#crazy to me that people let their cats wander around in a place with coyotes

[elizabro]

absolutely ate shit today restraining my damn dog from going after a cat that wandered into our backyard. for fuck's sake keep your cats indoors or at the very least WATCH them

[bookandcranny]

Stone Heart Gambit

Part 1 - Chapter 2

Soso has always had good intuition, and never was she more unhappy to be right than now. She tails the car until they reach the treeline and then dips off the main road to one of the more concealed footpaths. By the time she breaches through to the other side, she’s late to the party.

Twenty or so college kids are tailgating in the clearing, some of them in rubber masks, others in face paint made smeared and sticky with gratuitous fake gore. Loud music crackles from car stereo speakers, interwoven with the sounds of laughter and drunken jeers. They line up on the lawn to throw eggs and empty bottles at the building and holler with triumph every time one hits its target. Soso ditches her bike and bag and edges around the chaos, trying not to be spotted in the crowd.

Her anxiety spikes. Now that she’s here, her suspicions confirmed, she realizes that she has absolutely no idea what she plans to do about it. Calling the cops would only throw fuel on the fire, and that’s if they even take her call seriously. Some drunken revelry, kept well away from the rest of the town and anyone else who might complain, probably doesn’t register very high for them tonight.

At least Surehouser has the sense not to engage with them. The library’s been closed early, the windows shuttered and dark. She hopes he’s alright in there. He’s such a recluse, she can’t imagine him standing up to this sort of crowd.

Another round of eggs pelt the front doors, met with uproarious cheers, and Soso seethes. He doesn’t deserve this; he doesn’t do anything to anyone and yet, because he’s a little odd, people find reasons to treat him like this. In that moment she hates them, and she hates herself for standing on the sidelines while this happens. She always imagined that when it came down to it, she would be the sort of person who stands up for others, but here she stands, frozen in place and feeling utterly useless.

Move, she tells herself. Do something. Fix it. You’re supposed to be good at fixing things.

In a burst of angry adrenalin, she pushes through the crowd and climbs on top of one of the parked cars. She gathers all the breath and courage she can and screams at the top of her lungs.

“PARTY’S OVER!”

She stomps the hood of the car, setting off the alarm and putting a satisfying dent in its surface. All at once the music cuts off and everyone’s eyes are on her. It should be terrifying, but she’s still riding that bright burst and instead she feels a strange swell of pride. Her own cry rings in her ears, loud and shrill with a hint of a growl to it that she hadn’t known she had in her.

Someone, presumably the owner of the car, curses loudly. “Who the hell are you?”

“Your- your worst nightmare!” A ripple of laughter passes through them and, yeah, that did sound pretty stupid, didn’t it.

One of the boys peels off his mask to get a better look and as he blots his sweaty face with the front of his shirt, Soso realizes that she recognizes him.

“Don’t I run errands for your grandma?” she says. “Kyle. Kyle Farafellis, right?”

He pales. “No, that’s not me.”

“How do you think your grandma would feel about this, Kyle? Are you even drinking age? Huh?”

“Get off the car!” someone else yells.

“Shut up, you’re next!” She points. “That’s right! I know all your grandmas!”

“What are you talking about?”

Okay, so she might not be getting as much mileage out of that bluff as she hoped. Trying to keep her momentum, she instead jumps down, picks up a discarded beer can and crushes it against her head, to try and intimidate them like she’s seen on TV. The can crushes maybe half of the way, and she’s not sure but her head might be bleeding now.

“You’re crazy!” someone says.

“That’s right! I’m crazy, and I can do this all night!”

The group begins to mutter amongst themselves, things like, “not worth it” and “let’s just go” and “need to call my grandma”. Amazingly, they begin to disperse, leaving only an equally amazing mess in their wake.

After they’re gone, Soso wipes her forehead— no blood, just some leftover beer. The rush of manic energy drains from her as suddenly as it arrived and she stumbles over to slump against the steps. She sits down in something sticky and winces. She wonders how often Surehouser puts up with this sort of thing. It’s no wonder then that he keeps to himself, she thinks.

Without the light of headlights, Soso is in the dark now, squinting even under the light of the bloated yellow moon. It’s probably for the best; she’s not sure she wants to see everything that’s become of the place. The library had been her oasis, such a tranquil little place untouched by the rest of the world. Now everything, even her friend the gargoyle, had been defiled and she hadn’t been there in time to stop it.

“Enough sulking,” she chides herself. “You’re not a sulkr, you’re a fixer. Start fixing.”

She starts cleaning up the best she can, picking up and piling the trash out of the way, wiping off as much egg residue as she can with her balled up sweatshirt as a rag. She can clean it later. Or burn it, she amends when she smells the thing. It doesn’t matter.

The vandalism of the gargoyle is what hurts her the worst. She just doesn’t understand how someone can look at something like this and not see the beauty in it.

“Is it just me? Am I really the crazy one?”

The stone creature is sticky with dried alcohol and drawn on in makeup and marker. Soso wipes clean its smooth surface with gentle care, feeling her frustration boil over and turn to tears.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Surehouser wouldn’t want her touching it, but she isn’t concerned with that at the moment, although she does wish he was here just so she could know he’s alright. “I’m going to help. I won’t let them get away with this.”

