloodthirsty?” York asked, but there was relief in his voice too. One more ghost gone.

Tex bent over Locus’s dead body, and pried the healing unit out of his fingers, already stiff. Carefully, she pressed it back into place on York’s chest plate, watching as his body language slowly relax as painkillers did their job.

“They’re gone,” Tex said, and there should have been satisfaction in that, but there wasn’t. It had been too close.

She’d watched York die before, and it had been a long, long time ago now. She had stopped that world, she had punched a hole through reality itself to save him, but…

She had watched him die once.

She had come this close to seeing it happen again.

Tex reached out and pressed a hand against his shoulder. “York,” she said, struggling to find words. “I—you know you’re—you’re my—” the words felt like they were strangling her, which shouldn’t even be possible.

Church, in her brain, remained shockingly silent.

“I know,” York said. “Me too.”

She scowled and clenched her hands into fists. “No,” she said. “Don’t let me off like that.”

“Tex,” York laughed, his voice unsteady, his breathing labored. He took a step forward and stumbled. Tex leapt forward to catch him. “I know, okay?”

“I love you,” Tex spat out.

She wasn’t programmed to. It was an aberration.

She was programed to love Church. She was built for it. She was built to love Carolina. She was built for the strange affection for Delta, even.

She was a shadow, an artifice, a series of ones and zeroes all strung together, forming the very core of herself. Pieced together, placed in a body of a robot, built up and pulled apart and put back together again. Put back together by Reds and Blues and Church and Carolina…and the idiot in front of her.

She had not been built for this. This strange, tumultuous, bizarre course, which no one could have seen coming.

There was no romance in the sentence, there was barely even affection. It was brusque and harsh, somehow a declaration and a question at the same time.

She loved her idiot best friend, and she had nearly seen him die a second time.

She couldn’t see his expression.

“I love you too, Tex,” he said. He leaned against her. “Now, uh, not to rush you or anything, but I think I need to submit myself to Dr. Grey’s terrifying medical expertise.”

“Right,” Tex said, putting an arm around his shoulder and starting to lead him away.

The tightness in her throat, the one that should be impossible because she had no muscles to lock up or lungs to draw air with, didn’t go away.

“Let’s go back to Armonia,” she said. York’s blood dripped onto the cavern floor and Locus cooled next to her feet.

She was not built to be this way.

Teleport cubes and the knowledge that they might all be dead soon made the journey back to Armonia fast.

Kimball wished she could just have time to think.

Carolina had made the report over the radio—Felix with a key that could kill everyone on the planet, Locus dead, Church’s body destroyed, York injured but not in critical state. The last one was said grimly, through gritted teeth, taking any potential satisfaction from Locus—one of Kimball’s longest living nightmares—being dead.

The Reds and Blues and Freelancers moved back into the war room. They looked the worse for wear for their journey, and there’s no sign of Church in physical form, although Kimball would guess that he was implanted into one of their implants, like Delta or Epsilon.

Agent York’s armor was in the worst state—it had never been great, old fashioned, a patchwork of repairs and replacements—but now there was also a horrific looking puncture on his shoulder. Locus’s work, if Kimball had to venture a guess. She’d seen wounds like that before, just usually on the dead.

York was forced into one of the chairs by Carolina, who was unmoving, cold, and solid. Her concern for him might not have been visible to many, Kimball realized as she watched York insist over and over again that he was fine. But Carolina was solid, and insisted on him sitting the fuck down, York. Kimball found herself trying not to smile as York acquised, reluctantly.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, one last time.

“That’s not what Doctor Grey said,” Kimball said. “She said you lost a lot of blood.”

“I’ve got a healing unit! I’m fine!” York said, throwing his hands into the air.

Carolina tilted her head at Kimball, a silent gesture of appreciation for her support. Kimball felt her cheeks warming, and she ducked her head, even though no one could see it.

She saw York tilt his head, curiously.

Dread filled her, a different kind of dread than the kind she’d lived with every day since the war began, that had doubled and tripled since Felix had betrayed her, that had multiplied infinitely since the last few hours, when Felix had gotten his hands on a weapon to end all weapons.

