#he just “no creature is too small” and FLOODED me with compassion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bump1nthen1ght · 3 years

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Meet Cute (GN!Reader/Mothman)

Pairing: GenderNeutral!Reader/Male!Mothman

Genre: Cryptids

Warnings: Car accidents, descriptions of bruisings and pain

Word Count: 2564 words

Summary: After an incident, You find yourself in the care of a rather strange savior.

Request: Hey, long time fan, but I could never think of anything to request! I was wondering if cryptids were considered monsters here? Would you be willing to write a meet-cute with Mothman? Maybe something along the lines of them saving the reader from a disaster and sparks fly, and boy, if that's not a pun: like a moth to a flame. Mothman can be man or gender neutral, and I'd like the reader to be gender neutral! But everything is to your discretion! Have fun~! And thank you~!

He doesn’t usually do this.

As he cradles your neck, feeling the microfibers of human hair at the base of your skull and your thrumming heartbeat, it feels as if you could shatter apart in his talons. Your pupils flutter behind your eyelids, the pain of the collison definitely affecting you, even in your near-unconscious state. He sets you down on the scraps of thrown away jackets and ratty down-comforters, paying extra attention to your head and side, where splotches of purple and yellow already bloom up your ribcage. You easily fall into the warmth of the pile, snuggling into the fabric.

He sighs, anxiety decreasing as your body relaxes. Having already checked you, he thinks you should last a night before needing to go to a human hospital, just to double-check. He perches by you, tuning the ancient radio to a subtle night-time station, and waits.

Your chest flutters rhythmically, peacefully. Your features seem to shine in the firelight, catching the shadows and giving the appearance of a Baroque painting. So serene for someone just hit by a car.

He sighs.

He just hopes you won’t freak out.

-------

You wake up in a jerk, immediately filled with regret as your right side screams in pain. You clench your teeth, hand immediately checking your ribs as the memories of last night come flooding back.

You had been walking back home after a night out with your friends. You weren’t drunk, barely even tipsy, but had decided to walk the short path to your tiny house anyway. It was quick, just a 5 minute jaunt by the side of the highway and away from the bar. Just enough time for some asshole to swerve off the side of the road, send you flying, and take off without a care for the deer they assumed they just killed.

It takes a little while longer for you to process that you are definitely not in a hospital right now; Not even in your own house, or any house for that matter. A dying fire crackles nearby, the rising sun beams peaking through makeshift curtains attached to a structure of branches. You sit in a small pallet of fabric, right next to a collection of newspapers and old cctvs.

It’s ramshackle, sure, but well-loved. It doesn’t look like a permanent residence, but is lived-in nonetheless.

“Are you feeling alright?”

A calm tenor breaks the silence, causing you to shoot your eyes away from your surroundings and to focus on the person across from you.

Well, person probably isn’t the right word.

His eyes, even in the morning light, flash with red. They’re huge, set deeply into his face with very indistinguishable features. His neck is nestled into a large amount of fluff, reminiscent of winter scarf, that extends back into his large wings, which are tucked behind him. The antennas that flicker on top of his head are distinctly insect-like, but his long, muscular body and hands are more mammalian. Not human, but more similar to an animal. His hands are long and near-spindly, each finger ended with a long claw.

All these features should come together into an uncanny-valley, terror-inducing nightmare. But there’s something about his voice, the way he sits, so cautious yet concerned, that says the contrary.

“U-Uh...I think so.” You shift your body, a lightning bolt of pain shoots through your ribs and you wince. “I’ve felt better, though.” You tentatively lean down and touch your side, trying to check for a fracture without hurting yourself even more.

The creature stands up, wings still closed and kept to his back, and walks over to you.

“Would you mind if I checked your injuries? I have some experience with collisions such as yours.”

After a second, you nod. He steps closer to you, still moving at a micro-speed, and his hands slowly begin to wander up your side. You suck in a breath, but are more afraid of the potential pain than him. His slow, southern drawl reminds you of old movies and your grandpa, radiating comfort with almost every word. Plus, whatever he was, he had shown you more compassion than the human asshole who had hit you last night, so you felt a little more relaxed having him this close.

Nevertheless, he treats you gingerly, fingers just grazing your bruised side. You wince as his index finger finds a particularly dark bruise, and the creature quickly pulls back.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it just-fuck that hurt.”

The creature nods but doesn’t move to touch you again.

“Does it hurt when you breathe deeply?”

You shake your head. You had been taking calming breaths to assuage the anxiety of waking up in what might be a monster’s den.

The monster hums, a light chittering sound, like several wind chimes all at once. He reaches over to a small, nearly-rotted, medicine bag in the corner and pulls out an ancient-looking jar of pain cream. He gingerly slides it towards you. “You may try this, it might relieve the pain for a while. Although you should probably see a human doctor to see if you’ve sustained any serious damage to your ribcage.”

You uncork the cream and tentatively dab a bit on your fingers, looking up with a shaky smile to your savior.

“Uh, t-thank you. For everything-”

Growl

Your hand jerks to your stomach, face going flush as you accidentally brush against your swollen side. The creature perks up.

“I believe I have some human food. Would you like some?”

Sucking in a quick breath, trying to hide the tiny pain and your embarrassment, you nod.

The creature stands up, fumbling with the remains of a kitchen cabinet. From his hunched posture, you’d guess this tiny shelter isn’t big enough for his full height. With his long fingers, he reaches and flicks on the radio. The sounds of a local station’s jingle filters through the air as he grabs a can of beans from a shelf.

You slowly begin to rub in the medication to your side, occasionally looking up at your savior as he flutters around his den. Despite his extended limbs and large body, every movement is very similar to that of a human’s; He moves around the make-shift kitchen like a doting partner, a thought which brings a small blush to your face.

The illusion is shattered when he tears the top of the can clean off, cutting through the metal like a hot knife through butter. As he turns to rekindle the fire and start your breakfast, you quickly look back to your wound, trying to hide your curiosity.

The creature lazily stirs your breakfast as a song begins playing on the radio. The strumming bass is perfect for the morning haze, the low drawl of the singer rhythmic and relaxing. You notice the creature bobbing his head, humming along to the tune. His voice sounds slightly distorted, squeaking like the crackle of tv static. You find you quite like it.

The silence returns, filled only by the radio and the crackling fire. The creature's disposition is amicable, but you're still not sure how to initiate small talk.

“Um, thank you, again. For everything. You really saved my ass.”

The creature gestures with their hand as if to say “No problem.”

“I saw that man hit you with that car and take off. As you were hidden from the road, I thought it best I intervene.” The creature pulls off the now-cooked beans and grabs a spoon, handing the can to you. You take it eagerly, another rumble growling from your stomach. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, foregoing all table manners to scarf down the breakfast.

“If I am being honest, I don’t typically interact with humans in such a….direct manner.”

“Ah, I guess that,” You eyes do another survey of his gangly, inhuman appearance, “makes sense.”

The creature nods, grabbing an apple before sitting across the fire from you. You can tell he is tense, probably waiting with baited breath for you to come to your senses and scream. There is a small part of you that wants too, desperately, but you silence it with a large mouthful of beans. The apple is tossed back and forth between the creatures hands, his eyes locked on the fire. The curiosity of how he eats things sneaks its way into your thought process. “Do you have a name?”

The creature perks, pausing it’s movements and looking at you with its large, red eyes.

“.....I’ve heard humans call me Mothman. I think it is quite accurate.”

You nod, swallowing down another bite of beans. “Do you...like that name?”

The creature doesn’t respond, eyes still piercing into your heart. His face has a small micro-expression, but you’re not sure you can read it. “Because my brother always said first impressions are the perfect time to reinvent yourself, so I could call you something else if you wanted?”

The creature's eyes flicker, in a movement you think is slight shock, before his eyes roll back to the fire. The small light of the fire flatters the dark black of his fur (You think it’s fur?) and only accentuate his large eyes, flashing and reflecting like rubies. In his relaxed position, he sort of looks….handsome.

“You may call me Mothman. Thank you for asking.”

You nod, letting the strumming banjo of a new song on the radio fill the void. The bouncy beat has you unconsciously bobbing your head as you scoop a spoonful.

“I love this song.” You mutter, lamenting how you're almost out of food to stuff your mouth with.

Mothman hums in agreement. “Me as well, this station is my favorite.”

Given your empty bean can, you take the leap into a conversation.

“Do you have a favorite kind of music genre?”

Mothman fiddles with the stem of his apple, brow (if it can even be called that) furrowing.

“I guess I never thought of what my favorite would be. I mostly listen to whatever the radio plays, enjoyable or not. Though,” Mothman points his thumb to the radio, “I love the sound this instrument makes, though I am unsure what it is called. It’s almost like….”

Mothman’s voice begins to make a squeaking trill, one extremely similar to that of plucked strings, although much sharper and shorter.

“Oh, you mean the banjo? Uh, the one that goes like-” You try your best to imitate the chords of the banjo, unconsciously moving your fingers to imitate playing. It’s not nearly as musical as Mothmans’, but his eyes widen and he nods excitedly.

“Yes! Yes, that sound is very pleasant. I’d say any music with that in it is my favorite.”

“Ah, country, that’s a really popular one around here. Have you ever heard ‘Goodbye Earl’ by The Chicks?”

Mothman shakes his head. Your face drops in surprise.

“Oh, it’s so good, it’s about-” As you lean over to give a long spiel about the song, another bolt of pain shoots up your side, forcing you to bite your cheek so as to not cry out. You keel over your legs, clutching your rib cage.

Right, car accident.

In a second, Mothman is next to you, tentatively laying a hand on your shoulder. His fingertips just barely brush your skin, yet you can still feel a slight fuzziness, the same that covers his whole body.

“You might want to see a human doctor, soon.” You suck in through your teeth, slowly adjusting yourself back upwards. “Yeah, yeah, that’s probably a smart idea.

“I can take you as far as the end of the highway, if you’d like to call a friend or a cab.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady. Mothman’s other hand slowly moves to your other hip, only applying a modicum of pressure.

“May I help you stand up?” He almost-whispers, a hot breath of air blowing across the side of your neck as he speaks. A shiver runs down your spine as his large fingers play gently against your skin, covering a good portion of your pelvis. You’re thankful you can explain away any blush with the pain. You nod once more.

The two of you stand up gingerly, Mothman almost extending to his full height and brushing the blanket-ceiling with his antennae. You take a couple of small steps, the pain in your side taking the occasional moment to sting you.

Your eyes squint as you exit the encampment, sun already fully risen and in your face.

“If at any point you feel uncomfortable or in pain, let me know.”

You turn your head towards Mothman, but before you can ask any questions he sweeps you up in a bridal carry and extends his wings in one motion. From the corner of your eyes you can see dark red patterns that swirl on them, invisible until caught by the sunlight. Your hands instinctively lace around his neck, fingers tucking into the soft fluff of his neck. Mothman gives you a quick nod and what you think is an assuring smile

Without a word, you two take off.

----------

You two fly low to the ground, Mothman expertly maneuvering through the trees and underbrush as he glides along the highway. You’re sure if you were to drive by, he’d look like a flickering shadow in the woods, nothing more.

He sets you down by the edge of town, just out of sight of the semi-busy main street. You basically collapse to your feet, heart pounding with adrenaline and mind wracked with “Holy fuck, I just flew with the goddamn Mothman.”

“This is where I must depart. Do you think you can find suitable transportation to the hospital from here?”

You nod, still trying to wrestle your vocabulary from ‘What the fuck, Holy shit, Oh my god.’

Mothman gives you another smile and comforting nod, patting you on the shoulder.

“Very good. Good luck on your travels. Oh, and try not to be hit by any cars, alright?”

With a playful glare from you, Mothman begins to unfurl his wings and ready himself to fly back into the woods, buut before he can-

“Wait! Uh….” Mothman halts, wings still wide open. Your mouth and mind stagger, not even sure what you wanted to say. “I have some old country cassettes back at my place. If I found my mom’s old WalkMan I could….show them to you? Some time, maybe? Give you a chance to be your own radio DJ?”

Mothman’s face remains relatively neutral, but the way his antennae unfurl and his wings slightly perk upwards betrays his interest. It’s extremely adorable, like a little kid who hears the word ‘ice cream.’

“Yes, I think I would love that.”

“A-Awesome.” You breath out, not realizing how long you had held it in. “Same place, maybe next Saturday? Though hopefully I won’t be thrown in there by a car this time.”

Mothman lets out a series of squeaks, which you assume is his laugh. He gives you a thumbs up. “Cool, it’s a date.”

With the last word, you walk away, still hobbling with your probably-fractured rib, a large smile on your face.

As Mothman flies away, the cold wind of a West Virginia morning blowing across his body, he can’t deny the certain warmth that radiates from his chest.

I have a date.

#my writing #mothman #monster x reader #monster romance #gender neutral reader #reader insert #mothman x reader #fluff #cryptids

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legguk · 3 years

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Hi!! So,

it's my ( literal ) first time writing fanfiction, so I'm pretty new at this stuff, but Lady Dimitrescu is all I was able to think about for weeks and I >needed< to do something about it.

( If you want some context, I wrote this thinking “what if Alcina survived?” - Alcina's pov )

———

The fall,

The end of everything you once loved

Ethan Winters.

You woke up... somehow, you woke up. The frigid air hitting your fresh wounds felt like a jolt send by reality, as if one says "you're still alive" -

- and oh how you were starting to hate that feeling.

Laying on the demolished floor of your castle, muscles twitching in pain, mouth open gasping for air... that's how you are, how you will remember yourself from now on. A defeated dragon, a crushed woman, a dead mother.

You should get up, you should let go of your carcass and crawl your way back into the warmth of your home, you should—

—you should be dead, actually. Resting on death's cold embrace along with your daughters.

Daughters.

God, your daughters.

The memories flood your mind with a painful, unbearable reminder; they're gone, dead, crystalized - gone. They're gone. Your lovely daughters, your pride and joy, the main reason you'd open up your eyes in the morning...

...Bela,

Cassandra,

Daniela....

Their names are long cold, not yet forgotten - no, never forgotten - but somewhere else, as they don't belong here anymore; not on your arms, tucking them to bed. Not on your hands, caressing their faces. Not on your lips, kissing their foreheads. Not on your tongue, as you say them.

A raspy scream leaves your throat, it sounds disturbing.

You sob, hot tears trailing down your cheeks and neck, small cries for help find their way into the wind, disappearing with less importance then when they materialized.

You cannot recall for how long you stayed at that very same position, perhaps some hours, perhaps a day, but you are certain that at some point you were overcame by tiredness and collapsed - probably the best to do for now.

xxx

And so, rises the moon and the stars watch upon your limp body, the night howling a merciful wind and singing a melodic song. Grunting, you push yourself up with your elbows, sitting up and facing the sky through the hole you've made on the roof... and the levels above...

A huge carcass sits besides you, it's wings bended on itself and it's big mouth open to whoever would like to have a peek; you probably changed back into your normal body while unconscious... Now that you can see it clearly, you notice the damage that man-thing did to you... by heavens, how were you still alive and...

Oh. The castle. You look forward, taking in the horizon - the stars look exclusively shiny tonight - you breath in, the dusty air causes you to chough a few times. Stretching your neck a bit to see your whole house, you tell yourself it looks.. fine, actually, ignoring the broken windows. The broken windows.

It's cold. You shiver harshly, panting as the air meets your bare back and rumbles through your lungs, making you hug yourself, - you're naked, you just realized - the winter in Romania is truly kind to no one.

Your legs tremble with just the thought of trying to stand on your feet. You don't rush to do it either, let the wintry breeze take in your wounds, make it sting, burn it, freeze it; freeze your body along.

“To die. To die is to live. To live without them, that's torture. To live without their presence, absent of their scents, to not hear them, nor see their faces again, that's worse than death; far, far worse. How could I ever walk into that damned house without the heavenly sounds of their laughs, the tapping of their feet as they walk free, the steadiness of their heartbeats, reminding me that my own still beats.

Beats for them. For them only.

And they're gone.

So who shall my heart beat for? Myself? No, that wouldn't do. I will rip it out from my chest if I must, sacrifice it to any god who may hear me, all so I could spend five more minutes with them. Then I'd die in peace and find them at my arms again at whatever comes after this poor life.

But I'm here.”

You still hold yourself as you stare at a castle's - broken - window, new warm tears hanging the same trail the old and now dry ones did, a silent cry.

Your intrusive thoughts were abruptly cut by a loud noise from the inside of the castle, making you jump up, gathering all your last strengths to stand and walk a few shaky steps closer to home. The more you walked, the louder the noises got; a little rustle became a bang, and your tiptoing became a sprint, you hold yourself as tight as you can, ignoring the bleeding, the cold air spiking your lungs, how insanely fast you heartbeat was. You need to get there, protect the last remnant of them you still have.

The gates felt heavy now, even for you, who would open them with one hand. Where is your strength now? The fearless dragon who'd do anything to protect her house? Perhaps she died on that fall, and now all there's left is a shadow of what you were one day.

With much pain, you open the big doors, leading to the comfort of your house; you don't get in, you throw yourself in. The warm atmosphere engulfed you like a summer kiss on a winter storm, all you needed to ground yourself to reality for now. Grabbing some sheets laying over an old counter, you wrap yourself in it – oh, that's gonna get soaked in blood, but that's not of your concern now – moving incredibly fast for someone as hurt as yourself, you follow the continuous sounds that could not mean something good. The main doors are open, the cellar is unlocked as well, that idiotic man-thing couldn't even close the doors once he finished slaughtering your home? Imbecile.

You stand at the library's door now, suddenly frozen; you know what happened in there... do you really want to get in? Are you truly ready to face it again? Maybe you should take a step back and walk away, it would be the most logical decision to take now.

But what is logic when the heart screams? What is the brain for once your emotions take the best of you? You can't walk away. Put some honor on your name. Save the last bit of your daughter that fate is still conceiving you. Your chest rises and falls completely out of coordination, your fists close around the fabric involving your body; get ready, you're going in; gather the last bit of courage you have inside yourself and blast these doors.

And so you do.

You bring those pieces of wood to the ground, the only barrier between you and the reality you couldn't accept; a guttural growl forms in your chest as you see a lycan approach your child's crystalized body; you're blind with ire, sorrow, protectorship - you name it - and it makes you shout at the top of your lungs as you dilacerate the filthy beasts you'd bat your eye at. A bloody trail of corpses marks your way through the castle grounds, your claws dripping with fresh sanguine fluid - which you can't tell if it's from the creatures or from yourself - the crimson path follows you all the way to the other wing of mansion like a spirit who must haunt you for eternity.

You scream like a feral animal, blood soaking the once white cloth around your form; the scream becomes a shriek, which descends to a yelp, ending as a furious cry. You can feel the anger leaving you, like the waters of a waterfall; explosive, big portions of water falling into a numb, deaden lake. Hopefully those waters will carry you with them, you shall fall and sink at a anesthetizing lagoon.

You kneel, eyes closed, eyebrows frowned; a loud sigh fills the deafening silence in the air, your mind is blank – better, your mind is red, scarlet red mixed with black, ire and grief. Slowly, your head lower itself so you're facing the floor.

The big Lady Dimitrescu,

kneeling on a pool of blood, defeated.

•

“Lady Dimitrescu!”

Who..? The voice was so far yet so close, you try your best to focus on the direction of the calls but your nerves just won't cooperate.

“Lady!”

Who would be calling for you? Is your mind playing tricks on you now? And since when you were laying on the floor? Too many questions for too little answers. You try to stand up, but a sharp pain on your side made you cry out and fall on your back, face knotted in pain – perhaps your adrenaline rush was keeping you from feeling what was really happening with your body, and now you feel like you're betraying yourself for that.

A small figure approaches you in a fast pace, causing you to unleash your claws one more time and snarl at the not-so-possible threat; you were hurt. Vulnerable. Letting someone close was the last thing you wanted now. The humanoid thing backs away a few steps with your aggressive reaction, hands on their chest, visibly afraid – even though your vision is quite blurry, you identify their expression: scared, desperate, sorrowful – they call out once more, almost shouting.

“Please, Lady Dimitrescu, let me help!”

Ah... Help... The now clearer feminine voice washes over you - a wave of compassion - as if hope has found its way to your house again. Well, it better go away again, or you'll drag it out yourself.

“Out.” was all that left your lips, your intense gaze locking with hers, a silent yet not so discrete warning; although you had only said one word, it was well understood by the woman, who stepped away, eyes still meeting yours, a dreadful cast hang on her face.

Still, she didn't left.

Is that girl testing her luck? It can only be. Once again you warn her: “Leave. I will not repeat myself.”

Her posture stiffens, after a moment of silence she looks at the door, truly wondering about leaving or not; her body turns around, her knuckles going white from how hard she was grabbing the fabric on her chest – she's conflicted. But why? Who is she, after all? – A long, defeated sigh leaves her, as if she knows there is no choice left.

“Allow me to help.” A failed effort on trying to sound confident; her voice is full of tears and her tone is oscillating – it makes you wonder if she has been crying – The human walks towards you, trying not to make any eye contact; you can't stand on your feet, you left hand is pressed on your injured side, the other is open and directing your now extended nails towards her.

Oh how funny it is, no?

The predator being cornered by the prey. The dragon being trapped by the rabbit. How ridiculous it is.

Her extremely shaky hands hang in front of her, trying to say she won't hurt you – oh if she only knew it's going to be the other way round. – One step closer.. Her lips and chin tremble; Another. Your claws grow bigger, eyes peering through her soul; another step, your eyebrows frown, her eyes are teary. The last step - your blood is boiling hot, your nerves on edge; you are still the predator. - a slicing sound and a half-scream saturate the air for a millisecond, just for silence to overfill it once more. Red splashes over the room again, on your face, on your chest, but mostly on the floor, where the girl was thrown at.

An agonizing scream leaves her throat - what a miracle, she remains alive - both of her hands cover her face, blood spilling all over her; what a sight, you would most definitely enjoy this very much on another situation. She cries out in despair, making you face the ceiling and close your eyes, a tired look on your face – you just want all this to end, you don't have any more patience for this. You want to crawl back into your bed and starve, you want to destroy this place, make it abandoned ruins of what one day was a home; you want to kill that damned sickening man-thing, kill this foolish girl for perturbing your grieving, and then yourself.

The woman captures your attention once again, she is kneeling, her body facing yours, her right hand presses her ripped face, the other makes its slow way up to you, although she is trembling, she manages to keep her hand steady enough to hand you a little green flask with a yellow-y label; You look closer, 'treatment disinfectant' it says... Oh you can only be joking. You feel like slaughtering the girl right this instant, but takes in a deep breath and holds the flask, her hand immediately falling along with her body. Is she dead? No, her slow yet consistent breathing exclaims that she is still alive – you honestly find it a bit offensive – You should, but you cannot bring yourself to finish the human; you should end her suffering, but now she caught your attention; and besides, she wants to help, doesn't she? then the price she'll pay is staying alive.

———

hahaaa I'm so nervous about posting this,,, ,

and yes! It is a alcina x maiden fic! I do plan it to be slow burn, and if some you liked it and read it till here, please like and/or reblog and I'll post chapter 2!

( posted on Ao3! Name: “The woman in your castle” )

( chapter 2 posted!! )

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #help idk what im doing

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carewyncromwell · 2 years

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Barnaby 🤝 Carewyn

Requested by @dat-silvers-girl

Early one Saturday morning, Barnaby came doubling back to find Carewyn in the Great Hall, sporting a bruise on his chin but looking more excited than she’d ever seen him.

“Carewyn!” he called over brightly. “Hagrid and I rescued a new creature in the Forest last night! Hagrid’s just found it a permanent place at the Preserve -- you’ve just gotta come see it!”

Carewyn agreed, but only after quickly packing up some sausages and pieces of toast in a napkin so that she and Barnaby could eat on the way. Good thing too -- Barnaby had been so excited he’d completely forgotten to get any breakfast.

“So what sort of creature is it?” asked Carewyn.

“You’ll see!” Barnaby said as he bit into one of the sausages Carewyn had packed. “Hagrid thought it should be a surprise. But you’ll absolutely love him, Carewyn -- he’s so cute! His little mouth tentacles and his teeny little four-toed hooves...”

“Mouth tentacles?” repeated Carewyn. After a moment, she realized, “You and Hagrid found a Graphorn?”

“Yeah!” said Barnaby eagerly. He then immediately flushed. “Oh...guess I ruined the surprise...”

“Of course not,” Carewyn reassured him. “It’s a lovely surprise. I’ve never seen a Graphorn before, except in books...and if you and Hagrid have been working with him, I’m sure he’s wonderful.”

Barnaby brightened up. “Well, Grappy -- that’s what I’ve been calling him, Grappy -- he’s still a little skittish...not used to being around people, I think. He seems a bit more comfortable around me than Hagrid, just because he’s so big, but I think he’ll really like you. You’re both small and sweet!” he added with a boyish grin.

Carewyn bring a hand up to her mouth to hold in a giggle. “I guess Grappy feels most comfortable when he’s the biggest thing in the area?”

Barnaby looked thoughtful. “Mm, I wouldn’t say that. I reckon it’s more because of that mountain troll -- he captured him to try to make him into a steed, see.”

A combination of empathy, compassion, and righteous anger flooded through Carewyn. “That’s horrible!”

Barnaby nodded. “Yeah -- I had to duel the troll, just to get him to back off. But anyway, I think that’s why Grappy likes people on the smaller side. Prefers them to be a bit closer to his own size...”

Carewyn frowned. “His own size? But aren’t Graphorns supposed to be -- ?”

At that very moment, though, they arrived in the dry, desert-esque portion of the preserve that was their destination. And waiting for them just on the other side of a cluster of rocks was Hagrid, standing a short ways away from not one but two bizarre-looking creatures with four-toed hooves and twitching mouth tentacles, who were sitting together close by. The first was easily three times the size of the second and seemed to be giving him a bath, grooming his head with her tentacled mouth.

Carewyn’s heart swelled up with delight as both of her hands flew to her mouth.

“Oh!” she whispered, her voice coming out much higher and girlier than usual. “It’s a baby!”

Barnaby was grinning from ear to ear. “Yup!”

Hagrid was very pleased by her reaction too. “Carewyn, meet Babar -- tha’s the mum -- named her ‘fore I found out she was female...and lil’ Grappy! Me an’ Barnaby here found him stuck with a mountain troll in the Forest, ‘fore we rescued ‘im.”

Carewyn approached very slowly and carefully, not wanting to spook the mother Graphorn or her baby. Babar watched Carewyn approach very mistrustfully, even as little Grappy perked up his head to watch her.

“Be careful, Carewyn,” Hagrid warned her. “Graphorns are generally aggressive at firs’. Best come at ‘em nice and easy.”

Carewyn nodded. “Do they like direct eye contact or not?”

“Only if they’re used t’ it,” said Hagrid. “Young Graphorns, and Graphorns raised in captivity, yeah, they’re okay if yeh look at ‘em straight-on...with Mama, though, I’d say keep those eyes low, at least ‘til she’s used t’ yeh.”

Carewyn nodded again, keeping her focus solely on Grappy instead of Babar. The little Graphorn definitely seemed to like that he could look Carewyn in the face without having to crane his neck up. Babar, however, gave a sharp, abrupt bellow, making Carewyn quickly move back and Hagrid sweep forward protectively and throw his massive hands up like a shield.

“Easy, girl,” Hagrid told the mother Graphorn. “Easy -- Carewyn’s a friend...no need to worry...”

Babar glared distrustfully at Carewyn. Carewyn was careful not to keep too pointed of eye contact.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice incredibly calm despite how fast her heart had pounded, in response to the Graphorn’s aggression. “After what happened to her baby...I don’t blame her for being protective of him.”

“Maybe if I coax Grappy over with some food, we can show Babar you don’t mean him any harm!” Barnaby offered.

Hagrid beamed. “Tha’s a swell idea.”

He handed Barnaby a bag of what looked like dead moths. Without flinching in the slightest, Barnaby took the bag, bent down, and started tossing some over toward Grappy and Babar.

The baby Graphorn gave a happy little gurgle, picking up each one with his mouth tentacles so he could gobble them up. Babar watched her baby like a hawk, still keeping a very close eye on Carewyn standing just behind Barnaby.

“Hey, Carewyn?” said Barnaby. “Why don’t you try singing something too? Creatures always seem to like it when you sing to them.”

Carewyn smiled. “Okay.”

I guess me singing while you feed him would give it a positive association, she thought to herself.

Carewyn settled herself primly down next to Barnaby on the ground, smoothing the creases in her wide A-line skirt out as she did so, before turning her focus back to the little Graphorn Barnaby was feeding.

“You and I must make a pact -- We must bring salvation back -- Where there is love, I'll be there...

I'll reach out my hand to you -- I'll have faith in all you do -- Just call my name and I'll be there...”

Barnaby glanced over his shoulder at Carewyn, smiling broadly. He clearly liked the song she’d chosen, even if he most definitely had never heard it previously. Carewyn grinned back.

“And ohhhh...I'll be there to comfort you! Build my world of dreams around you -- I'm so glad I found you! I'll be there with a love so strong -- I'll be your strength... I'll keep holdin' on...”

Grappy had reached Barnaby and was now eating moths right out of his hand. Barnaby stroked the top of the little Graphorn’s neck to praise it, looking from it to over at Carewyn with a larger grin than ever. The calm in the baby’s expression gave Carewyn enough confidence to reach out and let Grappy sniff her hand too, before gently trailing it along the top of his tiny horned head. His skin was rubbery and hairless, but Grappy gurgled contentedly at the attention all the same.

“Well done, Carewyn!” said Hagrid, looking delighted. “Looks like Grappy likes yeh!”

Carewyn beamed. “Well, I like him too.”

Barnaby’s green eyes had to squint to a third of their usual size, just to make enough room for the huge grin that had overtaken his face. “I knew you would!”

Babar settled her head down on her front legs and diligently watched as the two red-haired, green-tie-wearing humans lavished food and attention on her baby.

These two didn’t seem so bad, she seemed to think. She wouldn’t have to impale them on her horns right away.

Friendship Drabble Prompt!

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #friendship drabbles #barnaby lee #carewyn cromwell #rubeus hagrid #my writing #god I love these two so much!!#yay for creature buddies :')#also of COURSE carewyn would like the graphorn and her baby -- she's a mama bear herself!!

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shewastheheart · 3 years

Text

A/N: Absolutely AU.

She thought her nerves would be rioting in her stomach, her heartbeat picking up the closer she drew to the edge of the cliff, the edge of her life. But that's what has finally led her here, isn't it? The lack of feeling?

Her son is gone; the home of her body emptied of his presence, her arms too. There's nothing left, nothing to live for.

She's left her home, her family, her abuser. Ran away with the naive idea that she and her newborn child would have a new life together, a fresh start.

She was a fool. How could she ever believe that a new life was meant for her?

Her eyes sting, but the tears don't come. She thinks she's emptied of those too.

Esme takes another step forward, the wind whispering along her neck, coaxing her forward, the waves calling her to join in their crash against the rocks below.

This life was never meant for her, she knows that now.

The breath shudders past her chapped lips.

This was inevitable.

She's balancing on the true edge now, all she has to do is lean forward. Her bare toes flex in the grass for one last time, her heart accelerating ever so slightly as she finally lets go and falls forward.

One moment she's falling and the next, she is not.

Esme's eyes flutter open, her brow furrowing at the grey sky above, the sound of waves still all around. Something is holding her, a cool embrace carrying her.

"I didn't even feel it," she mumbles, glancing up to see what has her. Only to realize it is a who. "Dr. Cullen?"

She remembers him vividly from her youth, those beautiful golden eyes, the perfectly combed blond hair, the compassion that radiates from his very presence.

She has always struggled with her belief in God, but if this is her escort to the afterlife, she has to say she appreciates His thoughtfulness. Her childhood doctor from a decade ago is as close to angels as she ever came.

But her guardian angel... he doesn't look happy with her at all.

"What were you doing?" he whispers. The clutch of his hands under her knees, at her shoulder, where he's carrying her, tightens. "Why would you... what were you thinking?"

Suddenly, she is struck by the idea that maybe she is not yet dead after all.

"Did you save me?" Esme hisses, eyes tearing from his gaze to look around them. They're standing on a cluster of rocks amidst the ocean, beneath the cliff. Where she was supposed to land. "How did you... why?"

She looks back at him, torn between the urge to sob and smack him.

"Why?" he questions incredulously. "Ms. Platt-"

"You remember me?" she cuts in, shaking her head and shifting in his grasp.

He quickly sets her on her own two feet. An involuntary shiver wracks her bones as her bare toes touch the frigid surface of the rock, the chilled spray of the waves licking at her calves.

"Of course, I remember you, I - you were my patient."

"Ten years ago," she argues, gripping his waist when her knees threaten to give out as the leftover adrenaline floods through her. "Dr. Cullen, I-" The tears do come now. What has he done? How could this have happened? "You can't, this isn't - please, god, please" she chokes out. "Let me die."

She bows her head, letting it come into contact with his chest. The idea of continuing on, of living with it, with everything... she can't.

"Shh, Esme, please," he whispers and she realizes she's sobbing, ugly and painfully into the sweater against her forehead. "I couldn't. I couldn't. I'm so sorry."

His hand gently touches the back of her head, skimming deft fingers through her tangled hair. Her body threatens to shudder at the touch, jerk away from it, but... it's the first time in so long that someone has treated her with such care, such gentleness. With something that promises he won't hurt her.

Carlisle didn't think about the next move, what to do after he saved her.

She cries herself into silence, her face red and her eyes swollen. Numbed. She remains leaning against him, a series of small tremors rippling through her body every few seconds.

"Ms. Platt," he calls to her, scared to move, to spook her. "Is there somewhere I can take you? I... we're a bit of a long way from Ohio, do you have family here now?"

Her breath catches, her chest shuddering as she shakes her head.

"No," she rasps, barely audible above the crash of the waves around her. He really needs to get her back on dry land, away from the waters and the god-forsaken cliff she tried to jump from. "He's gone."

"He?" Carlisle repeats softly.