It sounds like a hollow promise, even to her. What’s she going to do, wave her arms and scream some more? She’s useless. Can’t protect her friends, can’t finish her degree, can’t do anything. Her fingers catch on a crack in the stone, bringing her back to herself.

“Sorry,” she chokes out again. “This is stupid, I should’ve…” She trails off. “I don’t how to do this, how to stand up for people, how to stand up for myself. This was the only time and, and all I could think to do was make an idiot of myself. And I was still too late to even really… ugh. What a mess.”

She takes a few deep breaths. It helps, and so did giving herself a moment to vent. She shivers. Without her sweatshirt, and with her temporary burst of energy now well and truly gone, she’s starting to remember why walking around the woods on an October night in a t-shirt was generally not advised. Cold, tired, and resigned, she gathers up her things to go. The plastic shopping bag slung around her handlebars crinkles in her hands and, on an impulse, she takes out some candy and sets it down on the ground in front of the gargoyle like an apology.

“A little holiday treat, on me. Happy Halloween.” She pats its head.

With that she hops on her bike and rides away. She wobbles a bit at first, but finds her rhythm with a sniff and a wipe of her eyes. As she goes, a silence falls over the clearing. It’s a true silence, not so much as a singing cicada or the rustling of trees to interrupt it. All at once the wind picks up again, the world resumes its steady turning, and a monster made of stone reaches down and curls his clawed fingers around a single, plastic-wrapped sweet.

 --

 She returns home. Her aggravation rolls over in surrender, exhaustion on its underbelly. Phoebe is there handing out candy in her stead and looking very much like she wants to know why, but Soso makes it clear that she doesn’t want to talk about it. She kicks off her sneakers, tosses her filthy sweatshirt in the bathroom sink, and collapses on her bed with a bag of candy pulled into the crook of her neck like a pillow. It’s not her finest moment.

She manages a fitful doze until a car alarm goes off across the street, rousing her with a groan. She could happily go the rest of her life without hearing that sound. When it becomes clear that the noise isn’t going to let up, she rolls over and checks her phone. It’s one in the morning. She has a concerned text from Carmen, by way of the house group chat, and a number of email notifications she can’t be bothered to check. Is it too much to ask for the rest of the world to leave her alone for a few hours?

After nursing her bad mood with some candy, she gets up to get a drink. The house is silent this time of night but she notices as she starts back from the kitchen that the back door is open a crack. It happens, and it’s not as though they live in a notably dangerous area, Halloween hijinks aside. But as she goes to shut it she could swear she catches a flicker of movement in her periphery. She ignores the quickening of her heart and shuts the door firmly.

There are scratch marks on the door; she feels them more than sees them, little divots in the wood around the edges as if something tried to pry the door open. That cat Phoebe had been seeing around, Soso reasons to herself. She’d probably been feeding the poor thing and now it’s become dependent on her attention. Although, the scratch-marks seem a bit high for a little cat to reach, and a bit deep. A coyote maybe? A bear? That’s ridiculous though. It would have to be a pretty bold bear to wander so far from the woods, as well as a pretty smart on to avoid being detected on the one night when the streets wouldn’t be empty until long into the night.

Feeling unsettled, Soso goes to the kitchen and flicks the nearest light switch. It gives her little comfort. When she turns around, the fridge door is hanging open, swinging gently on its hinges. The car alarm is finally silenced as she adjusts to the new quiet, Soso can hear someone moving.

“Carmen?” she calls. She could be coming back from her party about now, right? Or maybe the alarm woke up Phoebe. It could even be the nocturnal wonder Nessa, who Soso had only met on a sparse handful of occasions as she came and went from her cave of a room.

“Hello?” she tries again, venturing towards the pitch darkness of the common room.

“Hello,” the darkness growls back.

She jumps and just barely holds back a scream. A looming figure moves out of the shadows and as the light falls upon his face, Soso realizes that she knows this intruder. Maybe that would be a comfort if not for the context. The strong, angular features, the dull gray skin, the horns that sprout from his sloping brow, over a face that seems caught somewhere between human and animal. A feeling like hysteria comes over her. Surely she must be losing her mind to think her friend the gargoyle is standing before her.

The monster takes another step forward and Soso scrambles back, colliding with the counter.

“Stay back,” she trembles out, caught between fight and flight as she fumbles around for something to use as a weapon.

The monster, to her astonishment, obeys. He pauses mid-step and narrows his eyes at her, assessing, then backs away. He stands in the threshold of the kitchen, his flame-bright eyes tracking her movements. They maintain this staring match for a moment while Soso slowly regains control of her breathing, and then the towering beast cocks his head to the side and asks,

“May I approach now?” He sounds strained, impatient. Soso can’t help but wonder, if she says no will he listen?

“Please don’t.”

He doesn’t. He sits back on his haunches, lowering himself until they’re almost the same height. His clawed hands come to rest on his thighs. He is naked but for the torn scraps draped over him in the vague shape of some sort of tunic, and the remnants of some petrified plant life that tangle around his forearms like shackles.

“It was improper of me to enter your home without permission,” he says, his voice a rasping baritone. “I apologize.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay then.” She feels lightheaded. Suddenly the floor is moving towards her and Soso realizes about a moment too late that she is fainting.

Something catches her right before she can rattle her skull against the tile, and that’s the last thing she registers before unconsciousness overtakes her.