This was different. Smaller. Stranger.

Dread might not even be the right word, she realized, unable to stop turning it over in her head. Apprehension? Anxiety?

York took off his helmet, revealing the now-familiar face. Was there more grey in his hair than there had been? Kimball forced herself to look away, as Carolina placed a hand on the shoulder that had not been shot.

Kimball had not intended for this to happen. They were at war. There was no time for her to fall for two idiot Freelancers, with noble intentions and mistakes and blood on their hands and—

She needed to focus.

“Felix will be heading for the Temple,” Kimball said, drawing her mind away from a gloved hand on an armored shoulder. “He might take backup.”

“Siris is the likely candidate,” York said. “He’ll be the only one who can…” He hesitated.

“What?” Carolina asked.

“Uh, look, I’m not one to really throw stones about co-dependency when Delta lives in my head, but, uh. Felix and Locus, uh… well, let’s just say my glass house has a few holes in it.”

“So Felix will be off his game?” Tex smelled blood in the water.

York shrugged. “Maybe? Or maybe he’ll be redoubling his efforts in order to avenge Locus. Hard to say. Felix is… again, not to damage the glass house, but he’s not… stable.”

“No shit,” Tucker said.

“He’s kind of unpredictable,” York said apologetically. “He takes pride on that. But I do think he’ll want to keep Siris close to him after this.”

“Then we’ll want a small group to head them off there while the rest of us make a run for the Communication Tower,” Kimball said grimly.

“That… sounds like a surprisingly solid plan,” Doyle said, and Kimball tried not to be annoyed that he sounded surprised.

“Carolina and I will go,” Tex said.

“I’m coming too,” York and Washington said in unison.

“Hey Wash,” Tucker said, sounding overly cheerful, with Kai on his side. “Can we talk to you for a minute?”

“Um…”

Before Wash had time to formulate a response to that, Kaikaina and Tucker had swept forward, and propelled him out into the hallway, each of them grabbing one of his arms in a show of shocking precision and coordination.

“So I guess it’ll be the three of us then,” York said cheerfully, and Kimball really wanted to strangle him in that moment. How could one man manage to be so infuriating? If she’d been a younger woman with more free time, this might have been worth a spreadsheet, or at least a list. As it was, she allowed herself to audibly sigh.

“You’re injured, York,” she said, and she couldn’t help how gentle the words came out.

“Hey, I’m fine!” York protested.

“She’s right,” Carolina said, and Kimball couldn’t tell, but she imagined Carolina’s fingers were digging into his uninjured shoulder. She tried not to focus on that, or the strange surge of pleasure that Carolina agreed with her, even if it was about something as objectively true as the fact that York had been shot recently, again.

Kimball was starting to realize why it was, exactly, that Agent York, despite being an infiltration specialist, might have needed a healing unit. He seemed to have the most atrocious luck when it came to obtaining injuries.

He did, however, have a pretty good streak going when it came to surviving them.

“I’m fine!” York said. “I’ve survived worse—”

“Not encouraging,” Tex said dryly.

“Dr. Grey said I was okay—”

“Emphasis on okay, sweetie—”

“Felix might bring additional backup—”

“We have plenty of reds to spare!”

“What? No we don’t! I don’t want to fight Felix!”

“What Simmons said!”

“Traitors! Cowards! Leaving the Freelancers to hog all the glory, even if one of them is a Red? Why you blue-livered—”

“Kimball,” York said, changing tactics. “Please. I’ll be okay.”

She looked at him and felt herself go still.

York’s face was pleading and desperate. His good eye was focused right on her, as if he could see her expression, beneath her own helmet, and she swallowed, because she knew why he was appealing to her.

She was the only one who knew about him and Siris.

“Fine,” she whispered. She shook her head, and then spoke louder. “Very well. But be careful. All three of you. We can’t afford to lose you.”

“Can’t afford to lose the planet either,” Grif muttered. She shot a glare at him.

Tucker, Wash, and Kaikaina re-emerged a moment later.