Esme lifts her head, her cheeks tear-stained and her lips still trembling. "My son, Dr. Cullen. I... I just had a baby and he didn't make it. I couldn't even save my baby."

Her shoulders collapse and she wraps her arms around herself, trying to keep the shudders of her body contained.

If he had a heart, he thinks it would have stuttered in his chest, cracked for her.

"Oh, Esme," he exhales, relishing the rare sound of her name in his mouth. "I'm so sorry... let me get you out of here. Let me take you somewhere safe and you can tell me more about all that has happened."

"Safe?" she echoes, a feral spark of something dark registering in her gaze. "Charles."

Her spine stiffens and she instinctively moves closer to Carlisle. She's afraid, he notes, afraid of this Charles person.

"No one is going to hurt you," he swears, but there is more than mere comfort in the words. He means it.

Esme blinks and shifts her attention once more to his face, but this time, it's as if she's truly seeing him for the first time. Her brow creases, confusion tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"How can this be real? How... could you have possibly-" Her head tilts back, eyes flicking from the cliff above their heads and back to him again. "How could you have stopped me?"

He doesn't know how to answer, how to possibly begin to cover the truth.

He doesn't really want to.

Carlisle carefully takes one of her hands in his own, squeezing it with the most minuscule portion of his strength.

"I'll show you, but you have to trust me. I know it's asking so much-"

"I do," she interrupts, those glassy eyes staring up at him with far more trust than he's ever deserved. Her brow furrows a little, as if the concept is simple. "I trusted you then, I trust you now."

"Then hold on."

Esme is still clinging to his neck even though they've been back on the ground for at least five minutes now.

"I'm so sorry I've frightened you," Doctor Cullen tells her for what has to be the third time, but sounding no less earnest.

After he picked her up and practically flew from the outcropping of rocks amidst the sea, rising from the surface of the ocean's edge to the dry land up above, he had carried her to a nearby fallen tree, gingerly placed her to sit upon the trunk. It's how they've remained in the last few minutes, with his mouth murmuring a stream of apologies and his body leaning over hers, bowed by the latch of her arms, but not seeming to be taxed by the position.

She is supposed to be dead, broken like waves against the rocks and carried out to sea. Instead, she is sitting with a man with... with what? Superhuman abilities? A devil in disguise of a beautiful man?

"What are you?" she finally manages to ask, pushing past the stiffness in her arms to relinquish their hold.

Doctor Cullen bows his head, his eyes falling closed as if in prayer.

"I'm afraid that it may come as an even greater fright to you."

She swallows hard. "You do not seem to mean me any harm. Unless you have only saved my life to torture me further."

His head lifts immediately, his eyes stricken as they land upon her. "No, never. I may be a monster, but I couldn't... my intention could never be to hurt you."

The intensity has her taken aback, but she holds his gaze. "A monster?"

It certainly isn't a word she would have associated with the soft-spoken doctor beside her. She can still remember with clarity the way in which he treated her ten years ago, with delicate hands and a genuine smile, eyes that held hers for a moment too long.

She never managed to forget him, more than likely because Charles made her wish even more for the first man to ever make her heart skip. She could never help thinking how she wished it had been him she exchanged vows with. Esme always managed to convince herself that Doctor Cullen would have healed her wounds, not bestowed more upon her.

"I am sure you have heard certain myths, legends of immortal creatures?" he begins, lowering to sit near her, leaving a large gap of space between them.

Esme nods, childish tales of magical sea creatures and monsters under the cloak of darkness in the woods flittering across her brain. "Some."

He twines his hands together between his knees. "What about vampires?"

It takes a moment for the correlation to register, what he's trying to tell her.

"I am... impossibly fast, incredibly strong. There is little in this world that could truly hurt - let alone kill - me," Doctor Cullen continues. "I'm dangerous and it would serve you best to stay far away from me."

Her head is spinning so fast that she has to squeeze her eyes shut, nearly buries her face in her hands, but wait-

"Stay away from you?" she repeats, meeting his forlorn expression staring back at her. As if waiting for her to react with the utmost amount of fear and hatred towards him.

And perhaps she should, if what he is saying is true and not some post suicide hallucination of hers. If her former doctor is actually a vampire.

"I do not... feed on humans," he tells her quickly. "I survive only on the blood of animals, but I am aware it does not change who I am, what I am. I could never expect-"

"I know you won't hurt me," she breathes, her swollen eyes feeling heavy, her entire body weighed down by exhaustion and a fresh wave of despair. "Can you take me to the place you spoke of, to safety?"

"Of course," he answers, rising in what feels like a flash. "And Esme?"

Before she realizes what is happening, he is easing his arms beneath her legs, the curve of her spine, and carrying her bridal style against him once more.

She hums in response, giving up on the idea of remaining conscious any longer and leaning into the wall of his chest against her cheek instead.

"Please, call me Carlisle."

Her lips quirk. This has been quite a lovely dream.

To continue with the full story that will follow this first chapter, I hope you’ll consider finding this little story on FFnet. :)

#twilight fanfiction #esme cullen #carlisle cullen #carlisle x esme #esme x carlisle #carlesme #twilight #fanfiction #my writing #lover of mine

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morganas-pendragons · 4 years

Text

It’s A Long Way Down | D.D.

gif by @bestintheparsec

I was never planning on posting something on Tumblr during No Content November, but this idea has been stuck in my head since I saw Mando 2x03 and on top of that, people kept tweeting ideas on Twitter and now this thing is born... be gentle. I’ve been hesitant to write for him since I started the show last year. I played a little bit with what we know of Din’s past for the sake of this plot.

Without further ado, hurt/comfort galore! 2x03 spoilers!

Please let me know what you think!

tag: @earthtokace / @dindjarindiaries / @kyber-queen

***

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Drowning.” He replies, soft and quiet as he processes the last three days in the midst of the silence. “Almost drowning.. and thinking about how you’d cope when I was gone.”

If I was gone.

Maybe the world would be better off. That’s what Din thinks. That thought lingers for a split second in his mind until he sees the desperation in your aspect and how you need him to understand that this world is a better place with him in it.

The Watch didn’t allow him attachments. They didn’t allow him to feel. He was a warrior.

He was a warrior, and the entrance of you and The Child made his hardened heart soft.

Din has never liked the water.

When he’d been taken in by the Mandalorians and had sworn his Creed, the one thing they had drilled into his mind for his entire childhood was that he was a warrior. Warriors knew how to fight, how to survive, how to endure.

A Warrior who did not dare show his face. This was The Way, and the way kept him safe.

The one thing he could never quite master as a Foundling was enduring the water. To stop the way his lungs seized, how panic overtook him, how he just stopped.

Din didn’t like the water, and Din had never really learned how to breathe.

Then he’d met you. You - the one person he could admit to loving, to admiring from a distance because he has his Creed and you have some kind of Code you live by - and your devotion to both him and The Child has slowly eased the ache in his chest, cracked open his ribs, and taught him a different way of breathing.

Slow, steady, easy. He’s never known life to be that way.

***

There is no Light without the Dark.

Through passion, I gain focus.

You had run across Mando just after the end of the Empire. You’d seen that Death Star explode with your very own eyes and had declared that your final mission with The Rebellion, in which you bid a tearful farewell to Luke and Leia and made your way into the galaxy.

A vast galaxy.. alone.

You and Luke had very differing views on the Jedi Order as a whole and in that difference, you’d taken two different paths. You had followed the Code of the Grey Jedi, and Luke had taken to the Jedi Code.

That Code had carried you through alot of darkness.

Through knowledge, I gain power

Through serenity, I gain strength

The Clone War had introduced you to the concept of Mandalorians. You’d never really had the pleasure to meet one as you’d always been on different fronts a distance from the Dream Team, but you knew of them. You knew they carried a Creed the same way you did.

What you didn’t expect was the extent in which The Mandalorian did. The two of you had met in a cantina only days after he’d taken on The Child, and his claim for knowing where to find you on Sorgan was whispers of a rogue Jedi who’d left the Rebellion to seek peace.

Peace was what you found, contrary to popular belief. Compared to being a part of the Jedi Order, being with The Mandalorian was the most peaceful thing you’d done in over a decade.

Through victory, I gain harmony

You’d been raised around Yoda, so you were familiar with the species, but past that.. You were as clueless as Din was.

You stowed your lightsabers away and that part of your life with it. You left behind the title of Jedi and put all of your efforts into taking care of The Child. Into taking care of Din.

That was easier said then done.

There is only The Force.

***

I wasn’t supposed to fall in love.

That’s all he is thinking as he stands examining the vast waters of the ocean the two of you sail on with the Quarren crew. Your fingers are curled in the direction of The Child’s pram, and he’s giggling as he tries to maintain control of his body while you spin him.

It’s the first time he’s seen you smile in weeks. It’s always small ones too. He looks forward to the first time he’s granted the opportunity to see a real smile.

It had taken you a while to open up to him about your time with the Jedi. You’d barely been a padawan when The Order’s genocide had been in effect, and the greater majority of your life had been lived in fear. Your Code and your Lightsaber were your only guide until Leia had found you and recruited you into The Rebellion.

All your life you’d been looking for a purpose, and she’d given you one.

Being here with The Child - caring for him, teaching him, had given you a new purpose - and being with The Mandalorian had taught you a newfound sense of compassion for people raised as he had been.

Your compassion and heart had won him out in the end. He’d admitted to being in love with you months ago, but he had yet to vocalize it. He would. He will.

It happens so fast. One minute the two of you are smiling - even though you cannot see his own - about The Child’s reaction to the Mamacore, and the next minute you’re roaring with rage as his pram is shoved into the center of the cage and he’s forced to retreat inside for fear of being killed.

He’s a child. A child who’s been too involved in death, in seeing death, in flirting with death.. and Din has had enough of it.

Din Djarin doesn’t like the water. He doesn’t like how it weighs him down, how it threatens to suffocate him, to fill his lungs with something cruel and cold that replaces the warm fire that floods his veins that has been placed there by you.

“You’re-You’re a Jedi?”

“Push him down! Harder!”

His world is illuminated in a flurry of blue light as the Quarren’s keep pushing him down under, down down down and his first thought is ner jeti.. i’m sorry. He’s sorry that he’s again put you in this position where you’ve had to reveal yourself, reveal who you are, and all to protect him and The Child.

Failure.

He’s a failure.

Between you and the trio of Mandalorians that arrive shortly after, the Quarren’s are dealt with in a matter of moments and then he’s being lifted - his lungs are reactivating, are expanding and contracting to remind him that he is alive - and he collapses in the midst of wheezing his concern for the child.

“The Child! Help-Help The Child!”

The Mandalorian on the left dives into the water to rescue The Child from the creature. You turn your attention away from the bodies and sheath your sabers before kneeling in front of Din to assess him.

“The Child-” He rasps, because his thoughts are never on himself, only you and The Child. His life doesn’t matter if it means the two of you are safe. “Jeti, ner ad-”

Jedi, my son.

Your gentle hand on his knee is enough to capture his thoughts. Your way of evaluating Din’s state has never been through the physical sense, but the mental. He doesn’t know how to shield because The Jedi was a foreign concept to him until he met you, and he’s always been receptive to your gentle nature. You don’t need to talk. You never have.

You look.

His mind is a flurry of panic and fear as you gently soothe it into a peace that makes his whole body go lax as Koska breaks the pram shell in half and gently scoops out the baby. “Here you go, Brother.” Koska murmurs, watching from beneath her helmet as you stand to your feet and allow Din to reunite with The Child he claims not to have an attachment to.

Yeah... okay.

Din and Bo-Katan converse - in which he is given an inexplicable truth about himself that he's not quite sure how to process - and he shuts down the idea of them even being real Mandalorians because their way is not his way. It’s a whole new reality he’s never had to face before.

“You are a Child of The Watch.”

And as you stand there, you take in the distress in which the man you love - and have yet to tell - is trying so desperately to hide.

***

His panic bursts through the surface when you unsheathe your sabers in the hall that connects and run right into the line of fire, deflecting blaster bolts left and right so Din can run right past you and blow the door to the bridge right open.

The fight about it comes later, long after the two of you have returned to The Crest for the coordinates to Coravus where Ahsoka Tano is supposedly located. She is a Jedi - or was, once - and might be the only connection you have left to the person you used to be despite how young you had been at the time.

Your first clue to his apparent agitation is the way he hasn’t unclenched his fists and has yet to look at you from where he sits in the cockpit. Your anger is growing steadily at his silence, which has never happened before.. not until you put your life into the line of fire.

“Say it.” Your voice echoes from behind the captain’s seat as you cross your arms over your chest. “Mando-please, stop giving me the kriffing silent treatment and just let me have it.”

“Ner jeti...” He stops short and stands to his feet, practically towering over you in a way that would intimidate most people. He has never once made you feel afraid... but he constantly makes you ache. With want, with pain, with desire. He makes you feel things you haven’t felt since before Order 66. “You cannot do that.”

“Do what?? Save your life? Mando, I’m-”

“Din.” Your rant is cut off halfway as he exhales lowly, a rumble through the modulator, and lifts a helmeted head to meet your gaze. “My name is Din Djarin. I thought it was time you know that.”

Your entire body freezes. You have been a partner, an ally, since the day he’d found you on recruited you to help return The Child to his kind. You have been careful in ensuring that it’s strictly a professional relationship, you never had anticipated this- The intimacy that comes with divulging such a secret as his real name.

“Din?” You rasp, eyes glassy with tears as the air is knocked from your lungs. It rolls off your tongue easily. The sound of his name, his real name, is beautiful. “Wow. It’s... beautiful.”

His response to your affirmation is like watching a galaxy of stars be born in front of your very eyes. He’s so receptive to it.. starved of it.

“I used to forget everything.” Din says. “The people who trained me.. they wanted me to be the best of our clan. There was so much we had to learn. Gun training, hand to hand, the significance of beskar and how important our Beskar’gam was to our safety. I was so good at it. I excelled.. but the one thing I could not shake? The water.

They trained me in the water, jeti. They trained me in the water, to become part of the water... all I could think about was how much it suffocated me. I’m af-” He stops himself short because admitting to a fear is not something he was taught to do, it was bottle it up and compartmentalize in order to get the mission finished. “Afraid of the water because I can’t fight it like I do with a bounty. I can just..”

“Succumb. Sink. Let go.” You murmur. “And that’s not something you know how to do.”

“Yeah.”

You’re oddly intrigued by the fact that this utterly fearless person, this man, was afraid. He’d always struck you as the opposite.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” You ask.

“Nearly drowning.” He replies. “And wondering how you and the ad would cope when I was gone. That’s why I need to tell you.” Din takes another step to close the gap that stands between you both. You’re practically trembling with anticipation. “Thinking about how...”

Din stops. You rest a hand against the exposed skin of his neck and tilt your head as his mind thrums - resonates with the truth of his affection for you - and your lips part in wonder as you realize what he’s trying to tell you.

“Me too.” You whisper. “For a while.. probably since the start. Din, you are a good man. You’ve always been a good man, and I think it’s time that someone puts your needs before themselves instead of the other way around. Please.” Din is slightly taken aback at the pleading tone of your voice as you meet his gaze. “Please let someone take care of you.”

That’s all you can muster before he’s collapsing at your feet.

‘’Take it off.” He begs.

“No, no- Your Creed-”

“Sarad, I want to learn how to breathe again.” He interjects. “This is how I do that. It’s just a faster way of being able to be married to you for the rest of my life.” The man you love is kneeling at your feet and totally willing to abandon part of his livelihood because of you. “There’s nothing I’d want more. Go ahead. Take it off. Please.”

Part of you had always been okay with the anonymity, but as this choice lays just within your fingertips, you find yourself desperate to look upon the face of the man who’d destroy entire galaxies for you and his son.

The Beskar’gam hisses as you remove his helmet and find yourself staring into vulnerable onyx eyes that are wide enough to envelop whole star systems in their splendor.

“Din Djarin.” You whisper, smiling tearfully as trembling hands lift to cup a stubbled jaw. “What a beautiful face to put with an equally beautiful name.”

He exhales his breath on a shuddered sigh and leans into your touch as you begin mapping his face with your fingertips. Din doesn’t dare move, too drunk on the feeling of touch ghosting across his skin in a intimate way that he’s not experienced since his parents left him in that cellar. His face grows warm at how needy he must seem, but you don’t seem bothered by it.

In fact, the way his skin blooms red under your kiss makes your heart swell and your smile widen at the reaction it elicits.

“You know Din, if you wanted me to kiss you.. all you had to do was ask.” You muse. You can read his mind and his body in the same way you read the feel of your lightsaber and the air of a room of hostiles. “Now I don’t know about you, but The Child is asleep and I find myself tired after having to deal with Bo-Katan all day.. can we go to bed?”

“Yes.” He nods once, then twice, allowing you to take his gloves off and lead him in the direction of the tiny cot that somehow manages to house you both. The Beskar’gam comes off one piece at a time until Din is now standing in his usual underclothes which you have not been able to grace yourself with the image of until now as he lays each piece on the floor.

You’re laying flat on your back when he’s finished, arms extended towards the ceiling as you beckon him forward. Din realizes that as he stares at your willingness to be there for him in his most vulnerable moment that he may sleep tonight with no night terrors.

No thoughts of drowning.

“Din Djarin, cyare..” You coo, beaming as he crawls into the bed and allows himself to curl into your body and rest his head on your chest. “I think you should hear it now.” Gentle fingers card through dark curls as he focuses on his breathing - in and out in and out - and listens to the sound of your voice to lull himself to sleep. “I love you.”

He hums thoughtfully and burrows himself deeper into your neck, smiling against the curve of your neck as you lightly graze his temple with your lips. Before Din can properly fall asleep, he rolls himself on top of you and settles himself comfortably against your body. It’s not too heavy, just enough to envelop you in the warmth he radiates.

He’s safe.

You wrap your arms and legs around his form and nuzzle his temple.

Darkness falls upon both of you as Din whispers, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” before promptly falling asleep in your capable hands. He’s safe.

Tonight.. he’s not drowning.

Tonight, he breathes.

#Din Djarin #The Mandalorian #Din Djarin x Reader #The Mandalorian x Reader #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars imagines #star wars oneshots

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stagbells · 3 years

Text

For Me and You

From: @vivifrage

To: @superbellsubways

Written works under readmore!

Creatures called, chirped, and chirred all around. Foliage rustled; a nail tapped the heart of a fool eater and, as soon as it snapped, sliced its mock jaws free in a single slash. The nail’s wielder sighed hard, tugging the collar of his shirt to puff in some air flow. Not that getting all the same warm, sticky air to flow did much to alleviate the way his clothes stuck to his carapace, or to fan his overheated face.

As he stepped past the fool eater’s remains, the ground squished underfoot, acid diluted with pooling water and flecked with various pollens.

It was warm, muggy, and acrid, but it was home.

He readjusted the bucket’s seat in his arm. The handle was digging in, not too bad, but he’d be happy to put it down when he could. It wasn’t exactly light, and while it was like his entire body began to itch if he didn’t do some sort of training, he wasn’t as into it as he had been when he was younger. Which, really, did wandering around Greenpath not make up for it? Or gathering supplies for art?

Though he had to say, he did not mind how much more the delicateness and care of his touch came to mind these days. Precision, too, yes, as it had under Sly's tutelage, but not so much speed, nor strength. There was a new world to learn.

He rounded a corner and maskflies burst from the foliage, grey bodies flooding from green so dense it hid them completely. They chattered and clicked and darted away as Sheo waved around his face to stem off any who flew the wrong direction. Branches and leaves rustled in their wake, bobbing as if disturbed by strong wind.

Oh, if only a strong wind had passed through. Even the beat of so many maskfly wings didn't waver the heat or humidity.

Sheo sighed a hot, sticky breath, flapped his shirt again, and picked through the undergrowth. The occasional maskfly, late to the party, fluttered away before him, but he didn't hear anything trapped and unable to free itself.

Sure, sure, the dead were what gave the plants life, starting the cycle of life and nourishment all over again, but it was a rare Root priest among their already low numbers that wouldn't excuse the technical mild blasphemy of sparing an animal here and there. Compassion was a natural thing, too.

The foliage gave way to a rocky outcropping, overlooking a short drop into a small, acidic pool, dotted with boulders and lined with sturdy rocks. Only the hardiest, most acid-tolerant of Greenpath's life grew here, thin and fuzzy bursts of ferns and moss peeping out from between the rocks. The smell of it bit at his nostrils, harsh enough to make him rub his face and huff, but still, he eased himself down and sat, bucket clunking onto the rock, legs dangling over the edge.

Because he could, because the world was his to delight in and make purpose of, he swung his legs. Years ago, he would have accompanied it with a child's giggle, but that had long since deepened into a low, full chuckle.

("Matured," some would put it, but in his opinion, his voice was the least of things indicating that. Neither was the joy of swinging one's legs through the open air.)

While he was there anyways, sitting down and letting his arms ache it out for a bit, he reached around to pull his canteen from its sling on his hip. The pull of his shoulders and arms sung briefly, but not enough to warrant a grimace. Just a little scrunching of the mouthparts.

He twisted the cap off with a clean pop, threw his head back, and gulped down some of the warm, metal-tinted water.

There were ways to keep canteens and flasks cool, he understood. Pale ore, after all, with its inherent chill, served to combat the heat of the space the canteen was in, and all the actions taken upon it and its contents. But it was rare; it took either a wealthy noble or a lucky prospector to get the ore. And now, the last forge capable of handling pure ore had banked its fire and closed shop.

He would never had known this, not that long ago. Amazing, really, all the knowledge there was to share. His head swam and heart fluttered with it all.

Well, all right, the knowledge alone was not what made him feel so bubbly and joyous.

With a smile on his face, starting soft, then growing into something crooked and silly and from the heart as the idea of going home set into his head, he lifted the bucket, dropped onto the rocks below, and was off.

___

The windchimes clicked and sang their little song. It wasn’t much of a breeze, just enough to get a moment’s must off the shell, but it was something.

Sheo went out fairly often, gathering some food or potable water or things like that. So waking up to find him gone, his nail missing but a handful of fruit on the table, along with a heart painted on spare canvas, was no trouble.

The heart was signed, “Be back soon, love!”

He glanced at it again, and had to turn away for how much his heart fluttered at the sight.

He had a name, once. What one would call a proper name. None had called him it in so long, his skill had earned him the title of Nailsmith and that was it. Who he was, what he was, all he was.

Until he wasn’t.

And now he had so many names, he couldn’t keep track. Love. Dear. Darling. My love. My sweet. Cuddlebug, said with a laugh in the voice. Moss-Faced Sweetie, at times, which became Mossy. Kissums, whispered when they woke up tangled in bed in the earliest hours of the morning, and giggled themselves awake coming up with the silliest endearments they could.

He would find something again someday. Something proper, perhaps. Something for himself. Something to go with that solid thing, that realness in his core, that had been reborn upon casting the Nailsmith away.

Until then, he was more than happy to be Cuddlebug and for Sheo to be Sweetheart. To be an artist, a recluse, even, a partner, a wise soul, a someone all of his own.

Someone who leaned against the side of the hut he shared, eating fruit and letting the breeze tickle his beard.

They’d spent the day before tidying the hut, cleaning up all their art supplies, dishes, and making futile attempts to scrub some of the paint stains from Sheo’s apron and a couple from his cloak. Not for anyone, really, not besides themselves. The only visitor they ever got was their strange little friend with the pitch-black eyes.

But it felt terribly nice to do something for themselves and, in turn, each other.

A voice called out. His heart skipped a beat and he pushed off of the side of the hut, approaching the edge of the outcropping to look.

There was Sheo! Partway through the tangle of thorns serving as the front entrance to the place, his nail slung over his shoulder, a bucket hooked over his arm while he waved.

He waved back, laughing into his other hand. He knew perfectly well Sheo had no trouble traversing the course, but watching him do it with his nail and a bucket he had to keep from spilling?

Needless to say, his heart skipped a few beats as Sheo bounded along the way, using his nail for momentum, the bucket swinging this way and that.

With a whump! Sheo landed before the hut, triumphantly sliding his nail back into its sheath. He beamed, approaching with arms wide. “Hello, love!” he said, breathless. “Wonderful morning, isn’t it?”

“Muggy, that’s what it is,” he said in return, leaning in for a quick kiss and a hug. Sheo had definitely warmed up on his adventure, and the humidity clung to them both, but oh the strong arms around him and the hard breaths going soft as he listened, his head on Sheo’s chest. Even with the heat and stickiness, he couldn’t find the desire in him to part.

In the end, it was Sheo who let go to hold up his bucket. “I found some clay, it’s so fine to the touch. I just had to bring some.”

Oh, goodness. He heaved a lighthearted sigh, glancing back at the hut. “Dear, we just cleaned.”

“And we can clean again.” Sheo leaned in, mandibles brushing his temple. “But I know you’ve been thinking of modelling Dryya to finish the collection…”

“Hmm.” He couldn’t say he hadn’t been. And it would be nice, to sit together and make some more art, come up with new ideas, just hang out…

He returned the kiss, one claw cupping Sheo’s cheek. “All right. But maybe let’s set up outside today.”

“In this weather?” The look Sheo gave him almost made him laugh.

“In this weather together,” he corrected.

Sheo sighed, shaking his head. A slight grin crossed his face. “Well, all right, then. If it’s with you.”

#stagbells #summer stagbells 2021 #hollow knight #sheo #nailsmith #written work

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sapphire-writing · 4 years

Text

In the Woods pt. 1

Title: In the Woods pt. 1

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: wanted to kill you, def going to be a good s/o, mediocre writing

Shortly after the other park tower had signed off, you got a call. It was a man who had gone camping and gotten chased off away from his stuff by something. What it was, the man didn't say and that left curiosity burning in your mind. It wasn’t unusual for people to call the tower at night but you decided that just in case it would be best to have him go to the other tower. You didn’t want to end up with a creepy man stuck in this tiny room with you for hours.

You took the radio and walked over to the large map that was pinned to the corkboard on the north wall. You glanced up at the window above the door to your right and a shiver went down your spine. Chased off the path by some mysterious creature sounded like something you didn’t want to deal with tonight. Actually you didn’t want to deal with it on any night but here you were hoping that this man had enough wits about him to make sure that he followed your directions.

It was actually a very simple park with enough land mark and trail markers for someone to follow. Thankfully this camper at least was somewhat prepared to be in the wild and had brought a compass. The glorified pond, that we called a lake, was directly north of my tower. There was even a path that looped around the lake and then branched off in the far north east corner of the map towards the other tower.

When the camper reached the split in the path that would lead him to you, you hesitated. Would he be okay by himself? Would he even be able to get into the other tower to hide? If it was a bear why was it still chasing him? Nothing seemed to make sense.

“Hurry up! I think it’s getting closer! If I get eaten by some creature on my vacation from work I swear-”

You clicked the button and interrupted him. “Continue straight ahead. That path with lead around the lake. I’m going to have you go to the empty park tower since someone will be showing up there sooner than someone will come here. You’ll be completely safe there.”

Mumbled curses came through the receiver. This man sure had a lot of opinions for someone who needed their life saved. If everyone in the world was as picky as this... the world would suck.

Suddenly a roar echoed through the forest and sent the man screaming through the speaker. You winced and put you hand as far away from you as you could. All you could hear was ragged breathing, snow crunching, and the wind howling. For what felt like hours but was only mere minutes, you listened to this camper run for his life from something that wasn’t human.

The corkboard above the bed was riddled with cut out news stories telling about the missing campers from over the years. All of the ones who were never found were labelled a bear attack. You tried to recall what a bear actually sounds like. Whatever it was it couldn’t be what you heard. What you heard was too... human almost.

“I think I lost it.” The radio crackled and gave static. “Lost... It?”

“I heard you the first time,” you said. “Where are you now? Can you see anything that I could perhaps see on the map?”

The camper took a deep breath. “I-I think I see a split up ahead. The lake is still visible too. Uh off to my left and that’s where the path goes. Towards the left.”

You stuck a tack into the map. He wasn’t too far from the other tower now. At least you didn’t think he would be. If he thought the path went towards the left than he should be almost there. The path would branch northeast and northwest leading to the other tower and the abandoned mine respectively.

Some part of you wondered if you should lead him to the tower. Whatever was out there clearly didn’t like him so what was the harm in letting the man get added to the board on the wall. It’s not like you knew him. It’s not like you weren’t risking yourself by letting him go to the other tower.

“I’m... Hungry.”

“What was that?” you asked. “I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

“I never said anything. Are you sure you shouldn’t get a different job?”

You hesitated before responding. “It was probably just the wind. Forget about it. Have you reached the fork in the path? If so you should take a right. That’ll bring you to the tower. Make sure you don’t take the left path.”

The camper paused. “Why shouldn’t I take the left?”

“That leads to the abandoned mine and I’m sure that that is a bad idea if you’re trying to hide from something.”

The rest of the time was spent in a stressed silence. Part of you wanted to try to see if you could see the camper from outside but another part of you didn’t want to face the cold of winter and whatever was out there. You had to trust that the camper was smart enough to get himself to the tower with what you’d told him.

The minutes seemed to drag on. Each second felt like a minute causing each minute to feel like an hour. Time was slowing down for just you leaving the rest of the world continuing to tick on in the same steady manner. You had to have hope that this would work out. The camper would reach the tower. He would be safe.

By the time the camper had reached the empty tower, it was already midnight. The soft red numbers let off an almost eerie glow in the still air of the tower. Everything around you was holding its breath as you listened to the creaking of the rickety stairs underneath the man’s feet.

A small sound of joy was heard from the speaker and the camper’s footsteps sped up. The door to the other tower gave an unhappy creak as it was ripped open and gave an even more unhappy sound as it was slammed shut and locked.

“I don’t think I’m safe here either. This place looks likes its one bad wind away from falling over. How do you expect me to stay here overnight?” He was scared and snapping at you. “This isn’t a funny joke! I need to know I’m not alone out here! I’m going to die in this miserable tower all alone in these stupid woods!”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously you aren’t alone but if it makes you feel better I guess I can turn the floodlights on for a second. Would that make you feel better, sir?”

“Y-yeah. I guess that thing just is really getting to me. Turing on the lights would be a help. Can you play like a radio or something too? The scratching on the door is sending a chill up my spine like nothing ever has.”

You pulled on your extra coat and opened the door. Snow was once again settling on the deck that wrapped around the tower. Rubbing your hands together, you flipped on the flood lights. After a second of the light filling the forest, you turned them off and headed back inside.

The camper thanked you over the radio. “I owe you my life. That thing even left so maybe I can get some sleep.”

All you did was sigh before telling him that someone would be there in five hours. It was the only thing you could do now. The man was in the other tower, he was no longer being pestered by whatever chased him through the forest.

Just moments later, the sound of something scraping against the metal door interrupted your thoughts. Two red, glowing eyes peered in at you through the window above the door. A shiver went down your spine as you realized that whatever had been after the camper was now at your door.

Despite yourself, you moved closer. There were no horrid scratching sounds from the other side. Just an eerie red stare that seemed too intelligent for any common creature that would go after a human. You knew as soon as you heard the roar the first time. This was way more that a bear.

You ripped open the door causing the cold air of the winter night blow in. Despite the fear and dread in your stomach, you grabbed the clawed and furry hand of the creature.. You tugged whatever it was in and slammed the door shut. You knew that with that move you had sealed your fate for better or for worse.

You dropped the creature’s hand, or maybe it was really a paw, and backed away. The desk was now bare since the winter wind had kicked everything onto the floor. As you proceeded to sweep up the papers that were now on the floor, the monster watched you curiously.

The garbled voice of the camper asked, "What are doing?"

You turned around in shock and ran a hand through your hair. "It's freezing outside. Aren't you cold? You should warm up."

Instead of answering, the creature stepped closer and peered down at you with glowing and curious, eyes. You smiled warily at it and set a pot on the hot plate. You tried to keep your eyes on the creature at all times as you set up two cups of tea. It wasn’t too hard to keep it in your sight though given that It appeared to take up at least a quarter of the space you were in.

You pushed a warm cup of steeping tea into the clawed hands startling the creature. Picking your own up and holding it in your hands, you looked down at the floor in shock. You were an idiot. An idiot who decides that monsters can be befriended and all you have to do is give them tea. At least you provided it with something to wash your body down with.

“What... are you doing?” The voice seemed to be farther from the camper’s own voice and more like your own. “I... kill.”

Your eyes once again met the creature’s before returning to the floor. You didn’t know how to answer that question. Part of you felt fear. Another part of you felt something deeper. Some sort of emotion that was warmer and kinder. It felt like sympathy.

Suddenly you picked up your lunch bag. “It was you who said you were hungry right? I can’t let you kill a camper, at least I couldn’t let you do it emotionally, but I made too much for lunch so you can have the rest. That way no one gets hurt. At least I hope no one does.”

"Honestly I think you're amazing. If you were the one chasing the camper them you move really fast and you're so tall and probably really strong," you spilled. "I just think that your probably better than most people."

The monster sat down on the bed and watched you bustle around the tower. You pulled out the extra blankets and put the papers where they should be. You could tell that it was watching you and you knew that your face was getting warm.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" you asked it. "I think I can probably find something in my lunch bag if you're hungry."

Once again a broken voice spoke, "Aren't you... afraid?"

You hesitated. “Honestly? I’m terrified. But really what’s the worst you’re going to do? I mean yeah dying sounds bad but at least I don’t have to be the weird person who moved here and now works in the forest all alone.”

The creature looked at you with what could’ve been pity before shoving your triple decker sandwich into its mouth. Sharp teeth tore through the sandwich as if it was paper and you felt a new surge of fear run through your veins. If it did that to a sandwich you didn’t want to know what it could do to people.

“Do you... need to sit?”

You glanced around the room for the chair but found it on the floor unable to be used. The only spot would be the bed that the creature had decided to use to fit easier in the room. The red eyes studied you for a moment before shift to perch on the very end of the bed.

“I-I suppose I do. It’s not every day I see someone like you.”

You sat down in silence as the creature raided your lunch. Your hands were shaking and you could feel the almost burning tea drip down the sides of your mug. Part of you wanted to move your hands, set down the mug, and blow on the spots but you were still scared.

“Burn.”