[soloragoldsun]

Leo et Cygnus- Chapter 1: The Lion’s Brawl (Freezerburn Week- Day 1: Soulmate AU)

 The worst part of any performance was that hush, that moment of silence between the rising of the curtain and the first notes of music, when everything seemed to be pressing against Weiss’s inner ears and she entertained the crazy thought of just running from the stage and never looking back. Her face remained a serene mask. Only the slight fluttering of her dæmon’s wings behind her hinted at her unease.

Then, the music started. Weiss started singing. Her dæmon’s brief moment of panic was quickly forgotten by the few people who had even noticed it at all.

The song was a hymn, of course. So was the next one, and the next. When several high-ranking members of the Church were in attendance, one could expect little else. Finally, at the finale, Weiss braced herself as her dæmon leaped onto her back, clinging to the special attachment on her white dress, extending his wings slowly as she reached the final crescendo, making her look like an angel under the spotlight.

The best part of the performance was when it was happening, because it was easy to drown in doing exactly what had been practiced many times before. The second-best part was the applause, which was uproarious tonight.

The second-worst part was the aftermath, when it was time to return to Father.

Weiss took her time leaving the backstage area. A gentle nudge at her side caused her to turn and smile at her dæmon. “Well done as usual, Anmut.”

“You do most of the work,” the swan said, inclining his head. “I’m sorry I lost control at the beginning.”

“It’s fine,” Weiss assured him. “No one saw.”

Anmut’s feathers ruffled nervously. “She did.”

Weiss stiffened, knowing that Anmut was referring to her father’s dæmon. “I see.” She stroked the swan’s brow. “Well, let’s try and behave ourselves at the party, and maybe Father won’t say anything.” She didn’t have much hope for that, though.

By the time they reached the reception room, Weiss had re-applied her calm face, and Anmut was walking with a confident strut that he had grown into ever since settling into his permanent form. They approached Jacques Schnee and his dæmon, a wolf the color of cigarette ash, and bowed respectfully before taking their place at his side.

Jacques cleared his throat. “Weiss, you remember Bishop Alabastar.”

Behind the two, the gray wolf bared her fangs at Anmut, who ducked his head submissively.

“Yes, Father,” Weiss said, curtsying to the old bishop. “I hope you enjoyed the show, Bishop.” Anmut came to her side to bow to the grizzled tabby cat dæmon, who just flicked her ears and gave him a haughty glare.

The bishop smiled. “I did. Truly, you were the picture of an angel at the end. Your dæmon certainly settled into a fitting form.”

“Thank you, Bishop.” She let out a quiet breath of relief when the bishop immediately turned his attention to Whitley, who stood stock-still at Jacques other side. His dæmon had taken the form of a white wolf and was currently sitting next to the gray wolf, trying to mimic her exact pose.

“And here is the young heir!” the bishop exclaimed. “You grow taller each time I see you.” He glanced at the white wolf. “Your dæmon has finally settled?”

Whitley shook his head while Jacques let out a quiet cough. “No, sir. Demetria is still changing shape.”

“Ah.” The bishop watched as his tabby dæmon padded closer to inspect Demetria, who immediately shifted into the form of a white Persian cat and eagerly touched the other dæmon’s nose with hers. “I see. A bit unusual to have a changing dæmon at your age, isn’t it?”

“Your Honor, I’m sure this isn’t the only case of a late change,” Jacques cut in, his eyes steely. “My son certainly shouldn’t be considered ‘unusual’ so quickly.”

The gray wolf rumbled, her hackles rising. The tabby met her eyes for a full ten seconds before withdrawing, licking her forepaw.

“O-Of course, Mister Schnee,” the bishop stammered, bowing his head. “I meant no offense.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Jacques replied, his expression neutral again. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He nodded at Whitley, allowing his son to mingle on his own. Weiss, of course, was to stay at her father’s side.

“Anmut seemed a bit distressed,” he muttered as they walked. Behind them, Anmut walked sullenly, his head arched downward, not meeting the gray wolf’s piercing yellow eyes.

“It was just a moment of stage fright,” Weiss replied, refusing to place all the blame on her dæmon. “I sometimes get nervous before a performance.”

“A Schnee must always be confident when in the public eye. Do you understand?” Jacques cocked an eyebrow while the wolf snarled.

“Yes, Father. It won’t happen again.” Weiss bowed her head while Anmut flinched away from the wolf’s teeth.

“Good. Come, now. I would like you to meet the Arcs.”

This was enough to pique Weiss’s interest. The Arc family was rather infamous in the higher circles of society, especially those closest to the Church. She was surprised that they were here today.

Of course, Johann and Joan Arc were immediately recognizable. She had seen Johann’s strong square jaw and piercing blue eyes in many news articles, and the woman who gazed adoringly at him could only be his soulmate.

Soulmate. That was where the controversy came from.

As they drew closer, Weiss felt her cheeks flushing at what she saw. Johann’s dæmon, a sleek coyote, was pressing her head against Joan’s leg. Meanwhile, Joan’s sparrow dæmon was perched on Johann’s shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was the greatest taboo imaginable to touch another person’s dæmon. Only a husband and wife could be allowed such a privilege, but even then, it was rarely done in public. Then again, the idea of soulmates, along with other outdated pagan concepts, didn’t allow for things like decency.

It honestly was borderline sickening to Weiss. Imagining someone laying hands on Anmut… She took a deep breath, repressing a deeply-buried memory that desperately needed to remain hidden.

