#how did they pull this off? its a secret. (that is to say sparrow and the others will figure it out)

[llumimoon]

Introducing the Erased AU!!! or as I like to call it: The Mysterious Disappearance of Normally Oak

Hehehehe I actually came up w/ this back in May (with the help of @kaseyskat <3) but it's been modified to be more canon compliant since some recent things got the brain gears turning :]c

The premise is essentially Norm and Dood do some. very silly goofs. aka w/out telling anyone Normal decides to go back to the Doodler's home dimension w/ Dood to keep them company and through some magic shenanigans everyone now has no recollection of Normal or the Doodler apocalypse- everything is a picturesque happy ending... or is it?

Sparrow is the first to realize something's up due to her new art studio being where Normal's bedroom used to be, but the others aren't very far behind. They all have to put the clues they discover together in order to figure out what happened and bring Normal back. Speaking of, I dunno how long a human can last in an eldritch dimension after all...

EDIT:

1 2 3 4

[kaseyskat]

had some thoughts about dood (yes ive settled on that spelling i like it) and missing scenes and stuff anthony would never do because he doesn't like roleplaying with himself and i very hastily wrote them our for your pleasure. enjoy!

~

It happens so fast. 

Sparrow doesn’t even comprehend… everything that is going on. The Doodler talks in a voice that he recognizes from childhood dreams, and the children are talking, and Willy is talking, and then Lark pulls out his gun and is aiming it directly at Normal, and Sparrow is frozen, frozen in place, helpless but to watch and to stare at his twin and shake his head and plead with his eyes and think: this is not how I imagined this fight. 

Once, he had dreamed of this fight. It was glorious, the rendition in his head. The Doodler was a mighty adversary, one who wanted to bring a reign of terror and chaos upon the land, and from a young age, Sparrow knew that he and Lark were the ones destined to rise up, bear their arms in kind, fight the Doodler and win. 

But the Doodler isn’t a mighty adversary here, it’s just… scared, and alone. Is this really what Lark saw when he glimpsed into its mind? 

And Lark still has a gun pointed at Normal. Realistically, Sparrow knows that he’s aiming for the Doodler, because that’s what they’re supposed to do, right? Fight the Doodler and win? It makes sense, and yet it doesn’t, because no version of their fight would result in their family getting hurt. 

But that’s already happened. Our family is already torn to shreds! Sparrow wants to scream, wants to call out, but he is frozen and helpless and can only breathe a sigh of relief when Normal says… something to Lark and Lark puts his gun down. 

He’ll find out what Normal said later. Now, they have a fight to win, and this is one that Sparrow doesn’t feel wordlessly, strangely guilty about. 

And he crumples. And he drags himself back to his feet just in time to watch Willy flash away, leaving only the form of the Doodler that Sparrow has pointedly avoided looking at until now.

It could be a regular teenager, if teenagers morphed in and out of time and space, crackling with static energy. For a second, Sparrow comprehends it – the way the Doodler resembles, vaguely, the form that he had drawn when he was ten and wanted to give shape and dimension to the being that creeped into his dreams and spoke to him in whispered tones – before it shifts, and Sparrow only sees himself. 

Doodler-Sparrow is small, quiet, big eyes staring Sparrow down as their form flickers from cardigans to dresses, hair going blonde and then dark again, eyes flashing green to amber and back to green. It’s dizzying: Sparrow quickly looks away, taking a deep breath even as it continues to look at him, and look at him, and Scary is reading something but it is still staring at him. 

Then, quietly. “Hen?” 

Sparrow inhales. 

It is no secret that he misses his father terribly. Cutting himself off hadn’t been a personal choice: in fact, he still regularly calls his parents, tries making awful smalltalk, incorporates elements of his life that he liked into his own parenting, does his best for Hero and for Normal. And, and it isn’t like Henry is dead! Just… lost. 

That was Sparrow’s fault too, wasn’t it? 

“Hen is my father,” he says quietly, watches as Doodler-Sparrow shifts to look more like a younger version of his father staring at him in horror– in the fear of losing him forever, of having already lost him, or somewhere bitterly in between. “Hello… what did the kids call you? Dood?” 

They nod, taking a step back as Sparrow steps forwards, wary. Arms curl around them, and its form flickers again, right back to the younger version of himself. 

“Dood,” Sparrow repeats, and he snorts, shaking his head. “Alright, Dood. May I ask: do you remember anything of being… with my father? Hen?” 

“I…” the Doodler – Dood, rather – takes another nervous step back, and Sparrow is forced to look down at the shadows they cast against the floors of the church to avoid the headache building behind his eyes. “It’s… hard. But I think you were beautiful.” 

Despite himself, Sparrow smiles. 

“Then I suppose you don’t remember my name,” he says, softly. “But I’m Sparrow. I gave you your name once, a long time ago.” 

“The mascot,” Dood breathes, and they nod slowly. “I… is that my name?” 

“Dood is just fine, I think,” Sparrow smiles, and he offers his hand slowly, the way he would with Hero when she was younger and unwilling to budge on one topic or another. “I know Normal is going to take great care of you, but I want you to know you can rely on me too, okay?” 

He doesn’t know where this came from, except he does, because he just watched his son be held at gunpoint and reflected in Dood’s personage is the person that Sparrow turned away from in favor of what Lark wanted, of what the world needed, and where had it gotten them? His daughter hates him, and his son isn’t far behind. His father withers away and his mother is tired, so tired, and Sparrow has spent a lifetime loving and choosing his brother and it still hadn’t saved him, had it? He can’t force Lark to love himself, no matter how hard he tries, so shouldn’t he choose himself for once? 

Dood didn’t deserve this, and they clearly don’t remember much of what Sparrow had once resented them for. Forgiveness is one of the principles of being a lovewolf, isn’t it? 

“That… sounds nice?” Dood shifts in place, and Sparrow glances back up just in time to catch Himself looking back, tired and haggard and still so small. “I like Normal.” 

Sparrow shifts his gaze. Normal is standing with Scary, gawking at her over… whatever it was she was reading that he’s since tuned out. He’s ditched the mascot suit but still wears the bright blue jersey he’s so fond of, his hair is messy and clearly unwashed, and there’s the smallest wisps of what might be facial hair above his lips, only noticeable when he frowns. 

My son. Sparrow smiles. “Me too.” 

He doesn’t know what might come next, but he thinks his father might be proud of him for once, and maybe that’s enough. Dood takes his hand, and though the static stings and writhes and whispers, Sparrow can only smile to himself and turn to face a world saved by his son and his friends, and maybe finally find the grace to heal his own inner child in the progress. 

[ladytanithia]

Sometimes a Wild God

by Tom Hirons

So beautiful and evocative, I had to share with all my writing friends. I grew up pagan, so I think of Herne, but fellow Skyrim fans will also think of Hircine.

@dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,

You will probably fear him.

He reminds you of something dark

That you might have dreamt,

Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;

Instead he scrapes with his fingers

Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow

In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.

You are very busy.

It is late, or early, and besides…

You cannot look at him straight

Because he makes you want to cry.

The dog barks.

The wild god smiles,

Holds out his hand.

The dog licks his wounds

And leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.

Ivy is taking over your sideboard;

Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades

And wrens have begun to sing

An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say

And give him the worst of your food.

He sits at the table, bleeding.