The creature grabbed your hand and looked at the bright red marks that the tea had left. Its eyes seemed to ponder what could’ve made the mark before reaching for your other hand.

“I’m fine! Its just the tea is still too warm. I must’ve made it too hot so be careful with yours.”

Silently, the creature pointed to the empty and discarded mug that was laying on the floor.

“Already had tea.”

With surprising delicacy, the creature took your tea from you and set it on the floor. It brought your hands to its face and gently licked the splotches of red that the tea had left you with. You were in shock and you couldn’t move. You felt like you couldn’t even breath.

“T-thanks. I guess it did hurt a bit.”

You turned your face away from the creature as your mind raced. Where did this kind of sweet and more gentle side come from? Was this really the same creature that had been chasing the camper? Why did your heart start beating faster?

“Must leave. Almost time.”

You felt your heart drop. “Will you come back? I’m usually all alone when I work and just having someone else there would be comforting I suppose. I could even bring you back something else that you’d like.”

Sharp claws gently traces the recent marks on your arms. Glowing eyes gazed at you with a sort of sadness that you didn’t think a dangerous creature could feel.

“Tomorrow,” it said before gesturing to the door.

Hesitantly you opened the door and the creature lumbered out leaving you with no food and a strange feeling in your chest.

This is actually based off the first horror game that I ever watched someone play. It wasn’t even a horror game but I was also in my monster lover phase and two years later I’m finally writing it. I’m actually pretty excited and can’t wait to have this bring me back into writing! Let me know if you want to be tagged!

~Love Sapphire

#monster lover #monster x reader #reader insert #x reader #monster x human #monsters #exophilia #monster

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walker-journal · 3 years

Text

Bellyflop into the Abyss (Dave, Mina, Adam- POTW)

Characters: Adam Walker (Hunter-Tapir), Wilhelmina Fitzroy (Nix-Virginia), David Herring (Selkie-Immo)

Summary: Seeking ways to combat the rifts opening across White Crest, Adam and Mina meet with Dave and dive into the sea of a Demon Dimension in search of answers

Content Warnings: Head Trauma, Parental Death mention, Gun Use

Adam’s shoes sloshed on the partially flooded floor of the empty convention center, beckoning for Mina to follow. Deluges of water expelled from the dimensional rift in the Common had begun to create pools of standing water around White Crest’s greenspace, gradually rising and spreading to the ground floors of nearby buildings.

“So I’ve set up a meeting with another hunter who's been fighting underwater monsters for a long tide,” Adam explained as he waded through the strangely colored waters from another world towards a staircase. “Before the portal opens we’ll probably want any advice we can get y’know?”

The water was high enough that Mina had simply taken off her shoes and left them in her car before she and Adam had made it to the common. It wasn’t like there was anything in the water that could hurt her before the water itself healed her. She couldn’t afford to ruin or lose another pair of shoes, seeing as how she… kept ruining and losing her shoes. She’d been sleeping (in the loosest sense of the word) in the woods more and more, and that was more detrimental to her footwear than she’d imagined.

“That works for me,” Mina said, nodding as she looked around in the water, watching out for creatures that might pop out. Mina agreed to this because she couldn’t not. She wanted to help people. She wanted to protect people. She wanted to feel useful. “What, exactly, are we looking for in the portal? Just a way to close it, right?”

Of course all hell had broken loose while Dave had been locked up in Rio’s scribary. If he hadn’t already been in a piss poor mood thanks to the lancing pain where his arm was healing, one of the hell dimensions looked like it might even be fun. But with a firm warning from the doctor that he could lose the rest of the functionality in his arm if he didn’t let it heal, Dave knew better than seeking out new hunts in new waters while under the weather. When Adam had approached him with ideas for a frogman mission, the best he could offer was the equipment to keep anyone else from drowning.

Dave had set up his gear on the roof, considering the rumours of how high the tide would come in, and it kept him out of sight of wandering eyes. His pelt was carefully folded to the side, constantly in sight. Just in case it was needed, considering how much faster. It was a sign of trust that might well go right over the young hunter’s head, but Dave didn’t mind that so much.

At the vibrations of footsteps heading up the water-soaked stairs, Dave turned to the emergency exit door he’d wedged open. He raised his less injured arm to greet Adam, but his features dropped into a frown as a second figure followed him through. Fuck. Mina. The last time he’d seen her, he’d nearly crushed the life out of her. Dave took a step away from the gear behind him, hoping that having one arm in a loose wrist sling would make him look less threatening. “Hey.” He said gruffly, his tone contrite. “Not gonna hurt you again. I was sick. I’m sorry.” Better to get that out of the way before she freaked out.

“Yeah some clue to what caused it to open, maybe what’ll close it,” Adam continued as they walked into the room, the Hunter’s shoe’s squelching from the trip through the sudden bottom floor.

“Yo! Professor Porpoise! This is Mina and she…”

Adam paused midsentence, brown eyes flicking between Mina and an apparently contrition-struck Dave.

Aw shit, bad blood with the Scuba Hunters. Adam swallowed and looked over his shoulder at Mina, wondering if he just walked her into a meeting with her mom’s sealy exboyfriend who ruined the Atlantis family through bad self-care or something.

“Alright, good,” Mina said, structuring everything into mission objectives in her head as she followed Adam up to the roof. “Find out what’s happening, make it stop, keep the Commons from becoming the next Dark Score Lake. Sounds--” She stopped in her tracks when she saw Dave, though.

Mina’s first thought was to make sure that Adam knew the danger and then get them both out of there, as against the idea as the other hunter might be. But Dave… wasn’t attempting to hurt either of them. She let her eyes scan over the selkie, taking in his posture, his facial expressions, his arm in a sling. And his words were confirmation of what she’d thought, that something had been wrong. (She still remembered his words, how he’d thought she was a monster, how he’d broken her like it was nothing.)

“Hi,” Mina said, her tone cautious, but there was relief there, too. She’d been right when she thought that something was wrong. And, besides, there was no one to stop her for forgiving him. He’d been sick. Something in him had seen her as a threat, as prey. Something had been wrong. She couldn’t fault him for that. He’d been kind to her, before, and she could see proof of that man standing before her. “I thought-- I thought something was wrong with you, then.” She cleared her throat. “So, ah, Professor Porpoise, was it?” She felt strange joking, still a little on edge, but she was trying. “I take it you’re our equipment expert, then?”

The air saturated with a pregnant pause as Mina weighed him up. Dave waited, quietly, for her reaction. He nodded in confirmation, gesturing to the slowly healing bite on his injured arm. Too slowly. Every bad incident was taking too long, and even with the infection cleaned out of his system and the rest he was careful to give it now, the joint of his elbow wouldn’t be the same. And then the moment passed as she repeated Walker’s newest nickname for him.

“Not sure if that’s better or worse than what I was being called before,” Dave eventually settled on gruffly, without a lick of heat to it, there was even a twitch of a smile. It was a good nickname, all things considered. He did love word play, even if he was considering finding some land mammal comparisons for the two of them.

“Something like that.” He looked over Adam and Mina’s gear with a critical eye. Mina wouldn’t need scuba gear, so her wet suit would have to do, and Adam’s scuba gear was recognisably combat oriented, with a rebreather, but limited. “Looks like you won’t be needing any knives between the pair of you. Take your pick of the rest of this. We’ll start with these,” Dave said, with small boards that could be clipped onto wetsuits, each featuring a clock, underwater compass, diver’s white board and small computer with depth sensors and tracking devices. “At the very least it should help the pair of you find each other if you get seperated, and if the portal plays nice with the comms, should help you get back here too. This,” Dave gestured to a streamlined black propellor with handles, “will let you,” Dave pointed to Adam, “keep up with you,” this to Mina, “and get away from some of the gnarly things in there. Pretty damn quiet, never had anyone have an issue with it that they wouldn’t have had without it.”

“As for what weapons you’ll need,” Dave gestured at a few options of underwater pistols, rifles, bangsticks and explosives, “it’s really gonna depend on how much time you want to spend killing things while in there. Firearms and bangsticks are a good call for merms, grindys and dievalves, but a bootstrap worm washed up here this last night. If you catch a hint of those, the better call is to swim away.” Dave rubbed his jaw. “The deeper you go, the weirder shit gets. Don’t go too deep.”

Adam knelt besides the black propeller and squinted at it. “This’ll be interesting.” It really hadn’t occurred to him yet that down in the depths he’d be the slow one. It was a weird feeling being the liability here. “Aww sweet bangsticks,” the Hunter looked at the explosives with affectionate reassurance, as if being able to blow things up made the prospect of diving into a alien world less unsure.

“How deep are you comfortable with going Mina?”

Taking one of the small boards Dave offered, Mina clipped it to her suit, checking to make sure that all of the components were working. Everything appeared to be in working order, though it wasn’t like she knew how to work half of the devices on it. She probably wouldn’t need to. Before, she might have been interested, might have wanted to know how all of the different parts worked so that she could explain them to Bex in a way that made this seem less like a life or death situation and more interesting, like a learning experience. Now, she just wanted to do her duty and exhaust herself and try to sleep.

Grabbing a few bangsticks, Mina looked at the firearms and decided against them. She was a terrible shot. She could only imagine that it’d be worse underwater. She looked at Adam. She was so tired but determined. “However deep it takes. We’re looking for something, right? We stay down until we find it.” She looked at his equipment.” Or until you run out of air.”

“Just keep factoring in decompression time the deeper you go. Hunter healing only accounts for so much,” Dave replied grimly. “Tide washes in through the portal for three hours and thirteen minutes each day, try not to miss getting back.” He had no doubt Adam knew the limits of the equipment he used like the back of his hand, but he also knew how hunters could get around their own bodies. He’d learned that first hand. There were a dozen more likely ways either of them could die, but the bends was a shitty way to go.

“If you’re within three to four hundred feet of the portal, I might be able to help if something goes wrong.” Dave held out a small ziplock bag with a slime covered mother of Pearl, handing it to Adam. Best not to ask what the slime was. “Spellcaster magic. You swallow it and it’ll put a few minutes oxygen in your blood. Hurts like hell and I only have the one.” A payment for the kind of job that had left Dave feeling like it’d be better if he could peel off his human skin too. If they were deep enough, that Pearl wouldn’t matter if some monster punctured Adam’s gear. If they were far enough, his pelt wouldn’t either. He looked from one to the other, determined, young faces, and hated what had bitten him just a little more.

“Three hours huh,” Adam repeated. It wasn't exactly a big window considering how broad their objective was here. They’d both have to economize their time in the portal, but Adam doubted splitting up would be a good idea in a Hell Dimension. The Hunter frowned at the puzzle, trying process what Mina and Dave were saying while trying to get a firm vision of what needed to be done.

The sheer impossibility of his calling, of holding back entire universes from encroaching on Earth, was crushing in its weight. The inevitability of everything being swallowed up in the Hells, how frail and tiny we all were in the grand scheme of things, yawned in the back of Adam’s mind. Not for the first time, Adam Walker secretly wished he’d never been shown the truth, that he could just be playing ball, blissfully unaware of how precariously Earth teetered to a vast uncaring abyss.

So Adam did what he always did when the cosmic insignificance got a little too real: He grinned and played the fool. It felt good, comfortable. It was the only way he could stay sane sometimes.

“Aw sweet! Sea witch jizz!” Adam guffawed and poked the bag experimentally. The fraternity boy let his mind drift away from the fact that he was about to plunge into an alien universe full of hazards humanity had never evolved to face, away from the inevitability that he’d keep doing this again and again until one day he didn’t come back. No one would ever know how, or where he died, or that it’d been for their sakes. Just like Dad.

It felt good to be funny, everything was fine if he made it funny.

“We’re looking for like...something to close the rift,” Adam replied to Mina with a confident nod and smile. When others were struggling you needed to be strong for them. A lifetime of athletics, drills, and just generally being an extrovert had acquainted Adam with the self-fulfilling nature of confidence, that lie you wore outwardly until it became real inwardly. “Like I dunno ..an off switch?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “We’ll figure it out y’know? But yeah def’ no going till we run outta air, I want to make it to date night with Nell.”

It was a cheerful lie of course. Adam never scheduled anything after Hunts. Surviving was a privilege not an assumption.

Mina couldn’t help but snort a little bit at Adam’s comment before she turned back to the task at hand. It was good. It was funny. It was nice to laugh. But they had work to do. She just wanted to do something good. Maybe this was her proving herself to herself. She wanted to prove that she could protect people. She wanted to prove that so much that it ached like a bruise. And maybe no one else would know but the three of them, but she didn’t care. She needed this.

“Okay, then we go only long enough to where we can make it back before the portal closes from no matter where we are with… at least ten minutes to spare. In case something goes wrong.” Mina set a timer on her board that she’d start as soon as she went in. She shot Adam a warning look, one laced with fondness. “And you, don’t pull out any short of heroics if things start falling apart within the last minute, alright? Of the two of us, I can survive if I get stuck in there.” Probably. “So you’re getting out first.”

She almost made him promise, but she didn’t want him to get hurt worse if he did try and pull something.

Looking back at Dave, Mina added, “Please get him out first if something goes wrong.” She shot Adam a smile. It was almost genuine. “Nell would have my head if you missed date night, after all.” But she went over the objectives: go in, find an off switch, whatever that meant, and get out. Whatever destruction was caused along the way would be dealt with as it came.

Even Dave’s lips quirked as he rolled his eyes at Adam’s antics, good-naturedly grumpy at the way his gift was being treated. In the face of… extraordinarily fucked bullshit, what else was there other than to laugh in the face of it. Adam had done this on the catfish hunt too. Even if his confidence in finding a magical off switch was a little too much even for Dave. Learning anything from the portal would be a win, even if it was somewhere to rig explosive or steel guards to stop some of the monsters coming through. But Dave knew he was too cynical and too old, and dampening that hope was a dick move. Hell, it wasn’t even his mission. The more the two of them got ready to go, the more Dave itched to ditch the sling and the constricting human clothes, fit in his better skin and be more fucking useful than playing a discount Q in this Mission Impossible.

The information that Adam was dating the dimension breaking spellcaster barely had a second to set in before Mina was giving Dave instructions on who to save. Enhanced healing or not, Adam was the fragile one here. And the one Dave knew better. But it wasn’t a promise he could keep. In the dark, deep water, it wasn’t a question of choosing, it was a question of who he reached first. He couldn’t distinguish between two swimming human sized forms until he was too close to change his mind. He nodded curtly. “Let’s not let it get that close,” was all he said.

He looked out to the portal, a icy chill spilling down his spine. That was the creeping dread of being somewhere he’d been before. Dave always got older, but no hunter aged with him for long. It still felt wrong to send folks who had barely touched adulthood into those unknown depths. What he wouldn’t give right now to be diving with them rather than sending them off without him. The first splash of water bubbled over the edge, spilling a clump of algae onto the ground. “It’s time. Try not to get eaten this time around,” Dave teased wryly.

Adam hadn’t been raised with any notions of male disposability, where the loss of a woman was somehow more emotionally significant then that of a man, thus obligating him to assume Mina’s life had more gendered importance then his own. Like most Hunter families, the Walkers didn’t see the gender of their children as relevant when training humanity’s protectors, and Adam fought alongside his sisters, aunts, and fem-cousins without any assumptions that he’d need to do a square-jawed Hollywood leading man sacrifice for their sake.

Nevertheless Mina’s insistence that he go out first and not try any heroics still bit at Adam in a way that had nothing to do with chivalry. It gnawed at him even as he smiled and nodded noncommittally at her good-natured implorement.

Why? Did he feel inadequate being the weak one here? Maybe? How’d that make sense though? He’d asked Mina to accompany him for exactly this reason. This was her speciality and everything she’d just said made logical sense. The tactical part of Adam’s brain had accepted that and already moved on.

Then...why had it tilted him so much?

Dave’s gentle ribbing and announcement of the portal opening came as a relief of sorts from the unwelcome thoughts sneaking their way into Adam’s head. Adam drew in a deep breath and let out a long exhale, broad shoulders rising and falling as the athlete put himself in the zone. This was the good part, that high you got right before the game started where everything started to make a simple violent sense. Adrenaline began to transmute anxiety in a peaked awareness of his own body and surroundings, climbing in euphoric intensity as Adam looked out the window to see a churning whirlpool pour open into thin air above the Common greens.

Adrenaline and Adam were old friends. It was the only drug he’d ever needed.

“Fuck yeah!” The Hunter grinned. “Nah don’t worry Professor Porpoise being swallowed is actually like...way more horrible than it looks in the movies, easy one outta ten won’t repeat. C’mon Mina! Let’s get flushed by the universe!”

Adam had begun the boot camp hustle down the stairs, laden with equipment, when he turned back to look up at his pelagic benefactor.

“Hey Dave, thanks man, like seriously, I owe you man this wouldn't be possible with you.”

“Flushed by the universe,” Mina said quietly as she followed after Adam, webbing already forming itself between her fingers. Scales formed on her arms, on her legs where the wetsuit ended on her calves. Her gills opened on her neck, ready to take in water. “Might as well be flushed by the universe, I suppose.” At this point, why not?

She followed at a more controlled pace than Adam, but Mina was practically buzzing with adrenaline, with energy. She was ready. She was so tired, but she was ready. Her body may have not been made for hunting, but it had been trained for it, and there was nothing she was more prepared for than this. For once, she would be the one with the speed, the healing, the capabilities. She was ready.

Looking back at Dave, Mina gave him a wary smile and said, “Who knows? This could go quicker than we think. We could be in and out of this within fifteen minutes.” Nevermind that neither of them knew how to close the portal, nor did they know what would happen when it closed. She was just hoping they didn’t get stuck in there.

Don’t thank me, Dave wanted to say. The weight of their debts, in Dave’s mind, was stacked in Adam’s favour. His life had hinged on Adam’s decisions plenty of times already. But he knew it might be the last time Adam got to say. The last time Mina would stand on firm soil, maybe. His heart twinged, and Dave quieted it. “I expect anything that doesn’t get used up back at the end of this,” he said instead, his voice so hard it could have been mistaken for brittle.

“Wouldn’t that be something,” Dave replied to Mina with a raised eyebrow, then shrugged. “I’ll be here, waiting for as long as it takes. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” The third wave spilled over the portal into the common, and a young, small karkinoid lay in the grass on its back, wriggling as it tried to right itself again. A few days of this had left everyone evacuated from outside the flood zone with cordons keeping people away, but denial was a powerful drug, and a couple people were straying a little close. Dave sat on the roof, peering into the portal. He started his timer. Don’t die, was what he’d wanted to say.

Adam looked up at the portal churning a few feet above the green, trying to hold his ground as strangely water burst out of thin air as if reality were a dike that’d busted a whole. Doubts snuck their way into the Hunter’s brain as another water nearly knocked him off his feet.

So Adam decided to spit in fear’s face and defdefiantlyinately turned his back on the portal and gave Mina a thumbs up.

“See you in Atlantis Fitzroy,” he assured before jumping into the spatial tear backwards like it was a water park slide.

Then Adam’s body was being torn apart, for hours and just moments he was shredded down to the molecules in a space between spaces. He was completely conscious yet also obliterated.

So it took Adam a bit too realize he was now screaming and flailing like a dumbass in the deep.

There was no up or down, no sky, shore, or trench bottom. Adam squinted through the beam of his diving lantern light at an ecosystem that was entirely marine, a universe of endless water where his own branch of evolution had never taken place. He was just thankful that whatever otherworldly rules of water pressure existed here hadn’t crushed him immediately.

Stars didn’t exist here, but there was no shortage of light. Immense islands of bioluminescent coral drifted in the deep. Rainbows of biological light permeated through water from three-dimensional reefs ranging from glowing boulders to entire archipelagos of riotously colored polyps and anemones on the aqueous horizon. Adam glimpsed drifting forests of alien kelp, their slimy shadows hiding arboreal ecosystems of flowering growth and predation the naturalists of Earth could scarcely imagine. Currents of cold rippled through the water occasionally from submerged icebergs that had been hollowed out with caverns by the locals. Warmer currents were thick with shining heavenly cloudscapes that turned out to be bizarre forms of jellyfish on closer inspection. Some of the extraterrestrial Medusozoa shimmered with their own electrical charge, lighting arching within the colossal jellyfish flows like tentacled storm-clouds.

At first Adam thought he was in some kind of underwater aurora from all the waves of color shimmering around him. But as the Hunter’s eyes adjusted he realized there were actually tiny plankton-like creatures all around him, their bodies fluctuating together through spectrums of bioluminescent color as if it were some kind of eusocial communication.

“Hey...Mina,” Adam tried the coms as he looked around. “Can you hear me?”

Unlike Adam, Mina wanted to see exactly what it was that they were flinging themselves into. Even after Adam jumped in, she stayed back and stared, her heart beating rapidly. But she steeled her resolve and gave a nod to Dave before she dove in, hoping to have some sort of control over her descent.

No such thing. The moment Mina hit the water, she was in a current that even she couldn’t fight off. She tumbled through the water, moving so fast that it took the oxygen from her lungs even when it was supposed to be filtered in. She was disoriented and confused, but she adjusted. She was back in the headspace she’d held for twenty-something years, and that meant to be prepared for less than ideal situations. That meant being able to adjust to a world that was only water, and light came in a multitude of colors that took even her eyes a bit to adjust too, and that meant an immediate catalogue of her surroundings and person.

She hadn’t lost any of her gear, though it wasn’t like she had much in the first place. Adam was nearby, looking disoriented as he adjusted himself to wherever it was that the portal spit them out. Looking around, Mina couldn’t help but be slightly in awe of how beautiful it was. A world of endless water, no sign of the surface. She wondered if this was what the bottom of the ocean looked like. She wondered if it was better. But those weren’t the kind of thoughts she needed to have. She needed to focus. They had a mission.

Hearing Adam’s voice in her ear, Mina looked over to the other hunter. There wasn’t really anyway for her to talk back to him since she wasn’t wearing a mouthpiece, and it was likely that the sound of her voice would get lost underwater, but she gave him a thumbs up. Yes, she could hear them. Hopefully, they would have no trouble communicating back and forth with gestures.

Adam looked over the expanse of luminous plankton aurora, reef islands, and kelp forests. It was an entire universe of monster-infested haystack to search for a needle that might not even exist.

Adam felt the constriction of despairing panic at this impossible task grip his gut. But the Hunter took deep breaths that sounded thunderous in the diving mask.

Focus. The town is in danger. No second thoughts. Focus.

Ironically, the gift that made Adam valuable, the ability to sense any kind of supernatural creature was useless here. Every lifeform here was supernatural and the water was absolutely saturated with alien varieties of kelp and plankton. It was just dull static in the back of his head from so many Hunter vibes.

Kay, so the lead wouldn’t come from him. That meant…

“Hey Mina,” Adam began swimming down to her, leaving a small stream of bubbles in his wave. “We are looking for something that like...vibrates or gives off vibes similar to the portal.” Adam jerked a thumb back at the churning whirlpool in the distance that’d flung them into this universe. “Any chance you might feel a pull or like some vibrations in the water,” he asked, wishing they’d had time for Dave to give a course refresher on that particular bit of Aquaman wisdom. “It doesn’t matter how small it is,” he answered, “anything that tugs at your instincts.”

Mina’s eyes were designed to see in water, even without the aid of the luminous sea life around them. She could see the look on Adam’s face as he got closer, the look of being impossibly overwhelmed. She recognized it. She saw it in a mirror almost every time she looked. But they didn’t have time to be overwhelmed. Every minute that they were in the portal counted and had to be utilized to finding what it was that they were looking for.

She could feel vibrations, certainly, but Mina wondered if it was vibrations that she needed to be sensing at all. This was a supernatural artifact, something similar to the portal. A portal that opened up and let monsters loose. There had to be something about it that drew creatures to it, which meant, at least to her, that the key, whatever it might be, was something similar. It drew supernaturals to it. She would prefer if it was some sort of deterrent, but she couldn’t see that being the case. So she wasn’t trying to listen, to sense the key itself. She was headed towards something big. Something major.

There was a lot going on in one direction. She looked at the compass on her board. West. There was a lot of activity to the west. She pointed in that direction, hoping that she was right. If nothing else, they were in for an interesting time. There was something big down there.

Adam nodded and twisted the knob on the black water scooter that Dave had provided. The propeller churned to life and Adam felt a kinetic lurch as he surged forward through the water. Damn this thing had kick.

Silver light illuminated the deep growing brighter and brighter as they drew closer. Passing through another kelp forest, the Hunter pushed fronds out the way to see an incandescent sphere on the horizon. At first Adam had the crazy thought that it might be a submerged moon or even a star. Demon dimensions didn’t play by the same rules of physics as Earth after all.

But as they drew closer that ‘moon’ turned out to be an enormous pearl the width of a football stadium. It was nestled within an even larger clam, whose open ridged shell towered higher than most Earthen skyscrapers. The great pearl shone with its own inner light, casting the surrounding seas in a brilliant argent hues as if Mina and Adam were swimming through molten silver.

“Damn, got any vibes what we are looking for here,” Adam asked before seeing some scaffolding at the bottom of the pearl. Altars and tents made of seaweed formed a camp on the fleshy surface of the giant oyster’s interior. “Looks like the pearl has...uh ..worshippers?”

Keeping up with Adam’s water scooter was surprisingly easy; Mina never really knew how fast she swam. There was no one for her to race against, and she’d never utilized what she was for a hunt before. Being a nix and being a hunter had never correlated before. She was kind of glad to be useful for what she was, for this aspect of her life.

The Pearl was mesmerizing. Mina almost couldn’t look away from it. She looked at her hands, at the way the silver of her scales reflected in the silver of the pearl’s light, and she thought that she probably belonged in a place like this more than she did somewhere like White Crest. She could just… stay, make sure Adam got out with the key and closed the portal for good. Wouldn’t that be better for her? Wouldn’t she belong here?

Mina shook those thoughts away. Mission. They had a mission. And she still had a home and a life and people, even if she was distancing herself from people. More than that, she was there to do her job. That was what mattered. The job.

The pearl was definitely an epicenter of sorts for activity. Clearly, whatever intelligent life forms loved in this world had made the surrounding areas into some sort of temple. But there was no one around them, and that worried Mina they needed to be looking for a lot of life, and this place almost seemed abandoned.

Mina pointed again. Further. They needed to keep swimming.

“Careful,” murmured Adam as pressure suddenly began to build in the back of the Hunter’s head. “I’m getting like ...huge vibes here.”

The shape that first emerged from the murk appeared to be a tampa drill shell the size of an aircraft carrier, it’s ridged spire bearing spiraling designs that evoked a language Adam didn't understand. However its contours were a bit too smooth, with walkways and portholes grown into the structure of itself that no snail or oyster would ever need. It was then that Adam realized that this wasn’t the cast-off shell of a marine animal, but rather a submarine vessel that’d been grown by intelligent beings.

More of these massive organic submarines of calcium carbonate and chiten became visible as the divers pressed forward. Some types of shells were recognizable, while other ships were crafted from strange nautiloids and even submarines that appeared to be immense plants or a few titanic demonic fish that seemed perfectly alive despite the crew of lesser demons working inside their hollowed flesh. All the marvels of demonic biotechnology were connected together by enormous pyrosome colonies that formed long luminous tubes, perhaps to allow easy passage between ships.

“It’s like...a dockyard,” observed Adam, “for these demon shell ships.”

Mina was also picking up vibes, but they weren’t Fae vibes, hunter vibes. She felt ill at ease, like she had back when that creature had been loose in the lake. The two of them were small and insignificant in this vast, fathomless world with life that was possibly just as intelligent as life was in the place that they came from.

It felt like Mina’s stomach was trying to sink to the bottom of this bottomless place. Maybe Adam was onto something about Hellmouths ripping themselves open. She gave Adam a nod as he pointed out that this was some kind of dockyard. This was a horrifying place.

There was still a part of her that was aware that she could disappear here and stay.

They needed to steer clear of this area, but… the more Mina looked around, the more she felt like this was where they needed to go. Something was drawing her towards this area, something primal that she’d rather avoid. In a place like this, she believed, rather unfortunately, that places that she wanted to avoid were the very ones that they should head into. They needed to be quick about this. They needed to be careful about this.

Adam noticed a slight thinness in his breath as they passed under one of the behemoth shell vessels. His air supply was probably at the halfway point, but Adam felt like bringing that up would be counterproductive when they had a lead.

The each horned prong of the shell above them could’ve skewered earthly ships on its glossy spiral. Occasionally there were windows in the bio-vessel’s sides, not of glass, but made from translucent filmy slime stressed across the opening. Adam pressed a hand against one of the portholes and found the slime substance yielding and permeable.

“I think we can get in from here.”

Mina’s two main worries about this whole situation, as she looked at the strange ship, were knowing how much time they had left to do this and making sure she remembered the right direction to get back to the portal. That was what mattered. She needed to remember how to get them back to the portal. Or maybe Adam had some sort of gps machinery on his diving board. She wasn’t bothering with hers too much, trying instead to mesh hunter thoughts with nix thoughts in order to navigate this strange land. Find some sort of key. Get back. Insure they both survive. Close the portal. That was what mattered.

Wrinkling her nose a bit at the weird slimy material, Mina put her hand against it and pushed through. It wasn’t the weirdest thing she’d touched by far, but it still wasn’t pleasant. She was most worried about whatever sort of creatures they were going to run into. It’d been ominously quiet since they jumped in.

Adam wiped slime off his goggles as they drifted through the portal into the demon vessel. In some superficial ways the interior resembled that of an Earthly sea shell. A central columbell pillar ran through the shell from aft to its spiked stern. Whorls and sweeping structures expanded outward from the central columbella axis, forming great sloping charmpers with slickly smooth walls that were all linked by spiraling curvatures and twists rather than doors.

What furniture existed was grown out straight from the central coiling axis, though Adam couldn’t really guess what ergonomic purpose most of these chitin groves and indentations served.

Two creatures that appeared to be human sized moray eels covered in glowing pustules glided out from along a curving wall. Long sinuous strands extended eel demons’ pustules like seaweed wart hairs. These hairs caressed strange pearls and mussel clusters inset into the shell vessel’s walls, as if they were operating equipment of some kind.

Multiple sets of yellow eyes with large black pupils swiveled in their rows of sockets down the eel demons’ body to regard Adam and Mina. Both the head and apparent tails of the eel demons opened to reveal rows of glass-like teeth as they zipped through the water towards the intruders.

Mina would have been lying if she said that she wasn’t a little disappointed that the first creatures that they came into contact with weren’t mermaids. She really wanted to rip into a mermaid. It might be nice. It might get a lot of frustration out. But eels were fine, too.

Ducking out of the way as the creatures headed towards them, Mina considered the best course of action in dealing with them. She didn’t want to touch anything on them that glowed, fearing some sort of electrical backlash, and she didn’t want to touch those strange hairs, either. But she didn’t have any sort of ranged weapons, nothing that would help in a situation like this. As one of the creatures approached, she moved to the side and raked her claws against its smooth hide, causing the bulbous head with its mouthful of sharp teeth to turn back in her.

Mina jabbed the bangstick into the eel’s face and fired. Even creatures from whatever sort of Black Lagoon horror dimension this was didn’t enjoy a bullet to the face. There was the bang, and dark blood exited where the bullet went in, the creature’s body still floating even in death. Mina turned to Adam, hoping he was faring well. They needed to get moving. They had work to do.

Adam slid a still twitching demon off a long silver-tipped spear that had jutted out from what’d looked like a small baton. The human was less graceful in the water than his fey counterpart and red electrical burn marks stood out from long slices the demonic spine-hairs had seared through his diving suit. However Adam had apparently jutted the telescopic spear’s baton up against the thing grappling him and released a pressured seal that sent the silver spear straight through the demon’s innards.

Adam tried to keep focus as they swam through the smooth twisting gyres of the shell-ship. He would occasionally warn of presences beyond the next curve or loop, holding back as school of eel-demons, Vodnik, and even stranger creatures went about doing whatever inscrutable processes maintained a bio-tech vessel like this. It was tense business, ducking patrols and trying not to lose ones’ way in dizzying chambers of chitinous spirals that didn’t resemble any human norm of architecture or even up and down. The burning lashes across his chest throbbed and the air in his tank became ever thinner, but Adam kept his head on the mission. Surrendering to nervousness would likely be a death sentence here.

It was on reaching a porthole leading out into one of the Pyrosomes tubes that Adam discerned something resembling a central meeting point.

Pyrosomes were actually colony structures made from tiny organisms about a few millimeters in size. They often looked like cylindrical tubes of a gauzy texture that glowed with bioluminescence. But while Pyrosomes could get to about eighteen meters long on Earth, whatever extraterrestrial zooids these things were made of allowed the Water-Hell Pyrosomes to grow to far larger. Adam guessed they might even intentionally cultivated that way using whatever weird sciences the demons had at their disposal.

Glowing pyrosome tubes, some many hundreds of feet in length and wide enough to drive semi-trucks through, extended from each of the behemoth shell-submarines. Many of the pyrosomes linked the ships together in pulsating networks, perhaps to exchange crew and cargo. However, Adam saw a great many pyrosome tunnels extended towards a central point, a great helical axis of coral that this vast hell armada seemed tethered around.

“See that coral island that looks like a helix? I think whatever’s on there drew the demons here,” Adam theorized. “It might be what we’re looking for.”

They needed to hurry. That was all Mina could think about as they moved through these strange ships, this strange world. Adam was looking worse for wear, thick marks in his suit showing burned skin, and she knew they were running out of time. His tank wouldn’t last that long. Mina needed to get him out of there. She should have just come alone. She wouldn’t have had to worry about air supply or another person. Adam was one of the few hunters in the entire world that tolerated her, liked her, too. She didn’t want to lose that, especially not here in this underwater hell.

Eyes following where Adam pointed, Mina looked towards the helix. Even she could feel… something. A draw, a pull, a desire to head in that direction. She had no doubt that every creature near them felt that pull, too. That was the most dangerous area. That was, she was sure, where they needed to go. She hated that. She really, really hated that.

Mina nodded to Adam and pointed towards the glowing tube that would take them down to the helix. That’s what they needed to do, right? They needed to go down there, take whatever they found, and hoped that it helped the Common stop flooding with monsters every day. Taking a bit of initiative, she headed to the tube and, before she could think twice about it, got in it and hoped for the best.