“Hey,” Tucker said, grinning. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Aaaaand now I’m terrified,” Carolina said, her voice drier than a desert.

Kimball should not find that as attractive as she did.

Tucker took his sword out and turned it on. “Why don’t we even the odds?”

Doyle and Kimball exchanged a look.

Something like hope began to stir inside of Kimball’s chest.

“Okay, so a quick detour first.”

Most of the others went off to arm up, but Carolina stayed behind.

“You shouldn’t let him go,” she said, grabbing Kimball’s arm.

“Agent York is a professional.” Epsilon made a noise that sounded a bit like an incredulous snort. “I give him the courtesy of assuming he knows his limits.”

Carolina shook her head. “This is the second time he’s been injured this week. The healing unit is effective, but even it has limitations.”

“He needs to do this, Carolina.” Kimball says, and winces. She forgot to add the “Agent.” “You should ask him why.”

“… You… already know?”

“He told me,” Kimball said, wincing as she realized she’d probably overstepped somehow. “I asked him, after he got shot by Siris last time.”

“I… see.”

“You really care for him, don’t you?” Kimball asked, unable to stop herself. She pressed a hand against her visor. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”

“You care as well,” Carolina said, and she sounded half-resigned, half-surprised.

“What can I say?” York said, sticking his head into the room. “I have a type. Anyways, we should probably get going Carolina.”

Kimball felt as if she was suddenly, horrifically, rooted to the floor. Did he just… did he just… what did he just say? And if he… he didn’t mean it like… like that? He couldn’t. There was no way he had just implied what she thought he had implied…what she wanted him to be implying…

She shoved that thought to the side to deal with much later and turned to face York instead. “Remember what I said,” she said. “Don’t give him the chance.”

He saluted, jaunty and confident, using his just-injured arm to boot.

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

“I’ll bring him back,” Carolina said quietly.

“Just be sure to bring yourself back too,” Kimball said, and then blushed again. She had never been so grateful for her helmet in a non-life-threatening situation.

How were those two possible?

Tucker and Kai’s grip on Wash’s arms were like steel as they propelled him into the hallway.

“You’re not going,” Tucker said.

“Not without us,” Kai added, looking stubborn as hell.

“I—”

“We’re not being separated again!” Tucker said, and Wash flinched. Tucker’s voice echoed in the hallway.

They hadn’t had time to reunite properly, with everything. They hadn’t been alone, hadn’t had time to talk, hadn’t had time…

For anything.

And now things were ending, spiraling out of control, and Wash had been about to go off on another mission without them…

Time was running out for him to say everything he had to say.

He took off his helmet.

“You’re right,” he said. “We stick together. No matter what.”

Kai immediately tried to kiss him, but she was still wearing her helmet, so Wash had to duck out of the way to avoid a bruise.

“Ha!” Tucker said, pulling off his own helmet, which meant he got to kiss Wash first.

Something soft and giddy unfurled in Wash.

A moment of quiet peace, stolen, in the hallway, as Tucker kissed him, Kai making loud protesting noises as she struggled to get her helmet off.

The world might be ending, but he still had this.

He’d always have this.

As long as they were all alive—and that sounded almost too close to a wedding vow, so Wash shied away from that train of thought, and settled for whispering, “I love you,” against the shadow of Tucker’s jaw.

“We love you too, dumbass,” Tucker said. “Which is why we’re going to kick ass at the Temple of Communication, together.”

“That’s great,” Kai said, “Now let me kiss our boyfriend.”

Tucker laughed, and pulled away, and Kai was pressing in before Wash could so much as think about missing him.

[waspabi]

If you are still taking passage requests (I know this was like two weeks ago), the scene in Wolfborn post-Snow Moon run, where Nicky goes "pack is fucked." Or the stand-off between Nicky and Malkin. Thanks! :)

I’ll do BOTH, half because I wanna and half because both scenes revolve around the same questions: how do you be a leader, how do you be an adult, how do you figure out how to be both those things and also yourself?  

Wolfborn is about a lot of stuff (werewolves, the body, a Disney Channel Original Movie of a sports arc, Nicke and Ovi boning down in a big way) but one thing it is pretty obviously is a coming of age story. 