She was so focused on the scandalous picture the Arcs painted, and her own discomfort, she almost didn’t notice their son until he was right in front of her. He was smiling, though the rapid shaking of his squirrel dæmon’s tail betrayed his nervousness.

“Hi,” he said. “Er, I mean hello. I’m Jaune Arc, and this is Eliana. We really enjoyed your performance.”

Weiss could feel her father glaring at the boy. It was customary for young people in such a setting to wait to be introduced by their parents. Still, wanting to be polite, she inclined her head. “Thank you. I’m Weiss Schnee, and this is Anmut.”

Anmut was stiff and cold, which was how he usually acted around the dæmons of any men close to Weiss’s age. Still, he did lower his head enough to inspect Eliana as the gray squirrel scampered down Jaune’s side to stand on the floor in front of the graceful swan.

Jacques promptly engaged Johann in a conversation concerning the state of the Schnee Coal Mines, though the gray wolf kept her gaze fixed on Jaune and Weiss.

The young man rubbed nervously at the back of his neck, obviously out of place in this formal setting. People like the Arcs were a clear example of the fact that money didn’t always equate to class and poise. Those who had the former, but lacked the latter two, were little more than pretenders.

Though, Jaune Arc didn’t seem to be a pretender. In fact, the next moment, he quite honestly said: “I’m really not good with these parties. Think you could show me around? I mean, if you’re not busy.”

Weiss hesitated, weighing her options. The only way she could leave her father’s side was if she was in the company of a young man from one of the other invited families. Would it be wise to take this first opportunity, and likely spend the majority of the evening with this overly-eager boy, or should she wait for someone a bit shallower, but also a great deal quieter, to escort her away.

In the end, she decided that being away from the cruel, yellow gaze of her Father’s dæmon was worth whatever annoyance Jaune might bring. “You may escort me to the garden. It’s just that way.”

Jaune grinned, belatedly remembering to hold out his arm, which Weiss delicately took. Eliana climbed up his leg, up his back, and to her favorite position on his right shoulder.

Anmut suppressed an eyeroll. At events like this, smaller dæmons should wait to be picked up by their humans. Climbing in such a way was simply unsightly. He was glad that he was of a size that allowed him to easily walk alongside Weiss at all times.

Weiss, meanwhile, put on a practiced expression of mild interest as Jaune immediately started rambling. At first, she listened as he described the other parties he’d been to recently, and how the actual point of the fundraisers in question seemed to be lost in the festivities. As he started talking about the goings on in town, where he apparently had several less wealthy friends, Weiss’s attention started to wander.

The ball seemed to be a moderate success. The charity, which was for the one of the Church’s sponsored orphanages, was a very safe one to support, but didn’t have the pizazz that brought in larger crowds. There were several people her age, and even a few who were younger and still had changing dæmons. A nearby girl’s dæmon had just taken the form of a dozy golden retriever and was yawning loudly and obviously as she stood near her father, who appeared to be a scholar.

Anmut had only ever turned into a dog a handful of times, and those times had always ended with the gray wolf’s fangs digging into the scruff of his neck, shaking him mercilessly. Servant dæmons settled as dogs, and Jacques would not tolerate his own daughter imitating them!

Klein was likely somewhere nearby, serving guests, his brown and white spaniel dæmon trotting at his side. They would probably seek Weiss out when this was all over, a tray of coffee and crumbly vanilla biscotti in hand.

“And everyone’s hoping to get a glimpse of that witch,” Jaune continued.

Immediately, Weiss stiffened and turned to stare openly at her companion, her heart pounding. “Did you say witch?”

At her feet, Anmut was standing with his neck fully extended, his feathers fluffing out in agitation.

“Yeah!” Jaune said, his smile widening at the interest his statement piqued. “I heard she arrived just today. No one knows what she wants, but she’s gotten permission from the mayor to stay here for a month. Not sure where she’s staying, but people have seen her flying around on her cloud pine. I hope I can see her before she goes, even if it’s from a distance. I mean, how often do you get to see something like that, right?”

Weiss nodded, trying not to let her excitement show.

Witches were beings who lived in the far north, away from the growing influence of the Church, neighboring with the mighty panserbjørne, the armored ice bears. They rode the branches of trees known as cloud pine, and were said to have great powers of healing, prophecy, and even the ability to kill just by looking at a person. They lived for hundreds of years. Some said that they were like Faunus, and had no dæmons. Others said that their dæmons could go to the other side of the world without causing any pain or damage to either of the joined entity.

Of course, the Church had no love for the witches, largely due to the many people who fled north in order to be protected as they practiced their pagan beliefs, but there was little to be done against a group of beings so powerful. As long as they kept their business in the snowy lands of the north, it was likely that an uneasy peace between the two schools of thought would remain.

But Weiss wasn’t thinking about spells, the Church, or even the prospect of a person flying on a branch of pine. Only one word rose in her mind, a name she was forbidden from speaking out loud under any circumstances.

Winter.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

A sheen of sweat coated tanned skin; tanned skin that was stretched over lean, tight muscles that had been hardened over the course of a short but strenuous lifetime. The only sound in the small room was an occasional gasp following the meaty thump of fists against a well-worn bag hanging from a creaky ceiling, and the steady scratch-scratch-screech of claws being sharpened.