He coughs up foxes.

There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,

You close the door and

Tell her it’s fine.

You will not let her see

The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey

And you pour a glass for him,

Then a glass for yourself.

Three snakes are beginning to nest

In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.

Oh, eternal mystery.

Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.

Oh, miracle of life.

Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,

Expectorate the snakes and

Water down the whiskey,

Wondering how you got so old

And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag

Made of moles and nightingale-skin.

He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,

Raises an eyebrow

And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.

Otters rush from the darkness.

The snakes pour through your body.

Your dog howls and upstairs

Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.

You dance with the sparrows.

A white stag pulls up a stool

And bellows hymns to enchantments.

A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.

Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.

Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.

The hills echo and the grey stones ring

With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,

The house takes off from the ground.

Clouds climb through the windows;

Lightning pounds its fists on the table.

The moon leans in through the window.

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time,

Possibly since you were born.

There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’

Asks the wild god and you say:

‘I was busy surviving.

The shops were all closed;

I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and

The snakes in your arms and

The wren and the sparrow and the deer…

The great un-nameable beasts

In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.

A cacophony of dissent.

The wild god nods his head and

You wake on the floor holding a knife,

A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.

Your wife is stirring, far above.

Your cheeks are wet with tears;

Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.

A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine

And brings the dead to life.

Words: Tom Hirons at Coyopa - Tom's book, Sometimes a Wild God, which contains this and many other FINE examples of his wordsmithing is available via this link ---> http://shop.hedgespoken.org/products/sometimes-a-wild-god Please support artists & their work!

Art: Illustration by Janne Pitkanen & concept & photography by Harri Halme (from the album cover The Spirit of Ukko by Finnish band Kiuas)

[north-star-dreamer-69]

Sometimes a Wild God.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,

You will probably fear him.

He reminds you of something dark

That you might have dreamt,

Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;

Instead he scrapes with his fingers

Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow

In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.

You are very busy.

It is late, or early, and besides…

You cannot look at him straight

Because he makes you want to cry.

Your dog barks;

The wild god smiles.

He holds out his hand and

The dog licks his wounds,

Then leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.

Ivy is taking over your sideboard;

Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades

And wrens have begun to sing

An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say

And give him the worst of your food.

He sits at the table, bleeding.

He coughs up foxes.

There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,

You close the door and

Tell her it’s fine.

You will not let her see

The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey

And you pour a glass for him,

Then a glass for yourself.

Three snakes are beginning to nest

In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.

Oh, eternal mystery.

Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.

Oh, miracle of life.

Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,

Expectorate the snakes and

Water down the whiskey,

Wondering how you got so old

And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag

Made of moles and nightingale-skin.

He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,

Raises an eyebrow

And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.

Otters rush from the darkness.

The snakes pour through your body.

Your dog howls and upstairs

Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.

You dance with the sparrows.

A white stag pulls up a stool

And bellows hymns to enchantments.

A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.

Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.

Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.

The hills echo and the grey stones ring

With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,

The house takes off from the ground.

Clouds climb through the windows;

Lightning pounds its fists on the table

And the moon leans in.

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time,

Possibly since you were born.

There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’

Asks the wild god and you say:

‘I was busy surviving.

The shops were all closed;

I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and

The snakes in your arms and

The wren and the sparrow and the deer…

The great un-nameable beasts

In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.

A cacophony of dissent.

The wild god nods his head and

You wake on the floor holding a knife,

A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.

Your wife is stirring, far above.

Your cheeks are wet with tears;

Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.

A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine

And brings the dead to life.

~ Tom Hirons

[primordialsoundmeditation]

I did not write this poem... but I wish I had. It is wonderfully written and rich in imagery. It's inspiring.

***

Sometimes a Wild God

By: Tom Hirons - Poet and Storyteller

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,

You will probably fear him.

He reminds you of something dark

That you might have dreamt,

Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;

Instead he scrapes with his fingers

Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow

In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.

You are very busy.

It is late, or early, and besides…

You cannot look at him straight

Because he makes you want to cry.

The dog barks.

The wild god smiles,

Holds out his hand.

The dog licks his wounds

And leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.

Ivy is taking over your sideboard;

Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades

And wrens have begun to sing

An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say

And give him the worst of your food.

He sits at the table, bleeding.

He coughs up foxes.

There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,

You close the door and

Tell her it’s fine.

You will not let her see

The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey

And you pour a glass for him,

Then a glass for yourself.

Three snakes are beginning to nest

In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.

Oh, eternal mystery.

Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.

Oh, miracle of life.

Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,

Expectorate the snakes and

Water down the whiskey,

Wondering how you got so old

And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag

Made of moles and nightingale-skin.

He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,

Raises an eyebrow

And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.

Otters rush from the darkness.

The snakes pour through your body.

Your dog howls and upstairs

Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.

You dance with the sparrows.

A white stag pulls up a stool

And bellows hymns to enchantments.

A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.

Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.

Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.

The hills echo and the grey stones ring

With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,

The house takes off from the ground.

Clouds climb through the windows;

Lightning pounds its fists on the table.

The moon leans in through the window.

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time,

Possibly since you were born.

There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’

Asks the wild god and you say:

‘I was busy surviving.

The shops were all closed;

I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and

The snakes in your arms and

The wren and the sparrow and the deer…

The great un-nameable beasts

In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.

A cacophony of dissent.

The wild god nods his head and

You wake on the floor holding a knife,

A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.

Your wife is stirring, far above.

Your cheeks are wet with tears;

Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.

A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine

And brings the dead to life.

***

Art: Andrew Ferez

Tara Shannon

[avantlazarus]

SOMETIMES A WILD GOD by TOM HIRONS

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,

You will probably fear him.

He reminds you of something dark

That you might have dreamt,

Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;

Instead he scrapes with his fingers

Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow

In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.

You are very busy.

It is late, or early, and besides…

You cannot look at him straight

Because he makes you want to cry.

Your dog barks;

The wild god smiles.

He holds out his hand and

The dog licks his wounds,

Then leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.

Ivy is taking over your sideboard;

Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades

And wrens have begun to sing

An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say

And give him the worst of your food.

He sits at the table, bleeding.

He coughs up foxes.

There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,

You close the door and

Tell her it’s fine.

You will not let her see

The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey

And you pour a glass for him,

Then a glass for yourself.

Three snakes are beginning to nest

In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.

Oh, eternal mystery.

Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.

Oh, miracle of life.

Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,

Expectorate the snakes and

Water down the whiskey,

Wondering how you got so old

And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag

Made of moles and nightingale-skin.

He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,

Raises an eyebrow

And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.

Otters rush from the darkness.

The snakes pour through your body.

Your dog howls and upstairs

Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.

You dance with the sparrows.

A white stag pulls up a stool

And bellows hymns to enchantments.

A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.

Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.

Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.

The hills echo and the grey stones ring

With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,

The house takes off from the ground.

Clouds climb through the windows;

Lightning pounds its fists on the table

And the moon leans in.

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time,

Possibly since you were born.

There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’

Asks the wild god and you say:

‘I was busy surviving.

The shops were all closed;

I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and

The snakes in your arms and

The wren and the sparrow and the deer…

The great un-nameable beasts

In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.

A cacophony of dissent.

The wild god nods his head and

You wake on the floor holding a knife,

A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.