It wasn’t like Mina meant to let out the slight scream as she was rocketed down the tube. She hadn’t. She was usually more composed. But she hadn’t been prepared for the speed, and she hadn’t been prepared for the tumble she took as she came out on the other end, and she hadn’t been prepared for the glowing sight that awaited them. This was where they were supposed to be.

And it was filled with monsters.

Adam caught his bearings and took in their surroundings. The stony spirals rotated parallel to one another. One was comprised of scarlet Precious coral and the other of aquamarine Octocoral. Though separate, these colony structures orbited each other in the pattern of a helix by some quirk of gravitation Adam couldn’t comprehend. But the source became clear as Adam perceived two glowing coral keys of the same respective coral types nestled on the spiraling ridges. They filled the water with conflicting hues of red and blue, blending into livid purples in some places at the helix's’ center. Light seemed to warp around them, twisting into strange flares and halos around the keys. Adam had a gut instinct that it was their power that was causing this helical gravity and had drawn the demonic armada here.

Unfortunately, the stares from an aquatic school of luminous eyes, antennas, and blind tentacle feelers extended their direction gave Adam the feeling that sheer surprise was the only reason and Mina weren’t already dead.

“Mine, grab the blue key!” Adam shot up towards the scarlet key, stabbing the silver spear through a giant brain covered in spines that’d tried to impale him against the reef.

There were the mermaids. Mina had been wondering when she’d see them. While Adam was dealing with something that looked like a creature out of some sort of science fiction movie, Mina had something a little more understandable to deal with, and, as one of the mermaids came at her, she went straight for the lure before aiming low, ripping into the creature’s head with her knives. And another one. And another one. She could feel their teeth tearing at her wetsuit, tearing holes in it and her skin. She wasn’t safe there just because she was a water dweller as well. Food was food.

Mina wasn’t food. She was claws and blades and so much pent up aggression. She wanted to fight. She just wanted to fight. So she did, against mermaids and Vodniks and creatures that she didn’t even have names for. All the way to the blue key that Adam mentioned.

It was so bright. It’s glow filled the whole space, blending with the other key’s shades of red. It was so nice to look at, so pretty. Mina was drawn into the soft blue colors, wanting to bask in them for as long as possible. No. Focus. She needed to focus. She had to focus. She snatched up the key, washed in a blue glow. The key’s glow dimmed, and it was warm in hand. So warm. She wrapped her hand around it tighter and and started swimming to Adam. They needed to go. They needed to go soon. The creatures were turning to look at her, drawn to the glow in her hand. They needed to go.

Adam skewered an eel demon to the coral with the spear in one hand while reached towards the scarlet key with the other. He squinted past the ruby halos and flaring star-like lights in the water, hand straining towards the key resting on the opalescent curves of a hollow shell, like on idol on an altar.

Adam’s hand closed around the key, and the world exploded in pain and blood.

A spine projectile punched through Adam’s back and out the front of his chest like a surgical bullet. The brain urchin creature had drifted dying in the water from Adam’s spear, but had sent a departing gift after its slayer in the moment of victory.

Everything was agony as Adam’s vision was rimmed as darkness as he fumbled at the controls of the water scooter. “C’mon,” he gasped, rapidly losing blood and air as hungry demons closed in.

Adam flicked the water scooter up to its threshold speed and held on as they tore into the deep towards the whirlpool between worlds.

Mina screamed as she watched Adam get skewered by one of those creatures. No. No. He had to get out. He was supposed to get out. He couldn’t die here. She started swimming after him as fast as she could, easily keeping up with the water scooter as she guarded their backs.

With each creature that got too close, Mina slashed out at them, baring sharp teeth and wielding sharper knives. Go go go. They had to go. They had to get to the portal and get out. She finally looked up at it, watching with horror as it got smaller even though they were getting closer.

The journey to the keys had taken too long, but the journey back to the portal was an ascent. Mina knew they were going to get there before Adam ran out of air. At least, she hoped. She just didn’t know if they were going to make it before blood loss became a problem. The blood spilling into the water like an ink trail was attracting all the monsters, making them swarm.

The portal was close. In her head, Mina said, Fuck it, as she turned to Adam and grabbed him before swimming them both as fast as she could through the portal. The exit was as rough as the entry, spitting them back in White Crest. Mina was gasping as she breathed straight air instead of water, as she dragged Adam with her towards where they’d left Dave. “Still with me, Walker? Come on, come on, come on. You’ve got things to do, you know.”

Somewhere they tore past the sun-like radiance of the giant pearl temple, Adam had slipped into darkness. He drifted down into himself, everything was so peaceful and numb. Soon even the hiss of the air tank became muted in some inner distance. There was no duty. No pain. Nobody to save and suffer for. It was just Adam in the undemanding dark.

How long he drifted like that Adam couldn’t really say.

An exhausted part him wanted to stay, but Adam knew that other people were gave everything meaning, and they weren’t in here.

So Adam forced his eyes open, shuddering and coughing and he coughed up blood and hell water on the Commons grass. The agony and color came rushing back like a punch to the solar plexus. He just lay there for a bit, the Earth’s grass reassuringly familiar.

The rough coal edges of the key bit into the skin of Adam’s palm, reminded himself that it all hadn’t just been a nightmare.

“So Mina,” Adam rasped grinning blearily up at his hunting partner. “How’d ya like Atlantis?”

The longer Dave watched the portal, the longer he itched to jump in it. For them, and for the simple siren call of water he wasn’t acquainted with yet.Each tide brought the swirling vibrations of their bodies moving through the water until one wave he couldn’t feel them at all. Instead the waves brought monsters, some which could be deterred by firing backsticks into their heads and some that Dave couldn’t hunt so easily with one arm in a sling. He kept people away instead, all the while making sure he had skin in the water, as the minutes went by and threatened to become hours, until the tide began to ebb.

Dave’s heart stayed in his throat until he felt the vibrations of the pair returning, racing through the water and a little closer with each wave. He turned as the next wave rushed through the portal, and spat out the pair of them with it. Alive, gasping for air. Dave couldn’t help his relieved grin. They filled the air with the stench of quickly spilling blood, freshwater algae and eel slick. His smile slid off his face as he saw the injuries that were becoming a staple of hunts with Walker, and hurried over to meet them. The first aid kit in his bag wasn’t going to cut it.

#gun use tw #parental death tw #head trauma tw #potw #Portal Combat #seizethecarpe #drowningisinevitable #walkerjournal

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thetorturerwrites · 4 years

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Lamb Ch 8 - Stop This

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary: For hours, you kept vigil. Your terror believed you to be alone in a mundane forest, and you strained to hear a gnarly growl, an angry hiss, or even the snap of a twig to alert you of a predator’s presence.

But this was not a normal woodland, and there was only the gentle rustle of reeds and leaves in the breeze. This place was perilous but subtly so, the danger disguised as beauty.

You drowned in worry, chewing your cheeks and lips as you waited for him to return or to appear from between the trees where he hovered, watching you struggle. He would, you nodded to no one. Surely, even he wouldn’t leave you alone in peril. You told yourself this over and over, demanding that your heart make your brain believe it. Surely, offering your body and potentially pregnant already made you worth something.

Author’s Note: Thanks to everyone following along with this story. It is unfolding in a very unique way that I did not expect. I appreciate you all. <3

Content Note: Menstruation & red mustache, suicidal ideation, talk of pregnancy

Word Count: 4.5k

For hours, you kept vigil. Your terror believed you to be alone in a mundane forest, and you strained to hear a gnarly growl, an angry hiss, or even the snap of a twig to alert you of a predator’s presence.

But this was not a normal woodland, and there was only the gentle rustle of reeds and leaves in the breeze. This place was perilous but subtly so, the danger disguised as beauty.

But the nagging doubt never receded. His compassion, if he truly had it, was warped by solitude and eons of ends. You knew he would kill a thing to end its suffering rather than lend it aid.

Huddled in on yourself as best you could in your bondage, you kept the tears at bay until fatigue won out over fortitude. Limp, aching, wrecked, you contemplated screaming the way you did the first day. It drew his attention, after all. Instead, you cried as quietly as you could. He did not come, would not come; this was your punishment.

When your mind could no longer resist, you succumbed to fitful sleep, hounded by dreams of his terrible helmet and angry face. Repeatedly, you jerked awake from his haunting shouts only to still be hanging from the damn tree. How long would he make you endure this?

Shivering and miserable, you barely noticed the bright light emerging to your left. Larger and stronger, hotter and hotter, it grew, catching your eye and sending both wide open. You blinked hard to be sure you were awake, that you weren’t imagining it, but on it grew to the size of a man. The sort of man you’d seen only once before in your life.

The sort of man who wasn’t a man at all.

Even if you were half-dreaming, or half-mad, there was no mistaking who it was. There was only the unanswerable question of what he wanted.

On a wince, you turned away when he stepped from the center of that dazzling aura. You didn’t want to look. Although you instinctively knew that if The Ren was real, so too must be his brother, you didn’t want to see it. You didn’t need more evidence that the decision you made to journey here was ludicrous.

Unphased by your flinch, his ethereal fingers skimmed your chin, and his overly warm hand cupped your cheek. The near tenderness of it made you want to wretch. It was too much. He was too close. The Ren was cool to the touch, calming and, somehow, tranquil. This creature burned too brightly. You felt singed by his very touch, and you didn’t want even a second more of it. There was only one way to make him stop, though.

Begrudgingly, you looked up into such familiar eyes; but whereas you knew irises that flitted from color to color, these shone a brilliant gold, piercing and fixed. They traveled the length of your body, and you could do nothing but endure his assessing eyes upon your nudity.

“Stop this.”

His voice radiated through you, flipping your stomach. It startled your heart out of rhythm, forcing a choking wheeze from your straining ribs. It was a punch to the gut, a sameness that was just slightly off. He spoke with a voice you knew, but it teemed with something unnameable, something you felt in your bones. It was wrong, as though he worked to make sure you knew who and what he was with his voice.

Abruptly, the light bulb blinked on. This was pure demand disguised as niceness. The Galaxy belonged to him, and he was very accustomed to getting his way.

“You do not know what you do.” He pinched your chin and forced your face nearer to his glowing gaze. “Stop this before you do greater damage.”

His touch turned fiery, angrily so. It was a threat, intended to punctuate your mortality with the slightest, most insignificant gesture. Fear knocked your knees, but you set your jaw against the blossoming burn and jerked away from his fingers.

The calm shroud evaporated, replaced by annoyance. It was a look you knew well; but this time, you didn’t shy away from it. His hand tightened to a fist, and he towered over you, leaning in menacingly. You perched on the verge of saying something monumentally stupid when he glanced over your shoulder toward the mossy path, clocking something you couldn’t see. One last stern look to you was all there was before he disappeared, sucking all the heat and then some from the little nook as he went.

Your trembling turned to quaking, a mixture of cresting adrenaline, fear, and what now felt like arctic cold. Your entire body shook terribly, unable to find any equilibrium in the wake of cold warring with hot.

Your particular deity came into view, and you slumped against the tree, ready to beg that he take you from here. You wondered how you must look, terrified and wild-eyed with your teeth chattering, chest and abdomen heaving, and fingers scrabbling against the ties at your wrists.

All of which he completely ignored.

The contented noise he made as he lifted you into granite arms and curled your legs around his waist jolted through you. Relief flooded in at the feel of him against you, and you let loose a pitiful whinge and pulled at the ties. All you wanted to do was curl into his broad chest, regardless of how childish it would feel.

Having his own agenda, cool fingers grazed your labia, plucking at the meat before sliding further down to assess your readiness. The realization that he meant to have you here, in the open, struck a chord you couldn’t put your finger on. But if you kept secret what just happened, the penance for it could very well be another night on this tree.

You twisted in his arms and shook your head to get it on straight, but he only tucked his face into the crook of your neck to lick at your sweat-slicked skin. He mistook your attempt at gathering your wits as reluctance and bit at your jaw. He clawed at your backside to keep you still, and you hissed at the drag of his nails.

“Did you think it would be only once, lamb?” He shifted you in his embrace, scraping your back against the rigid bark. His next words came against the corner of your mouth, a husky promise that set your insides to clenching. “You’ll sacrifice this pretty cunt to me over and over.”

“N-n-n...” Freezing, feverish, and foolish, you couldn’t control your tongue. Pushing a knee up under his arm, you squirmed and thrashed until you thought he might slap you. “S-s-s-solo.”

The Galaxy stopped.

The Ren’s normally disinterested features morphed into murderous, and his fingers gouged into the soft swell of your hips. He stared at you, seething, and your very soul shrank from him. Cowering, waiting for the strike, you turned your face away, squeezed your eyes shut tight, and braced for the explosion of his anger.

What was a calm breeze whipped up into tumultuous wind. The silver twilight sky darkened with thick, gray, thunderous clouds. Plants and flowers and trees curled away from their creator, burrowing down as though to survive his wrath. Stars that hearkened to his every whim blinked out, casting the land into midnight blackness.

Whatever fear Solo produced in you vanished in the face of this. You knew what The Ren was capable of, what he could accomplish with nothing more than his mood.

You clung to him, knees tight around his middle, ankles hooked at the small of his back. He was the eye of the storm, the only bit of steadiness in this now abysmal environment. His eyes flashed lightning bright, swirling ominous shades of crimson and smoke. Suddenly, his wide hand snatched up your face, turning it right and left. You knew the skin flushed and heated from Solo’s touch, but could he see it somehow? Did the man beget of light leave a mark on your flesh?

Enraged, he shoved you away, letting his wolfish stare rake over the rest of you. You balked, shifting uncomfortably as he gripped your outer thigh and turned you to one side. Tangling fingers in your hair, he yanked your head back to inspect the jagged neckband for signs of tampering. It was then you understood he was looking for evidence that his brother sullied you, coerced you away from his claim.

You were naked, disheveled, and visibly struggling with all that transpired; and no doubt, the majority of anyone he’d ever known found Solo to be the more appealing brother.

“I-I-I didn’t.” You stood onto your toes and tried to lean into him, as though you could calm the brute with your nearness. “N-nothing happened. He said go away; that’s all. I-I swear.”

Hoping to placate him with that information, you shrieked as it only launched him into a roar that cracked the very ground you stood upon. From nowhere, his arcane scythe flew into his hand; and when the saber ignited, every vein in every leaf of every tree electrified to match until all the land was aglow in a scarlet-infused fog.

“Please,” you begged, haggard and croaking. “It was nothing. I didn’t do this.”

Rattled to the root of your spine, you were a breath away from apologizing for your very existence when the arc of his weapon came for you. It was so fast you didn’t have time to scream. In a blink, you knew Solo turned his brother from you, made him see this was senseless and that you couldn’t do what you’d promised.

Your time as a stupid girl was at an end.

It wasn’t until you felt Ren’s inflexible grip around your upper arm that you recognized you weren’t dead. He hauled you onto your feet and threw you at the path from which you’d come yesterday. Disoriented and ungraceful, you tripped and clattered to the ground in a mess of shredded cloak, boots, and knotted hair.

“Go back.” He hefted you from the ground and tossed you further down the minor road. “For once in your idiot life, do as you’re told. Do not leave Hosnia. Am I understood?”

His voice was unlike anything you’d heard before. Even from him. It was sonorous on a cosmic scale, and it shook loose a mudslide behind him, substantial chunks of mountain crashing to the ground. The outright malice weighting every word made your eyes ache, your lungs tighten.

Before he could shout at you again or bury you beneath the rubble, you ran.

He was gone a week before you strayed further than his bedroom and the bath. You kept to the outside, deciding it wouldn’t do to have him find you snooping through his things. Again. You roamed winding paths and explored small caves in what he called Hosnia. You also investigated the lasting effects of Solo’s presence. Large footprints left a scorched path on the ground. The bark around where you hung was charred, and many of the bushes in the vicinity were fried down to stems. Nothing here was meant to withstand so much light, such intensity.

With the absence of The Ren’s bombastic anger, everything settled back into calm, though the stars didn’t shine as brightly, and the flora didn’t bloom as vibrantly. Everything he created seemed to miss him terribly. You didn’t let yourself fear he wouldn’t return until you admitted you missed him, too.

Hugging yourself, you trained your eyes upon the red clay footpath and wandered aimlessly for what felt to be an entire day. At the Demarcation, you found his small band of soldiers patrolling. The sight of them jarred you because wherever he’d gone, he went alone. And he left his cadre of ghouls to keep you here, to contain you.

The thought was unsettling.

When you came upon the pulverized altar, the exact spot of your tethering, you lost all control. Sunk down in the very center of it, you howled strained, lonely, wrenching sobs. He left you here. He left, and he wasn’t coming back. He might be dead, and he left you here to rot, an abandoned, foolish child in the middle of a cruel, deadly world.

You didn’t go outside after that.

You wept for days, even as you tried to force yourself to function, to pass for some kind of alive. You wandered room after room, which only fueled your heartbreak because you found that he collected artifacts from all throughout the Galaxy. Some rooms were expertly furnished, decorated to bear the theme of what you thought of as the objects’ homeworld. Some were haphazard and chaotic, the contents thrown inside and forgotten. These made you cry the hardest because you felt just like those rugs, those tatters.

Useless. Forgotten.

At the end of the second week, your menses came, and you fractured all over again. Collapsed against a wall in the throne room, you unraveled into choking, heaving, mournful sounds you didn’t know yourself capable of making. No Ren. No family. No child to potentially keep you company, to give you purpose. The physical ache of your insides was pale in comparison.

You were utterly alone.

And you could not die. Not without The Ren to release you.

There was no escaping this hell, this monotonous existence wrought with only bottomless desolation. This was the sum and scope of your world now. You would be a wailing wraith disrupting the perfect silence with your lunacy.

“Find me in the Balance, beloved.”

The voice you had been desperate to hear for months broke through your delirium, stunning you to stillness. It was as clear as if she sat beside you, and you looked around frantically. You called for her, shouting when you received no answer. In the astounding silence, you pleaded. You begged her to save you, begged the universe to let you join her. Pressing your forehead against the icy wall, you willed yourself to expire.

“Just die. Please, just let me die,” you murmured over and over.

As though to answer your plea, the barrier against which you rested shimmered to life with diaphanous color. It drew your head up, meeting your despair with the faces of your family. On a shocked cry, you rocked backwards, away from the thing; but as soon as your touch disconnected, it returned to a lifeless, muted slab.

Inching forward, you warily, carefully, pressed your fingertips to the surface; and again, the faces of your family parted the gloomy veil and blossomed into a lovely gossamer picture. Through tears turned grateful, you watched the memory play out. It was summer, and you’d all gone for a picnic. You and your brother picked as many wildflowers as you could find to decorate the small shrine Nona brought to bless the outing.

One memory tumbled into the next, silhouettes shifting as though in a delicate waltz. Three vignettes was all it took for you to understand that he watched people’s memories this way, and you could watch yours so long as you touched it.

Shot up onto your feet, you ran through the rooms and collected every pillow and blanket you could find. You tore sheets and blankets from one bed after another and dragged over rugs to soften the hard floor.

If this was your new eternity, you would spend it with them the only way you could.

This was how he found you, buried in a nest of your own design, bundled up in another stolen shirt, and asleep with your knuckles pressed against the seam where wall met floor.

The scrape of his teeth roused you. He bit and licked and sucked at the ruddy stains on your inner thighs, drawing you from your dreams with each nip. A breathy, satisfied sigh slipped loose; and in your sleepy fog, you reached down to curl your fingers into his silken tresses.

The next purr you heard was decidedly not your own, and you slammed into awareness just as he buried his face in your pussy. On an alarmed squeak, you tried to inch away, to twist out of his grasp, but he dug his fingers and nails into your back so deep all you could do was whine.

His wicked tongue plundered through the folds and crevices of your sex before delving down and into the very proof of your failure.

Fat tears collected at the corners of your eyes because if anything you'd done here was worthy of punishment, of being cast out, it was this. This inability to live up to your word.

When he tipped your hips and parted your thighs wider, opening you up for him further, you forgot to feel sorry for yourself. Then, he bit and tugged on your labia and sucked on your over-sensitive clit, making you forget how to even inhale.

This was vulgar in its most base form, and you groaned aloud at how fucking pleased he seemed to be. He hummed and growled. Each obscene squish earned you a new murmur and tempted you to sink further into this sin with him.

You writhed and moaned, trying to coax him into just the right spot without words. But he set his sights on a new target and crawled up your body, stalking you even though you'd already been caught.

He nudged your legs apart wide with his hips and pushed his cock into your gory entrance easily. A quick rock of his hips had you pinned, penetrated, and gasping for air.

He bottomed out on an exquisite moan, and you finally let yourself look. You knew your eyes went wide, knew your mouth fell open in shock. His perfect features were not only painted in your blood, they were accented by a large scar running from forehead to clavicle.

Your mind swam with a million questions, but there was nothing to say. You'd been claimed by a barbarian, the battle king come to take what was his.

Your cunt gushed a red river, lubricating the way for him, and he slowly, languidly fucked you open, giving you long, measured passes until your body accepted him eagerly. You thought you might combust because he was here. He was inside of you, and you weren’t alone. The patient tempo of his hips increased, stunting your lungs and lifting you into an arch. You struggled and panted at the end of a particularly deep, delicious thrust, whimpering at the staggering fullness you felt. Of body. Of spirit.

You desperately wanted to hear his voice, for him to praise you or call you a dumb girl, but he said nothing, giving you only a raspy chorus of grunts. Matching him, you bit at your lips, both upper and lower, to keep from moaning; but when he shifted to kneel between your thighs, you lost the fight for silence.

Whether it was the sight of your blood or your overwhelmed hiccups, something spurred him into a harsh pace; and soon, the sound of his body slapping against yours countered your shrieks and cries. He dug one hand into your abdomen painfully, gouging at your flesh with unkind fingers to hold you in place so he could pound at you forcefully. With the other, he scooped your blood from around his relentless cock to paint your thighs, your belly, your ribs with it.

Bringing you down to the level of savage, too.

Pungent iron and tang perfumed the air; and when he bent over you to lick and bite at a stain he’d just made, you curled upwards to meet him. You gaped as he lifted his gaze to meet yours, lost to the swirl of want and demand. Holding his stare only made him fuck you harder, but you held it, fighting through the tremors and ribbons of ecstasy threatening to throw you off course.

His eyes shone nearly entirely black with only the faintest swirl at the edges of his irises, as though he’d descended into absolute madness and still fought his way back. His cheeks and nose blushed ever so faintly, and his plump pink lips pressed into a hard line as he concentrated on what you assumed was not pulverizing you. Carmine swooshes of your blood decorated his mouth, jaw, and chin, casting him as every bit the fearsome monster many believed him to be.

And though he wracked your body, all you could think was that he was magnificent.

“There go I to meet him,” you whispered, unaware you even began the war prayer. “Bone-breaker, world killer, Prince of the Void.”

He snarled and wrapped his hands around your rib cage, pressing in viciously, but he did not stop you. You left your body, suspended in the grip of death more now than ever before; but still, you prayed to him, and he allowed it.

“There go I to find him, to tell him my sorrows, all my joys and pains.”

A ravenous growl dripped from his beautiful lips, and you, adrift in this lewd mass, traced the fresh scar upon his face with the gentlest of touches. As he drilled you nearer to mindless, you struggled to maintain his stare and pay attention as the inky chasms filled in with the vibrancy you remembered.

“Finish it.”

He groused behind gnashing teeth, lifting your hips entirely off the ground to make himself a better angle. You clung to his neck, yelping in alarm, but he held you effortlessly, keeping your cunt right where he wanted it.

“There… go… I…”

You quaked under the sheer demand of his thrusts. Nothing like last time, he threw himself into you, stabbing at your pussy so furiously you thought you could feel the fat head of his cock shoving the words up and out of your throat. He was going to kill you; you decided. Screaming at the end of his dick, just like all the others.

“Think you're a warrior now, hm?”

He snaked both arms along your back and lifted you against him. Settling back on his haunches, he wound your arms about his neck. He mouthed at your jaw, your lips, your pulse. And though he held you like you were nothing, this new position sent your weight down onto his thick cock, which earned you a sinful sound you knew you’d pray for again.

“Finish it.”

Finding his rhythm in this new configuration took seconds, and he crashed up into your cunt brutally. Even the sensuous way he breathed, deep in his broad chest and punctuated with a bit-back groan, melted away your heartache and emboldened you. Pressing your forehead to his, you curved your hand along his scalp, carding through the lustrous strands. You poured every bit of feeling, of concentration and outright need to be pleasing into this moment. You steeled your voice against any hint of wobble or breakage.

“There go I to beg him,” You nudged his nose with yours the way you had the first day when you offered your body to him. “Maker of mercy, keeper of the balance.” You swept your lips across his, feather soft and hesitant. “Carry me home.”

As you finished, he gripped your ass tight, sheathed his cock in your heat to the hilt, and captured your mouth on a fierce kiss. Hard hips bucked, pumping you full of his seed, taking back what he thought his brother spoiled. Awestruck, you watched the orgasm roll across his face. It started as a grimace and locked jaw and ended as flared nostrils, rolling lips, and the bob of his throat when he swallowed.

Leaning forward, he eased you to the blanketed floor and settled himself against you, still wedged between your thighs and stretching your cunt to its limit. He sucked a mark into your skin just below your ear and licked at the skin just above his collar. You silently begged that the hum vibrating against your chest never stop and mewled when he shifted his knee further up to keep you open indecently.

His hips rocked into yours again, signaling he was not yet through with you, and you blew out a ragged breath. His hands pinched and palmed and skimmed all while his dick dragged out nearly completely only to push back in tantalizingly slow. You felt a new dollop of warm and sticky pour from you each time he did it, but you couldn’t tell if it was blood, arousal, or a mixture of both.

His honey-smooth voice, when it next came, rolled through you and made you dizzy. As he’d done so many times before, he slid his thumb, and that erotic drug, along your tongue, shooting you so high into the heavens you could only stare, bewildered and lost to the ravages of his desire.

“This is the last time you’ll bleed, little lamb.”

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #lamb

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anika-ann · 5 years

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Walpurgis Night

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 9860 (oh, oh, dammit)

Summary: For the once wandering eye of the former King Howard of Starkerbürg, the kingdom suffered a terrible loss.

As winter blossoms into spring, the night of Walpurgis arrives and another man is chosen to bring the long-lost princess, sister to King Anthony, home. No one has ever succeeded in the task; another spring equals another life lost.

Steven was not meant to be selected; he volunteered, taking another man’s place. It is up to him to set foot into the woods where myths come to life and men of the kingdom meet their death.

A/N: for a challenge hosted by @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan. Congratulation to your rightfully earned milestone. May you gain more loyal followers in the future. I thank you for allowing me to take part in your challenge. Prompt: Fairytale AU

Warnings: mentions of death(s), minor injury and blood, supernatural elements, fluff extraordinaire, a little bit of angst

Note: It’s not a habit of mine to inset links for music, but if anyone wishes to listen to the song responsible for this fic, link is in the text (and the non-Marvel pics above are from the music video).

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

“May the Gods lead your sword and bring you home safe, my brave lord,” the Queen pronounced as she placed a cowslip to his collar and beckoned to him to stand up.

If Steven’s heart wasn’t beating its way out of his chest with a barely contained restlessness, he would have chuckled bitterly. ‘Lord.’ As if he was anything but a peasant, as if his life had any value to the King or the Queen; and yet, Queen Virginia’s gaze rested upon him and observed him with sorrow; as if he mattered to her.

As if she regretted her husband’s madness, one he had inherited from his father.

King Howard, passing away last winter, had never bothered hiding his wandering eye. Queen Maria, his beloved wife, had graciously tolerated her husband’s predilection for other women, seeing as he never acted upon it. Many ladies of the court had found themselves blessed when the King decided to spent an evening in their company; although never left alone with his highness, never granted even a gleam of hope of being taken as a lover, they cherished their moments with him and held no grudges.

However, an exception to the rule had always solidified its validity.

One of the King’s chosen companions had fallen for him, refusing offers of marriage which had been not scarce as she had foolish faith in king’s short-lived attraction. She – and her name could never be spoken in the land of Starks ever again, one of the most serious offences punished by death – deluded herself into believing he would leave the Queen, blind to the deep affection shared between her sovereigns. Oblivious until the second royal child was born.

The Princess, barely days old, went missing overnight, the very night of Walpurgis, when the powers of evil were believed to be most potent. With the ringing of tower bells, the King’s Guard saw to find the heiress to the crown.

Before the night was over, all they discovered was a laughing woman, having gone mad with heartbreak.

“You took everything from me,” she spluttered, spitting on king’s shoes as she had been forced to her knees, hands restrained; eyes teary and yet smiling. “Now you shall know how that feels.”

The woman had laughed and laughed as she burned at the stake, crying tears of joy at king’s torment. She had carried away the baby to the woods; left it for the malicious intentions of fauns, elves, dryads, nymphs, hulders and witches, all the evil spirits from myths much truer than prophesies read from the stars.

The Princess was lost ever since.

Steven had only learned this history from his mother’s narrative (Gods may grant her peace in afterlife) and from rumours spreading all over the Stark’s lands.

How could it not still be spoken of?

Every Walpurgis Eve, the night of the evil spirits’ power ruling and yet assumed to be most vulnerable, a brave man would rise and offer his service to the King, attempting to save the Princess from the claws of darkness.

Every morning after, all that was left of him was his armour; king’s armour, the finest quality, abandoned. With each life lost, the King turned more furious; with every life laid down, fewer and fewer lords were willing to meet their certain death.

Thieves and tavern brawlers were dragged to the edge of forest in their place, meeting the same fate; death cared little for nobility and wealth, greedily hoarding all souls offered.

Steven was no thief, had never been caught in a middle of a brawl. However, Pietro, the brother to Wanda, born moments apart from her as their mother left them before they were blessed enough to meet her, had not been as fortunate.

While King Antony had promised to end the never-ending madness of his father once he would inherit the crown, swearing that no other man would be coerced to try and complete an impossible task (as the people of Starkerbürg whispered of the Princess being long dead, eaten by wolves or the forest spirits), the day had come and he had chosen another innocent soul.

No amount of cries from the broken woman, who had no family left but her twin brother, had mollified the King. He himself had lost his mother to grief, his father to illness and his sister to pointless vengeance; why should he care for compassion when he could hold onto the senseless hope instead?

Steven could no longer watch the tragedy unfolding in front of him, less so having met the twins before. He had stepped forward and took Pietro’s place.

Steven had no family of his own, not anymore, not yet; not for the lack of sudden interest from women who had never as much as spent him a glance only few winters prior when he had been fighting all illnesses the kingdom had ever suffered. His mother had worked tooth and nail to keep him alive; and Steven wished to find himself a mate just as loving, not a fickle female who turned around for the man most impressive at given time.

Perhaps he was abandoning that foolish dream for his very recent actions. Perhaps, he wouldn’t live long enough to meet such kind soul who would care little whether his body was a fragile vessel (which it used to be) or as strong as a horse.

In the end, Steven had nothing to fear, barely anything to lose. Should he fail, he might encounter his father who had offered for the similar task many years ago.

Men had been laying down their lives, involuntarily. Steven was willing to do so if he could spare the poor Wanda suffering and gift her the life of her brother. If there had been one thing Steven craved more than a beautiful loving wife of a kind heart, it was him being a good man.

Returning to the present, Steven rose as the Queen had commanded, his fingers deliberately brushing over the yellow flower nestled in his collar. A cowslip; for protection from evil spirits. The castle, the towns, the villages… they were flooded with cowslips these days, fires lit long before sunset. The whole land feared the creatures of the forest.

His mother had always warned him from them, keeping the fate her husband had met in mind.

Sarah, Steven’s beloved mother who had worked herself to an early grave to put as much as a bread crust to his mouth, would have cried her eyes out if she learned her son was being foolish, coming voluntarily; her heart would have shattered with sorrow. Her heart would have burst with pride had she learned he had done it to save another man’s life.

With peace in mind Steven bowed to Queen Virginia and King Anthony once more before turning away. The Queen’s sorrowful eyes followed him as the crowd parted, forming an aisle for him to walk through; gracelessly stepping aside so he may walk towards his death.

A small hand curled around his wrist, forcing him to halt and meet a pair of familiar emerald eyes.

“Natalia,” he granted her with a reassuring smile and she sprang towards him from James’ side, throwing her arms around him in an unladylike manner, losing nothing of the warmth of her gesture.

“Steven. Trust nothing you see,” she warned him with a knowing glint in her eye, worry for her dear friend creasing the elegant arches of her brows.

Steven stiffened, taken aback by both her heartfelt assault and her words. He gently squeezed her waist, wary of letting people see their affection. She was to wed soon, to his best friend no less. James understood, however the people of the court and other commoners like himself might not.

“I shall return to you all, Natalia. Worry for me not,” he whispered, allowing her to slip from his arms, nodding at his friend who reciprocated the gesture, patting his shoulder covered in expensive cloak.

“Don’t do anything foolish, brother.”

Natalia shook her head, tight-lipped smile on her face, brief and too weak for anyone to believe that she had that much faith in him.

It wounded Steven, yes, but feeble-minded he was not. The truth was merciless; not one man had ever returned from the path he was about to set foot on. Not a single one.

“You are a fool,” Natalia lamented, her palm tenderly laid on his chest, as if she could feel his heartbeat under the many layers covering his torso, including the thick chainmail. “May the Gods protect you, Steven. Be careful.”

He nodded, only having taken a single step aside when another person appeared in his path.

Wanda. The sister. Realization dawned to Steven, for the first time since the unfortunate morning of Pietro being chosen, that she had barely reached the age of a woman, rather being a child still. Bending down to her as her frame seemed even smaller than usual, her thin shoulders scrunched in guilt, Steven could see clearly her tears-stained face.

Her petite hands, cold to touch and trembling, wrapped around his left one, watery eyes looking up at him. Steven didn’t hesitate to give her a smile, to assure her that she owed him nothing for taking her brother’s place.