Yang Xiao Long left yet another dent in her makeshift punching bag just as the scratching stopped and a low growl urged her to go get some water. “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, wiping her brow with a dirty cloth before walking toward the door, her lion dæmon striding calmly at her side, letting out a mighty yawn as he flexed his freshly-sharpened claws in and out.

The two walked past several houses in varying states of repair until they reached the nearest public pump. As usual, there was a line.

The lion, who was named Yong Shi, rumbled a wordless greeting to the rat dæmon who was cleaning her whiskers in front of them. Her nose twitched, and she flicked her tail politely before moving forward with her human.

Yang stretched her arms above her head, twining her fingers together and pulling until she felt a satisfying crack in her back. She was already feeling good about tonight. Her energy was high, and she had eaten well (relatively) the previous day. And we’ll eat even better once I win tonight! Just one more fight in this tournament, and we’ll be rolling in money.

Yong Shi shook out his dusty mane, feeling every bit as confident as Yang. Of course, they were two parts of the same whole, one being in two bodies. Everything Yang felt, he felt, and visa versa, even during the times when one of them didn’t want to admit it. That was the way things were, and always would be.

Their turn came, and Yang took the tin cup from the loose hook on the nearby post. Using one hand, she lifted and lowered the pump handle, rinsing the cup once before filling it and taking a drink. She forced herself to sip, knowing that gulping was a bad idea when she still had training to do. The water felt like a cooling balm spreading through her blood, making her realize just how dehydrated she had become. She dumped some on her face, wiping at the grime and sweat with an even grimier, sweatier hand. At Yong Shi’s insistence, she worked the pump so that he could dip his head down, lapping at the stream and wetting his tangled mane. He stepped back, shaking droplets of water everywhere, then led the way back toward their home.

The Xiao Long house was in pretty good repair, largely because Taiyang hadn’t had to pay as much for it initially. The reason, of course, was its location: It was the last human house before the border that separated the “civilized” part of town from the infamous Faunus District.

As they drew close, Yong Shi let out a chuff of greeting as the familiar form of Blake stepped from the shadow of the house. She withdrew a small packet from her pocket, handing it to Yang. “Here. Something extra for tonight.”

Yang opened the packet, gasping as she saw the dried meat within. “Blake, don’t you need to eat?”

“I’m fine.” One of Blake’s cat ears flicked in an unconcerned manner. “There’s a lot of money at stake tonight. You need your strength.”

Yang smiled. “Thanks, Blake.” She knew it was no good forcing the issue, and that there was no real way to tell if Blake actually had eaten.

Faunus didn’t have dæmons, after all. Instead, they each had a singular animal trait, which settled on them with the coming of adulthood in the same way a human’s dæmon settled into one form. Yang was friends with many Faunus and was used to talking to people whose souls resided inside their bodies rather than outside, but sometimes she wished that her friends could have been born with dæmons. It would make them so much easier to read.

“Where’s Ruby?” she asked.

“With Sun and Ilia,” Blake said, rolling her eyes. “You know how much she loves jumping rooftops with them.”

“Yep,” Yang sighed. It would be a bit hypocritical to criticize her sister’s dangerous pastimes, all things considered. “Just don’t let Sun steal anything while Ruby’s with him.”

“Oh, he knows,” Blake chuckled. “Trust me. If nothing else, he knows what you’ll do to him if he gets Ruby in trouble.”

“Good.” Yang re-wrapped the meat, already trying to figure out a way to get some of it back to her Faunus friends, who needed it far more than she did. “Thanks for the food, Blake. I’ll see you at the ring tonight?”

Blake nodded, her eyes glinting. “Wouldn’t miss it. Later.” She walked back into her home district, quickly vanishing in the shadows between buildings that would be considered condemned and unlivable in basically any other part of town.

Yong Shi nudged Yang’s leg. “You’d better eat some of that,” he growled. “Don’t feel guilty. We can pay her back once we win tonight.”

Yang relented, taking a strip of meat and tearing it off with her teeth. She ground the meat with her back teeth, tasting cheap spices and black pepper, which overshadowed what little of its original flavor still remained. After I win tonight’s fight, she thought. I’ll buy everyone a whole goddamn chicken. Dad will roast it in the oven. It’ll be all juicy and greasy, with crispy skin and-

“Stop!” Yong Shi groaned. “You’re making me hungry!”

Yang’s stomach growled. “No kidding,” she muttered. “I guess that was a pretty fowl thing to imagine, huh?”

Yong Shi huffed. “You aren’t lion about that!”

“Do you have a beef with my fantasies?” Yang asked, waving one of the pieces of meat in the air.

“It just seems like a very jerky thing to do when we’re so hungry.”

The two laughed, Yang doubling over and putting a hand on her dæmon’s back to hold herself up. With that, most of the tension remaining in them fled, and they returned to the sweat-scented house to train some more.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Weiss stood by her door, counting the footsteps of the servants, timing the moments of silence that signaled a departure down another hallway, and waited for the sound to return again, and for an indication of where it was returning from. Anmut’s eyes were closed as he memorized every pattern with her.

Finally, taking a deep breath, Weiss slowly opened her door and slipped out. She wrapped her darkest, least conspicuous cloak around herself and pulled the hood over her head.