Nicke’s gonna be an outstanding team alpha in our present and his future, but when we meet him he’s a distracted baby who keeps losing his suitcase at the all star game and once left a big money paycheck in his dumb fuckboy mercedes and forgot about it for a month (both facts, can provide receipts). 

So we’re looking at this big q: how does he get there?

Nicke tried to tamp down the irritation bubbling in his stomach. Everything was so frustrating all the time. No one took care of the pack properly, and when someone fucked up nobody said anything about it. No accountability, no reliable hierarchy. He had thought things were getting better but really it was just as fucked as before.

The fun thing about being an idiot baby is that a lot of the time you have no idea what an idiot baby you are, which Nicke doesn’t. He really thinks he’s got this shit handled and if he were alpha right now, he’d be able to fix all the pack’s problems. 

On the other hand, he’s got some fair points Nicke truly. Truly nothing pricks his hide more than mismanagement and a lack of accountability. For fuck’s sake! Basic concepts! He sees a lot of examples of what a bad alpha is, but he doesn’t see any good ones. All he knows is this is not what he wants to be. 

“You always grumpy mornings,” Alex murmured, kissing Nicke’s throat.

That — wasn’t untrue. Nicke tilted his head back, giving Alex more room to work with. He was starting to get hard, which was annoying. He had shit to discuss. Alex was so fucking distracting.

Alex does not wanna talk about this and is gonna pull out all the stops to change the subjects before Nicke gets to the inevitable question, which obviously is about to be sprung:

“Why didn’t you take it? Alex, you will be alpha. Why wait?”

Alex stopped messing with Nicke’s neck and pressed his face underneath Nicke’s jaw. “I’m not ready,” he grunted, voice hoarse. “I feel it. Still young, stupid. Guys see me like annoying cousin, little brother. Not alpha yet.”

Nicke wanted to protest. He wanted to tell Alex that he got to decide how the guys saw him, that he led by example, that he had bolstered the team too many times to count. He brought his hand up to cup Alex’s head instead, fingers moving slowly to detangle his thick hair. It wasn’t his call. He wanted it to be his call, but it wasn’t his call.

Alex doesn’t feel ready. It’s also why he’s refusing the captaincy – which IRL Ovi did because he didn’t think his English was strong enough yet – Alex is really shaped by external opinion at this point in his life and he’s pretty vulnerable despite his big talk. He also doesn’t want to do it alone. He can’t do it without Nicke, and as a rookie Nicke can’t take up that role yet. 

Nicke, on the other hand, is not dependent on external validation, even as a little idiot baby who lost his shoes before the All Star/YoungStars event and had to borrow a pair that was two sizes too small (facts, can provide receipts). 

“Anyway,” Alex said, tilting into Nicke’s touch. “I think is gonna be you. We both gonna be alpha, but. Think you gonna be my alpha.”

OH HO HO! I wrote this part of the scene like three days into writing the story because I was so excited about it. 

I imagined werewolf power structures within hockey were sort of flexible, but at the end of the day, the buck stops with the alpha(s). And within an alpha pair, one of those is the Big Alpha. Alpha Prime. 

I never came up with anything good title-wise for our Big Alpha position, but werewolf language was part of the whole language theme in the fic: there is no good word for any of it. All the words characters use for werewolf concepts are vague gestures at the concept at best: marriage is just the closest human concept for their sort of bonded-partnership-pack parents vibe. 

(honestly a significantly better translation for team alpha would be team mom/team dad, so like, if you wanna know who is the alpha of another team ask urself: who are the team parents, and you’ll know) 

MOVING ON! 

Evgeni Malkin and Sidney Crosby are used throughout the fic as a comparison: another young alpha pair, already in charge of their packs, but doing things very differently to Alex and Nicke. So I went into this scene thinking: how is Nicke flexing his power? His authority? His position as Alex’s partner? It’s all very new to him, and he’s just starting to try it all on for size. 

Nicke’s just got off the phone with Tatyana, and he doesn’t know if he’s met her approval, he’s feeling vulnerable and territorial and as a result he’s feeling particularly prickly. 