The redhead didn’t seem to agree, seeing as her skirts swirled and she fell to her knees right in front of him in a gesture of subservience.

“My la-“ he exclaimed, alarmed, more so when she turned his hand in hers, her lips hovering above his leather-cladded palm, another sign of inferiority to him, leaving him horrified. Overtaken by shock, rendered speechless, he only observed as she took his other hand and repeated her action, clinging onto him like onto a dear life.

Only when she raised her teary eyes to him, he shook himself at last and kneeled to her level, regardless of the mud staining his attire. She had clearly cared not for her skirts either as the plain dress she was wearing were now soaked in dirt.

“My lady, Wanda-”

Her lips quivered, tears rolling down her pale cheeks as she released his hand and reached to the curve of her nape, unfastening a thin chain carrying a pendent.

Breath caught in Steven’s throat when she handed it to him without hesitation, curling her tiny fingers around his before he could even consider giving it back. Her whisper, peculiarly deep and so quiet he had to strain his ears to hear it, resonated in his soul, her gaze trapping him.

“Shall the kindness of your heart be your lifeline in the dark. May it shine and keep you warm, perish not its honest spark.”

Mesmerized by a red gleam which Steven would swear he saw burning in her eyes for the shortest of moments, he nearly missed the flicker of fire running through his veins.

Mind foggy, he blinked quite frantically to clear his vision. Wanda’s eyes welcomed him with their inviting brightness, her hands squeezing his. The illusion of the flame disappeared.

Snapping from his trance, Steven got a hold of her forearms and assisted her in standing up to her full height. She appeared unbothered by the state of her clothing, her gaze never leaving his face, focused and sincere.

“Blessed be your kind soul, son of Joseph,” Wanda whispered, voice as soft as her grateful smile.

Steven, feeling a strange tingle in his fingertips, at the base of his spine and in his very core, only nodded, his father’s name echoing in his ears. How had she heard of his father? How did she know?

Sensing the eyes of all onlookers on them, he swallowed his confusion and the unfamiliar feeling coursing through his veins and finally continued walking, the crowd closing behind him like sea. He readjusted the sword in its scabbard, the shield – a gift from the King himself for every man marching to find his own end in the woods – sitting heavy on the straps on his back.

The pendent from Wanda burned in his palm and so he secured it around his neck, hoping he would bring the precious piece of jewellery back to her.

Unknown to him, Wanda’s eyes followed him with content, an inconspicuous watery smile on her lips, a knowing glint in her eye as her brother placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her into an embrace.

The glittering aura, now glowing bright due to her little enchantment, drawing sights of all powered creatures, just might mollify the spirits of the woods and cause them to spare Steven’s life as they never wished to harm a man of a pure heart.

The sun was nearly at the end of its path behind horizon when Steven walked through the city gate.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

♪

Steven couldn’t recall how he had found himself in this place of magic. His feet had led him of their own accord, the fire of his torch long gone; an absence barely acknowledged as the moonlight was shining bright, illuminating the scene unfolding in front of him.

A meadow soaked in silver, serene and yet bursting with life, laughter and music, men-like half-goat creatures romping in the middle, a circle of dancing women-- beautiful, beautiful women, light on their feet, nearly floating, their modest white clothing swirling with each movement---so exquisite that Steven forgot how to breathe, all coherent thought leaving his mind as his eyes remained hypnotized by the grace and joy of the dreamlike goddesses.

Laughing, voices as hundreds of tiny bells, two of the stunning women turned their head, spotting his lone figure standing motionless between the trees. Eyes sparkling, they sprung forward, bare feet barely touching the ground as they twirled around him, delicate fingers tracing the lines of his wide shoulders and his heart fluttered and begun to hum an ancient song he had never been taught and yet he knew.

His cloak pooled on the ground by his feet as their quick fingers unclasped the buckle and Steven was overtaken by gratitude, for the cloak had been weighting him down, a superfluous piece of heavy cloth, too warm, standing in the way of their pleasant touch—the chainmail was lost next, having him bound, suffocated---he only had the mindfulness of the precious doves to thank to for freeing him of his burdens.

His sword long abandoned beside the shield and his dagger, their giggle echoed in the open space, whispered back by the lindens and oaks, as they aided him to lose his boots too, those shackles preventing him from joining their joyful dance.

Each of the goddesses interlaced her fingers with his, pulling him into the whirl and twirl, his heart light and overflowing with happiness unknown until that very moment.

The sheer beauty of his female companions would have been enough to bring him to his knees, already growing weak from exhaustion; the delicate lines of their physique, hair he would serenade for its softness, lips lush, begging to be tasted, eyes sparkling with life—and one pair of the most dazzling eyes glassy with unshed tears, smiling, yet heavy with sorrow, never leaving his frame, never shying away from his fascinated gaze, her own boring into his very soul and weeping for it.

Steven truly ceased to breathe and his heart rose to the moon and stars themselves when she broke the circle and reached out to him the exact moment his legs gave out under a sudden wave of dizziness. Steven succeeded at staying on his feet only for her and the brief hint of a smile on her tempting lips.

Then, this incarnation of the goddess of beauty herself was drawn back to her place as the dancing and singing went on, weariness settling deep in Steven’s body. Too frantic, too swirly, too noisy—too little breaths, too little beats of his heart, his feet too slow, not even hoping to match the swift and elegant movements of his dance partners.

Glancing at the stunning woman-like creature following him with her mournful gaze, Steven had been offered a sight of her tears. His heart ached for he saw her sadness; he wished to dry the salty droplets, to wipe them with the pad of his thumb, to kiss them away-- but his hands were trapped in strong grips of his companions, not allowing him to as much as budge.

Darkness edged his vision and more and more tears escaped the wells of her eyes. Before Steve realized what was to happen, his worn feet tangled and he collapsed to the ground, grass and moss soft and damp under his cheek.

The music and singing didn’t cease, the circle simply shifting few feet away so his heavy body wouldn’t be in the way of the ancient dance, old as time itself.

Steven’s vision blurred; the last thing he felt before his mind abandoned the feast of the forest spirits was the woman – for whose smile to see he would both kill and die – cupping his cheek.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

From the moment the sunrays ceased to paint the sky in warm colours, your heart appeared to be called out by a presence unknown to you until tonight.

Tonight--oh, the precious night, the dreaded night, as every year, a man would appear in the middle of the celebration of the gods and joined your circle, only to leave it before the fire could even begin to be lit.

Too weak, your sisters always whispered, dismissing the human as a lesser being, consumed by the feast, the most cherished night of the year.

It is to be as the Gods wish, they would laugh, pulling you back to the circle, the dance swift to take up all of your attention.

It is as it was meant to be, they would assure you as another soul left its vessel by the dawn, their elegant fingers scattering cowslips all over the cold body, enchantment whispered in deep voices resonating in your very soul, until the corpse was swallowed by the sacred ground.

You’d only contribute by tears, watering the earth with salt and sorrow, until your sisters – in soul, not blood – would hold your hands, tugging you to join them in collecting the sweetest dew, healing all plant life and animals, the magic of the previous night persisting in its droplets.

And as day blended into night and night into another day and night—you’d be soothed by the beautiful circle of life, for until the Walpurgis Night crept in anew and the history would repeat itself.

But tonight, oh, tonight, Gods bless this night and curse it-! Let it never end—for that the man who had appeared this night was too good, too beautiful, his presence blissful and warming, radiant, his kindness as if glowing through his whole being--- basking in his light alone brought tears of delight to your eyes—turning to ones of sorrow and terror when your sisters pulled him into your dance, a dance macabre for every ordinary human being.

Every human being; except you. Mother’s magic sheltered you, keeping you safe, but oh, oh, if he was to die, then who were you to live--

His eyes barely ever left you, as if he could hear the trees whispering it was you, it was on your conscience; pointing their barky fingers at you, they accused you of every life lost and the truth they revealed. All the men, they had been seeking you, seeing to bring you to the castle where you had been stolen from and then left to die.

They don’t deserve you, Findling. You are ours to protect, ours to love. Don’t you love us too? Have we not given you home? You are safer in the forest than with them; they gave you up before.

And the truth they spoke too, your sisters; here you were welcomed. Only Gods withheld the secret of what would await you in the city. It could be death for all you had learned.

And did you not belong here?

Were you not grateful enough to stay?

Not tonight-- oh, tonight, you wished to leave, to redeem the kind soul trapped in the claws of death, ugly claws slowly dragging him away since the moment his strong body found its nest on the forest floor.

Breaking the circle was an offence, the greatest; yet, your heart begged you to do so, to hasten to kneel by the handsome and the oh, oh so good stranger, your fingers tracing his lovely features, gazing into his eyes – the colour of the sky meeting a glassy surface of the lake – watching you intently until they fell close.

Tears dampened your cheeks, the swirl and twirl of the wind and dance cooling them down, but only vainly hoping to sooth the burn in your heart, the pounding ache.

Your sisters let you, finishing their gift to the Gods, the exquisite dance of life and only then, Aeliana kneeled beside you, fingers curling around your wrist and pulling you away, your handsome stranger remaining motionless aside from shallow breaths, thin clothing over his body and nothing else; he had discarded it all, left at the mercy to the cold of the night. Just like every man before.

“Come, Findling, leave the fellow to his fate.”

Your feet moved unwillingly, step after step building a distance from him, your head spinning from the ache squeezing your chest.

Could she not see?

“He’s of such kind heart, sister. Should we not spare him? Do we not protect kind men from harm?” you queried, interceding on his behalf.

Such a handsome man he was. And his soul, so gentle-

“Kind as he might be, he shall meet the fate the Gods have prepared for him. Come now, little Findling, the fire is to be lit soon!”

Your vessel heavier than you remembered, you followed her back to the gyration of joy, sparing your stranger one more longing glance.

“May the Gods protect you for you are already dear to me,” you prayed for him, having no power similar to your sisters to keep him safe, your words nothing but simple sound. “May the Gods protect you.”

And should they not, then I will.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Cold seeping into his bones was the cause of a rude awakening; his fingers and his toes hurting, a biting coolness blended into pain with how insistently it clawed at him.

A shudder shook his whole frame and for several moments, as he walked the thin line between wakefulness and the bliss of a dream, Steven remembered how he had once believed that the sensation would be everlasting. He thought so every winter, when due to ever-present cold, his weak body suffered from the illness with ferocity unknown to stronger men.

He grew up strong and healthy, yet the memories of icy cold remained, a reminder of how he had to be grateful for every little blessing in life. Steve didn’t recall feeling such cold for few winters now, certainly not when welcoming a new day; and a new day it was, the sun, lacking its summer warmth still, danced behind his closed eyelids.

A weight on his chest wasn’t feeling any more familiar, far from the sensation his covers ever offered and that, more than anything, caused him to open his eyes.

Steven was welcomed by green; a green of the meadow, a green of the lindens and oaks and… and a fading green of a wreath resting on the head of the sweetest creature lying – to his profound astonishment – on his chest.

His heart sang as he recognized her soft features at instant.

It was her. The beautiful woman with the mesmerizing regretful eyes was sleeping on his chest, covered in droplets of dew, sparkling in her hair and in the withered flowers of her wreath, causing her to look even more ethereal than the night before. She felt a warm feather-light weight on him despite the see-through spiderweb-thin fabric, only so-so covering her fragile body in places where Steven’s eyes shouldn’t even wander if he was to remain proper.

He observed her, perplexed and grateful to Gods; what for he wasn’t certain yet. For letting her live?

She appeared so dream-like, so fragile, yet her body kept its warmth as if not affected by the freezing cold biting into Steven’s own skin. He would have thought he had been the one to protect her from freezing to death; and yet somehow, it appeared as if it was the exact opposite. When he swallowed against the lump forming in his throat and found courage to trace the pads of his fingers over her bare arm, her skin felt soft and warm, unlike his.

The breathing weight on him shifted at his daring touch and Steven would have regretted disturbing her sleep hadn’t it been for her luscious lips parting, her small hand over his heart flexing in his shirt, the tinniest movement sending a strand of her hair tickling his face and wrapping him in a heady flowery scent.

Hadn’t he been lost to her the night before, he would have given her his heart the very moment her eyes fluttered open, thick eyelashes calling for attention, framing a pair of the most mesmerizing irises he had even seen.

Hours could fly by and Steven wouldn’t have noticed; not when her gaze lingered on his face, locked with his and then… then she smiled, a wide and yet soft curve of her lips and Steven, who might have suffered from cold gnawing his body only a moment before, felt his heart melt; wondering what had he done to be blessed by the Gods guiding this stunning fairy into his arms.

“You are to live,” her voice caressed him and his hand acted at its own will, curling around the smooth arm it had stroked earlier.

Only then, her words rang in his ears, their meaning, and he couldn’t but reciprocate her smile. A complete fool he was not; he had a solid ground for believing she was the very reason he was still breathing. All of his predecessors had caught their death, only for their armour and clothing to be discovered untouched; seeing as he had apparently shed his own as well, he hadn’t been meant to survive.

The stunning beauty on his chest had saved him from freezing to death.

“Yes, my beautiful fairy. I feel like I have you to thank to for such blessing,” Steven whispered reverently, his heart swelling in his chest. What had led her to such action? Why had she protected him? And how was she not freezing? Was it her magic? “How is it you are not cold yourself?”

Seemingly unbothered by his touch, she brought her palm to cup his bearded cheek, as she had the night before. “It’s a gift, one of many from mo-- oh Goddess, you must go, now-!”

Ignorant to the dread in her eyes, Steven revelled in her tender touch, nearly crying out when she withdrew and went to stood up in one graceful motion.

“Fairy mine, of what-“

“You must leave! Surely Mother would be furious to see I have not left you for death to take! Go, run-“

At her words, Steven’s brows furrowed. He did not want the woman’s mother to be angry with her for she had helped him. Climbing to his feet, bare toes stiffened and almost blue, he barely found his footing. His suddenly fearful fairy took his hand and guided him to where he had left his attire.

“Hurry-"

Steven’s body listened, his fingers, slightly numb from the cold, reaching for his chainmail and cloak; yet, his eyes remained fixed on her, basking in the light of her presence. She truly was exquisite; for all she had been breath-taking in the moonlight, in daylight she glowed brighter than the sun.

“What may I call you, fairy mine?”

Her delicate hands, frantically aiding him with his cloak, ceased their movements, resting on his shoulders as she looked up at his face and while confused, she replied with a gentle shook of her head, sending her silky hair sliding down her shoulders.

“I do not have a name. Mother and sisters call me Findling. It is of old language, it stands for a-“

“- foundling,” Steven stole the last word from her lips, astonished. At that moment, he could be knocked out with a feather. She was-- his beautiful savoir, his stunning fairy--- his hands rose to her cheek to caress the skin, impossibly warm given her modest clothing.

She truly was still alive. The long-lost princess, believed to be dead for years by nearly everyone… was still breathing, a tragically forfeit daughter growing into a beautiful woman with a heart of gold.

Her eyelashes fluttered, shy gaze lowering to the sacred ground.

“You’re human,” slipped past Steven’s parted lips and her features, already tender, softened as she elevated her gaze, irises deep as a sea and sorrowful for whichever cause.

“Yes.”

“I found you—no, you found me. You are--- come with me-!”

As if a lightning struck her very being, she slid from his grasp and retreated several steps, heading towards the trees. Without hesitation, Steven followed her light footsteps.

“We must go. You must leave the forest before the wrath of Mother finds you,” she said, voice carrying nothing of its earlier softness.

Steven mourned its loss; his strides much longer than hers, he stooped in her path and carefully took a hold of her wrists. She appeared agitated now, frustrated that he was thawing her plan to lead him to safety as quickly as she could.

He cradled her jaw then, seeing as she halted in her steps despite her indignation. Even angered, she was the most precious thing he had ever laid his eyes on.

“Why wouldn’t you come to the castle with me? Your family mourns you,” he whispered, his thumb stroking her cheek unwittingly. “And I-I--“

I can’t even think of not seeing you again. Your smile. Gods, your smile…

Lost to the emotions swirling in her eyes, dancing across her features, a sudden thunderclap snapped them from their intimate conversation, practically causing his heart to stop in fright.

Steven instinctively stepped between her and where the noise had emitted from; the menacing sound had not been sent from the sky, he was certain of it as the sun still illuminated both him and the Princess.

“Mother,” his fairy whispered fearfully, easily slipping between Steven and the woman-like creature materializing between the trees, only few steps from them.

Steven liked little what his beautiful foundling had done for he was supposed to be the one to protect her. However, he could barely deny that he stood no chance against the Goddess, the Mother. His muscles could not even hope to compare to her magic; and could he feel it, the power crackling like a lightning in the air, a premonition of a death sentence.

Before Steven could as much as speak a single word, his fierce defender fell to her knees, head bowed in submission to her judge and jury.

“Mother, please, punish me for my insolence, for my felony—but harm him not. He is nothing but an innocent soul, too good to-“ she pleaded frantically, voice honest and trembling, striking Steven right in his heart, causing his chest to tighten.

His stunning fairy, the kindness incarnated, begged for his life.

No hesitation. No remorse. No care for her own well-being.

“No!” Steven blurted out, sidestepping her, only to freeze in his tracks when the Mother raised her hand, commanding him to stop without uttering a word.

Stunned, Steven didn’t dare to speak more, to move an inch; the creature carried herself a Goddess indeed, the Queen of the woods, the sovereign of magic itself. Purple and red twirled in her eyes, strict and yet somewhat kind, powerful. She walked measuredly to the pair of them, her outstretched hand slowly falling until she could reach the precious fairy, palm laying down on her head, caressing her hair, sliding lower until she forced her to raise her chin.

Then, the Mother smiled a gracious smile, seeing her daughter’s tears, tears which made Steven’s ribcage ache. She spoke in a voice deep enough to touch Steven’s soul, mighty and yet gentle.

“Did you believe I would punish you, Findling?” she questioned, sorrowfully almost. “For the love you carry in your soul, your kindness to strangers whose good heart you see even without ability to match ours? No, my sweet child. But you shall be reminded of the warning.”

Steven stiffened further. What warning? Was a punishment still to be carried out? In contrary to her words- he could not let that happen, not to his little fairy he had only just found--

As if sensing his outrage, as if reading his thoughts – and for the briefest of moments, Steven wondered if the powerful creature possessed such ability –, she levelled her gaze with his, one corners of her lips twirling, her smile turning into something resembling a smirk.

“Be at ease, soldier, I do not wish to harm her, quite the opposite. We have her wellbeing in our hearts always,” she assured him, an army of women, actual fairies, appearing behind her back out of thin air, side by side, serene and beautiful. “You think us savages, son of Joseph. We are not. We would never abandon a child, crying and starving in the woods, left to die. Certainly not for a twisted vendetta.”

Struck by genuine surprise at both the sudden emerge of the ethereal creatures and the Mother’s words, Steven couldn’t let out a sound. He was rendered speechless, overtaken by the memory of Wanda addressing him the very name the Mother had, similar magic reflecting in her eyes.

What did it mean? What—how-

“If I should leave…” the former princess whispered, rising to her feet for her sovereign, only to be interrupted.

“You lose our protection, yes. You shall be an ordinary human again. Short of the joys our life brings.”

Steven found himself utterly lost in their conversation, a hunch nudging at his mind, an inkling of what the Goddess could mean by her words, painting a picture in his head he couldn’t quite grasp. Like a fool, he only observed the scene unfolding in front of him, feeling useless and ashamed for his inability to as much as move an inch.

“Thank you, Mother. Sisters,” his fairy bowed with a smile on her lips and tears sparkling in her eyes. “You have been kind to me. A true family. Perhaps the time has come for me to leave.”

The Mother smiled at her kindly, nodding and taking her hand between both of hers, squeezing gently.

“May your life rest in the hands of the good man tasked to bring you to your birthplace and tear you away from where you had found home.”

“May I… visit?” the Princess asked shyly, rewarded with a chorus of chuckles, thousands of tiny bells ringing in fine tune.

“You may always find a home with us shall you ever feel the desire.”

“I shall,” she echoed and turned to the awe-struck Steven, her shining eyes finding his gaze. “Shall we be on our way?”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Your feet were on the verge of giving out; unfamiliar with the cold biting into your skin, every step a rough sensation, every branch and stolon hurting, each thorn felt like a dagger in your soles.

And yet… your body was floating, a hand, gentle fingers, curled firmly around yours; you had lost sense of who was leading who. It was you and then it was him, it was a dance you had never knew and it had your breath caught in your chest; slightly painful, endlessly blissful.

The absence of words bothered you not. The chime of the birds and the whispers of trees carried a lovely tune and all was well.

“What will happen to you?” he asked, your handsome stranger, the kind soul calling out to yours since before your first encounter. “What was the… Goddess talking about?”

Moved by his concern for you, a brief smile passed your lips. You did not have the heart to tell him of the sensations, so human, yet unknown to you. You could sense it already, a true weariness – and finally, the vivacity too. You were nothing but a human again, the protective spell, casted upon you to keep you from harm commonly deadly to ordinary men, fading.

“Oh, Mother? Do not wear your head, I shall be quite alright,” you assured him and he, the sweet man he was, raised your hand to his face, caressing its back with his lips ever so softly.

“It is my duty to wear my head for you, fairy mine…”

His duty was it not. A heart-warming sentiment? Certainly. Your smile widened, a hiss escaping your lips only a moment later.

A sharp pain cut through your sole again, a shiver running through your whole being.

Cold and pain; your life from now on.

Faster than you could hope to comprehend, your companion stopped in his tracks, kneeling in front of you, tender and rough fingers examining your left foot; to your astonishment, a red liquid stained your cold skin, thick and heady. Blood. You had never bled before.

Genuine worry creased his forehead, his bright eyes looking up at your face as your teeth sunk into your lower lip; partly to cover your pain, partly from guilt as he observed you with tender accusation.

Pulling out a knife, he released your shaky foot in order to cut off a band of fabric from his thick cloak, swift fingers wrapping it around your wound.

“Thank-- thank you,” you stuttered, taken aback by the strange sensation of the cloth against your skin, your world swaying to side for a bit. You were bleeding, the fluid of life leaving your veins. So strange.

He shook his head, rising to his full height; a peculiar thrill it gave you, tilting your head back to maintain eye-contact. Mesmerized by the colour of his irises, you barely noticed he stripped the cloak, securing it over your bare shoulders.

Before you could utter a word of protest, he scooped you into his strong arms, cradling you as if you belonged there and nowhere else. A feeling of infinite rightness overwhelmed you, nearly rendering you speechless.

“Oh no, put me down. It only is a brief faintness and pain-“

Securing you in his hold as if he had not heard you, his embrace grew firmer and looked into your eyes with gravity.

“You are not to walk barefoot, let alone on such cold morning, in the woods no less,” he argued, his hands warm against your unusually cold skin, his fingers caressing you and effectively causing words to get stuck in your throat. Taking a notice of your sudden speechlessness, he smiled. “Rest, little fairy. I will protect you.”

“I am not a fairy, son of Jo-“

“Steven. You should call me Steven, shall you be willing.”

As delighted as you were to learn his name at last, your concern remained unshaken.

“You will tire yourself… Steven.”

Swallowing the peculiar sensation of thrill his name created on your tongue, you busied yourself with the matter of his wellbeing. He soon would exhaust himself should he carry you. Surely, he must know that? He was strong, yes, an impressive mass of a man, shoulders which could carry the weight of the world and the curses of all Gods shall it come to it… but-

“With what, my sweetness?” he questioned lightly and began to walk. “You barely weight more than a feather. And you do appear a fairy to me. Beautiful. Ethereal. Like a fairy from the tales told to the good children so they would dream a sweet dream.”

Charmed by the compliments, your heart felt like it grew in size, filling your chest with each beat, sweet and dizzying. Uncertain how to show your gratitude and favour, you reached out. Your palm cupped Steven’s jaw, a touch featherlight indeed.

His breath caught in his chest and for a moment, you worried you must have done something which was not to his liking. But then, he nuzzled your palm, eyelids falling shut, a soft smile painted on his lips and you understood you had merely surprised him by your actions.

“You are too good to me, Steven.“

“Oh, my sweet fairy… you are too. Know, I would lay down my life for you this instant if you asked me to.”

An uncomfortable lump grew in your throat at such admission, tears stinging in your eyes as you thought of how little would suffice for him to meet his death for you, only the night prior.

“I would never ask. So many have lost their lives for me… I am feeling the deepest regret-“ you sobbed and his arms wound around you tighter as if shielding you from grief and regret weighing both your heart and conscience.

“It is not for you to blame yourself for what your father has done to find you.“

“Steven-“

His lips—oh Gods, his lips, warm and tender, brushed your palm still laid on his jaw, then proceeded to your forehead, warm breath caressing your hair. You lost your voice at the affection gifted to you, a single silent tear rolling down your cheek.

“Oh, sweetness, my name on your lips is like music…” he whispered, voice low and thick with emotion that sent a shiver – this time somehow pleasant – down your spine. “Lay your head down now, fairy mine. We have a journey ahead of ourselves still. I shall watch over your sleep like you have watched over mine.”

Your hand hesitantly slid from his neck, settling on his chest, his strong and oh so kind heart humming under your palm. Obediently you laid your head into the crook of his neck, a scent unknown but pleasant curling around you, causing your head to spin.

You closed your eyes and laid your life into the hands of the good man who had come to bring you back where you had been born; precisely as Mother had said.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

He had been greeted with delighted shouts full of excitement and surprise, people dropping whatever had they had on their hands only to follow him as he had carried his fairy, the Princess, to the castle, to her family.

The King and the Queen had been spending over a day with the long-lost princess, agreeing she truly was who she was, while Steven had been treated like a knight, provided with luxury unknown to him, luxury he found unnecessary; yet, who he was to refuse and offend the hospitability? Especially should it outrage the King?

Facing King Anthony now, he was asked to rise from his knee as he was promised to receive the greatest honours, enough food and money for a lifetime and a place at King’s Guard.

“You have done my kingdom an inestimable service, Steven. What else do you ask? Say the word and your wish should be granted,” the King of Starkerbürg offered generously, gesturing to encourage him to speak his mind.

And Steven wondered.

What could a man wish for? What more than he had been offered? For the people he loved to be treated in the same manner? Certainly, he could demand that? To give his friends a wedding they deserved, to ensure they would never have to worry about a place to lay down their heads, about feeding their children and themselves?

As his mind wandered to his friends, so deeply in love, he couldn’t but think of the Princess, of his beautiful, precious fairy. Oh, how had he already missed her, not having seen her for two days almost. His heart ached for her smile, for her soft touch.

However, a fool he was not. Asking for her hand would be unacceptable. The King would never allow it for Steven was nothing still; the King would never agree to wed a potential heiress to anyone but a lord, a prince of another land perhaps. Steven would be not surprised should the King already set plans in motion to offer her hand to his friend, Prince Thor of Asgard.

Steven couldn’t even dare to ask for what an insolence- a laughable demand would it be.

Swallowing his grief at that, his heart torn, a gaping wound in his chest, he asked for a fraction of what he desired. What more could he wish for that for being allowed to bask in her presence at least? Watching her afar, yes, but perhaps… he could speak a word with her, from time to time-

“My King… I—”

“Yes, Steven, please. Speak. I am listening,” King Anthony hurried him, short of impatient.

Shy and bold at the same time, Steven could barely raise his voice enough to be heard.

“Shall the Princess ever agree to it when she is recovered… may I—may I speak with her again?”

The crease forming on the King’s forehead meant nothing good and Steven stiffened, instantly scolding himself.

A fool! Natalia always told him he was one. The most foolish of all fools!

“Of what could you possibly speak with her? What motivation could you have? Perhaps… why should she ever as much as look at you, Steven?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Steven lost all will to speak as his voice betrayed him. He shook his head in defeat.

“Oh no, please. Do enlighten me,” the King continued, slowly rising from his seat, towering above Steven due to the three steps which led to the throne.

Steven bowed, shaking his head again. “Forgive me, my King. I should never have asked such a daring question-“

“Oh no, colour me curious, I would like to know what you have to say to me to this matter.”

“My King, I do apologize, I—I-“

A suffocating silence fell on the Royal Hall when Steven trailed off, tension heavy and menacing as he could sense the realization dawning to his King.

A complete fool, Steven. For all he survived the journey to the woods, he returned only to be beheaded by the King for a moment of rash boldness. A damn half-wit!

A gasp left the King’s lips and Steven clenched his jaw, hanging his head, awaiting his sentence.

Blood pounded in Steven’s temples, growing in intensity with each moment no words were spoken.

Two sharp claps of hands, as loud as a thunder in the empty hall, bounced off the walls instead and a rustling of chainmail instantly followed, heavy boots rushing to King’s aid.

Without much decorum, brute force knocked Steven down to his knees, a sharp pain jolting up his joints as they dug into the hard floor, one pair of firm hands pushing him down, another grabbing his wrists to keep them locked behind his back.

“Gods protect us from minds as feeble as yours,” King Anthony snarled, awe-struck and outraged all the same.

A pang of longing gnawed at Steve’s heart as his suspicions were confirmed. While the indignation at being thought of as of a lesser human being flared in his chest, the injustice nothing short of irritating, he didn’t utter a word. A harsh hand gripped his jaw, yanking it upward, forcing him to look into King’s eyes where rage twirled with contempt.

“You foolish nitwit! How could you even think I would ever allow you to—to WHAT? Court her? Gods forbid wed her?! To put your—your filthy hands on her?! Oh my, MY! You will not as much as LOOK at her ever again, you UNDERSTAND?! Gods- you--- you- TAKE HIM! Dungeon! Right this instant! You fool, you scum, you PERV!! Get him off my sight-!”

Yanked up without fight on his side – because truly, what the point would be, he was in the castle, he wouldn’t escape the many men of King’s Guard –, Steven was dragged away, meeting the raged glare of the King for the shortest of moments. King’s much obvious disgust hurt, but not nearly as much as the thought of never seeing her again.

His beautiful, ethereal fairy.

Because he would never as much as get a glimpse of her ever again--- or perhaps he would, at his own execution? The King would make a huge spectacle of it, he was sure-

The heavy door to the hall were pushed open, Queen Virginia walking through them gracefully, the guards only bowing their heads frantically before they proceeded to tug Steven away.

Steven’s heart ceased to beat when his eyes fell on her; no, not the Queen, but her companion; and then it started singing, bliss and delight at his wish being granted not by the King, then by the Gods themselves.

She carried herself as light as she had when he had seen her the first time, the night of Walpurgis, shining brighter than the moonlight, than the sun itself, as exquisite in her royal blue gown as she had appeared in her modest attire of thin white fabric.

Gods, she appeared ethereal and where the Queen’s shoes clicked against the floor, hers tapped, causing Steven to smile. She might be wearing a dress worth a months’ living, but she remained barefoot. He would be afraid about her catching cold; however, he rested assured that her newfound family and servants would never allow it to go as far.

Where Queen’s brown furrowed, her face lighted up impossibly at the sight of him; and Steven knew he would die a happy man. Such delight in her eyes was the greatest gift he could be given and he shall accept it and take it to afterlife.

“My King,” the Queen greeted her husband shortly, apparently confused at the scene unfolding in front of her. Steven paid her no mind as the gaze of his stunning fairy followed him, the spark in her eye fading, clouded by bewilderment. Steven’s chest tightened at the loss. “What-“

“Wait!” the Princess piped up and Gods bless, the guards halted in their steps, hesitant gazes casted upon their king in question. “What is it we have walked into?”

The King instantly fixed a smile for the newcomers, not providing an answer to the guards on how they should proceed. Who should they listen to? The King or the Princess, an unfamiliar woman put on a pedestal?

“Oh, simply a little quarrel, dear sister. Worry not your pretty head.”

Steven grinded his teeth at the patronizing approach.

She was not a child; and naïve she might be, untrained in the procedures of the court, but feeble-minded she was not. She might have not grown up around ordinary men, but her eyes displayed wit and understanding of human nature deeper than of several people Steven had encountered.

Her gaze flickered between the King, the Queen and Steven and her face lost any resemblance of a smile for a moment long enough to bring sorrow to everyone present. Her eyes lingered on Steven the longest and while aware he should not, he basked in her softened expression, his chest heaving in pride.

A brief smile passed her lips as she turned to her brother, her long eyelashes fluttering. Steven couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was a dream coming to life.

“A little quarrel? Then surely it can be solved without such violent behaviour, without handling a man, who brought me home, with brute force,” she said, innocence incarnated.

Her gaze flickered to Steven again, a spark of emotion he couldn’t hope to unravel in them.

King Anthony wavered, silent for a moment as expectant gazes of his wife and his sister were casted upon him. Pretending to be mollified by his sister’s remark, he beckoned to his Guard to release Steven; much to Steven’s surprise.

Upon that action, his brilliant fairy smiled brightly, her fingers getting a hold of her skirts to get it out of her way, scampering to Steven as the guards took a step back. And Steve truly could die a happy man at such gesture, feeling blessed. She chose to grace him with her attention; him, not the King, her brother.

Against his will, a smile formed on his lips, all ache disappearing from his chest, his knees, his roughly handled wrists. Her whole demeanour glowed with sincerity as she came to a stop only a step from him, her head tilted back a fraction as he stood taller above her.

From the corner of his eye, Steve could see the King stiffen, his hands balled in fists. Steven paid him little attention; how could he do any different with the breath-taking woman so close to him, looking up at his face with her full lips curled up in an inviting smile, eyes mesmerizing as always?

“You are not to walk barefoot,” he remarked, quickly catching himself and in hope to maintain at least some etiquette, he took one painful step back, bowing to her, “Your Highness.”

The grind of King’s teeth could be heard as Steven spoke up without permission. In all honesty, Steven had no care in the world. If he was to die, he might as well walk through paradise before meeting his end.

“Whatever has happened to ‘my fairy?’” she questioned sweetly, eyes full of wonder, the corners of her lips losing its happy curve.

In another world, a world outside the lovebirds’ little universe, the King was searing, nothing but a growl coming deeply from his chest. Queen Virginia laid a soothing hand over his heart, scolding him by one single look for his barbarian ways.