She waited until she knew one servant’s footsteps would be seconds from the corner, and the other would just be leaving the hallway leading to the back entrance. Then, she ran. She had changed from her heels and wore a pair of soft shoes that would be useless for repelling water, but were perfect for hiding any noise.

Anmut ran quickly, but carefully, very aware of his webbed feet and having to flutter from rug to rug in order to remain silent.

They managed to get outside without incident, and paused in the shadow of a shrubbery cut to look like a horse. Weiss placed a hand over her heart, trying to steady her breathing. Anmut pressed against her side, shaking.

Neither one of them wanted to be outside. They knew what happened when a Schnee ventured anywhere without guards. Only one thing could outweigh the years-old fear: Winter.

When Weiss was only ten, her elder sister had fled from Schnee Manor, never to be seen again. Before leaving, Winter had explained that she was going north, and that she would contact Weiss when she was able. Her snowy owl dæmon had covered Anmut, in the form of a trembling mouse at that time, with his wing. Then, they were both gone. Weiss had heard nothing since then, and her father had made it very clear that any mention of Winter would lead to the worst kind of punishment imaginable.

It was around that time when Willow Schnee’s drinking problem hit a new height. It was then that her ermine dæmon, who had apparently once been a fierce and proud creature, became sullen and withdrawn, passively allowing the gray wolf’s touch in the same way a man imprisoned was forced to accept the unwelcome advances of a lustful, unscrupulous lawman.

Now, nearly eight years later, Weiss was suddenly presented with her best chance of receiving news of her sister: a witch from the north. Even if the witch had never met Winter, she could likely find out whether or not she was alive or dead. Surely, the Church would forgive a bargain with a witch under such circumstances. Witches weren’t explicitly considered pagan, after all. At least not officially.

Still, moving was difficult. Weiss and Anmut were only able to leave their hiding place and make for the gates by being brave for each other. Weiss ignored her own fear, and focused on tending to Anmut. Likewise, Anmut refused to acknowledge his terror, and instead gentled Weiss with soft rubs of his head against her side. In that way, they reached the back gate, whose guard (along with his Rottweiler dæmon) was expectedly drunk, and made their way into town.

Once they were out, however, they realized something very important: They had no idea where to look for this witch! Did they just ask around? What reputable people would be out this late? Where did they even start?

“Let’s just walk,” Anmut urged. “We’re not doing any good standing here.”

So, the two walked down the night streets, away from the Manor and the surrounding estates, and into the town of Vale. It was like being in an entirely alien world, the strange, small houses crouching like hunting cats in the shadows, which hid piles of garbage, fences in shambles, and the occasional rat.

As they drew further from the Manor, stone roads turned to dirt, and the smell of unwashed flesh and sweat permeated the air. Weiss’s nose wrinkled, and Anmut kept checking the ground to make sure they wouldn’t step on something incredibly filthy or sharp. Weiss kept her gaze on the sky, which thankfully bore an almost-full moon.

They reached the other side of town without incident, before the sound of shouts in the distance caused them to turn down another shaded path. Already, Weiss’s nerves were at their limit.

They were drawing close to the Faunus District, where that incident had happened.

Anmut shuddered as his webbed feet walked the familiar path, but he let out a short honk of determination. They’d see if the witch was there, then turn around and go back before anyone could see them.

Weiss agreed, taking a deep breath and steeling herself for whatever they would find. Still, she was wholly unprepared when she turned that last corner and suddenly walked into air that was saturated with dirt and sweat. The smell hit her like a wall, and she brought her hand to her face.

A makeshift ring had been set up in what was clearly a garbage dump for the slummy part of town. Inside it, filthy people and filthy dæmons were beating each other senseless.

A young man swung a bandaged fist at his opponent while his wolverine dæmon shook a poor, hapless weasel like a ragdoll. The other human and his dæmon struggled and flailed, fists flying, white teeth flashing, but in the end, he collapsed and the weasel went limp in the wolverine’s jaws.

A tall, buff man who was clearly the appointed announcer, raised his hand to the sound of many cheers and boos. Weiss could see money being exchanged between spectators, and there was a stack of wooden boxes, from which a mousy woman was handing out bet money.

“No witch here,” Anmut muttered, his wings fluttering nervously. “Let’s go.”

“Gladly.” Weiss turned to leave, only to freeze in fear. A pair of Faunus was walking down the path toward her. They were talking casually and didn’t seem to have seen her.

Bile rose in her throat as she looked at their dæmon-less forms, and she ducked into the crowd with Anmut. Immediately, she realized what a bad idea that had been. The crowd pressed together in a smelly mass, not caring how close they got to the people around them. The only spaces in the crowd were where a dæmon stood near a human that wasn’t theirs, and the two instinctively stood apart. Weiss didn’t even think about breaching those spots. The taboo ran so deep, doing so would have been considered as threatening and invasive as reaching one’s hand through another person’s chest, if such a thing was possible.

She tried to move back into the open, but the crowd was surging forward, muttering eagerly. She caught snippets of “Big fight” and “Bet all my money on this one” and “Waiting for days!”

Peering over the shoulder of a shorter teen, Weiss saw what the commotion was about.

The man with the wolverine dæmon still stood in the ring, drinking water from a large metal cup. The wolverine’s beady eyes were fixed on the two figures approaching. One was a young, muscular woman with sharp eyes and leather cuffs on her wrists. The other was a lean, growling lion dæmon who seemed to have substituted any of the natural majesty or pride one would expect from his species with an extra layer of viciousness. They walked together, their strides equally predatory, their expressions equally fierce.