Your wife is stirring, far above.

Your cheeks are wet with tears;

Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.

A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine

And brings the dead to life.

gifted 23rd October 2023

week one

[helena1480]

Sometimes a Wild God

Tom Hirons

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,

You will probably fear him.

He reminds you of something dark

That you might have dreamt,

Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;

Instead he scrapes with his fingers

Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow

In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.

You are very busy.

It is late, or early, and besides…

You cannot look at him straight

Because he makes you want to cry.

The dog barks.

The wild god smiles,

Holds out his hand.

The dog licks his wounds

And leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.

Ivy is taking over your sideboard;

Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades

And wrens have begun to sing

An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say

And give him the worst of your food.

He sits at the table, bleeding.

He coughs up foxes.

There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,

You close the door and

Tell her it’s fine.

You will not let her see

The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey

And you pour a glass for him,

Then a glass for yourself.

Three snakes are beginning to nest

In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.

Oh, eternal mystery.

Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.

Oh, miracle of life.

Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,

Expectorate the snakes and

Water down the whiskey,

Wondering how you got so old

And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag

Made of moles and nightingale-skin.

He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,

Raises an eyebrow

And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.

Otters rush from the darkness.

The snakes pour through your body.

Your dog howls and upstairs

Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.

You dance with the sparrows.

A white stag pulls up a stool

And bellows hymns to enchantments.

A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.

Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.

Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.

The hills echo and the grey stones ring

With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,

The house takes off from the ground.

Clouds climb through the windows;

Lightning pounds its fists on the table.

The moon leans in through the window.

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time,

Possibly since you were born.

There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’

Asks the wild god and you say:

‘I was busy surviving.

The shops were all closed;

I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and

The snakes in your arms and

The wren and the sparrow and the deer…

The great un-nameable beasts

In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.

A cacophony of dissent.

The wild god nods his head and

You wake on the floor holding a knife,

A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.

Your wife is stirring, far above.

Your cheeks are wet with tears;

Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.

A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine

And brings the dead to life.

[thegreatsilkie]

Sometimes a wild God-

I wrote it a few years ago now, after the first few lines had been going around my head for months. I thought they were someone else's lines - I kept looking for who'd written the poem and it seems that it didn't yet exist, so I thought I should finish the poem, see what happened after those lines. -Tom Hirons

Sometimes a Wild God

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,

You will probably fear him.

He reminds you of something dark

That you might have dreamt,

Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;

Instead he scrapes with his fingers

Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow

In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.

You are very busy.

It is late, or early, and besides…

You cannot look at him straight

Because he makes you want to cry.

Your dog barks;

The wild god smiles.

He holds out his hand and

The dog licks his wounds,

Then leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.

Ivy is taking over your sideboard;

Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades

And wrens have begun to sing

An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say

And give him the worst of your food.

He sits at the table, bleeding.

He coughs up foxes.

There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,

You close the door and

Tell her it’s fine.

You will not let her see

The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey

And you pour a glass for him,

Then a glass for yourself.

Three snakes are beginning to nest

In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.

Oh, eternal mystery.

Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.

Oh, miracle of life.

Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,

Expectorate the snakes and

Water down the whiskey,

Wondering how you got so old

And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag

Made of moles and nightingale-skin.

He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,

Raises an eyebrow

And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.

Otters rush from the darkness.

The snakes pour through your body.

Your dog howls and upstairs

Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.

You dance with the sparrows.

A white stag pulls up a stool

And bellows hymns to enchantments.

A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.

Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.

Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.

The hills echo and the grey stones ring

With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,

The house takes off from the ground.

Clouds climb through the windows;

Lightning pounds its fists on the table

And the moon leans in.

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time,

Possibly since you were born.

There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’

Asks the wild god and you say:

‘I was busy surviving.

The shops were all closed;

I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and

The snakes in your arms and

The wren and the sparrow and the deer…

The great un-nameable beasts

In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.

A cacophony of dissent.

The wild god nods his head and

You wake on the floor holding a knife,

A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.

Your wife is stirring, far above.

Your cheeks are wet with tears;

Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.

A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine

And brings the dead to life.

[magicman111]

Amphibia AU --  ‘Quisling Marcy’ aka ‘what if Marcy *was* in cahoots with Andrias?’

Whelp, someone was gonna do this at some point so it looks like it’s gonna have to be me.

Marcy doesn’t just betray Anne, the Plantars, Sasha, etc. In this AU, she sells out all of humanity. She was still somewhat manipulated by Andrias, but here, she isn’t simply duped. She’s in proper cahoots with him.

Okay, so this is gonna require some changes to the show’s background.

In this setting, it was a clan of humans who first travelled to Amphibia and who created/brought the box with them. How did they create this wonderous box? Through making a deal with a demonic yellow triangle who does appear to exist at least in the show’s mythos.

With their allyship, Andrias and his friends created the greatest civilisation in Amphibia from the ground up. When the box was stolen by presumably a Plantar ancestor, the humans chased after them, leaving Andrias completely abandoned and their place in history eventually lost to the sands of time.

So Marcy goes through the same emotional turmoil of not wanting to be alone after her parents inform her they’re moving. She steals the box and transports herself, Anne and Sasha to Amphibia for the same canonic reason.

However, when we get to the point where she and Andrias “discover” the secret passageway, that’s where she begins to learn the truth of her own heritage. Here, not only does she find out about Andrias’ “explorer ancestors” but her own.

She is a descendant of the original humans who visited Newtopia. The ones who chased after Sprig and Polly’s ancestor back to Earth.

Andrias begins filling her head with stories and ideas of “spreading the glory of Newtopia to other worlds” and how this could be her and her friends’ destiny as the wielders of the gems.

Andrias: “Can’t you see, Marcy? You didn’t find the box by accident. You were always meant to.”

So now jump ahead to when Marcy reveals the truth in the wake of the Rebellion and Adrias pulling the rug underneath everyone’s feet.

Marcy: “It didn’t start off this way... I did it for us.”

Marcy becomes increasingly erratic and unhinged the more she explains what she did and why. While in the show, Marcy was desperately trying to justify her actions, here she’s attempting to justify something even more horrific and is steadily coming apart in front of everyone.

She says Andrias will leave Earth in “their stewardship”, which means they “can lead the Earth together and make things the way they should be. And they’ll now never have to be apart.”

When she stands in front of the mural of Andrias flanked by pretty wicked looking humans and claiming it’s “their destiny”, cue Grime whispering to Sasha,

Grime: (hushedly) “Okay, Red Flag.”

But of course, Anne and the others are not interested and are even more creeped out and aghast by Marcy’s actions than in canon. So when the battle breaks out, Marcy is forced to fight against them.

Okay, so this is already pretty bad, what Marcy has done. How can we take it up a notch? Let’s press the forward wind button for a few minutes, shall we?

Andrias: “Not so fast! You all have spunk, real chutzpah. But this ends now. Marcy...?”

(He steps aside to reveal Marcy on the  ledge in front of the shattered window pane, holding a struggling Sprig in her grasp)

Anne: “SPRIG!”

Sprig: “Guys! Don’t listen to these bullies! I’ll be fine!”

Andrias: “We’ll see.”

Marcy: “Put back the Box, or I’ll do it! I’ll--I’ll...” Anne: “You wouldn’t dare!”