Evgeni Malkin smelled of scented deodorant, foreign pack and generic shampoo. He held his phone in one improbably large hand and came right at Nicke, frowning. The NHL forbade wolfborns from marking territory in their game arenas, but usually there were ways of getting around that rule — Malkin was clearly comfortable in his territory. He exuded that particular high-handed alpha nosiness from every pore of his skin.

“Yes,” Nicke said. He put Alex’s phone in his pocket.

“Sasha okay?”

Nicke set his jaw. The wolf itched under his skin. “Fine.”

“Was accident, before.” Malkin shrugged. “Hockey.”

“Yes,” Nicke said, and imagined sinking his wolf teeth into Malkin’s throat.

Geno’s actually being fine. He’s got a question! He’s just got a question, he’s comfortably existing in his own territory, he’s already an alpha, he’s confident in asserting himself and it’s making Nicke so ornery he’s gonna pick a fight for no good reason. 

“Want see if he come? We have plan. Drinks.”

“No,” Nicke said firmly. Alex was injured. There was zero chance he could go to foreign territory injured, without a member of his own pack to back him up.

Malkin raised his eyebrows. “Okay,” he said. “You talk for Sasha?”

Well, this was stupid. Nicke motioned to the empty corridor. “You see him? Right now, yes.”

This is one of those things where when you’re under pressure, sometimes you reveal the core of who you really are. Nicke’s stressed about Alex’s injury, about Tatyana, about his territory, about not feeling in control. 

As it turns out, at his core Nicke is bossy as heck, unbelievably protective of his big idiot husband and completely unwilling to lose a fight (that he started himself for no good reason). He’s truly himself in this bitchfest of a nonsense standoff, and nothing brings me more joy. 

This standoff was one of the most fun scenes to write. Mean Lars emerging from his chrysalis to dead-eye Evgeni Malkin, ah, chef-kissing-fingers.gif, perfect.  

Malkin glowered at Nicke, and Nicke glowered at Malkin. This might have kept on going indefinitely had Sidney Crosby not rounded the corner. Nicke slightly loathed the sight of him, his aw-shucks jawline and boyish curls improbably wholesome despite the vicious way he’d checked Nicke in the second period. Nicke hadn’t managed to get him back, which rankled.

Nicke has more conflict in the story with Geno, but it is Sidney for whom he has true deep disdain in his heart. 

Part of it is because Sid is already alpha of his pack and Nicke is jealous and feeling powerless which stresses him out, and the other part is because Sid does so much to make himself palatable to humans. He’s careful with grooming, careful to seem nonthreatening, careful with what he says – meanwhile Alex, obviously, could not be more of a werewolf stuffed into a suit if he tried

look at him! just shoved on in there ready to sign his crazy long contract. bout to bust free at any moment. mere hours away from delighted screaming with Nicklas Bäckström in a deserted carpark.

It personally galls Nicke when werewolves act tame or nonthreatening. Werewolf Nicke didn’t have to deal with humans in any real capacity for a very long time in his life, and he has little sympathy for people who feel they need to cater to them. Both Sid and Alex have had to deal with humans a lot but the way they’ve dealt with that pressure is in completely opposite ways, and for Nicke Sid’s way is… hm. Well. 

(Alex, meanwhile, does not care. sure, he doesn’t get that way of dealing with humans and frankly thinks it’s boring but he’s not gonna begrudge somebody their coping mechanism – so basically for nicke it’s all alex ovechkin is a good man. he’s got a good heart. he doesn’t hold a grudge. that’s what he has me [nicklas bäckström] for) 

This whole tangent is not really evident in the fic except in minute hints because it didn’t come up but it’s something I liked thinking about so: ur welcome for the unnecessary detail

I’m realising as I write this that I am essentially writing an essay about What Annoys Werewolf Nicklas Bäckström. Glad you asked: 

pack mismanagement

artifice 

omelets that are hiding secret mushrooms

hotel sheets

Thank you. 

Crosby glanced between them, frowning. “Geno? We have to go home.”