Suddenly, Weiss felt a spirit-deep shock go through her, as if twin lances of near-molten metal were piercing her chest and something even deeper than her heart, something deep within her dæmon, who she placed a hand on now. In that moment, she was more aware of herself than ever before, of Anmut, of her own soul undergoing tremor after tremor of a strange, instinctive yearning.

At the same time, she became intimately aware of the girl with the lion dæmon. The dirt and sweat on them became little more than a superficial layer that, when cleaved away, would surely reveal something indescribably beautiful hidden beneath. The lion was suddenly more gorgeous than the most well-groomed, exotic of dæmons. His tawny fur seemed to glow with an inner light that belied his dusty, malnourished shape. Words like “vicious” and “ragged” turned to “determined” and “strong” in Weiss’s mind.

Through it all, Weiss realized something that terrified her: She wanted, more than anything in the world, to touch the lion dæmon. She wanted to run her fingers through his dark mane, combing away the dirt and grime. She wanted to kiss his sand-colored brow and wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. Beside her, Anmut felt a similar longing, an aching need for the girl with the leather cuffs. He wanted her rough, calloused fingers to gently brush his head feathers, run down his slender neck, across his broad back…

Weiss shook herself, horrified. “Anmut,” she hissed. “We need to leave, now!”

Anmut was still shaking. He could feel Weiss’s horror battling with his desire, which was, of course, also her desire. “Weiss…”

“No, Anmut!” These are the most impure of thoughts.

The girl, though! She’s your-

Don’t even think it! Weiss’s eyes were like cold fire. Not now. Not after what happened before!

Anmut shivered as the memories returned, reinforced by Weiss’s fear. This, in the end, was what dragged him away from the front of the crowd.

But not before the lion saw him, saw them. Now in the middle of scuffling with the wolverine, he froze, suddenly forgetting where he was and what he was doing. All that was real in that moment was the small, slight girl in the cloak, a girl he suddenly wanted to protect with every ounce of his strength. At a glance, he could see a thousand warring qualities: pride, fear, determination, and a need to hide herself and her dæmon from everything around them.

Yang stumbled, feeling Yong Shi’s sudden shift in attention, letting out a gasp as she felt the wolverine’s jaws on his neck as well as the fist that hit the side of her head, causing tiny bells to ring in her brain. As she fell, she caught only a glimpse of white feathers, of dark eyes that already seemed to know her every bit as well as her own dæmon did. A deep, crushing fear filled her just as she lost consciousness.

Weiss didn’t see the fall, and neither did Anmut. They were already pushing through the crowd, desperate to get away before anything else could happen. The cloak was stepped on by someone, and Weiss’s white hair shone like a beacon in the night.

She struggled to put the hood back up, her heart hammering a panicked tempo against her ribs, when a hand grabbed her arm. She yanked herself away, Anmut hissing a warning, then stopped.

It was Jaune. His eyes were wide with surprise. He glanced once toward the ring, then back at Weiss. “Come on,” he said, seeing the fear on her face. “I’ll walk you back.”

He hurriedly led her away. Behind them, a young fighter had just lost an important match. She would wake up hours later hating herself, hating the sound of her sister’s rumbling stomach. She wouldn’t think about what had caused her to lose right away, but the lion would.

The lion would know, even if his human didn’t realize, that something far more valuable than a bag of gold from a fighting ring had just come into their lives.

~

Hey, everyone! So, back when @freezerburn-week was first announced, I was re-reading Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series, and had just finished my first read of the first book in his new trilogy, The Book of Dust. In the world of these books, humans’ souls walk alongside them as an animal-formed, usually opposite-sex, dæmon. A dæmon is both a lifetime companion, and an extension of oneself. There’s also a great taboo against touching someone else’s dæmon, though it is shown to be a pleasurable experience when two people in love do it.

That got me thinking: “What if there was a soulmate au where a dæmon knew their human’s soulmate on sight, and longed for that person’s touch?” What resulted is a world that’s a sort of hybrid between Remnant and Pullman’s England. I consider this to be more of an AU than a crossover, as none of Pullman’s characters appear here, and I made several changes to the world such as the soulmate concept, the nature of the north, and the current level of power the Catholic Church has.

This fic is a love letter to one of my favorite book series of all time, one that not only inspires me, but also shaped my own spiritual understanding of the world. I sincerely hope you give His Dark Materials, and The Book of Dust a read when you get the chance.

I quickly realized that this idea couldn’t be limited to one chapter, so this fic will be updated every Friday on my Fanfiction page, and every Thursday on my Patreon.

See you guys tomorrow! My other Freezerburn Week fics won’t be as long as this, but I’m sure you’ll still enjoy them!

[sending-the-message]

Odd occurrences while hunting in Massachusetts PART 2 by fuckbees12345

I’d like to start this post of with thanking everyone for the support and suggestions as to what the sounds were. I’m in the process of talking to more guys who have had some crazy things happen to them while camping, fishing, or hunting and I hope to come out with more soon. If you haven’t read the first one, here is the link to it below:

Part One: https://redd.it/6sbrp8

Another story that I would like to share actually happened in a different part of the state. Part of my family lives in the more Eastern parts of MA and this is a story that happened to my cousin and a few of his friends while they were camping around the Freetown-Fall River State Forest.