Marcy: “I gave you this, Anne, and I can take it all away! Now put the Box Back!!”

(Marcy is now holding Sprig dangerously close to the outside ledge. All she has to do now is let go)

Sprig: “Anne, don’t!”

Anne: ... Polly, do what they say.”

(Polly puts the box back and the flying castle stabilizes. The Frobos take Polly and return her to the group and she hugs the remains of her fallen friend)

Polly: “Frobo...”

Anne: (to Andrias) “Okay, dude, you have what you want. Now please, just let him go. He’s my best friend. In this world or any other world.”

(After Anne says this, Marcy’s cheeks flush red and she starts hyperventilating in rage. Sprig notices this) Sprig: “Uhh, Anne...?”

Andrias: “That’s the thing about friends, isn’t it? The more you love them, the more it hurts when they go. Allow me to demonstrate.” (he looks down and gives Marcy a look to say “do it”)

(Marcy growls and without having to be asked twice flings, not drops, flings Sprig out the window)

Now this is the part in this AU where Sasha really comes into play and gets actively involved in her road to redeeming herself. On the journey to Newtopia, Marcy allowed her pilot Joe Sparrow, really letting her get a feel for riding him. When she led the Rebellion, she had the Toads take Marcy’s notes so she could learn quicker how to use the Box.

Sasha is the one who jumps out the window and calls Joe. She’s the one who rescues Sprig. And she’s the one who, after Anne curbstomps Andrias, swips the Box and just about got it to work and open the portal. Grime is the one who stays behind to hold Andrias off, yelling at her to go while she can.

When Marcy sees them making a break for it, seemingly abandoning her, she utterly. Freaks. Out.

Anne: “Sasha, hurry!”

Sasha: “Wait, where’s Mar—“

VHIRSCHT!!

Marcy is the one who impales Sasha from behind in a fit of desperation to stop them. Sasha weakly apologises to Anne for all she’s done before falling to the ground.

Marcy stands there before them, bug-eyed and stricken with horror. Her hand covers her trembling mouth. She drops her glowing sword, its hideous orange glow lighting up the bottom half of her face.

She looks from it, to Anne and the Plantars and to Sasha.

Then she starts to laugh, which quickly turns into crying, and then into a hideous combination of the two while her hands run up through her hair. The realization of what she’s done, on top of everything else has now well and truly broken her.

Sasha, on the floor, uses her last ounce of strength to hit the right button on the box, and kickstarts whatever comes next in Season Three. ... phew. That was actually pretty fun, I’m not gonna lie. Who knows? Maybe I’ll think of more to add to this as time goes on, or heck, if you wanna contribute or expand upon this, please be my guest.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

dig, make, freeze - for Antoni!! 😍

CW: Nothin’. This is just Antoni and Chris fluff. Sorry so many of these ended up fluffy, I guess that’s just my mood right now!

Timeline: Chris's first year in the safehouse

Chris’s lips press together in concentration as he dig the spoon into the bowl, scraping up the mix of soft white cheese, spring onions, and dill until it’s lightly rounded on the top. He looks up, holding out the spoon. “Like, like this?”

Antoni smiles back at him, his own hands hard at work laying out the dough, four baking sheets lined with parchment already full of the rolled-out circles, waiting for the filling. “Yes, perfect, Chrisha. Now-” He gestures, stepping back. “Drop the filling into the center.” 

Chris leans over, moving so slowly and so carefully to press the filling out of the spoon until it drops down, slightly off to one side, on top of the dough. “Oh, I, I, I did it wrong.” 

He looks a little heartbroken. 

Antoni leans over quickly. “No, no, Chrisha, you are fine. Let me show you, we only change how we close it a little.” He takes Chris’s hands - long fingers, always a little cold at the ends - and shifts them, helping him to fold over the dough, creating a half-circle with pinched edges that look almost scalloped. They work together in a brief silence. “See? Just fine. It will cook just as well as any others.”

Chris nods, quickly, relieved that he hasn’t ruined it. Antoni is trusting him to help, and he is desperate to be worth trusting. 

“There. That is one. Only...” Antoni’s eyes skim over the baking trays. “Thirty four piroshki to go.”

Chris’s eyes travel over the circles of dough, and he breathes out slowly. “That’s, um, that’s... that’s a lot... of those things.”

“Piroshki are good to make for many,” Antoni says with a smile, sliding an arm around his shoulders. His skin still prickles at touch, but the new young rescue seems to need it so badly, and Antoni never has the heart to pull away. 

Chris bumps lightly against him, bouncing on his toes, before he pulls away and moves to scoop the next mound of filling from the bowl. “Where did... where, um, where... where did you learn... to, to, to... to-to make these?”

Antoni shrugs, and ignores the sense of faint unease that rises at the question. “I do not know. I just know how. Maybe it is in my blood, hm?” He smiles, but Chris isn’t looking at him this time, concentrating on the next spoonful dropping into the center of the next circle.

They fall into a rhythm - Chris adds the filling, and Antoni closes up the circles, his hands working with easy experience, memories he can’t access. Chris likes to help, to be useful, and Antoni had thought maybe giving him something his hands could do would help to quiet his always-spinning mind.

They finish, and Antoni looks at the teensy bit of filling left in the bowl with a slight smile. There was a bit of dough leftover, and he uses the filling and dough to make one half-sized piroshki, setting it to the side. “Now, we freeze them.”

“Freeze? Why, why, why aren’t we, aren’t... aren’t we, um, cooking them?”

“These are tomorrow night’s dinner.” Antoni puts a finger to his lips, leaning in close. “I will tell you a secret, Chrisha.”

Chris brightens and leans forward as well. “What?”

“Tomorrow is Nat’s birthday,” Antoni says, keeping his voice hushed. “We are not supposed to know. I will surprise her with piroshki and Jake will buy a cake.”

“What, what... what can I do?” Chris asks. His hands rub over his own stomach, at the fabric of his t-shirt, drop down to the pajama pants he’s wearing, move back up. He sways a little, side to side. He is smiling. 

“You will go with Jake, and pick her a gift. Yes?”

Chris nods quickly, and Antoni smiles as he helps to load the baking trays into the mostly-empty freezer, with the little half-circles of dough and filling lightly covered. “Do, do, do... do do I get a birthday?”

Antoni turns to look at him and blinks, moving a small saucepan onto the stove and pouring in plenty of oil, setting it to heat. “What?”

“Do we, um. Do we get, get birthdays? I don’t-... I don’t know my, my, my birthday.” Chris looks out the window over the sink, the sun shining warm outside. A bird trills a song, some kind of sparrow, in a nearby tree. 

“None of us know our birthdays,” Antoni says, gently. “But you may pick one, and we will celebrate it. Or the day you came to us.”

Chris shakes his head, quickly, pale eyebrows furrowing. “No... no, no, no. Not that day. That, that wasn’t... a, a good day. Wasn’t safe. Um. I’ll, I’ll think about-” He seems to just now notice the heating oil. “Why-... I, I thought we weren’t cooking them now?”

“I have this one.” Antoni picks up the small half-circle made of the leftover dough and cheese. “I am going to cook this one, just for you.”

He wonders how his house ever felt warm before they had Chris here to smile.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary @downriver914 @vickytokio

[furashuban]

As High As The Moon Above

The first work so far of a Hilda AU I’ve written centered around Kaisa and Johanna but as childhood friends (which I’ve titled the Spellbound AU)!  Hope ya’ll enjoy!