In his own paradise, Steven’s heart pounded and swelled, touched by his fairy’s hopeful question. He cleared his throat as a lump grew in it, torn between the need wrap her in his love and keeping his head on his shoulders rather than have it cut off.

As much as he was in her favour, surely the King would hate him should he as much as attempt to court her.

“It is not proper, Your Highness. I should have not-“

“But you should, Steven!” she whispered feverishly, her tender hands cupping his face, tears turning her eyes glassy. Steven’s breath hitched, his insides twisting painfully. “Or do you not feel for me what you have felt before?”

The very moment, Steven realized he could not care less about being a fool as long as he would be a fool for her. His shoulders hunching, he bended down to meet his beauty’s gaze properly, his palm covering the back of her hand on him, caressing affectionately.

“Oh, sweetness, fairy mine, I shall cherish you for as long as I live,” he declared. Which might not be too long, he thought, considering the King fuming as he watched them, prepared to tell the guards to pierce Steven’s heart with a sword right here and now, apparently.

However, the beautiful smile reappeared, a single tear rolling down her cheek as one of her hands slipped lower to rest against his chest, feeling his heart hammering no doubt.

“Then I shall hope you will live long…” she whispered, inching away to look at the King with undying hope indeed. “Shall I not, brother mine?”

Oh, feeble-minded she was not and she very much did understand what she had walked into.

If Steven was bold enough to read anything into her actions, her gestures, her affection, he would believe she carried him in her heart, in her mind as much as he had been in his and truly-- when had he deserved such blessing?

“Oh, for Gods’ sake! You want to keep him?!” the King demanded, exasperated as he was aware his question was nothing short of pointless for her favour was evident.

“Keep him? In my heart? Oh, how I wish for it, brother dear!”

The King shuddered at the addressing, moved by her voice holding such joy and wistfulness. Oh, how she had him wrapped around her finger! Her persona was as enchanting as the night Steven had encountered her; a human and yet a fairy, her charms stronger than the magic of the forest creatures who could only wish to match its power!

“Husband. Anthony…” the Queen chimed in, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Do you not recall your father’s disapproval? Fond of your choice was he not. Not fond of me in the slightest.”

“For he was a fool,” the King scoffed, meeting his wife’s gaze.

“Then do not be the same fool,” she retorted and despite himself, Steven couldn’t stop the corners of his lips twitching, more so when the King pouted at his wife’s remark.

Peace in his mind, recognizing his head was not to be chopped off in the near future, Steven feasted his eyes on the stunning fairy, her touch still soft on his cheeks, her smile illuminating the Royal Hall, nothing but pure love as she gazed up at him.

The King grumbled something incomprehensible, sighed and finally gave his approval.

The Princess’ laughter rang loud and joyful as she dropped her hands from Steven’s face in order to run to her brother, assaulting him with a fierce hug which caused the King to stumble backwards.

“Thank you, brother! Thank you! I would have come back to the woods should you not-“

“Whoa, whoa! No woods, you stay right here, even if it’s with this fo-“

“I am so happy, brother mine!” Her kiss smacked on the King’s cheek, his sudden panic resolving, an actual blush colouring his face, much to Queen Virginia’s amusement.

“Alright, alright, no need to smooch me, young lady-“

While was the King in fact basking in the affection from his long-lost sister despite his words demanding restraint, his eyes met with Steven’s. And for the briefest of moments, they shared a deep understanding; a similar knowledge of what was of the highest import.

As long it would make her happy, they would do anything. Even put up with each other’s presence.

Without a warning, the Princess left her brother’s embrace again and rushed back to Steven’s arms. Worrying not for being scolded and executed anymore, he smiled at her widely and welcomed her, hands locked on the back of her thighs, lifting her from the floor so she towered over him for once.

Awed at the heights she found herself in, she bent down to Steven’s face, her lips brushing his, loving and euphoric; her kiss sealed the deal and their happy beginning.

No one – not the grumbling King or his Queen, not the delighted Princess Fairy or her beloved, let alone the still perplexed members of the King’s Guard – noticed the gust of wind dashing through the Royal Hall and the silent click of the door.

In a ramshackle house at the edge of the town, Wanda smiled when her brother brought her the joyful news and her fingers brushed the powerful pendent, a gift from her Mother, once more resting heavy on her chest.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Notes: Yes, it got away from me, AGAIN, and more than usual. Sorry?

I hope you had not been repulsed by the possibly crappy and totally mixed up representation of old religions; then again I think all is fair in a fairy tale AU 😇 Also, sorry if the language sounds weird; I tried.

I’d like to thank @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan once more for letting me participate in her challenge and I thank you all who have made it to the very end of this long-ass fic. Any feedback is always appreciated.

P.S. - if you feel brave enough, I’d be delighted if checked out my Masterlist

#star’s celebration challenge #marvel #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #fairy tale au #writing challenge #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #mcu au #steve rogers #captain america #reader insert #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #long read #walpurgis night #anika ann #star's celebration challenge

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 48: The Patronus

The place was not even lit, which hadn't boded well the past few times for them, so Remus was quick to wave his wand and light the candles along the wall. It revealed nothing more than a desk with a suitcase on top, the rest of the room was cleared.

At first they all relaxed, recognizing an unused Hogwarts classroom, the view outside a crystal clear night, the moon newly waning. Then they heard the suitcase rattle.

"I swear to Merlin's sack if it's another three headed dog, I am out!" Frank hissed to no one.

"Thankfully we didn't have to deal with that one," Peter tried to offer, his voice too high pitched to convey any real comfort. "Plus, I've got a nice falsetto-"

"Someone summon the damn book and get us out of here before we have to find out!" Lily snarled, their wands all pointed either at the suitcase or at the door for the threat, but none seemed willing to activate anything. Finally Lily took a breath and followed her own advice, the suitcase went sailing into her hand.

She dropped it as if it had burned her.

"Evans?" James at once asked in concern, but too late, it fell open right in front of her.

A new girl now stood before them all, carefully set blond hair and pale fishy eyes in a neat pink dress, her face scrunched up in pure disgust. Eyes locked on Lily and storming even closer with a ranky, perfumed air she sneered, "I can't believe you did that freaky magic again Lily, mum and dad will kick you out for sure this time-"

James froze with no idea of what to make of this, even as the red heads eyes filled with tears and her wand began to lower, but Remus leaped forward and shouted, "Riddikulus!"

The image flickered for a moment, eyes still locked in on Lily. For just a moment, a boy now stood before them with long greasy hair and a hooked nose, but then it changed to a cartoonish looking dog trying to balance a bone on its nose.

Sirius could only muster up a very small laugh in surprise, but that only drew the boggarts attention onto him next, blank eyes focusing in and already beginning to change into a woman, except this time with haughty dark features and claw like hands as she shrieked at her eldest son what a disgrace he was, in a voice they all recognized from frequent Howlers in the Great Hall.

Padfoot blanched in disgust and tried his own form of the banishment, but then it only grew worse again at the weak attempt, flickering to Prongs, then Moony, and then Wormtail all with looks of horror and disgust upon their faces and spewing even worse things of betrayal and a friend they couldn't trust, all words they'd already said to him.

James pushed him out of the way and, ignoring the change to a skeletal snake-like face appearing from nothing, this time said with purpose, "Riddikulus!"

It changed to a yellow balloon and made a farting noise drifting lazily around the room. Peter made a forced attempt at laughter and they all tried to join in this time with understanding. It landed, flickered feebly between a rat, a pool of blood, a griffin, then settled on an erumpent, rearing onto its hind legs and horn pointed at Alice.

She shrieked and backed away in surprise, but gathered her wits back just as quick, all of them on guard now. She repeated the incantation and watched it shrink down to a fuzzy kitten chasing its tail. They all laughed this time with feeling.

It tried one last feeble attempt, rolling onto its back and nearly locking eyes with Regulus who backed quickly away with a truly horrified expression. Lily stormed forward with a vengeance. The image blurred, taking the shape of a person once more before she shouted at the top of her lungs, and then there was a fish flopping on the floor and singing some tune none of them recognized, but they all laughed anyways in surprise.

Finally, it vanished, the silence left behind though labored with still startled breaths was almost calm thanks to the way it had ended.

Lily very cautiously peeked back inside the suitcase, to find the book sitting innocently inside. "Well," she whispered, still breathing the heaviest. "I guess Harry gets those lessons from Professor Lupin."

They all shuffled for a moment back into more casual stances, everyone looking at someone with worry for this experience.

"Err, Evans, you sure you're okay?" Potter still asked her even as he was looking at his best mate, expression sallow to the extreme and twisted up, still glaring where the boggart had vanished.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and scooped the book up without comment to get to her place.

"An erumpent?" Frank put his arm around Alice and politely asked her. "I feel like there's a story there."

She made an awkward attempt at a giggle to fight off the full memory. "My dad took me to a sanctuary once, it did not end well. What's with you and griffins?"

"A wild one went onto our property once," he grimaced. "I'd be cat chow if my mum hadn't stepped in. Needless to say, I'm quite proud I didn't wind up in Gryffindor for that alone."

She did laugh that time, but both were now done soothing each other and watching Lily with still more worry. They wanted to say something to her, find some way to really make her laugh this off like they had, but she'd just found her place and read out the chapter title, causing an inadvertent but welcomed distraction. "That's not really the way Harry's going to stop this dementor problem." She turned accusing eyes on Lupin, who looked politely puzzled himself. "That's a seventh year charm, I only know of it because I accidentally did a practice quiz for a N. E. W. T. instead of an O. W. L last week. You can't expect a third year-"

Three Marauders decided to keep to themselves they did in fact know that charm, even if they weren't dementor tested, because there had been a study done on correlations between the form they took and similar animagus'. One, did not think that through.

"Do you know any other way to make a dementor piss off?" Black snapped at her, visibly swallowing but puffing up and nearly shouting. "You want Harry to be hearing you scream in his head for the rest of his life? At least Moony's trying something, I don't see any other Professor-"

"Padfoot," Potter placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Breathe mate, she didn't sick that boggart on you, or what came out of it, which was complete bollix."

He took a deep breath and blinked a few times, whatever he'd been yelling at in his mind finally being replaced with her vivid red hair. "Right, sorry Evans."

She just nodded without comment and tried to read on, putting the tid-bit away for later on how, interesting, it was Potter always seemed able to calm all his mates down. What would they be like when he wasn't around to do that?

Sirius had even less interest hearing Harry arguing with his friends, as if he hadn't lived through that enough. So he grabbed Regulus by his shoulder and began towing him to the farthest corner away.

He went stumbling along, but willingly, and straightened his robes and drew himself up imperiously when released. "The hell Sirius? You know you can just ask to have a word with me like normal?"

Sirius huffed and muttered for a moment about the kid before he asked in an almost gentle voice, "your class done boggarts yet?"

Regulus sucked on the inside of his cheek for a moment before answering, "no, at least, not like that. None of my Professors have ever mentioned them, certainly not Liz if it was supposed to come up this year, but Dad actually found one in his desk the day before Christmas Holiday ended. Told me I was going to practice on it this summer," he finished in a small voice. "Guess, now I'll be better prepared for it?"

Sirius had only wanted to somehow brush off the horrible things that boggartWalburga had said if his little brother had questions, but now he felt like he should ask more, for once. He'd flat refused anymore lessons like that with his parents after fourth year when they'd given him several dozen different lectures on not just how to do certain spells, but who they should be targeted towards, and that wasn't even getting into how they talked about beasts like trolls, goblins, and werewolves.

He'd tried to convince his little brother to join him and stop going to these as well, but the little brat had refused and told Sirius he wasn't going to disappoint his parents like that, then asked him to go outside and play a game. It was pure insanity! How long did Regulus think he could keep walking the line between appeasing their disturbed parents and keeping whatever moral compass he still claimed he had?

There was a small distraction from the discourse James was serving by Wood trying to work Harry off the team because of this dementor problem, his best friend shouting loud enough for the whole castle to hear, "Moony, if you don't get Harry a solution to those dementors, I'll banish them all from Earth myself!"

Wormtail gave a wild laugh for his usual antics, the both of them discussing loudly how they'd go about doing that when classes swung around to mentioning said professor again. Sirius looked up and around properly in concern when Hermione displayed, well, not a response they appreciated.

Regulus watched his brother eye Lupin with concern when the little Muggleborn girl seemed to know what was wrong with their newest teacher. Regulus felt affronted for a moment, he hadn't a clue if it was some disease he had or he was just consistently under the whether, but he also hadn't spent much time looking into it. Seemed the nosy little girl had done so and was now lording it, typical behavior of those less fortunate. He shifted his weight uncomfortably to the Muggleborn reading all this, the image of her fiery hair jumping to his defense and tackling the creature, and without permission guilt flooded him for the vicious thoughts. He slumped away from Sirius in confusion and sat by the desk as he tried to sort out all these conflictions in him. The boggart's shape for him, everything he'd thought he'd known being a lie, and still who to believe.

Sirius let him, as he didn't have a satisfactory answer for his own problem yet, and turned to enthusiastically egg Evans on with 'interest' of this new spell they clearly hadn't heard of!

Lily ignored their idiocies, but did stop curiously when the name of the incantation was given and how to invoke it. She hesitated, searching through her mind for something that might work.

Frank didn't have to think twice, summoning forth when Alice had agreed to go out with him and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!" A white burst of light did indeed spew forth, but to his disappointment it merely faded away just as fast.

Alice waffled on anything to use. Her life had been quite mellow, nothing would really stand out in her mind that would give her much of anything to work with. She got more frustrated the longer she tried, thinking there must be some high point in her life as she flickered through memories with her parents, friends, and even Frank, but there was no peak producing silver to be found.

The Marauders all, 'gave it a go.' They all had great bruises on their prides to only produce very thick and consistent vapors of smoke without letting their true patronuses take shape, but they'd resisted the urge to brag to the world about their years too early practice in becoming animagus', they could hold off bragging on this too. Sirius turned to Regulus and called, to try and push some attention away, "come on then, give it a go! See if you and Harry are on the same level?"

'I'm nothing like that half-blood' he wanted to snap back, instinctively insulted, but took a deep breath and instead tried to respond to his brothers enthusiasm. He recalled the time he and Sirius had built a fort out of blankets in the study and Kreacher brought them snacks all night, the two whispering about all the adventures of the future, home alone as their parents went to a dinner party all night. A very substantial silver something began to materialize before him, but he was so surprised it faded away just as fast. He looked wildly over to see his brother beaming with pride.

James was watching Evans sadly, advice or something to help on the tip of his tongue. She was red in the face and muttering the enchantment with purpose, but barely a whisp was visible. Usually the ruler of the Charms room, he'd half expected her to be able to flawlessly enact this one, but she was clearly struggling with some aspect. When she opened her eyes and saw him staring, she looked even more angry and frustrated, turning back to the book with a despicable look, muttering about practice later.

She didn't exactly feel better that she was doing worse than Harry, or the fact that the boy had to create a fake memory just to produce results! She flushed with shame as she suddenly realized she may do better trying the same, nothing she'd come up with seemed to be working. Not the earliest ones of the first time she'd done magic, nor the more recent of her and Sev trying to create spells and jotting them down in his mums old potion book. She stamped her foot in frustration of what she was doing wrong.

The lesson was going brutally, and Evans' clear displeasure at her inability to do the spell wasn't helping things along. Constantly having to hear of your last dying words on top of lacking in magic her son was getting only half decent results in this same spell, more than her. At least Harry had an excuse for his lackluster work, his secret desire to hear his mother's voice, the only time in his life he would.

Then Peter fell back against the wall, clutching his ears in pain rather than keep hearing her stutter in surprise over James' last words. You-Know-Who closing in, and his brave, loyal, stupid friend standing his ground against everything. He should have ran, why didn't he run? This wasn't some animal that could so easily be tricked and fooled, this was a tyrant even Prongs couldn't face!

He watched his friend for several long moments, looking as if he were seeing a ghost in Evan's hands, but then his chest puffed up and he drew himself to his full height as if fixing to go ten more rounds with everyone in the castle. "Damned right!" He declared with actual pride.

Sirius and Remus looked on the verge of tears hearing of this, but then they too threw their shoulders back in pride for such a response. Peter wished the castle would swallow him hole in shame as he couldn't bring himself to do the same. His eyes flickered to where the Boggart had vanished, the tiny little rat that had appeared mocking him. He'd always been weak and small compared to them, even his fears, and the self-loathing only grew stronger for what he was, what his first reaction would always be.

Lily had just been given a whole new perspective of this future smacked into her face. There was still the loathsome image of being married to Potter for all of this to even be occurring, but for once that was the most insignificant bit. She held, in her hands, proof that James Potter, cared for her. Like she'd watched him do for his friends in the past few days alone, like she'd seen him even trying to do for her, now magnified in an action he clearly had no regrets for. For this one second, his last breath, he was not some arrogant prick trying to win her affections.

"Lily?" It was the quietest, most gentle way he'd ever called to get her attention. The reason he called her Evans was too rile her up and see her face him with that challenging look ready to go, but that's not what she needed now. "I don't regret it." The calm he infused into that, spluttered something out of her.

"How do you manage to- I don't even like-"

"That's alright," he actually shrugged, still looking like this of all things was a casual conversation. Not the birk that was blindly defending his friend, the arrogant idiot who couldn't see any opinion but his own, just his declaration this was a satisfying enough end. She didn't understand it one little bit. She turned slowly back to the book, because for once she didn't know what to say to him. Thank you didn't seem proper enough, when she couldn't return she'd do the same.

She almost, sympathized with Harry coming to tears over hearing of this. She'd tried, and failed, to put distance between the idea of this child being hers, and for the first time was again struck by just what the boy would think watching this. The first thing he'd ever heard in his parents voice was their life ending for his, and here the two of them couldn't even hold a civil conversation! The lad would probably cry ten fold if he was forced to hear this instead.

Some of James' confidence wavered when Remus, or Professor Lupin whatever, refused to elaborate on their friendship. He had no idea why his friend had been going out of his way these past thirteen years to not care for Harry, and dancing around the answer now was making him feel sick. Just what had happened?

Sirius and Remus exchanged terrified looks for the same, now watching Prongs as he finally looked worried about this future like hearing his own last words hadn't managed. Sirius roused himself, and in a fit of solidarity to chase that away shouted, "oi, who's up for round two with that Boggart! Professor Lupin's slacking, only letting Harry have three goes!"

Remus swallowed uncomfortably rather than admitting he wanted to quit again from this bloody story, but the other two looked relieved and laughed just like Padfoot had been hoping, even if both sounded extremely forced.

There was rising hope in everyone now as Harry finally got a good attempt off! Professor Lupin still had to step in, and it didn't seem encouraging the man who was teaching this couldn't even produce his own patronus to do it, but they'd take whatever they could get at this point.

Professor Lupin's even more cryptic comments about Sirius had the two shuffling closer to each other with unease, wishing more than ever there was some way to just get an answer already rather than all of this foul run around nonsense. Harry pausing to reflect on all of this was making them sicker by the moment, it took everything they had not to grab each others hands in front of everyone just for some comfort in this dreadful situation.

Thankfully the book lightened up from there and the moment passed without either having to acknowledge it. More chats of Quidditch and fond laughter at the little third year whining about homework between all the OWL students was really what everyone needed.

Time dragged on for Harry, Frank and Alice looked out the window curiously as if they were going to see the sun zipping by along with Lily's words, though thankfully they were saved from that experience. When the book did go back to talking about Harry in those lessons, Lily couldn't help her voice shaking again, not needing a repeat to know how much Harry needed this, and yet finally understanding why he'd never want them to stop. Her dismay at this was nothing to the Blacks reaction of finding out the oldest one was to be Kissed.

Sirius would have fallen if his friends hadn't caught him, his face a silent scream of fright, which set Regulus' blood boiling. No one and nothing made his brother look like that! "They can't do that! It's been outlawed- it's never even been allowed it's so beyond words! Just who the bloody hell is trying to hide what doing this to him!"

Hearing his little brother throwing a fit, over him, snapped Sirius out of it like nothing else could have. He'd stood there and watched in wonderment for a moment like everyone else before finally going over to him and wrapping a reassuring arm around his shoulders. Regulus immediately tried to shake him off, still muttering profane things Sirius was a bit proud to hear coming from his young mouth, but held tight. "I want you to remember this moment Reg," Sirius said with conviction. "Purebloods are not any more safe than anyone else from the bad things they do, or are framed for doing." He'd only been trying to distract the both of them from this future horror, but now his kid brother looked even more aghast.

"-But, Sirius, don't you see! This is why the Dark Lord's plans should be followed! He wouldn't let this happen to you!"

Sirius flushed in anger, his arm tightened painfully around the kid, but he remembered how shocked and afraid he'd been when hearing the news of You-Know-Who's real name and birth and forced himself to keep going reasonably. "No, Regulus, it wouldn't. I'll never follow him or what he wants, and he'd do much worse to me because of it. You've got to stop letting others tell you what to do-"

"Like you're doing!" He snapped, finally pulling away. "Both you and our parents just keep saying things, how about giving me a chance to see it for myself? All I've seen so far is someone deciding you're going to get your soul sucked out because you killed a bunch of Muggles! Who cares about them, but under the-"

"Shut up!" Sirius snapped back before he could say it again. "Do you even hear yourself? Murder's okay now, so long as it's not someone who can do magic? What next then, killing Muggleborn's will be okay because it's not you?" To his surprise, Regulus' eyes flinched to Evans and away, it was the first time Sirius had seen him even acknowledge her. "Then who, hum? Wizards without pure blood lines can go to? Then there will just be You-Know-Who's minions, and even those might some day choose to not agree with who goes next, and there won't be anyone left to stop him!"

He took a deep breath and tried to keep himself calm when Regulus just stood there, pale faced but with that insufferably stubborn look still set. He didn't seem to have a rebuttal for that though, for once. "Fine, think whatever you like," he muttered, stamping back to his friends.

Lily felt like backing slowly out of the room so as not to draw attention towards her and invoke another fight like that, even as she'd been unable to look away from the whole thing, completely riveted. The brothers were much more of a spectacle than her and her sister were, she was sure, but still she couldn't help but find herself sympathizing with Sirius Black of all people. She was full of that today apparently, as she wanted to consul the sibling who couldn't get through to the other. It made going back to reading feel ten times more awkward as she kept shooting him anxious looks, an apology or words of understanding on the tip of her tongue for him that he was clearly ignoring even from his own friends.

They were all so distracted it took a few moments for McGonagall's words to sink about Harry's Firebolt being returned to him, than Lily's good mood vanish as fast as it was back for those Marauders. They were a ball of pure energy and excitement Harry got the broom back while she just wanted to chuck it in the trash, considering Harry and Ron even went so far as to rub it in their friends face they'd been right all along. She still remembered Harry nearly being thrown from a broom once, was it beyond her son to admit it could have happened again and better safe than sorry?

She'd thought they were going to end on that high note for Harry, for once, but then another bomb was thrown into the mix for all parties. Hermione's cat had finally eaten Ron's rat. More than one relationship might be irreparable now.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #PoA #wolfstar #jilly #Regulus Black #Remus Lupin #Marauders #James Potter #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Lily Evans #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years

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I’m really intrigued by Rayla’s moonshadow assassin peers. I especially am interested in Andromeda because I think she is the only other girl in the group? Do you have any headcanons in how these teen/young adult assassins interacted? Do you think Rayla isolated herself from them because she was always iffy about taking a life? Also TDP finally colored their map and I know you live maps, find any new cool stuff? I especially love how there’s a frozen sea north and a spinning sea south, imagine the powerful Magic’s that channeled to make them.

Okay, so I jumped straight to the map, did 80% of it, and wandered away for a few weeks. I apologize, anon. Let’s get this going again:

I’ve got a few headcanons on the Moonshadow assassins! It seems likely that they hang out mostly with each other, when they hang out, to reinforce their teambuilding and to give them some socialization, since assassins tend to keep others at arm’s length. So I kinda figure they tend to roam as a pack on their evenings out in the village, if they’re not married to a non-assassin like Runaan is.

I think that could be part of the reason that Rayla might not have hung out with the others as much, too: Runaan wanted to be either training or at home with Ethari, so Rayla probably spent a lot of time doing those things just because he did them. And when Runaan was doing more serious training or missions, that’s when Rayla had her free time to run around the forest and make adoraburr friends.

Runaan could’ve probably insisted that she do something more assassiny with her free time. Shadow an assassin, do more studying, practice certain prescribed skills on her own. But he didn’t. He let her play. Soft assassin is soft!

Listen, anon, I have a fun headcanon for you about Andromeda--and by fun, I mean it’s really angsty half a second after you start thinking about it. Ready?

What if: Andromeda is Runaan’s half-sister. If they’re both Lujanne’s children by different assassin dads who kept dying in battle, but a Moon mage needs an assassin leader partner to defend Xadia with, and Lujanne knew her son Runaan wasn’t old enough to lead yet, so she burned through three or more husbands protecting him until Runaan was well trained enough to lead the assassins himself and had fallen in love with a mage who adored him and would be his partner in her place.

Andromeda looks a fair bit like Lujanne, too:

Along with Runaan, they all have long hair, side tails bound in silver cuffs, and some form of braids. Andromeda’s hair is sectioned in front similarly to Runaan’s. Her accent sounds more British than Scottish, though she only has the one line: My eyes for truth. And Lujanne and Andromeda are the only two Moonshadow elves we’ve met who have medium blue horns, while Runaan’s are dark blue. Almost everyone else’s horns have purple or pink as their base color.

But then, see, Andromeda went on Runaan’s mission, and she died. Her spirit was the most aggressive in TTM, usually closest to Rayla with her sword out, as if she hated Rayla the most. If she had a vested family interest in Runaan’s mission succeeding, and then it went pear-shaped because of Rayla, that would make sense.

No matter if she’s related to Runaan or not, she’s wearing horn cuffs, so she was in a dedicated relationship of some kind, and that’s so sad. Someone’s missing her the way Ethari’s missing Runaan. :’((((

Anyway, it’s just a headcanon, but since you asked, there ya go.

Okay, on to my thoughts on the map, of which I have a normal and healthy amount:

The Map Border:

Everyone doodles in the borders. I love to see what they put there.

Starting in the upper left and going counter-clockwise, the five human crowns are cool

Cornucopia swirls center left look like an homage to Cabbage Man from ATLA

Bait is staring at Evenere. his home? Or maybe he just wants to eat the dragonfly on its logo

Human defender has a beard. Hairagorn. He's very heavily armored but has no helmet. Long hair is braided to rest on front of shoulder, like the blond elf in the painting at the Moon Nexus. Old timey hairstyle?

He’s defending Katolis Castle specifically. I wonder if the little white building is kinda random or if it’s supposed to represent the Banther Lodge. Nah, I have a better guess: that’s where Viren grew up

The crack in the map looks meta. It's been repaired somewhat. Makes me wonder if it's an in-world map, whose, who ripped it, and who fixed it. Sir Phineas Kurst seems like the kind of guy to almost shred his really cool map

The star behind Zym's egg has seven points

The two ships on the southern waters are western and eastern respectively. Tidebound elves from Singapore? Jack Sparrow would be proud

There is land just south of the Dragontail, wonder what’s there?

The leaves around the human figure are small and numerous while the Moonshadow elf has fewer but bigger leaves

The elf is standing in the way of one of the six leaves growing out of the rune rose and that leaf's curly tip seems to have been replaced with a curl of the elf's very long hair

The human pose is more offense and the elf pose is more defense. But the elf has two swords, and one has some wicked hooks in it.

Elf has 4 fingers instead of 3 so whether it’s in-universe or meta, they were drawn by a human :DDD

The elf's braid winds around their horn and I think that's clever

High collar shirt under protective layer, bracers and elbow gloves, bare biceps, complex shoulder getup, ornate hair that's butt long and partly braided, two long slightly curving swords... horn cuffs too. This is a Moonshadow assassin in the same gear Runaan's got, poised to defend the Xadian half of the map as the human is poised to defend his side

The rune rose isn't a compass. It has a two sided pointer and six primal runes. Just decorative I guess. ;)

More lettuces on right center.

Maybe a portaling caterpillar on the center knot? Little bug pal, I see you

“The Five Human Kingdoms” lettered in red, “Xadia” in blue. Giving me Stratego flashbacks. Even the flowers on their banners are color coded

Banners in the corners are similar but Xadia has more fluttery tips

Thunder drawn all attacky top center, does he have anything to do with the Frozen Sea being frozen?

Compass rose under Thunder’s wing

Dick island near the compass. Well, Duren is the breadbasket of the human lands. A most excellent cartography joke! 10/10 would chortle wholesomely again

The Human Kingdoms:

Neolandia

Capital Eboreus seems to be a lake city below a mountain and I'm here for all the Lake Town refs.

It's also the eye of the elephant shape

Not a lot of trees, mostly grasses or desert. Only borders Duren across a couple rivers/estuaries/sea channels

Heart shaped island next to elephant trunk

Land generally broken into several sections by sea/rivers

If it’s rivers, they seem to generate from the capital’s lake and flow in several directions. And they say there’s no magic left in the western lands! ;)

But if there was exactly one source of freshwater in a desert land, it makes sense that you’d find a way, magical or mechanical, to spread that lifegiving water in as many directions as possible so your people can thrive so kudos to Neolandia’s ancestors/Tidebound elves/whoever managed that, it’s brilliant

I can and will make up explanations for anything on a map. I adore worldbuilding

Del Bar

Two named locations. Since Del Bar’s national symbol is a serpent, I guess Serpentongue is the capital.

Hinterpeak is a sweet name. Looks like Helm's Deep with that retaining wall. What’s it for? Are there dwarves in this land? Is it an Earthblood stronghold? Maybe it’s like the Mines of Moria, and the Earthbloods were chased out and/or killed inside and now it’s full of nasty orcses but someone left a MacGuffin down there so *nudges hero* Off you pop.

Nice forests around the southern mountain range but northern DB is more arid or grassy lands like Neolandia.

Considering that crops grow well in Duren, which is farther north, I assume there is a massive meteorological gyre over the human lands, with a southern wind blowing down over the western realms and keeping them icy until the mountains of Hinterpeak block and divert them, protecting Evenere. The winds don't blow eastward without warming right up-- and causing thunderstorms in Katolis how about that-- because there is a warmer side to the gyre over Katolis and Duren, blowing tropical warmth and moisture north and providing rain for trees and crops alike. Most years, anyway.

How does the weather fail in Duren for seven years in a row, anyway? That seems like a Thunder issue. Unless it’s a Sunforge issue, which I’ll get to below.

Ahem.

Borders Neolandia, Duren, and Katolis across rivers, but most border is coastline.

Serpentongue probably got its name from the two river heads around it

Cluster of dead little cracks spawns a single river. Looks like someone cracked the tub and it drained away. I wonder how much of this landscape has been affected by the Mage Wars. Big watery basins have flooded and other spots seem dead. The lands may or may not actually touch depending on how deep some of these waterways are

Evenere

Looks like someone punched holes in the land with a giant pencil to make it a separate island. Broken outline with scattered islands

That Pawprint Isles has only four toes

Moon-shaped island is very crescenty indeed

Are these isles home to refugees or outcasts from Xadia? Listen, I want pirates and that sea looks pretty Caribbean to me

No capital city, hmmm what's that about? Is it underground, does it move? Maybe Fareeda’s capital is on the back of a world turtle and she’s constantly on tour around the island?

That arm of land ending in a peace sign, please can we get surfers

The hills emanating from that claw shaped headland look like something is sleeping under the island, hello yes I am here for giant immortal creatures please

Katolis

its capital is also called Katolis, the only human realm to use the same name twice

Weeping Bay could be a ref to the tears the humans shed after they reached the west. Or the Moonshadow elves as they left their forest for the east. Or both. Both, in this case, is bad but balanced

Boomerang island next to the Dragontail

The river the Dragaang rode on was going uphill

The watery slash in the land between Katolis and Del Bar is awfully straight. So is the one between Del Bar and Neolandia. I call magical warfare.

Katolis has a bunch of mountains in the east, part of an old natural border before the lava one appeared

Mt Kalik is probably volcanic. It's a standalone mountain and it's really tall. Rex Ignius maybe? Oh, probably not, I think I see him peeking on the other side of the map

The trees of Duren and Katolis are different then the western lands. Softer green, deciduous. And the land itself is yellower, warmer in tone

Forests centered on Mt Kalik

The Moon Nexus looks like an eye on a dragon head near the Dragontail, and Evenere looks like a severed wing (Yes I am still wondering where Luna Tenebris went, why do you ask)

Weeping Bay looks like the most natural body of water in the western lands

Three red little trees scattered around the Katolis map. Fruit trees? How very Moonshadow.

Duren

The only land border among all the human kingdoms is between Duren and Katolis. Maybe it used to be further south along the river?

Capital is Berylgarten, set on a lake. Beryl is a stone that’s usually green, blue, or yellow in color, very gardeny

Second smallest realm but the breadbasket of the human lands. Has several little forests and great tilled fields

Being a farmer in Duren is probably as awesome as being an assassin in the Moonshadow Forest; you do what you do for all your friendly kingdoms

Northernmost land is cold and craggy, named Skall's Hook along the sea

Third ship in the Frozen Sea is icebound and crushed. Looks western, indicating no possible passage

Lots of colored trees and shrubs as if fruitbearing, I keep comparing Duren to the Yakima Valley in Washington State

Where the lava reaches the Frozen Sea, it melts the ice next to Duren's mountains

Northern Xadia:

Lux Aurea

Most of the center lands of this map has warm tones for its ground. Maybe that’s because of the long reach of the warmth and light of Lux Aurea’s Sun Nexus, and only the lands that are just too far from it are truly cold and icy. It would explain why Duren is a breadbasket realm so far north--it’s just across the border from Lux Aurea.

If there’s anything to that, then I suddenly worry for the fate of all the human lands now that the Sunforge has gone dark. It’s early summer now in Xadia, and crops in Duren will be ripening soon... Unless the sun’s magic was helping them grow. This coming winter could be rough. Next winter, people will die. Unless they can purify the Sunforge again.