Many people in Massachusetts are familiar with a place called the Bridgewater Triangle. This is an area in Southeast Massachusetts where there is a lot of interesting history and a huge amount of very strange things have been happening since pilgrim times. There are a few places in particular where these things happen and one such place is the Freetown-Fall River State Forest.

For those of you that don’t know, the State Forest has a very dark past. There have been cryptid sightings, Confirmed Satanists performing rituals in the forest, and murders. Some of those murders are actually tied to said Satanists. With that being said, it is a very beautiful park with a lot to offer and I, myself, enjoy fishing and hiking in the park when I head down to visit. But this place is pretty crazy and I’m not exactly sure why him and his friends would want to camp there.

So, my cousin and his two friends went camping overnight in the woods. This isn’t out of the normal for him because he is also very into the outdoors and has a lot of experience camping and his friends are similar in that aspect. He told me that it was late June in 2011 and he and his friends were fresh out of school. They were going to be seniors in high school and were pumped about heading into summer, so like any normal teenage kids, they brought a 30 pack of Natty Ice in with them and set up camp in this clearing.

The spot, which I have been to, is in a huge stand of pine saplings that pretty much create a thick wall around them which was perfect. No one could see them but they couldn’t really see what was around them. Since they were illegally drinking, this was the best place they could find, so they pitched their tent, started a huge fire, and settled in for the night.

My cousin isn’t really a big drinker and he thinks Natty Ice is disgusting so he only had a couple beers while the other two friends polished off the rest through the night. Around 1 am is when some odd things started to happen.

First, it was a very bright night. The moon lit up most of their surroundings, but it was still very dark. Another thing to note was that there was barely any wind which made the woods pretty quiet. He kept saying that it was a beautiful night and it really sounded like it was.

It got dark around 7 pm and the guys were just hanging out listening to music, talking, joking around, etc. They had heard a few coyotes off in the distance but nothing close and they were enjoying themselves.

Around 12:30 they started to realize that they wouldn’t have enough wood to make the fire last through the night so they decided to go gather some more. One of my cousin’s friends was pretty fucked up so he stayed back at camp while the two went about 60 yards down the small trail they came in from to gather wood.

There were a bunch of blow downs there, so they started to gather logs and sticks to haul back to their camp. After about a half hour, maybe more, he said that they saw a blue light off in the distance. He noted that it was pretty weird because there weren’t a lot of people who would be wandering around a State Forest at 1 am, especially not this one. They kind of just brushed it off and started to take the wood they had back to camp with them, but both guys felt pretty uneasy about the light.

On their way back, they were still up beat and having a good time but right as they were about to head back into the cluster of pines, they heard a high-pitched scream coming from the direction of the blue light. He said that it was blood curdling and that he has never heard a scream like that before. It scared the living shit out of them so they booked it back to the site where they found their friend still hammered, and the fire still going.

Now, hearing a loud scream like that would make anyone want to get out of there, but since they were convinced it was another person, they weren’t ready to just leave them there if they were hurt. They brought up calling the cops, but they were all drinking and didn’t want to get arrested or in trouble with any of their parents. They decided that the only thing they could do was to make sure there wasn’t anyone who was in danger or hurt so they decided to go and check out the spot.

My cousin said they didn’t really have much for protection except a folding picket knife and one steak knife they were using for food, so they sharpened some of the sticks they had gathered and headed out with flashlights in hand.

At the edge of the pine saplings, they started searching for the source of the screaming but couldn’t see anything. The wandered around the area for 15-20 minutes and couldn’t see shit so they started to head back when one of my cousin’s friends saw the blue light. This time it was in a different spot, but they decided they needed to check it out before heading back to camp, so they walked closer.

They wanted to make sure they weren’t sneaking up on someone so he said that the guys started talking about guns to make it seem like they were armed with more than some pointy sticks. They got closer to the light which they found out was an LED flashlight that somebody had dropped.

Now they were fucking scared. I mean, they were definitely freaked out by the scream, but that could’ve been a lot of things and they knew that. They were familiar with the usual suspects like a fisher cat, fox, or even an owl, but now they knew it was a person.

The guys dropped the light and sprinted back to camp. They couldn’t leave all their shit or their parents would know something was up, so they just stayed the night. Needless to say, none of them slept.

Luckily, nothing else really happened until it got light again. They packed up their gear and started out. All the guys agreed not to stay any longer than they needed to, but one of the friends got curious and wanted to see if anything was around the area of the light just in case they accidentally found a fucking murder site.

When they walked up to where the light was they noticed two things. First, there was a large area that was cleared out. No leaves, no sticks, just a patch of dirt but it didn’t look disturbed. Second, the flashlight was gone.

That just added more reason to get out of there so they left in a hurry and went home. I know they all told a few people but they weren’t eager to report it to police because they weren’t sure if anything had actually happened. It was just something odd that happened and they wanted to keep it quiet.

My cousin still goes into the State Forest all the time. It’s one of his favorite places to be, but he doesn’t camp there anymore and I highly doubt his friends do either.

Thanks again guys for listening, I really enjoy sharing these family stories with you guys and I want to speak with a few more uncles who I know have some great ones from around New England, so hopefully I can post again soon. Please, let me know what you think and if you do want to hear more!