Pairing: Sketchbook Ship (Kaisanna)

Words: 5.5k

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33556615/chapters/83380660

Summary: Kaisa must practice casting a new spell before her next training session with her teacher, Tildy. In response, her best friend Johanna, unbeknownst that Kaisa is training to become a witch, offers to take her along on a camping trip outside the wall of Trolberg to help her concentrate.

A cart of books strolled and squeaked through the halls of the Trolberg library. The keeper of the books went about their business reshelving heaps upon heaps of returned literature, glimpsing every aisle they passed with most having little to no visitors browsing the shelves. They eventually spot a girl in a black cardigan and purple dress, complimented by her short black hair, muttering as she struggled to return a single book into a column two spaces above her head. The librarian lets go of the cart to approach the tiptoeing visitor.

 “I can help with that, Kaisa,” they offered warmly. “Please, allow me.”

 “No, that’s okay.” The girl spoke in a heavy Nordic accent. “Almost got it…” She grunted again before successfully sliding her book through the shelf. “There.”

 The librarian noticed a stack of other books carried around Kaisa’s arm as she walked away to the next aisle. Thinking that she would turn down her assistance if she offered again, the librarian simply grinned and nodded, returning to her cart to reshelve on their own.

 Kaisa was now at the second floor with her books. One might think she was merely volunteering to aid in the librarian’s duties, but in truth, she spent half the day at the library to read as many books as she possibly could. Some were finished cover-to-cover, others she only read half way through, but promised to come back for until she was absorbed enough to borrow and reread them home; only in the library could she bring herself to finish a book in its entirety.

She made it to the end of the second floor’s hall where a bookshelf had a column within reach, as well as space between other books, which luckily for Kaisa was meant for all the books on her pile alone, and slid every book into it at once before heaving a sigh of relief.

 Onto the next stack she could gather, thinking to herself. But out of nowhere, a feeling of suspicion coincided with her imagination and stood frozen before the bookshelf. Kaisa began pulling out books slightly and placing them back a second after. She hummed, now peering behind the gap between the walls and bookcase and ran her hand through the edges, all the while someone new was walking towards her direction.

 “…Oh, there you are!” another person’s voice spoke jubilantly behind her. “Almost thought you left already, been looking everywhere for you.”

 Kaisa turned around; the voice was all too familiar. In front of her was a girl the same age as she was, brown hair that tied into a ponytail and wearing a Sparrow Scout uniform. She smiled as she stood, bringing excitement to Kaisa’s heart.

 “You’re back from your badge work!” her whole face lit up.

 “Yep! Just earned my Geology Badge today, so that’s one more to my sash and for the ceremony.” The Sparrow Scout explained proudly.

 “Stolt över dig, Johanna.” Kaisa applauded. “And the badge ceremony is soon, right?”

 “Well, it’s only a month from now.” Johanna pointed out. “Actually, I was hoping you would be able to come and attend, if you won’t be busy, of course.”

 Kaisa reached for the brunette’s hand and held it up with both her palms. “I would not miss it for anything.” She guaranteed excitedly, making her best friend blush and glance away overjoyed.

 “…So, um, what have you been up to?” Johanna asked. “…apart from reading that is.”

 “I was looking for secret doors in the library.” Kaisa explained, turning back to the bookshelf. “There must be whole other rooms with more books hidden in the shelves somehow.”

 Johanna walked closer to the colossal shelf of literature and helped inspect with Kaisa. “Have you tried pulling every book like it was a lever?” she suggested, also wanting to be inquisitive of rooms behind the library walls.

 “Almost all of them, yes.” Kaisa nodded. “Do you think this might be the wrong shelf?”

 “Personally, the library is already kinda big on its own. It’ll take ages to find where the right one is.” Johanna admitted. “But hey, if we don’t find them, you can always add them when you become the future librarian.”

 “You know…” Kaisa turned back to Johanna. “That’s exactly what I’ll do…!”

 Johanna had known Kaisa’s dreams of being the keeper of books for as long as she could remember. She enjoyed visiting the Trolberg library just as much as anyone else, but she never met anybody who treated it like it was their own home the same way Kaisa did. One could write a fairytale of a girl who lived here, she thought at one point, and wanted to be the protagonist adventurer who would come to befriend her. That idea came back to her briefly as she faced an enthusiastic Kaisa, and for that reason, she giggled quietly; the fairytale might actually be true.

 Before the two girls could continue their conversation, a figure stood over and caught their attention. They looked up on a woman suiting a long, sophisticated gray dress and a decorative hat reminiscent to what witch’s wear.

 “Oh, hello Arch Sorcer…I MEAN Tildy…” Kaisa stammered. “What brings you here…?”

 The woman smiled warmly at the girl to reassure her tension. “Nothing much, my dear.” She spoke in a gentle tone. “Just came looking for a book to bring home and all.”

 She peeped over the closest bookshelf and quickly skimmed through it before pulling out a novel that read The Skeleton Whisperer on the cover. “Ah yes, this will do.” she said. “I suppose you’re here continuing extra work on your training.”

 “Yes, ma’am.” Kaisa gave a half smile. “I just finished, but I can continue if you insist that I do…”

 “No need to stress.” Tildy assured. “I know you’ve worked quite hard today. Catch your breath and continue your studies tomorrow.” She turned her attention to Johanna. “You and your friend deserve the time to respite.”

 The sorceress-in-secret kneeled down to Kaisa and whispered on her ear. “Also, I couldn’t help but overhear your suggestions on secret rooms,” she continued. “I think it’s a great idea. We’ll talk about it with the Committee next time we head down the tower.”

 And with her borrowed book, the mysterious woman walked onwards. “Adieu, children.” She said before making her way downstairs with her borrowed book.

 “See you soon madame Pilqu…Tildy, I mean.” Kaisa also bid farewell.

 “I thought you were just here waiting before we could hang out.” Johanna expressed.

 “I was.” retorted Kaisa. “But I tried catching up with some studies, too, for when I meet with Tildy again.”

 “Who was she anyway?” asked Johanna. “She seemed very…enigmatic, sort of, but sweet.”

 “She’s my teacher.” Kaisa answered. “I took up her apprenticeship long ago, but I’m not allowed to talk about it too much...”

 Johanna could fathom; never once had Kaisa talked about any apprenticeship before. She now looked distressed once she saw her teacher was here, stroking down her locks to the point her bangs nearly covered her eyes. The Sparrow Scout could feel her frown forming by seeing Kaisa’s own, now wishing to know much about this part of her friend’s life she had not known previously.

 “Do you not get along with her, Kaisa?” asked Johanna.

 “Oh, she’s actually really nice to me, kind of like my farmor.” she replied. “It’s just that…Well, I don’t know…” she paused, squirming from hesitation. She said it herself, she was not allowed to talk about her sessions with Tildy, whether it was what she was being taught or what she was even learning to become. But she knew Johanna will be left with loads of questions if she did not reveal much about her apprenticeship starting now.