Also, I have to wonder if Duren’s seven years of famine had anything to do with Sunforge shenanigans. They’d have happened at Khessa’s command, and we know she despises humans. If she was responsible for all the struggles that humans had to go through without enough food for seven years, and then their desperate attempt to fix the problem by invading Xadia for a Magma Titan’s heart which extended and exacerbated the war, I can see why Aaravos might feel Queen Khessa deserved to die

The city’s shaped kinda like an Egyptian pectoral necklace on this map, and that’s super pretty and not at all ominous

Also that’s a lot of gold for a whole city and I wonder how they got it all

The Shiverglades and the Shards

These areas are north of Lux Aurea and seem cold but not very icy, even though the Frozen Sea is right there. More thoughtful glances at the Sunforge over this one. Is it warming the land, or not warming the sea? Both?

Shiverglades is a play on Everglades, so this is a cold swamp, which sounds super fun I’m sure. Permafrost, tundra maybe?

The Shards seem to be rock islands with ice mountains. Glaciers are cool.

I wonder if something broke those islands off on purpose. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy worldbuilding? Yeah, well, I like world-wrecking, too.

Storm Spire

Has a good view on everything that happens for miles, including Lux Aurea, the Midnight Desert, the Shiverglades, the Black Tundra, the Uncharted Forest, and Drakewood.

Defensible position, no other tall mountains nearby

Also able to alert others to danger, especially since Avizandum could teleport like lightning

The Midnight Desert

It’s pretty big! And it looks like it’s littered with ruins of columns and dead palm trees. Like something else used to be in that great space and then something Very Bad happened to it. Maybe there was one great city where all the elves could mix together, and then it got utterly obliterated and the elves all fled to their respective safe places around Xadia. A city of black stone, back when Aaravos wore a crown? Now pulverized to dust and surrounded by not one, not two, but three primal nexuses? Hmmm...

All the wisps could be heat from the sand, or spooky spirit hints, or just an ominous sign of danger from the snakes below, but the overall effect is that the land is unhealthy if not cursed

The oasis is marked, and it must contain a spring since it runs a river out to join the river that passes through the Moonshadow Forest

Also the actual oasis kinda resembles a blue lizard which is adorable and probably also terrifying

Moonshadow Forest

The Silvergrove is the only village marked in the forest, so in keeping with the other lands and general map legend rules, it’s likely the capital/central village for the Moonshadow elves

The village is marked by four round-roofed homes between two tall leafy trees that shelter and hide them. It’s a hybrid balance between the blocky manmade castles of the human lands and the actual forest around them, showing a blending with nature that even the Sunfire city of Lux Aurea did not embrace, with all its golden buildings

It’s a good-sized forest, and it kinda stretches thin to the east but there it tentatively connects to the Drakewood Forest

Moonstone Path to the west just chilling in the lava like a blank alignment chart. Moonstone Path is Chaotic Hot.

Southern Xadia:

Ruins of Elarion

Elarion is a city, and it’s been lost to the humans for a thousand years

The building outlines are squared-off towers like the more modern castles in the west, suggesting that humans in Xadia built for strength and defense as soon as they could. They felt vulnerable and created protections in their architecture. The three elven cities we see also play to their strengths, but those strengths include magic. Elarion’s humans had to find a different strength, and they went with craftsmanship and ingenuity

It seems to be the only human city from before the border was drawn

“Ruins” doesn’t necessarily mean no one lives there at all, but it’s been emptied of humans and no one else has maintained it since

It had a great position on a vast lake, with sheltering hills and easy sea access

Sea of the Castout

This inland sea has five inlets and outlets. It’s hard to be sure which is which with some of them, with the way the water is drawn on this map. But I’m kinda liking the idea that all the water swirlies are places where Tidebound magic has been placed over the millennia, so the water can do whatever it needs to do depending on circumstances. That goes for the human lands, too. Katolis backward river, you’re off the hook.

With a name like "Castout,” I wonder if it was some kind of universal toilet to flush away things you didn’t want--including humans--who might wash up near Elarion and start to build there. Yeesh.

The rivers that flow into this sea pass through or near the Moonshadow Forest, the Midnight Desert, the Storm Spire, Drakewood, and the Uncharted Forest. That’s a lot of drainage.

It’s pretty far from the Tidebound Archipelago, so maybe its name is referencing Tidebound elves who have left their home colony

Was this always a sea, or did something that Xadia wanted to forget get flooded and hidden in the depths?

The land around it seems open and hospitable. It could be a good place to build/rebuild in a time of peace.

The Far Reaches

Open grassland with low hills

Two of the hills look like giant boot prints

Several colorful trees which I hope are fruit trees

Bounded by two rivers from the Sea of the Castout

Looks homey tbh, great spot to retire to get away from everything if there were a war that really shook you up

Ocean Point

There’s a Star rune here, and it could mean many things

The closest other marked location is Elarion

If this was where Aaravos lived of his own free will, I can see why he’d take a shine to the humans. They were his neighbors.

If he is imprisoned here, it’s literally the furthest point in Xadia from the other elven realms, with the Moonshadow Forest being the closest one and Umber Tor not too much further but in a totally different direction. If they were trying to isolate him physically with a portable mirror to watch over him, that’s a good spot for it

Possible location that the cube is leading Callum toward? Portal to the Star Touch home plane? Aaravos’s seaside B&B? Trap street?

Eastern Xadia:

Drakewood

Umber Tor looks to be the tallest mountain in all of Xadia, save possibly for the Storm Spire. It’s more traditionally mountainy, with a nice snowcap. Since it’s labeled, I’m guessing it’s the Earth Nexus, under which an Earth Archdragon sleeps

Also there’s a giant yellowish-brown dragon chilling next to the Tor. Yeah, he seems nice. Rex Igneous, I presume?

Or maybe not, since the neighboring forest is called Drakewood. Maybe this woods is just where a bunch of Earth dragons hang out? Ezran and Pyrrah flew off and returned with a crew of Sun dragons from somewhere, so dragons must have communities too

The mountains that edge the sea are shaped roughly like a stone dragon in flight

Drakewood seems to be the forest closest to Umber Tor, with both deciduous and evergreen trees, though there’s a huge swath of wooded land here, to the north and to the southwest. I wonder what the locals consider the border where the Drakewood becomes the Uncharted Forest and why. The way the evergreens are drawn almost looks like a border, a sort of kingswood set aside for a specific use. Rex Igneous’s best toothpicks?

Uncharted Forest

Okay this is a properly magical name, very mysterious. But uncharted by whom? People with charts? This might be a Sir Phineas Kurst name, which is outsidery, and it makes me wonder if the locals/neighbors have their own name for it, which the human explorer never learned, a la “Thunder” for Avizandum

Maybe “Uncharted Forest” just means no one ever turned those trees into charts though, old growth ftw

If no one lives here, will someone move here? If someone lives here, who are they? Earthblood elves? Moonshadow elves? Humans? This mystery, it calls to me

the trees are mostly deciduous and fill basically all of this whole section of land, up against the mountains and the rivers, so it seems very fertile land indeed

Earthblood elves could live here, but there is no city marked. Maybe because we haven’t gotten that far in the show, or maybe that’s the wrong sort of descriptor for how the Earthbloods live and organize. Maybe the whole forest is their city, like Pando, the interconnected quaking aspen clone forest

The northernmost part of this forest lies right between the Storm Spire and the Tidebound Archipelago, so it might get a regular flyover route for migration or messages

Yes, this forest is the most interesting place in Xadia to me, I desperately want to learn more about it

Black Tundra

Yeah this place isn’t ominous

Similar to the Shiverglades, but where that has shrubbery, the Black Tundra has single dead trees and creepy curving spikes. Scorched? Poisoned? De-magicked?

The water north of this area isn’t frozen, and with a lake to the south and a river and a moderate mountain range, the whole area looks like it would otherwise be decently habitable, but instead it’s cold and black

Is climate change a thing here, or will we get a nice horrible disaster instead?

Tidebound Archipelago

These islands have dotted lines around them, like they’re submerged at high tide, or maybe made of shifting sand that literally moves around like sand dunes across a desert, or perhaps they’re exactly at sea level with half their civilization in the air and half underwater or in cool bubbles, or maybe the islands actually float

Maybe the Tidebound elves even sank them on purpose for defensive purposes

The archipelago is about even latitudinally with the Storm Spire Lux Aurea, Berylgarten, and Eboreus so they probably get pretty nice weather

There’s no ice in sight here in any direction along Xadia’s east coast, so presumably the prevailing current is a warm one

do they have bridges connecting the islands? Ferries, animals who give them a lift across?

the islands have quite a bit of space on them. I wonder if there’s a big population, maybe a shifting population? Do Tidebound elves migrate up and down the coast like gray whales and return to the islands for certain holidays or social events?

This is probably the hub of the Tidebound elves’ culture, but the sea surrounds the whole land and infiltrates it with many rivers and lakes. The Spinning Sea and the Frozen Sea are pretty firm Do Not Enter signposts, but a determined Tidebound could get around either one if they wanted to

What I’m not seeing here is a city. Either it’s not been marked yet, or that’s not a thing that Tidebound elves have in their culture. If they don’t have a city, they’re possibly migratory in family groups, or maybe they stick to small villages like the Moonshadows do, but with even less central leadership

#asks #map of xadia #i love maps okay #xadia #andromeda #rayla #runaan #lujanne #moonshadow elves #moonshadow assassins #tdp angst #angst #through the moon spoilers

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giant-sketches · 4 years

Text

Guardian Naga Chpt. 5

Thank you all again for liking my Guardian Naga au thus far. For this chapter we are looking back on past events through the perspective of the Naga and then by the end switching back to Roman’s per usual.

This chapter contains 2 sketches and one super surprise that I hope you all enjoy! P.S. all the sketches I did for this one are at the end...sorry but those were like the best parts!

Chapters: 1/2/3/4/

Naga’s Perspective:

Roman hasn’t returned to the caves for three days now and the Naga has begun worrying that he may never return after their last awkward encounter. A bundle of nerves, the Naga slithered around the caves aimlessly and peeked out to see if Roman had shown up unannounced. Sadly, he was never there waiting for him. Distraught, the Naga was left to reflect on past memories of the first King.

He had no idea what had become of him, let alone that Virgil had known about his feelings for him. The time they spent together was similar to his and Roman’s meetings, but different in that he didn’t have to hide himself. Though, this last time Roman appeared to be happy with his presence. If not shocking, the Naga was pleased to see Roman not retreat in fear as he neared him. He had even taken the risk of holding Roman in his hands.

Luckily, Roman was not disgusted by his scaly digits. In fact he appeared to have enjoyed his touch.

“I was frightened that he was going to flee at the mere sight of me, yet he let me touch and hold him. I haven’t touched another person in centuries, not since Virgil.”

The Naga’s time spent with the first King was now a bittersweet memory of a one-sided love he knew would never come true. He chuckled at the thought of this time being any different.

“It’s funny how the humans once believed I had the power to grant wishes, when I can’t even grant my own.” he sighed.

It was time for the Naga to go out and sunbathe. He had been curled up in the cave for too long sulking and his body temperature was making his movement sluggish. The day was clear and the air was warm, a perfect day to bask in the light. The Naga slithered about the forest looking for a comfortable perch. After a short search he spotted a sizable cliff-side above a lake for him to lie on.

“Ah. Now this is a delightful spot to bask upon. There’s fresh water for me to enjoy if I overheat and the moss has kept the rocky surface cool.”

The Naga was pleased with his selection as he stretched out his tail. The location was scenic and he wondered if Roman knew of it.

“I bet he would greatly enjoy this place. If he returns I shall introduce him to it.”

However, would he return? The Naga couldn’t help think back to their first encounter in the caves. He had been woken by an unusual sound, only to find a human had trespassed into his nest. Yet, he was too dazed from sleep to react before the human fled from his sight. He thought only to let it go just this once and returned to his slumber. Curiously, the human returned the next day so the Naga set a trap for him in order to scare him off for good.

He was angered to find out that the human had only come to seek his power. Yet, as he stared down at the sobbing human begging for its life in his hand he knew he had gone too far and quickly released them. The human was obviously confused by this, so in a last minute stunt the Naga shouted at the human to run and it did. Humans should always run from monsters, he thought. Now that human was gone forever...or not.

“He’s here again. What is that he’s carrying?”

Slowly the human set down a basket of sorts and immediately left.

“He’s just going to leave? What did he place down there?”

Carefully, the Naga stuck out its hand and pulled the basket into the cave. The contents was made up of small cookies that smelled of fruit.

“They appear to be a confection of sorts. I wonder if they are safe to eat? Well if they are poisoned it wouldn’t affect me regardless.”

Without hesitation, the Naga poured the entire basket of cookies into his mouth. Spontaneously, a flavorful sensation danced in his mouth. He loved them! Had the human made these himself, but why? He pondered until the human returned the next day to retrieve the now empty basket. The Naga wanted to converse with him to find out why he continued to visit, but held his tongue in fear. The fear of uncertainty and rejection. He had now found himself looking forward to the human’s visits, but took notice of their solemn expression. This couldn’t last, not if he kept quiet.

Mustering what courage he could, the Naga asked why the human kept coming back only to receive a startling apology. This was unexpected. He had assumed they were simply trying to win his favor, but this human was different. After the apology the human started to take his leave, but the Naga called out to him. Curious they wandered closer to the cave entrance after hearing his call. This action surprised the Naga as he bolted further into the darkness. He was worried his ghastly figure would cause the human to flee. Nervously, he made them a deal, but in reality he just couldn’t say goodbye yet. He wanted to know more about them, to talk with someone.

What he wasn’t prepared for was learning that the human he had taken a liking to was the current King. His body chilled at the thought of history repeating itself? No, he wouldn’t let that happen. Shaking he placed his hand over the hole in his head and told himself to never forget the cruelty of humans. However, this human had compassion and sympathy. They knew it may just be a deceitful ploy, but he was willing to take a chance if it meant not being alone anymore.

Not to keep the human waiting any longer he accepted their apology and watched sorrowfully as they left once again.

From then on the Naga grew more and more attached to Roman as he continued to visit every other day with treats. He was cautious as to not let the human catch a glance of his form hiding in the shadows. Despite that, their time together was enjoyable and as it continued the Naga made a promise to himself that he would help Roman with the upcoming war. He just didn’t have the heart to tell him in fear the human would stop coming to see him.

“Why is it always the same? I’m so afraid of losing him, but he’s not mine to keep. I have to be willing to let him go when the time comes. His kindness in only a mask to cover the fear he’s hiding deep inside. I’m nothing but a monster to them.”

However, after their most recent exchange the Naga couldn’t help being optimistic. He had finally admitted to himself that he loved Roman. The Naga hummed as he recalled Roman’s sweet words,

“No one has called me beautiful since Virgil. Even after I grew to such a size there was no fear in his eyes. It’s hard to believe, but could our feelings for one another be...mutual?”

Snapping back from his reflections the Naga had let himself bask for too long as the majority of his tail extended far into the forest and he was on the verge of plummeting into the lake below. He had grown to an enormous size, much larger than last time. The Naga stretched and began to lift himself off his perch when a familiar voice rang out through the trees.

“NAGA!”

It was Roman, he was looking for him.

“No, no, no ,no!” he whimpered.

Now was not the time for him to be found. Though Roman had not been afraid of his stature last time, there was no way he would not freeze up in terror at the sight of him now. The Naga needed to get away quickly.

“Naga! Where are you?”

The voice was closer now, too close! Time was up as he heard Roman pushing the brush aside and walking towards him through the forest.. This was it, he was doomed! He was going to be found and he would once again lose the person he cared for the most due to his monstrous form. Overcome with grief the Naga began to weep softly. ------------- Roman’s perspective:

Roman could hear the soft sound of crying coming from a nearby clearing. Was that the Naga, why is it crying? Growing concerned, Roman quickened his pace and pushed his way through the thick brush. He squinted as an intense light flooded his eyes. Something sparkly was reflecting the sun's ray right at him. Quickly, he rubbed his eyes and adjusted his vision only to be astonished by what he saw. There by the lake, lying on a small cliff was the Naga sobbing. It had been its scales that blinded him when he first stepped into the clearing due to their size. Oh man the size! The Naga told him that it shifted when its body temperature rose, but from the looks of it he had been basking for a while.

The Naga had grown to a size where Roman would struggle greatly just trying to climb onto one of its fingers. The overwhelming difference in size was mesmerizing and Roman couldn’t help himself from walking over to gingerly stroke the Naga's glittering tail. It was like a mountain of jewels!

Despite showing no fear the Naga continued to cry, not noticing Roman’s attempts to garner its attention. Lost as to why the Naga was even sad, Roman jogged his way up the cliff-side and stood by the Naga’s anchored hand.

“I’m unclear as to why you are so sad, but please don’t cry anymore. You have me here now and I will never let any harm come to you.”

Charmingly, Roman planted a kiss on the Naga’s hand. Unlike with its tail the Naga immediately noticed Roman touching him and froze.

“Wh-why are you...yo-you shouldn’t be here. It’s much too dangerous to be near me at this size. Please g-go away. I don’t want you getting hurt.” he stuttered through his tears.

The Naga covered his mouth worried that Roman would find his gigantic fangs horrifying. Yet, Roman only smiled and continued kissing the Naga’s hand. He refused to leave until the Naga stopped crying. Flustered, the creature succumbed to Roman’s kisses and began wiping away its tears. Abruptly, the moment was cut off by the Naga’s size continuing to increase. Roman was amazed to see that the Naga could grow past its already colossal size as he toppled over, now under the shade of the Naga’s nail.

In a panic the Naga softly spoke to Roman,

“I’ve been in the Sun far too long. Please make haste to leave my side for a moment while I cool myself in the lake. If you so wish it we may continue to converse there. Though I understand if this encounter has frightened you and you wish to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I have something very important to tell you.”

Puzzled by Roman’s remark, but not wanting to waste anymore time, the Naga watched as Roman returned to the treeline before diving into the lake. Instantly, the water flooded over the edge, but receded back as the Naga began to shrink.

“Now what is it you’d like to tell me Roman?”

End Chapter 5

@crystalk17 @soviet-speck @valentin0vkc @legendsgates

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

Old Friend, New Family (2)

Requested by: Anon | Prompt:

Hey I was wondering if you’d take a prompt where the reader is an ex-padawan who’s master died pretty early on in order 66, and was instead saved by a clone that removed his inhibitor chip. Then maybe they get separated, and years later when the reader is a crew member on the Mantis, they come across the clone again? How would the crew, especially Cal and Cere, react to meeting a friendly ex-soldier clone who’s close with the reader? Could you make it full of angst then fluff? Love your writing!

Tags: Defected! Clone Trooper, Jedi Survivor! Reader, Order 66 Survivor

Also posted in AO3

Previous: Part 1 | Next: Part 3 | Masterlist

2 of ?

The Kel Dor master used the Force to open the door and at least five Clone Troopers clustered together at the door, blocking your only exit out of the room, and it’s only the two of you against them. Taking cover from their fire behind the office desk, banking their shots was the only possibly strategy if you want to get out of the office and to the Starfighters.

Mere minutes ago, you were guarding against blaster fire from droids… and now you’re trading them with your own clones—the men who you thought were your most trusted allies.

This can’t be happening! What went wrong?!

The distress in your mind was loud enough for Master Karos to take notice.

With your backs pressed against the desk for cover, Master Karos could only afford a few seconds to tell you a compressed version of his plan within less than twenty words.

“Padawan, listen to me very carefully. The clones have betrayed us. The Starfighters—we have to get to the Starfighters. It’s our only way of escape!”

“I don’t understand what’s happening. Why are they trying to kill us all of a sudden!?”

“The Council must have an answer for this. In the meantime, we have to get out of this palace and get to the landing pad. We have to get rid of those at the door. Ready?”

You nodded and followed your master’s lead. It appears some of them hugged the wall and blindly fired from where they hid. The last Clone Trooper standing in your way of the exit fell lifeless to the ground.

“The exit’s open! Go, [y/n]!” the Kel Dor bellowed.

You leaped over the pile of bodies that blocked the door from ever closing. The corridor is seemingly empty, but you’re half-anticipating that there would be more. Master Karos clutched your shoulder and bent down so his eyes are level to yours.

“Stay close to me. Keep running and don’t look back. Understand?”

You were stuck between catching your breath while fighting back sobs as you’re scared and confused all at the same time. The only reply he got from you is a nod, but it was an answer nonetheless. He stole a moment to look at you—suddenly, he remembered that small, bright-eyed child in the Temple and he stroked the back of your head before standing up.

Perhaps, this is the first time you saw him genuinely smile past his protective mask—and apparently the last.

“Now, [y/n]… Run!”

Keeping up with your master’s running pace, the clone troopers came from all sides of the halls. There was no need for close combat, though you had to deflect their blasts in quick succession—some ricocheted against the walls, others met its mark on the clone troopers’ bodies.

“Almost there, [y/n]—keep running!”

The more you both ran, the little you did in protecting yourselves from the clones in using your weapons, it was more evading their fire when it was only two of three of them—you only whipped out your saber when there was more of them waiting for you to show up in the next turn.

In bigger groups, Zal Karos would simply incapacitate the clones with his Force push and shut the door by destroying the panel. Later on, you ended up running ahead of him while he covers you from the flank. You went ahead in the next turn, but you were too eager to escape that you didn’t look the other way.

“I found the child!” the clone shouted and pulled the trigger on you.

Your last-minute deflect was flimsy, resulting to the projectile grazing the corner of your shoulder. The next shot was better and you returned fire to the clone trooper who injured you before continuing on.

“Master, I see the landing pad!”

“Good, [y/n], come on!”

By the time you got to the entrance of the landing pad, the clone troopers at your tail have increased in numbers. Master Karos could only hold them off enough for you to reach your objective. You’ve returned to the scene of the carnage from the siege that transpired mere minutes ago, but you and your master have been outnumbered by the clone troopers closing in on you from behind.

“Nowhere to run.” One of the clones snarled with a sinister persistence.

Indeed, it seems that there is nowhere to run. The Jedi Master saw only one last possibility for survival—and he wasn’t in it. However, he knew that perfectly well, and he made peace with that just now.

“[y/n], my Padawan, whatever happens… Survive!”

“What…?!”

The clones raised their rifles in full unison and their fingers curled against the triggers; a second’s notice was all he can afford but it was all Master Karos needs—he lifted you high up with the Force, he tossed you away to a distance far from the circle of clone troopers that surrounded you. From where you lie, you could barely see him over the clones’ shoulders that stood in the way, with your limited view you can see that he continued to fight even when it was a dozen to one.

The beams of the projectiles illuminated the circle of troopers and then you watched his body falter and jerk for every shot he took. You saw Zal Karos’s body fall flat to the floor but the clones continued to fire at him.

He fell down with his face turned to you, even with such a long distance, you can tell that your eyes meet.

“NOOO!!!” you screeched.

There was nothing you can do about him now.

SURVIVE, [Y/N]!

You heard his voice in your head, and that was enough to snap you back to your senses. Seeing that you were back outside in the city proper, you sought for a place to hide, stealing some detonators from fallen clones’ utility belts along the way for extra protection.

In the distance, the troopers exchange questions and orders.

“Where’s the little one!?”

“I don’t know, she can’t be far ahead!”

“Sweep the area! She can’t do much against us!”

You slipped into the wreckage of a LAAT gunship and hid in the cockpit for an indefinite time, despite its destruction, your size was enough for you to keep yourself out of sight. You curled into a ball, hugged your knees as you wept for this disaster and for your chaos. An ocean of questions flooded your little mind as the trauma slowly devoured your willpower.

Is it over?

Am I going to die here?

Please, anybody… help.

In a time that felt like days have passed, the thunders of war seemed to have ceased. You crawled out of your hiding spot and attempted to return to the scene where you saw Master Karos for the final time.

Master, did you die because of me? Because you had to save me? Did you really think I was helpless or useless or both?

Your feet dragged through the body-strewn streets of the city, careful not to step on any of the fallen clones’ bodies, you looked around and saw their lifeless eyes peeking through the broken portions of their helmets—you felt a chill crawl down your already-weak spine—but continued on.

Eventually, you found Master Karos’s body left to rot in front of the city gates. The dust has settled on his robes as he remained in the last position you saw him. You knelt down and gently rolled him over with the remaining strength you have in your body right now. His skin has paled, his head bobbed to your direction, and knowing that there is nothing you can do anymore, you clutched his cold, dead hands and hunched over his body to weep.

“It’s over…” you sobbed. “We lost… I’m sorry, Master.”

The wind has picked up, the inferno crackled from the distance, and you remained there with your master on the ground; you stayed there until you could regain enough strength to bury him. It’s the only honor you can bestow to him. Even though you’re stricken with grief, you can sense someone approaching you; you feigned, pretending that you don’t anticipate the stranger coming to you, the click of the safety prompted your ear to twitch.

What good can fighting do, anyway? I’m as good as dead.

You slowly raised your arms while still hunched over your master’s body.

“Oh, hey… Kid, are you okay?”

You’re startled by the compassion of the voice behind you—it was obviously a clone’s voice. Slowly lowering your hands and then glancing over your shoulder, you were correct when it was a clone but he didn’t behave hostile and trigger-happy like the others. The first thing you noticed is the motif of a horned creature with fangs painted above his helmet’s visor—from that, you knew which clone this was.

“Strig?”

He took off his helmet and revealed his face, confirming his identity—his head was shaven but growth had begun to show, a faint stubble traced his jaw and ended with a goatee, and the same motif was tattooed on one side of his head.

He was cautious with how he approached you, knowing that you’re obviously terrified with what transpired mere hours ago. He noticed the way you scoot closer to your master.

“Are you hurt?” he asked you again.

He slowly reached for your jaw, but you avoided him, apparently there was a cut that you must’ve gotten when Master Karos tossed you out of the line of fire; and then his hand hovered to your shoulder, pointing to where the blaster graze is.

Your fingers absentmindedly tapping the wound with the dried blood. “Are you going to kill me now?”

The clone’s eyebrows furrowed together, “No, why would I do that?”

“Because everyone else tried to.”

The clone sighed, seeming to be in the same page of confusion as you are—the only difference is that he has a better inkling about the manslaughter that happened hours ago. The seemingly-defected clone offered you his hand and helped you back up on your feet.

“Strig… what’s happened? Why did the clones tried to kill us?”

“That’s… look, it’s a bit complicated, [y/n],”

“Believe me, I’ve seen more complicated things to understand,”

Strig sighed when he knew you’re going to persist for answers. He sidetracked you on offering to help you bury Master Karos’s body.

“That was what you’re planning to do, right?”

“Yeah, I just… I was just too weak to move.”

“Okay, kid, let me give you a hand.”

The clone helped in digging the hole, in the meantime, you tore off the pauldron bearing the insignia of the Jedi Order, and then used the Force to gently put Master Karos along with his lightsaber in his final resting place. The pauldron acted as a marker.

“I’m sorry if it’s not much, Master. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t strong enough to save you. Still, I hope you find peace—for you are now one with the Force.” You prayed on your knees.

After your prayer, Strig helped you again on your feet, “Come on, kid. There’s nothing left for us here. But you don’t have to be alone anymore, you know. I got your back—as long as you promise you have mine!”

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royalcordelia · 4 years

Link

Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn't easy, but they're more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story).

Notes: Lots of stuff happening and lots of kissing as Anne and Gilbert’s time together comes to a close. Enjoy!

All those months ago, Gilbert hadn’t been lying when he’d told Bash that Winnie was easy to be around, but being around her parents had been an entirely different story. With perfect vividness, he remembered nights after dinners with the Roses that he’d trudged back to Avonlea, more tired than he’d ever been in his life. None of the studying in the world, not even the endless weeks of Delly crying in the middle of the night, could compare to the exhaustion of entertaining people socially higher than you and not crumbling under their expectations.

But tonight, ascending the marble steps of the Meryton Hotel with Anne on his arm, Gilbert realized that would be exactly what she’d be facing tonight. People would ask her about her country upbringing (“You’re surprisingly elegant for an islander” ) and her family (“ It’s most peculiar to have two last names, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert”). He knew because he’d spent his first months answering uncomfortable questions of his own. The only difference was that Anne wouldn’t be doing it for herself, but for him.

He stopped mid-step on the grand staircase.

It wasn’t too late to turn around and go home. Or to a concert, a nice one where the seats were made of velvet and they’d be able to feel the orchestra’s music inside their chests. Somewhere they could enjoy each other’s company, somewhere they wouldn’t have to be put on display.

If he was being entirely honest with himself, as oftentimes he wasn’t, maybe he was a bit more nervous for himself. Of course, people would like Anne - lately she had developed a mastery of first impressions. Her own confidence and compassion enchanted everyone she met, but somehow Gilbert wasn’t so sure about himself. Sure, in Avonlea, it was easy to believe he was intelligent, a meaningful contributor to society—everyone knew him there. But here where society was so much bigger, so far out of reach, would he measure up?

“Gil?” Anne called quietly. “There’s nothing to be worried about. They’re going to love you.”

The light within the hotel was so bright that it turned Anne’s eyes bright blue as it flooded out the open doors. She peered up at him with increasing concern the more he stayed frozen staring at him.

“Do you feel sick?” she continued, uncertain.

Gilbert only lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back of her palm for a long second before pulling her to keep moving with him. In front of them, Ron and Christine were crossing the threshold into the grand entrance. The younger, much lovelier, of the Stuarts watched Gilbert with a strange expression on her face that he wasn’t sure how to interpret. When she caught his glance, she spun around and glided faster past Ron.

“You’re not usually a man of silence,” Anne commented.

“Maybe having a creature of such astonishing beauty beside me renders me speechless,” Gilbert replied slyly, causing a pretty rose blush to rise on Anne’s cheeks.

Anne knew him better than that. “And?”

“And my thoughts are preoccupied, too,” he admitted.

“On what?”

Gilbert turned to her, catching a trace of her sweet perfume.

“Is this truly a good use of our time together? I barely get to see you anymore.”

“Gilbert-”

“Ron and Christine won’t miss us if we disappear. I want to hear more about you, and Queens, and Avonlea. I want to spend our last evening together in your company and not trying to impress a bunch of big-wigs at my school. Let’s go somewhere, let’s have fun!”

“I’ve already told you about all that, twice , and we have had fun!” Anne replied laughing. “Gilbert, we have our entire lives to go out and explore every inch of the world together. But tonight...tonight is for you to take your next steps toward a bright, magnificent life of helping people.”

How could he refuse her when her voice was so glorious with hope and pride? Heaving a deep breath to calm his nerves, they made their way into the hotel.

An awed gasp left Anne’s lips as they took in the brilliance of the party. The ceilings lorded high in the air, supported by corinthian pillars and edged by an ornate marble trim. A small quintet comprised of strings and a grand piano played their opulent songs and the harmonies filled the space high into the flickering chandeliers.

Gilbert glanced down at Anne, whose grin was the reflection of all the breathless thoughts running through her head.

“It’s amazing ,” she said simply. They made their way through the crowd of Gilbert’s classmates and distinguished guests, smiling politely at those they passed.

“I’m glad I get to spend this night with you,” Gilbert commented lowly. “After this, you’ll want to leave me for sunbursts and marble halls.”

“Don’t be silly, I just want you ,” Anne replied, nudging his side with her elbow. The statement, which had seemed obvious to her, sent a thrill through Gilbert, and instead of encouraging him, was only successful in brightening his eyes with desire. He dove down for a kiss, but she ducked away, nodding to the gathering of dignified guests congregated in front of them. “Are you ready to forge your connections, Mr. Blythe?”

Just like that, all the wind was knocked right out of him. Was he ready? Absolutely not. He had to make good impressions and connections. He had to be memorable for the sake of his future, for Anne. He had to. His thoughts were spiraling out of control when a voice interrupted their uncontrollable descent.

“Ah! Gilbert!”

The pair turned to find an older gentleman reaching out his hand to Gilbert, another fellow trailing behind him.

“Dr. Joselin, a pleasure,” Gilbert said politely, catching his professor’s hand and giving it a stiff shake.

“You country fellows can clean up well, after all,” Dr. Joselin teased, only to be rewarded by a stiff chuckle from Gilbert. “And I see you’ve found yourself a city girl.” Anne nearly pressed her lips together against her correction that To your disappointment, sir, you’ll find that I am completely and utterly nature’s child, and smiled as sweetly as she could.

“How are you this evening, sir?” she asked.

“Oh, very well, my dear, very well. I just hoped I could steal a moment of Gilbert’s time so that he could share his stance against phrenology with my colleague. He’s trying to get a full opinion, you see.”

“Of course,” Gilbert agreed evenly.

“I’ll go get us something to drink,” Anne cut in.

There was something very unlike Gilbert in the way that he walked away, stiff and uncomfortable. She watched him for a few moments before turning over her shoulder to find a waiter. When she returned, two crystal glasses in hand, she found him alone and a bit gray.

“How was it?” Anne asked, handing him his share of the wine. The dejected man in front of her sighed.

“I must’ve said something he disagreed with. He interrupted me right in the middle of me telling him about phrenology’s recognition as a pseudoscience, and made a comment about finding engagement somewhere else,” he murmured, almost as if he were afraid someone around him might hear. “Dr. Joselin looked so embarrassed.”

“Oh, darling, I’m sure it wasn’t you. He seemed like an odd sort of man.” Anne ran her hand down his arm comfortingly, but her touch did little to soothe his troubled eyes. “Better you know so you don’t waste your time on him.” Just then, she caught sight of a familiar face across the room. “Here’s a man I know has good taste!”

Gilbert followed as Anne lead the way, weaving in and out of people until finally she said, “Dr. Sullivan!”

The tall man was amongst his peers, though they were standing silently, taking in the splendor of the party. Upon hearing his name, Dr. Sullivan lifted an amused brow with a small smile to match.

“Ah, come to finally convince me to invest in more suitable literature, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert?” Dr. Sullivan said lightly.

“Not quite. I was hoping to introduce you to my beau so you could help him invest in suitable literature.”

Dr. Sullivan spared a glance at Gilbert, waiting for the young man to speak up, but was met with silence. Anne squeezed his arm and glanced at him. The message took a second too longer to register, and when it did, Gilbert was stammering, “Oh! Uh, Gilbert Blythe, sir.”