“Bäckström not let me talk to Sasha,” Malkin grunted.

“Uh, okay.” Crosby’s suit was terrible, grey and boxy, and he held a knit hat absently in one hand. “We have to go, though. Come on, Geno.”

Malkin looked between Crosby and Nicke like a dog torn between obeying his human and chasing down a particularly galling squirrel. 

I really liked contrasting Sidney’s very matter-of-fact non-reaction compared to Geno’s histrionics, and the exchange also revealed who amongst them is the alpha alpha: Sidney Crosby, which was confirmed to me by leading expert Eva @agonyandagony​, although I think at this stage of his life it was much less obvious. 

Sid and Geno (and Kolzig and Federov and Tatyana and Nylander) represent different ways of being an alpha. It’s that classic story thing of your minor characters being preoccupied with the same questions as your main character, and representing alternate ways of being. Each of them shows Nicke a way to be a leader, to be an adult, to be an alpha, and we learn along the way what he is going to take and not take onboard on his, like, Big Journey. 

Uh, anyway, thanks for giving me an excuse to write another 20k commentary to my werewolf fabrication, especially to talk about Mean Lars (Werewolf Edition) who is close to my heart and is someone I would give a 2 hour lecture about at the slightest provocation. 

[obduratemoon]

Sedimentary City 11: THUS SPAKE

The pain amplifier works via the theory of cortical manipulation. The human mind was well understood to be virtual, a low resolution projection of sensory data, filtered and enriched by structures carved out by the various vehicles of the past: genetics, epigenetics, collective and private memories.

Most regarded this place as sanctified and hermetic within the alcove of the skull, accessible only to the owners. However, the state was clever enough to secretly embed a backdoor into every mind-machine interface. They used this portal to enter the inner garden of the mind, committing atrocities within the lone glade people had known to be theirs and theirs alone.

Then suddenly one became two and a small voice whispered somewhere to the left of him, “You’d better just tell them. You can’t take too much more of this can you?”

What?

“I said, perhaps you had better tell them?”

What is this voice? Who are you?

“Don’t tell me that you don’t recognize me?” asked the strange voice, “Well, not that it matters, I am one who is concerned about your well-being -- maybe the only one here who is -- and right now you are not looking so great, strapped into this chair. You were destined for better than this.”

The words came out slow and languid, strangely accented and stilted as if the syllables were culled out at random from the ether, diffused and barely coherent yet perfectly understood by Jan. What the fuck is this? Jan thought. It seemed likely that this was a trick of the interrogators, a voice implanted into his head introduced via the puncture in his consciousness matrix.

“Don’t be silly, Jan. I am not them! You think they would be this clever? You know their methods, it’s always a big dumb production, phantoms and fireworks, no finesse.”

Jan vainly blinked his eyes in the darkness seeing nothing. The stranger’s voice remained.

“They can control everything you experience, but they can’t control your inner thoughts, auto-generated and consumed independent of sensory input. You’ve done the research on this. It is just like in dreams where you are at once the creator and the consumer, one and the same yet somehow this fact slips awareness.”

Fine but this doesn’t make any sense. Am I having a schizophrenic episode?

“Jan, I am no one, but I am also you. Also, under the correct circumstances, schizophrenia is adaptive.”

No you are not me, thought Jan, I am the only me.  

“Maybe. But you’ve always suspected, haven’t you? You’ve always wondered if there was someone else, felt my presence -- someone by your side in all those still hours. I’ve been with you this whole time, watched you grow up, grew up with you. Lonely nights of reading and introspection, building castles in the sky. The first time you saw Eva, and the last: when you watched her bleed out onto the streets, I was there as well. I was with you as you cowered behind the wall crying your soul out. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I miss Eva as well.”

I’m losing my fucking mind.

“Yes, you are. But you think I wanted to appear? And learn your stupid language? The bondage of linguistics is not anything I welcome, but these are extraordinary times and you are in terrible danger. We won’t live for much longer at this rate. What are you even hiding from them that they don’t already know?”