 Kaisa sighed, maybe she did not have to reveal a lot of the truth to Johanna if she really wanted to explain her vexation. “So, look, there’s this sort of… “routine” we’ll call it, that Tildy is letting me practice until next week.” she continued. “As usual, I need to prepare by studying a lot first, but it’s hard to actually practice where I live. There’s not enough privacy to do the routine with my mum around, and if I don’t get it right when I meet Tildy, well, I’m afraid I’ll disappoint her…”

 Almost instantly, Johanna brainstormed the perfect solution to Kaisa’s ordeal. “Wait a sec, Kaisa, I know exactly how you can practice.” she beamed. “But the catch is, I might have to accompany you the whole time.”

 “What do you mean?” Kaisa asked.

 “I’ll be going camping this weekend!” clarified Johanna. “My parents allowed me to go so I can prepare for my camping badge, but what they don’t know is that I plan to settle outside the walls.” she extended her hand and swung it across. “I’m going as far away from the city as I can, remote into the wilderness, and maybe just close enough to my grandad’s old house if I’m lucky. And to top it off, you can come with me!”

 Kaisa’s face went white. “So you’re saying I should I join you…in going outside the walls?”

 “Yep, exactly!” Johanna expressed. “Think about it, there will still be time to prepare and see your teacher after you’re done practicing in the trip, and no one else can find you practicing in the wilderness. Besides, it’ll be fun with just you and me in the outdoors!”

 “Oh, I don’t know, Johanna…” Kaisa faltered. “I could…But it sounds a bit risky. And you would still be around when I start practicing, so that’s still a problem for me.”

 “Well, it’s no worries then,” the brunette reassured. “It was just worth the suggestion, but I understand.”

 A bit of quietness befell for the two girls. Kaisa glanced away and envisioned Johanna’s planned escapade outside the walls. Maybe letting her leave while being the only person to know about it was not such a good idea. Anything could happen in the wilderness, and Kaisa shuddered to think what harm would come to Johanna when she could have personally protected her the same way she would if they camped together.

 Kaisa returned to glancing at Johanna. “Promise me you will not tell anyone about my training…?” she said.

 Johanna gasped and smiled all at once. “Don’t worry, you can trust me.” she swore.  

 Kaisa grabbed hold of Johanna’s shoulders. “Johanna, no one can ever know about what I practice.” she continued with visible anxiety in her complexion. “I will get in trouble, and it will be worse for you, and something bad will happen to both of us somehow.” her voice became twice as strained and her grip slowly tightened. “Jag kan inte förlåta mig själv…!”

 “Kaisa, listen, it’s going to be okay…” Johanna’s tone was light and calm, guiding Kaisa’s hands to let go. “Look, I may not understand everything about your apprenticeship or your routine, but your teacher said no need to stress. Well, I’m saying it too.” She elevated her posture. “I promise as your best friend to not only help you, but to also never tell a single soul of our adventure, nor what I’ll see regarding your training during it.” She finalized with a Sparrow Scout’s salute.

 Kaisa grinned, feeling relief course through her mind. “Thank you.” She spoke softly.  “I’ll stop worrying now.”

 “Alright, let’s go then,” Johanna chuckled. “The park’s waiting for us. We’ll talk more about our trip there.”

  Every day went by slowly for Kaisa, but the weekend finally came for her and Johanna to head out into the wilderness. However, even the hours of the day went by just as slowly when she waited for the Sparrow Scout to come by her house. She was in her room filling her pack with her own essential needs that were instructed for her to bring in a camping trip. The only thing not packed in her luggage was her wand with an amethyst pommel, which she kept hidden under her cardigan.

 Whether it was going to be in the camping trip or when they were older, Kaisa knew that Johanna was going to discover she was a witch this whole time. The vague routine she said she hoped to practice was in fact a spell which of course involved her wand, an incantation and some magic. She trembled at the fact that there was no point of return in continuing to hide the truth from Johanna after the library visit. It was not just that there were punishments and compromises to a witch’s identity being revealed, but would her best friend still even want to be friends with someone who is capable of influencing the paranormal like her? Even if she had doubts of her own strength, would just being a witch-in-training be enough to scare her and split their friendship apart?

 It made Kaisa’s head spin and groan every time. If there was one thing she hoped to do as a witch, it was the power to predict other people’s choices and wishes, that way she would never have to endure the pain of overthinking about the company in her present or future ever again.

 Behind her, a knock on the window thudded twice. Kaisa quickly turned to see Johanna on the other side, no longer in her uniform but rather in a red and blue flannel above her overalls while her long, swaying hair spilled down her shoulders, waving her hand with the brightest smile on her face.

 “Ready for our camping trip, Kaisa?” she asked, her voice softened from the glass pane.

  Kaisa rushed to open the window. “Am I supposed to jump out through here?” she asked back, realizing Johanna did not stop by the front door.

 “Mhm.” The brunette nodded. “We’ll be much faster exiting the walls with this route.”

 “My mum’s not even home,” Kaisa pointed out. “It wouldn’t matter as much.”

 “Does she also know you’re heading out today?” Johanna diverted.

 “Yes, of course she does.” Kaisa answered.

 The brunette gestured to leave. “No time to waste, then.”

 Kaisa chuckled and shook her head in amusement. While hurrying to take her pack, Johanna made room for her to climb out and reclose the window, then rushing as fast as they could into the city’s portion of the forestland to avoid attention.

One of the exits out of the walls was just nearby, and the pair made it with nothing stopping their way. No traffic of vehicles driving into the city, no guards surveilling the entrance, just a mere traffic stop standing dormant on the gate to halt anyone from entering and exiting. Quickly, the two girls ran like the wind, hoping they were not spotted by Bellkeepers and citizens in general, finally ending up in the outside world to trek on their own.

 “We still have a long way to go,” Johanna said. “The perfect camping ground should be yonder…”

 Johanna continued walking a few paces, but Kaisa stopped to look back at the gate to Trolberg still nearby. She could feel her eyes welling up and her heart pounding out her chest as every second of her fear grew. Not often was she outside, but the wilderness was a whole new scenario that she wished she prepared more for. She did not want to leave for Johanna’s safety, but it was so easy for her to feel afraid in these surroundings. The Sparrow Scout herself looked back and noticed Kaisa frozen in uncertainty.

 “Hey, we’ll to be okay,” Johanna hurried to comfort her best friend. “I promise I’ll protect you. I won’t let anything hurt us in this trip.”

 Kaisa whimpered and stared back at Johanna. The anxiety etched on her face was contagious to the brunette and stung her heart, but she forced a smile and sneakily grabbed Kaisa’s hand.  

 “I’ll hold onto you the entire time we’re out here, that way we’ll both feel safe,” she entangled her fingers with Kaisa’s.

 Something sparkled in Kaisa’s eyes when she saw her hand grasping her best friend’s. She did not say a word, but a warm smile finally carved on her face and was enough for Johanna to know that she will be okay. The two pressed on, Johanna remained ahead while Kaisa was behind her, their hands still holding and keeping them close together.

 They hiked a chartless trail among the forestlands where the leaves changing color from summer to fall was ever so present, and the sunshine beamed infinite rays of its light through the trees trying to cover it. Kaisa was lost in thought, appreciating the view of the forest; she turned her head in all directions and felt a wave of reassurance with every view, made even more so with Johanna taking the lead as she hummed a tune. Seeing she was still holding Kaisa’s hand, the witch-in-secret recalled what Johanna had said earlier about protecting each other, something she could not stop thinking at all, but wanted to address as casually as she could.