The lines of Gilbert’s shoulders were straight and tense. He shoved a stiff hand out, somewhat ungracefully, and gave Dr. Sullivan a brisk handshake. Sullivan’s colleagues exchanged a look that Anne hoped escaped Gilbert’s notice.

“How are you finding your studies, Mr. Blythe? It must be hard to be so far away from home,” Sullivan asked.

“My studies are going well,” Gilbert answered. Anne’s brows furrowed at his vapid, flat tone. “I’m fortunate enough not to suffer any homesickness. I’m solely focused on my coursework, and only that.”

“You have no diversions for pleasure outside of school?” Dr. Sullivan wondered.

“None whatsoever,” Gilbert replied almost too quickly. From where Anne was standing, she could feel the situation slowly spiralling out of control.

“I hear you’re a medical student. What special topics capture your attention, then?”

Anne smiled in pride, knowing that Gilbert had such an interesting answer to this question. She had letters full of his thoughts about upcoming vaccines and mind-boggling breakthroughs in pathology. His knowledge was nearly comprehensive, so it was to Anne’s utter dismay when his reply was an almost uninterested, “I like all topics, sir.”

Dr. Sullivan nodded politely, but his eyes revealed he was unimpressed with what he saw. A man at his side leaned to mutter something in his ear, and he turned back to Anne.

“It’s about time we find our seats at the table. Good evening, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert.”

And then they were gone, leaving Gilbert staring at the floor with a disheartened dullness in his eyes. Anne’s hand moved over his back, rubbing a warm circle, but he shirked away.

“Gil, it’s not so bad-”

“Let’s go home,” Gilbert interrupted. Anne’s face dropped, and he rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. “I know you got all dressed up, but I’d rather leave before I make a fool out of myself. Again. Seems to be a trend lately.”

“If that’s what you want,” was Anne’s dispirited reply. “But I don’t have to be a medical student to diagnose the situation.”

“That I’m in over my head with these people?”

“ No! Just the opposite!” Anne surged forward, grabbing his hands and squeezing tightly. “The people here are drawn together not because they want to prove they’re the most driven or because they want to show off how smart they are. They’re here because they’re alike in their passion . You have that passion, too. Right here.” She patted his chest. “But you’re keeping it locked up. You’re putting on a stale, disinterested version of yourself that isn’t real because you think it’ll make them like you more. It’s having the opposite effect, darling.”

“I thought I was being professional,” he admitted.

“You’ve already got that mastered without trying to fake it. Just be yourself, love, and I promise the night will go better.”

“I don’t know, Anne…”

She placed a hand on his cheek, and he kissed it, eyes melancholy.

“Gilbert, you are the most intelligent, brave, refreshing, stimulating, exceptional, impressive-”

“ Anne. ”

“- amazing person I know, and I am so proud of you.” She poked his nose and took a step back. “I just don’t want you to give up so soon. Give it one more go, and if you really aren’t having a nice time, we’ll go. Alright?”

Gilbert swayed forward, like he wanted to kiss her but thought better of it. Instead, he only gave a small smile and nodded. “Alright.”

They ambled throughout the room, pausing periodically to greet upperclassmen Gilbert was acquainted with. One after another, each interaction just got better and better. Anne observed it all with a prideful swell in heart, offering a few thoughts of her own here and there, much to Gilbert’s delight. The approval of his peers seemed to stoke up the fire of excitement in his eyes. A short time later, all the pretense that he’d managed to fabricate had dissipated, leaving behind the real genuine Gilbert Blythe in its wake.

Anne bit back her grin as Gilbert all but strutted across the floor in his newfound confidence. As they drew nearer to Dr. Joselin, Anne tried to steer Gilbert away, not wanting to ruin his improved disposition, but his ears had already twitched to the conversation, and he approached it without hesitation.

“Dr. Joselin, is this talk of that Montreal trial on aphthous stomatitis? ” he interjected with ease.

“Ah, Mr. Blythe, just the lad I was hoping to run into.” To Anne’s surprise, this response was not accompanied by any evident insincerity.

Another one of the students seized Gilbert’s hand, shaking it with vigor. Without a spare look at Anne, the young man grinned eagerly and said, “Gilbert, Dr. Joselin was just sharing your review on that study. Do you really suppose the results could have been invalid?”

“It’s a strong claim, I know, but with such a small population size, the results can hardly be generalized to the Canadian public. Had they interviewed the participants on their eating habits, their sexual behavior, even their home environments, I’d be more inclined to trust the validity of the results. The list of confounds was infinite, yet the clinicians acknowledged none!” The deeper Gilbert dove into dismantling the study, the less Anne comprehended of the conversation. But when it was over, there was a rosy flush of pride lighting underneath his scarce freckles and a delight that Anne hadn’t seen in his eyes the whole night.

As they walked away, Anne pressed herself onto her toes and leaned toward his ear. He bent it to her as she asked, “What in heaven’s name is aphtho...alphath…”

“ Aphthous stomatitis, ” Gilbert corrected sweetly. “It’s the medical term for a sore on your lip.”

Anne hummed in understanding. “And would you diagnose me with aphthous stomatitis, Dr. Blythe?”

His ochre eyes drifted down to her lips. With a shuddering breath, he licked his own before he could stop himself.

“No, I think your diagnosis is not sores, but an irresistible sweetness.” To prove his point, he placed a hasty kiss on the corner of her lips. Anne wondered if he could feel the heat emanating off of her cheeks at his coy attentions, and nudged him away playfully. When Gilbert pulled back, his gaze met something across the room that made his jaw tighten. Without preamble, he declared, “I have to apologize to Dr. Sullivan.”

It was because Anne said “Yes, I believe you must” that Gilbert felt even more sure he had chosen - as she would say - the right lifemate. Anyone else would’ve told him, No, Gilbert, he’s probably already forgotten. But Anne understood what had to be done if he was to remember this night with any sort of satisfaction or pride.

Across the room, Ron was wiggling his eyebrows at her, gesturing her over with a short wave of his hand. Anne sighed dramatically. “It appears I’m likely being summoned, likely for discussions of philosophy.” She paused, shaking his fingers in her own, before saying, “I’ll be cheering for you.”

Then she was disappearing into the crowd, the red of her hair blending with the raining candlelight.

Dr. Sullivan sat by himself against the wall like a moth who has shunned its lifelong work of chasing the moon, contrary to his earlier remark that he was departing for the dinner table. His even eyes observed the dance floor with a light interest, but the content of his thoughts was miles away. It was only when two shiny shoes appeared in his view just before him that he lifted his head up and met eyes with Gilbert. The boy’s shoulders were looser and the stern stiffness of his brow was missing. Dr. Sullivan did not have to be a PhD to surmise the cause of the change.

“Rejoined the world of the living?” the older man asked casually. Gilbert laughed on a somewhat embittered scoff, and settled into the seat next to the broad shouldered professor. “No doubt you have your young lady to thank.”

“No doubt I do. She sees everything with her own eyes, and no one else’s. I admire her unique perspective of the world, and am thankful when it helps me see things differently.” Sullivan made a sound of agreement in the back of his throat. Clenching his fists to ground his thoughts, Gilbert continued. “I don’t pretend to be as fetching or as interesting as Anne, but I’m not the tasteless person you saw earlier who completely lacked a backbone.”

“I’m aware,” Dr. Sullivan admitted. “That is the test of events like these. Do you come merely assimilate and try to mirror what you think you’re observing around you? Or do you rise to the occasion and add yourself into the discord without compromising your own integrity? It’s sink or swim, Mr. Blythe, yet I think you’re doing just fine. I knew you must be a fine student as soon as Emily Oak said so.”

“I’m glad you think so, sir.”

There was a moment passed in silence where Gilbert could not fathom whether or not Dr. Sullivan’s thoughts had moved on, or if he was quietly altering his judgments. He almost jumped when the man finally spoke.

“Favorite poet, Gilbert?”

Without hesitation, “Whitman.”

For the first time that Gilbert had seen, Sullivan’s smile stretched across his entire face and he nodded approvingly.

“Ah, and there lies the rub. ‘Henceforth, I ask not good fortune, I myself am good fortune .’ Adequate on nights like these, no?”

At first, Gilbert didn’t know what he meant, but as they settled into a comfortable discussion about the sacrilegious themes in “Song of Myself,” Sullivan’s meaning settled over him. Had he spent the party with a rake up his backside and listlessly trying to engage his peers, he’d have asked for good fortune, yet found no return. I myself am good fortune , Gilbert repeated in his head. What it meant tonight was I am enough. He’d lost sight of it, but now that it was regained, the vastness of the future didn’t seem so daunting.

Many minutes later, Gilbert skimmed the room for Anne’s red hair or Ron’s lofty head, but the search was fruitless. Not even Christine was anywhere to be found.

“I apologize, sir. I’m supposed to be escorting Anne this evening, yet I’ve done a poor job of it. I should go find her.”

“Very well,” agreed Dr. Sullivan. “You should know, Mr. Blythe, that just because I’m an English professor doesn’t mean my office door is closed to medical students. Should you need someone to talk to as you rage through your freshman year, please don’t hesitate to stop by.”

“I appreciate that, sir. Thank you!” Gilbert replied sincerely. He nodded once, then left Dr. Sullivan to his quiet solitude. Yet, even as he departed, he could still hear the professor’s lyrical thoughts emanating from the corner - “To drive free, to love free, to court destruction with taunts. One brief house of madness and joy!”

When Anne snuck a peek over her shoulder at Gilbert and Dr. Sullivan, she found easy smiles on both their faces and a tender bloom of pride blossomed in her chest. The more Anne became acquainted with Gilbert’s heart, the more she could see its warmth emanating around him like a constant crown. Not all the gentlemen in the room could claim having such a vast soul, one that had the capacity to love and learn with such brilliance. Perhaps the almighty had been up to something after all when he tied her to Gilbert.

She let a lovesick smile dimple her cheeks, when suddenly her hands were seized. Ron was before her squeezing her fingers in his with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“It’s time,” was all he said. Fred was at his side, a wooden instrument case wrapped under his arm, and he shared Ron’s conspiratorial smile.

“Time for what?”

“Remember that tradition I was telling you about? The one in the basement?”

“Yes…” Anne replied, interest piqued.

“The festivities are about to begin, and I wanted to know if you’d like to join us.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly!” Anne replied immediately. “I came to support Gilbert, and I know if I say I want to go to this party, he’ll just end up following.”

“He can come,” Ron added in.

“He’s supposed to be making connections.” She squeezed Ron’s fingers before dropping his hand. “You all go and have fun. I’m having a splendid time where I am. Promise!”

Ron pursed his lips, his shoulders slumping down in dramatic disappointment.

“As you wish, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert. I’ll come find you before the end of the night so we all can walk home together.”

When Ron and Fred were gone, Anne scanned the room, wondering if she’d find some long lost friend in the sea of faces and finery. Gilbert was gesturing in circles in front of him, explaining something with a fierce conviction. She wondered if she ought to go and silently impose herself at his side, but hated the idea of interrupting him unnecessarily. Then her eyes fell on Christine.

Just one look at Christine told Anne that underneath her silken black hair and throat of jewels, Christine was decidedly not having a good time. Her lips were downturned in a bitter frown, and a line crinkled between her brows. There were a few fellows beside her who seemed to be rambling on about this or that, nothing which amused Christine. Another young man joined the small circle, and when he lingered a kiss on her knuckles, the color drained from her face.

Before Anne knew what she was doing, she was marching up to Christine, mind set and hands clasped at her side.

“Miss Stuart, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Anne announced. The taller gentlemen jumped at the intrusion, grumbling when they were forced to back up and make room for her. “There’s something you must see. Come now.”

“We were talking!” a fellow objected as Anne snuck her arm into Christine’s and tugged her away.

“Excellent understanding of the past tense, sir!”

Christine was stiff beside her until they were out of sight, upon which she let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Some of those gentlemen seemed to think I was on the menu,” she admitted. “I was relying on Fred to fend them off, but he disappeared.”

“He ran off with your brother to the party in the basement.” Anne replied.

“He’s supposed to be my escort,” Christine said bitterly. “It’s not like I wanted to come with him in the first place.”

Gilbert was supposed to take me - Christine didn’t have to say it but Anne still heard it. She wondered if Christine agreed to still attend the event in order to save face, hoping that Gilbert wouldn’t notice the real reason she wanted to stay home. Still, no matter her reasons for coming, it didn’t warrant being abandoned by her escort.

“Well, we ought to go tell him so,” Anne decided fiercely.

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, maybe not. Fred’s sensitive. But you should still have a good time tonight, regardless of your escort’s presence. How about I take you down to the party? There’s supposed to be music, dancing, drinks. We can get you situated, and then I’ll come back up and find Gilbert.”

“It’s for the servants. They won’t take kindly to my presence there.”

Across the room, the gentlemen they’d disposed of seemed to be watching them with hawkish eyes. One brave soul began to trek across the room toward them, dragging a tired groan out of Christine.

“They won’t even notice you. Don’t you worry,” Anne said hurriedly. She wove their arms back together and rushed down the marble corridor. Christine’s dainty heels clacked against the floor as they hurried, and she nearly fell forward. When Anne reached out and caught her, a sputtered laugh snuck out of Christine’s lips.

“You’re alright?”

“I’ve never run in a gown before!” Christine laughed.

“Neither have I!” Then, remembering the day she’d seen Winifred in Charlottetown corrected, “Okay, I have, but it was only once!”

They followed the harmonics of lively music to a thin doorway leading down to the basement of the hotel. From the top of the stairs, they could hear the roar of laughter, cheering, and chatter. Much to Anne’s surprise, Christine was the first to descend toward it. They came upon a wide room with low ceilings and golden light. It was filled with bright red faces and lined with crates that had been shoved aside to make room for the dancing.

“My God,” Christine breathed out, though Anne barely heard it over the noise.

In the front of the room, some of the smaller crates were pushed all together with a large sheet of wood laid on top to form a makeshift stage. Fred was among the musicians fixed on it. He had discarded his jacket on a chair, but was still sweating through his white shirt as his fingers danced over his fiddle at rapid speed. Ron was nearby, stomping his feet to the quick rhythm of the jig. One of his hands was on the knee of the blonde fellow beside him, who returned the touch with an arm around Ron’s shoulder. When he caught sight of his sister and Anne wide-eyed in the corner, Ron shot up to meet them.

“You brought my sister?” he stammered.

“Fred left her, what was she supposed to do!?” Anne said, trying her best to be heard over the music and cheering.

“Think you can handle it, Chris?” Ron answered, uncertain.

“Better than you expect, I think.”

“And the two of you..?”

“Have sorted out our differences,” Anne said evenly. She knocked his shoulder with a light tap of her knuckles. “How much longer do you intend to herd us in the doorway?”

Ron’s brows shot up.

“Come on in,” he chuckled. Christine nodded primly as she strode past him. She’d only taken a few steps when a short girl with ear length hair burst from the center of dancing bodies and latched hold of Christine’s hand. Christine turned back to Anne, a look of panic on her face.

“It’s alright! Go dance!” Anne encouraged. It only took one sheepish smile for the girl to spin Christine around, and they disappeared into the crowd.

“Come Anne, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Ron said lowly. He led her through the only clear path in the room to a raggety table. The man he’d been sitting with before looked up at her through long blonde lashes - easily, without judgment. His features were that of any prince in the Grimm fairy tales, so startlingly beautiful that Anne felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “This is Adam...my uh, well, you know. Adam this is my roommate’s sweetheart from PEI.”

Adam’s smile was small and relaxed. He shook Anne’s hand with geniality but said nothing.

“A pleasure to meet you. Ron speaks of you with such esteem,” sputtered Anne.

A hint of insecurity rose within her the same way it might if she met George Eliot or Jane Austen. Would he think her simple and foolish, a sixteen-year-old girl here to drink and dance with adults? But the kindness in Adam’s eyes suggested otherwise. Finally he said, “Thank you.” But Anne got the impression that he was thanking her for more than just the polite compliment. She smiled in return, contagious and sweet.

“It’s been so lovely to drop by, but I really did want to save Christine from those awful vultures-for-men. I ought to go find Gilbert. Dinner will be starting soon.”

“Stay for a song,” Adam suggested. Anne hesitated, finding no help in Ron’s eager face.

“One song. I won’t leave Gilbert alone upstairs.”

That was enough to satisfy Ron, who tugged another crate for Anne to sit on. She settled down beside him, and found herself immediately enraptured by the sight before her. The band played fast paced folk tunes that kept the hearts of the dancers racing, but each jig and reel only powered the dancers through each measure with energy. It was a mess of wild hair, rolled up sleeves, rosy cheeks, and somehow, it was one of the most beautiful things Anne had ever seen. Dances like the “Dashing White Sergeant” may have their benefit with the right partner, but this... this was self-expression and freedom. Without knowing it, Anne had begun to sing along to the familiar tune.

“You sing too?” Ron asked incredulously. The song stopped abruptly in her throat.

“Not really. My best friend back home is the real musician. I just love a good song,” Anne replied sheepishly.

“Your voice is beautiful,” Adam added. “You should go up and sing something. I know the band was disappointed they couldn’t find a singer for tonight.”

“I doubt I would know any of their songs!” Anne objected.

“You knew this one.”

She squirmed in her seat, hoping Gilbert would appear in the door and save her.

“It’s so kind of you to suggest it, but really—”

It was too late. Ron had taken Anne by the arm and tugged her in front of the stage.

“This young lady is a singer.”

The banjo player peered down at Anne with obvious musical interest.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he said.

Anne spared a desperate glance at Fred, who merely let out a hearty guffaw and helped the banjo player lift her up by her underarms to stand on the stage. Anne stumbled, eyes widening as the dancers watched the scene unfold.

“It’s alright, Anne. What songs do you know?” Fred muttered in her ear.

“...I’ve been learning Scottish songs. For my heritage. Some Irish ones too. Canadian classics too, I suppose,” she answered quietly. “I really don’t like this, Fred.”

“Relax. Gilbert says you’re a story-teller.”

“Well, yes, but—”

Before she could finish, Fred began to string together a melody on the fiddle. The guitar behind her jumped in, strumming a familiar set of chords. Fred lifted a brow at her, an unspoken You know this one? To Anne’s dismay, she nodded and after a moment began to sing.

“‘Oh, rise up my darling and come with me

I want to go with you and leave this country

To leave my father’s dwelling, this house and the land.’

So away goes Jamie with his love in his arms.”

Anne’s instincts had taken over before she could stop them. Every story she’d told in class, to the bird’s in the trees, every song she had sung to the forest air had prepared her to let loose her inhibitions. This was just another story to tell—a man captured by his love’s father, his love desperately trying to plead his innocence in court, a fate doomed from the start. Anne forgot she was singing and dancing on a stage that was seconds away from falling apart. Rather, she was whisked away with the tale, desperately trying to rescue her “Bold Jamie.”

“The judge says ‘this young girl being tender in youth

If Jamie is guilty she will tell the truth.’

It was here a familiar face appeared from the stairwell at the back of the room. Gilbert had his hands stuck in his pockets, the way he always did when he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He seemed to search the room for something, before his eyes fell on her, dancing on the stage. Anne laughed as she sang the next lines, a grin turning her face to golden light. He smiled back, shaking his head with surprise.

Then the radiant beauty before him did stand

“‘Oh I'm happy to see you, my bold Irish lad!’”

Anne was only slightly aware of Gilbert finding his way through the crowd to the front of the stage. His eyes were hazy and lovesick as he watched her move and sing and let strands of hair fall from their pins. Occasionally, she’d flash another small smile down at him, and he’d feel it resonate down to the soles of his feet. As Fred played the last notes of the song, Anne fixed her gaze on her love and was thankful the song had only been a story. Her own bold man was here before her, very much not in jail and very much hers to adore.

Behind her, another upbeat song filled the air. Anne placed her hands on Gilbert’s shoulders, biting her lip at the ease with which he lowered her back to the ground. They were inches apart, Anne’s chest still heaving from her song.

“I didn’t mean to leave for so long,” Anne apologized lightly. Gilbert shook his head, brushing a strand of hair away from her sticky face.

“I’m the one that left you alone. You were right, Dr. Sullivan is a kindred spirit, after all.” Their explanations were cut short when a dancing couple all but crashed into them. They scurried to the wall, the only place where no arms or legs could hit them. Out of public eye, Gilbert bent down and pressed a kiss against Anne’s smiling cheek.

“I didn’t know you sang that well,” he admitted. Anne shrugged.

“It certainly was very fun to try! One minute I was telling Christine to go off and have fun, and the next minute I was being lifted on stage.”

“I wish I could have seen the whole thing.” His hands found hers and he caressed her skin gently. “Are you hungry? They’re starting dinner.”

Anne laughed and looked around the room.

“After all this, I could use some sustenance. And some quiet time to hear about your conversation with Dr. Sullivan.”

After a quick nod to Ron, they were heading back upstairs, the sound behind them turning into a mere mumble in the distance. Anne was glad to breathe some fresh air that didn’t smell of sweat and whisky. Beside her, Gilbert had fixed her with a strange expression, one that was nearly smiling, but also deeply distressed.

“What is it, love?” Anne asked.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow.”

“That’s a whole day away. There’s plenty of time to…”

Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of something several feet ahead of them. Gilbert traced her gaze to another couple pressed up against the floral-papered wall of the hotel. The silhouette of a woman was pressed beneath that of her lover, who held her flush against him. Perhaps the strange thing which had stolen Anne’s breath was the way the man had his face buried at his lady’s pulse point along the hollow of her neck, luxuriating there for a long moment before slowly moving his way along the skin. Gilbert felt his own face burning. He’d seen kissing before, but not quite like that. Judging from Anne’s reaction, neither had she.

It looked really… nice. Different, but nice.

As they passed, Anne rushed into a new conversation, desperately trying to avoid his eyes. Is she embarrassed? he wondered. Is she scared I’ll kiss her like that?

Anne on her part was violently trying to keep all thoughts of what she had seen from her head, but found it was difficult to think of anything but that. Her fingers touched her throat, but she tore them away before she could imagine what it would feel like if Gilbert kissed her the way she’d seen. Would he even want to? Her mouth rambled of the strange men she’d fended off from Christine, but Gilbert was smart enough to know her mind was somewhere else. So, for some reason, he said the very first thing that came to his mind.

“Hey, Anne?” It cut off her thoughts and she snapped her lips shut.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Anne laughed, tugging Gilbert’s arm closer to her chest to nuzzle her head against his shoulder.

“I’d like to see anyone try to love you as much as I do!” she declared. Anne tried not to think about how this time tomorrow she'd nearly be arrived back home to the Blackmore house. The Sunset House would be a thousand miles away, her soft-hearted man kept safely inside of it, and she would be missing his warmth at her side. For now, she grounded herself in the present moment, ran a finger down his handsome jaw, and tried to prepare herself for what might be the most lavish dinner she’d ever attend.

Some time later, their bellies were full of delicious food and the guests of the banquet began to file out. Leaning tiredly onto Gilbert, Anne wondered if this was the first in a very long future of attending events like these. If he became a renowned doctor like he planned to, he’d receive all sorts of invitations to more banquets, conferences, meetings. On one hand, Anne looked forward to it with everything she had in her. On the other hand, Anne was very ready to lay beside her love and get some rest.

The streets of Toronto at night were mostly lit by shed candlelight from its surrounding streets. Ron was in light spirits as he led the way, a blissful spring in his steps as he hummed “Bold Jamie.” Gilbert had leaned in close to whisper, “He’s a night owl and an alcoholic.” But Anne knew the kiss she’d seen Adam quickly plant on him had something to do with his chipper mood as well.

She turned her face to the moonlight and felt the crisp night air lay smooth against her cheeks. Oh, if only nights this wonderful were eternal , she thought. No one in the world could be unhappy then.

They’d long since taken Fred to his boarding house, next planning to bring Christine back home. She was quiet in front of Gilbert and Anne, and had said nothing about her time at the party. When they arrived at the Stuart house, she was the silhouette of Juliette Capulet on a Shakespearean doorstep. Without warning called out, “Actually, Gilbert?”

Gilbert couldn’t make out Christine’s expression in the darkness. A strangeness had taken over her voice and it was with uncertainty that he replied, “Yes?”

“Might I speak with you...for a moment? I won’t keep you long.”

Gilbert’s eyes fell on Anne, who squeezed his hand gently. “I’ll walk slowly with Ron for a bit.”

He wasn’t able to make it any further up the walkway when Christine began to speak.

“You’re probably waiting for an apology,” she rushed out.

“An apology? For what?” Gilbert asked.

“Anne… didn’t tell you?”

Gilbert stuffed his hands in his pockets at the growing awkwardness radiating off of Christine. Instead of an answer, he shrugged and shook his head. A shadowy cloud crept over the moon, shielding his sight from the embarrassed flush warming Christine’s cheeks. She took a deep breath.

“When you offered to take me to the banquet all those weeks ago, I thought you were doing it because you liked me.” Gilbert’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. “And I was really ...elated, I suppose, because, well…I’ve been in love with you since I first met you.”

“Christine, you don’t have to say it. Or apologize. I must’ve just assumed you knew about Anne. I should be the one apologizing. It’d never be my intention to hurt you,” Gilbert responded truthfully.

“No, you don’t understand. I knew you were courting someone . It just didn’t make a difference until today.” Christine grabbed the handle of her front door, squeezing until her knuckles were white. “I was so jealous of Anne when I met her. Then this afternoon, I said dreadful things to her, things I’m not brave enough to repeat to you. I insulted her in every way I could.”

Gilbert’s lips drew thin.

“Oh.”

“She didn’t let me get away with it, of course,” continued Christine. “But she didn’t despise me for it either. Anyone else would have. Her and I talked. I apologized to her, and now I’m apologizing to you.”

Silence fell between them as he shifted his weight.

“If Anne forgave you, I’ll have to too,” he said half-heartedly. What else was there to say? The thought of someone being cruel to Anne on his account made his blood boil, but Anne had already won the battle, it was all over with. Yet he felt an increasing distaste for Christine the longer he stood there, so he gave a small nod. “Goodnight, Chris.”

Anne was not hard to catch up with. Gilbert found her shortly ahead of the Stuart house, humming along to Ron’s off-key tune and touching any flower heads that grew tall along the pathway. She didn’t startle when he appeared beside her, only let out a blissful sigh.

“I love to smell flowers in the dark," she said. "You get hold of their soul then.”

Gilbert let out a sigh of his own as he wrapped an arm around her and leaned his head onto hers.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Anne smiled knowingly.

“I didn’t think there was anything to tell. Sometimes we have to just return to our natural roots. Like mountain cats, we had it out bitterly and violently, and once it was over, we were...oh, I don’t know, hunting together?”

“Hunting together?” Gilbert chuckled.

“I cannot be expected to hold a decent metaphor so late in the evening. But you understand what I mean.” Anne hoped it would be enough for him to drop the topic. It wasn’t.

“What did she say to you?”

“What good would it do you if you know?”

“None, I suppose,” he stated unhappily. “She really didn’t hurt your feelings too badly?”

“Maybe for a moment. But look here, Gilbert.” She took his hand, kissed it, then lifted it up to twirl around underneath it. “I’m a young lady dreadfully in love, exploring a foregin city with the most handsome man I’ve ever seen by my side. I intend to kiss him very soundly when we settle back home, and expect each kiss will be reciprocated ten-fold! Jealous girls can say what they will, I have won the grand prize!”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Anne. You are the grand prize.”

Anne of a year ago might’ve crinkled her nose at his boldness, and declared that she was not a prize to be won. But the Anne of today knew that Gilbert didn’t have to be reminded of respect, so she nuzzled herself back into his side and began to hum a new tune.

When they were home, the tune still lingered in the back of Anne’s mind. She sat on the edge of Gilbert’s bed, scanning her eyes along his bare bookshelf to catalog the few books he did bring with him, and braided her hair. Gilbert himself was combing his wild curls in a mirror, or at least was supposed to be—when Anne looked up at him, she found him watching her in the reflection.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked quietly.

“Truthfully?”

“Mhmm.”

“What we saw in the corridor at the hotel.”

“Really?” she squeaked.

For some reason, this sent a thrill of delight down Anne’s spine. Off-handedly she thought that Gilbert’s shoulders looked so strong when they weren’t being swallowed by his jacket.

“I’ve never seen anyone kiss like that before. It seems too…”

“Intimate?”

“Maybe.”

They stared at each other nervously, a budding fire of desire tugging at each of their hearts. Then, without being prompted, Gilbert threw his hands up in surrender.

“It’s just that, you’re so beautiful, you know?” he exploded. “You’re gorgeous, and sitting there with your neck exposed, and the moon is out, and—”

“The moon?” Anne chuckled, face red. “What’s the moon have to do with it?”

“It just makes you look—” Gilbert let out an exasperated sigh. “And you have no idea.”

He was right. Anne barely followed what he was talking about. “Alright, then tell me.”

Gilbert’s own cheeks were growing hot now.

“I really would like to kiss you like that someday,” he admitted quietly. Anne bit her tongue against a gasp, trying miserably to hide her own hopeful desperation.

“Someday?” she questioned timidly. “Why not now?”

It was Gilbert’s turn to squeak. “Now?”

Anne nodded.

Her breath was short as Gilbert nervously set down the comb and crept toward her. Without thinking about it, Anne uncrossed her legs and let her arms fall down at her side. Gilbert’s eyes glistened in the low candlelight— half wrought with confidence, half shaking. He sat on the bed beside her, brushing some loose hair away from her hair. Anne wondered if she’d ever get used to feeling so desired by him, as if she really was the grand prize among women. He leaned forward and Anne’s breath caught in anticipation.

Then, he stopped.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admitted almost bitterly. Anne smiled easily, lifting his chin back up to her face.

“Then why don’t you start with what you know?”

With that, she captured his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him flush against her. Gilbert’s hands fell to her side and he let out a soft breath. She was soft in just her nightgown, the way women were, the rigid boning of her corset gone for the day. They kissed like that for a few moments, long enough that every ounce of Gilbert’s self-consciousness fell by the wayside. When he was brave enough, he broke off of her mouth and trailed his lips from her cheek down to the underside of her jaw, and eventually her neck.

It was euphoria to the highest degree. Anne shot an arm out to hold herself up, but when Gilbert sucked gently at her collarbone, the arm went limp and they fell backwards. Anne laid flat against the bed, peering up at Gilbert with adoration. Her braid had fallen beside her face, and the sleeve of her nightgown had crept just barely down her arm. For a split moment, he considered helping her up, but then she smiled at him and all that was left was his utter ruination. He bent back down, done with experimenting. Instead, he intended to kiss all of his love into the pulse point of Anne’s throat so that it would seep into her veins and reach all of her. She didn’t stop him when his lips found the borderline of her collar and chest.

“You have freckles here too,” he muttered blissfully, tasting her sweet skin and inhaling her perfume.

Without thinking, Anne clutched the fabric of his shirt and said, “I have freckles everywhere.”

Gilbert ceased his ministrations, freezing above her. He planted one more kiss to the corner of her lips and laid down at her side. In the silence, he forced himself to think of anything other than all the places Anne could have freckles. Time began to move at real speed again for Anne, who slowly roused to reality.

“How was that?” she heard him say eventually. Then, sparked with an idea, she propped herself onto her elbow.

“Would you like to know?”

His eyes turned wide, and whatever self control he had left evaporated. After he gave a nod of consent, Anne pushed gently on his chest to get him flat on his back. She’d been attuned to every way he’d kissed her, and she replicated it effortlessly. The moment her lips met his skin, he heaved a heavy sigh. His fingers found their way to her hair, and he contemplated undoing his braid and letting her loose auburn locks fall over him.

“I’ve always liked your chin,” she commented, pressing a kiss to it before moving back to the sensitive part of his collarbone.

“I’ve always liked you ,” he replied breathlessly, desperately.

“I haven’t always liked you, but I’m warming up to it,” Anne teased. Below her, Gilbert was a moment away from begging for mercy.

Suddenly, the door swung open and Anne jumped up. Gilbert’s hazy vision made out Ron standing in the doorway, jaw dropped to the floor. He knew they were a sight to behold—messy hair, red cheeks, swollen lips—but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Anne pressed her lips together against a laugh, and helped Gilbert sit up.

“Can we help you?” Gilbert asked, annoyed.

“Gilbert Blythe, you saucy man!” Ron exclaimed, shocked.

“This from you! You know how many times I’ve heard you sneak girls home like I wouldn’t hear you?”

“That’s me, though. You’re... you! ”

“Goodnight Ron!”

“Not so fast there, lover-boy. I came to say goodbye to Anne. I’ll be dead asleep when she leaves for her train.”

Much to Ron’s delight, Anne jumped out of the bed and gave Ron a tight squeeze.

“Good luck with Adam,” she whispered.

Ron shook her around like a rag doll, before letting her free.

“Come back whenever you’d like. I mean it! This fellow is miserable when he’s homesick.”

“I will, I will! Thank you for being an excellent host and making a delicious breakfast.”

“Oh, you’re most welcome. Sorry again about my sister.” Anne shook her head, waving the comment aside. “Well, see you soon, Anne.”

They were nearly rid of him—at least in Gilbert’s mind—until Ron poked his head through the door one last time.

“Try to maintain some semblance of propriety under my roof, Gilbert.”

Anne’s laughter followed him until he had shut his own bedroom door behind him. Finally alone, Gilbert turned to Anne and gave her a sad smile.

“We should probably get some sleep. You have a big trip tomorrow,” he said.

“You hated being kissed that much?” Anne teased, but Gilbert could hear the barest hint of honesty in the question.

“Quite the opposite. I think any more and I’d be a dead man. Too much happiness is the strongest weapon.”

Anne chuckled as she crawled underneath the soft blankets. When Gilbert was settled beside her, he leaned over and kissed her cheek one last time. Anne turned to her side toward the window where she looked at the moon making faces down at her. She felt a hand come to her waist, and pulled it all the way across her. That was how she fell asleep, praying that nights could continue forever in the warm embrace of the person she loved most.

~~~*~~~

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#anne of green gables #anne with an e #shirbert #shirbert ff #anne and gilbert #tessa writes

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