Jan looked around the black room trying to penetrate the occluded space, but he saw nothing, no light to avail him from his solitude. He felt scared in a way he had not ever felt before, the sort of existential fear experienced by something very small and tenuous and close to vanishing. The void seemed no longer a distant philosophical mirage but so proximal that he could feel it as a lacunae of presence or heat.

“So what is this? You think Eva wants you to keep suffering? She’s gone. She was always smarter than you in that regard, at least she was practical. She wanted something, she wanted to grow to live and progress, become someone. Really you should have been the one to die instead.”

Yes, I should have.

“Ok, sorry I brought that up. I know how ready you are to die, very noble of you. I’m trying to remember now, if we’ve just read too many books where the hero falls on his sword. Sounds just like something Dad would have made us read.”

Jan thought of the syllabuses that his father had sent him in lieu of being present, tomes of concepts and abstractions. Each year for his birthday, a stack of books and assignments, eons of wisdom, analyzed and meta-analyzed, re-interpreted and allowed to hermeneutically ferment in the collected records of academia. But in the end, even the most well intentioned knowledge finds itself complicit and weaved into the inherent death drive that exists in every living thing -- a civilization being at once an amalgamation of lives as well as an organism itself. Logic, thought, insight: thin and veliform coherences, just enough for people to keep rolling each day into the next and so forth, unacknowledged that the moment a thing is born is also when it yearns for quietus as well.

“‘Father’, ha!,” the voice chortled in a phlegmatic hiccup, “You always were a prim little prick. You still don’t recognize me? Ok, here is my covenant. You had a little brother, remember?”

Ice sheets rolled through Jan’s core, a frigid and unplumbable emotion akin to dread move through with serpentine undulation.

I don’t have a brother, what are you talking about? What brother?

“Yes you do. Remember her funeral, what they said? You can’t lie to yourself. Well, maybe you can, since you’ve been doing it your whole life -- but eventually you will have to exhume all the things you’ve buried. You’re no different than any of them in that way, really.”

Presently, they were interrupted by the strident voice of the bodiless interrogator, a voice much louder than the ghostly and immaterial whispers of the stranger: “Jan Kavfryd, are you ready to confess? It is in your interest to do so, the earlier the better. We always get what we want and the result is always the same, so spare yourself.”

“Yes,” the stranger hissed as if in reply, “tell them already! It is not your destiny to die here, Jan. I’m not ready to die! It is your destiny to live, to continue living until you are an old man, useless and unneeded but at the very least breathing, thinking, feeling. What else is there to being?”

“No,” Jan fed that single word into the mind-machine interface.

“Very well,” replied the incorporeal interrogator, “stand by for more. You are more stubborn than we had calculated but we are prepared for all outcomes.”

 “Jan, the important thing is to survive, even if that means suffering more. It’s not your destiny for you to end here.”  The stranger seemed distant now, as if fading into the background hum of thoughts. A squeeze of coldness streamed through his arms; the interrogators had delivered more drugs as preamble to the next stage of hell.

Convulsive sobs rolled over Jan one after another like oceanic waves. Tears streamed from his eyes and his mouth shivered and worked around the mouth piece, much like the quavering mastication of the elderly and close to passing. His chest heaved and spasmed with grief. Out of nowhere he thought of his mother who had died when he was still very young. He had no memory of her except a diffuse impression, an occasional smell that he recognized with exquisite nostalgia. He suddenly wanted to be with her very badly.

“Life will seem a sad and pointless enterprise to you,” the inner voice said softly, in a lugubrious rustle, “for that is your lot, the forlorn star under which you were born. You will be despondent and harried by grief, but you will also live to grow old until the full plenitude of life for you has been experienced.”

Jan sensed a deep truth in these words, as true as anything that could exist, bereft of common artifice or illusion. But he found it hard to believe.

The limpid voice continued but quieter and quieter, “Your existence will be redeemed because everyone of us has a secret purpose, a fatal consummation -- for the whole arc of your life is already recorded and held in crystalline stasis.”

The voice became nothing as Jan accelerated towards a new vision, a pinprick which rapidly expanded to cover over him like a blanket.