 “Hey, Johanna…” Kaisa called.

 “Yes, Kaisa?”

 “Do you ever think humans could become familiars?”

 “You mean like the ones witches have?” Johanna asked back. “Well, I’m not sure… It would be pretty neat if they could, though.”

 “I agree,” Kaisa said. “It wouldn’t be common, but talking with a human familiar would sure feel like less work.”

 “Yep,” Johanna retorted. “Wait just a minute…” her tone grew wary.

 Kaisa gulped, feeling nervous of what Johanna intended to say. “Y-Yeah…?”

 “Imagine if one us became a witch’s familiar!” Johanna’s eyes lit up.

 The corner of Kaisa’s mouth quirked up and giggled, mostly out of relief. “You’d actually want to become one?”

 “Sure, why not?!” Johanna replied. “Think of all the cool spells you get to help a witch out on. If I was a familiar, I would never ever leave their side, constantly aiding them…kind of like I am with you!”

 The girl behind her blushed. “That’s good to know…” she whispered, hoping Johanna would not turn to see the glee on her reddened complexion.

  Miles and miles of trees and rivers were wandered through by the duo until they grew eventually tired. When both the sun and sky glowed a warm tinge of orange, the time came to build their camp, far away from the nearest residence of Trolberg.

 “Right, this should be good, I think,” said Johanna, letting go of her pack and rummaging through the compartment holding her tent. “Can you help build the tent with me, Kaisa?”

 “Can do.” Kaisa nodded.

 The land which Johanna and Kaisa settled in was a flat and grassy plane surrounded by the corners of the forest in a crescent shape. Beyond the breach of the crescent was more verdant terrain which stretched onto the large gray mountains ahead. It was the perfect camping ground to pick for those beginning to camp out on their own, and both Johanna and Kaisa wasted no time hoisting their tent cloth and holding it together with ropes, stakes and rods.

 Having practiced building a tent back home and during Sparrow Scout activities, along with having Kaisa’s assistance, Johanna finished constructing the tent for the two before the sun was even down.

 “Don’t worry, it will be more comfortable on the inside than it looks on the outside.” Johanna spoke, wiping away a drop sweat on her head.

 “I think it looks comfy already.” Kaisa said. “Well done!”

 “Couldn’t have done it without your help, though.” She pulled Kaisa closer to her, making her chuckle.

 Their belongings and sleeping bags were settled in their tent, and a bonfire was built by Johanna with foliage and twigs to give them warmth. It was as though her retreat needed for her camping badge had already happened if one could realize the adeptness of which she put together the camp, but her days as a Sparrow Scout had in fact prepared her for fun, spontaneous trips in the wilderness.

 Until the sky totally darkened, the two kept themselves busy with conversations of the week they had after seeing each other in the library, which new books they have read, and enjoyed cups of hot cocoa from a tin canister Johanna packed along. With all the goings-on being enjoyed since they left Trolberg, Kaisa almost forgot that she intended to continue her witch training while she was camping with the brunette. The scene in the tent surrounded by the orange light of the lantern, filling the air with laughter and merriment, was all Kaisa and Johanna could ever hope to cherish together, but it was best that the witch-in-secret began her training as soon as she could.

 “Okay, Johanna, I should probably start now.” Kaisa said, rising from her spot in the tent.

 “Alright, good luck!” Johanna cheered. “If anything bad happens, shout as loud as you can to call me.”

 Kaisa stepped out of the tent. Immediately, another wave of fear coursed through her mind and made her quiver in place by the tent’s entrance. She was overthinking once more; what if a Troll was out and near to the camp? What if there was a Barghest on the run? Every monster from every folklore that she had ever read could be out to harm her and Johanna in this hour. She withdrew her wand from her cardigan and clenched it tightly with both hands. Kaisa reminded herself that even if danger was nearby, she would be first to protect Johanna like she hoped she would, and Johanna will do the same if she herself was threatened.

 She took small steps away from the tent, far enough that Johanna would not notice any magic ensuing. A full moon was rising, and Kaisa looked up. It captivated her, and her ability to use magic should be as strong as ever, she thought.

Taking a deep breath, it was time for the levitation spell.

 “Bara fokusera…” she spoke to herself softly. “Gå så högt som månen ovan….”

 Soon, she closed her eyes and opened her palm, holding it upwards by her chest. The tip of her wand glowed a purple spec of light and atop her palm, then twirled it in circles over and over. She whispered an incantation that Tildy taught her, being just one sentence of incomprehensible words to non-witches, and repeated it again until the whole spell was set in motion. As the wand circled more and more, sparkles exuded out from nowhere until a purple aura sheathed the outlines of her physique.

 “As high as the moon above…” she whispered.

 Suddenly, Johanna exited the tent to sit by the campfire. Kaisa was out of sight, but the brunette did not plan on finding her no matter how much she wanted to see this “routine” she was practicing. The concentration and privacy which her best friend said she lacked was all that mattered to Johanna. She spread her hands around the warmth of the blaze, but even before she could fully respite, she heard the leaves rustle in the forestland ahead. The brunette looked up and squinted at nothing but silhouettes and darkness.

 Leaning in a bit forward, she finally realized what was apparently coming forward. It was a large, bulky figure; its eye glowing in a nearly strong luminosity of white. Johanna’s heart was racing, there was no way it could be what she thought it was. But as the figure revealed more of itself among the forestland, it was indeed the worst possible thing for the camping trip: a large Troll rummaging through the wilderness.

 Johanna yelped, but quickly covered her mouth to avoid getting the Troll’s attention. She got up from her seat by the fire and hurried to find Kaisa’s training spot, panickily whispering her name. To her relief, she found her just standing still behind the tent, but immediately froze out of a whole different feeling of concern.

 Kaisa’s eyes remained shut and muttered to herself while a big spark of light glimmered above her hand, holding and swirling her wand evenly. She seemed to be in her own world now, completely detached from the surroundings around her. Johanna failed to approach or even say a word to the witch as she realized how apprehensive she felt towards what was happening. When she thought she had enough to be confused about, she looked over her limbs to realize that a purple aura glowed around her body. Her feet began to rise up slightly from the ground and glanced ahead to see that Kaisa, despite maintaining the same posture, was also levitating; terror now overtook Johanna’s face.

 Then, Kaisa stopped her wand from spinning, and her open hand stretched high into the sky. The two girls continued lifting up ever so slowly from the ground, their feet could reach the tip of their tent, and soon they were as high as the top of a tree. Johanna flailed her arms and legs sporadically when it seemed like they soared upward enough, still too afraid to ask Kaisa what was going on.

 The witch opened one eye to see how far up she was, then the other to realize Johanna in front of her. Her pupils shrank in a state of fright and her jaw went slack. Out of all the mistakes she had expected to make, picking up Johanna with her own spell was the last yet most severe one she could ever think to fall through.

 “Oh no, oh no no no no…!” Kaisa whimpered. “I…I did not mean to…!”

 Johanna shushed and pointed downwards to their campsite. As Kaisa gawked down, her pulse stopped to the sight of a Troll peeking into their tent. It drew back to find out no one was inside, then turned to the fire and stared at it for a while. It finally took a seat, emitting a large thud on the ground like a single-second quake upon resting.  

Kaisa looked back at her best friend in fear, letting her eyes ask what on earth they should do now. Johanna fathomed, nodding to reassure that they were probably safer up in the sky, and gestured both her hands lightly to signify holding them in place with whatever Kaisa was making them float with.

 The witch fought to keep it together. Her breath was instable and the palm holding her wand began to sweat. If she could focus long enough and ward off the wish to descend back on the ground, all the while halting to recite her incantation which helped her concentrate, she could try having her and Johanna stay hovering in the air for as long as she wanted.

 Kaisa’s expression hardened and pointed her wand towards Johanna. She swung her arm backwards in a single quick motion, causing Johanna to gasp as she floated over to the witch. Kaisa gave the brunette a tight embrace, one so warm and protective that it felt inescapable to be let go from.

 “Please, don’t be mad.” Kaisa could only bring herself to plead. “I did not focus that well. I could have done even worse to us had I---”

 The tension felt within Johanna was lost to Kaisa’s voice and embrace, and her eyes closed, hugging her best friend back. “It’s okay, Kaisa.” she interrupted. “Just that…this…is a lot to take in…” the conversations about witch familiars and training with privacy all made sense now.

 “’I’m sorry…” Kaisa nestled her face onto Johanna’s shoulder. She looked back down at the campsite and saw the Troll keeping warm with their fire, motionless like the rock that it was. “We are going to be up here all night…”

 Johanna let go from their embrace so she could face Kaisa, still holding onto her shoulders. “Do you think there is a way we could get the troll to move out?” she asked.

 “I’m not sure if I am able to…” Kaisa admitted. “Not unless we let it know where we are.”

 Johanna looked back down; the Troll did nothing, only seemingly entranced by the fire as it gazed on it. She thought about how she wanted to warm herself earlier, and her eyes dilated upon realizing what the Troll only seemed to want as well.

 “If it’s not the troll we can do something about directly, we’re just going to have to take out the fire.” Johanna said.

 Kaisa caught up with the plan. “I got it.” she nodded. “Leave it to me then.”

 With her wand still at hand, she pointed the tip towards the campfire and concentrated on hitting anything but the Troll or their tent accidentally. The easiest thing she could bring herself to do with magic was release a streak of energy from her wand, and she hoped that blasting the campfire with her specific sort of ammunition could take out the fire and bid the Troll farewell.

 Deep breath…Eyes locked…The light on the tip of Kaisa’s wand glowed purple once more until it grew as bright as a star, then it hurled down from the wand in high speed. Barely a second later, the energy from Kaisa’s magic crashed into the campfire, exploding into a gradient of purple, white and orange, and nothing but a gleaming mist blanketed a portion of the camp. The Troll got up in shock, fists tightly clenched and glaring in all directions to search for what threatened it; Johanna and Kaisa watched from above in hopes it would not look up.

 When the mist quickly dispersed, the Troll looked down on the rubble of wood which used to be the campfire keeping it warm. It hummed a deep, disappointed tone, and stomped the ground so stridently that the two girls in the air could almost feel the tremor. No one appeared to be around it for miles, hence the Troll finally made its way back to the forestlands to search for another source of warmth in the wilderness.

 “Yes, it worked…!” Johanna expressed.

 The witch breathed a sigh of relief. “Do you think it will come back?” she asked.

 “Let’s hope it doesn’t.” Johanna answered. “We’ll leave the campfire be, we still got the tent to keep us warm.”

 With all the exhilaration fully coursing through Kaisa’s mind, the purple aura around her and Johanna faded away. They only had a second to see the spell had worn off before being weighed down by gravity, screaming and falling from the height of a two-story building before Kaisa raised her wand to reactivate the levitation spell. The two of them gnashed their teeth and their eyes shut tightly, just before peeking around to see they were hovering only an inch above the ground.

 Kaisa allowed the spell to cast off, and the glow of her wand and from their physiques dissipated for the last time tonight. She and Johanna dipped onto the floor with their backs flatly lied down, groaning when they picked themselves back up.

 Johanna felt unsure if anything she had just experienced after leaving her tent was even real. She stared at Kaisa hiding her wand away, then at all the leftover mist and sparkles on what used to be their campfire.

 “Kaisa…this whole time…you were a…” Johanna’s eyes lit up.

 Kaisa sighed. “Surprise.” she giggled tiredly. “I’m sorry I kept this secret from you, Johanna. I really could not say anything.”

 Kaisa’s breathing was concise and hasty. All of a sudden, she collapsed on her knees and held the ground to keep her up. To Johanna’s shock, she hurried to carry her back up and wrap her hand over her shoulder. The energy used up to perform the levitation spell took a toll on the witch-in-training. It was unlike anything she had ever accomplished before.

As soon as they entered their tent, Johanna laid Kaisa down on her sleeping bag and pillow. The Sparrow Scout grabbed a canister of fresh water and filled the cap almost to the brim, bringing it over to the witch and allowed her to drink as much as she needed.

 “Thank you.” Kaisa whispered, closing her eyes and lying back down.

 Johanna kept staring upon Kaisa in a near unconscious state, hoping she could still listen to her before she inevitably fell asleep. “Look, Kaisa…” she spoke. “…I know your spell did not work the way you wanted when I showed up, but you did save us from the Troll in the end. I really should be thanking you…”

 A corner of Kaisa’s mouth lifted. However, the soft grin on her face was short-lived, “But now I will never get the spell right on time…” she lamented, feeling the exhaustion overtaking her slowly.

 Johanna had so many questions she was dying to have answered, if only she could ask them now. In any case, witch or no witch, Kaisa was still the same best friend Johanna had since forever, and while she knew she could never make her magic and identity known to others, she could not wait to be there for Kaisa the next time she trained to become a witch.

 “We don’t have to leave after tomorrow,” Johanna said softly. “We can stay out here for as long as we need until you perfect your spell, and I won’t ever leave your side.”

[lunarimpact]

My darling, why are you so silent? ( saying nothing )

         for @writer-and-artist27 | written with @partialdignity

Time trudged on like a steady river, tenderly cradling the boat and all of its passengers. A gentle and steady river that flowed between the past, the present, and the achingly unknown future. In the gentle wake of the passage of time, the Archer felt most at home, in these moments where all seemed to be none the wiser to those who prowled the less-trafficked halls of the vessel and all the secrets which it contained. Where he might slip through the cracks, a forgettable shadow. A drifting soul. A wandering spirit.

It was in these untraveled and labyrinthine halls which he called home, that he found a queer sight. A door like no other, marred by ancient yellow talismans, seemingly undisturbed. A door which hardly belonged within the technologically advanced Nautilus, made of some ancient, blackened wood. A door which did not stir when he drew near, like any of the other metal doors. No whoosh of air, no electric stir. He had never seen a door like this, not within the many years, now, that he'd been active as Vy's servant. So, surely, hidden behind this door lay his unfamiliar prey, that slip of being which had appeared behind Vy like some aes sídhe of Annwn.

And so here he remained, watching over a door which never opened, and those pale talismans which bore red ink unstirring in the mild air-conditioning. Waiting, like a hound, uncalled upon by his dear Master. Waiting with all the patience in the world for some sign of life. Some stirring. A revelation about what lay beyond the door. Minutes turned to hours, time passing him by like an evening breeze. No one had yet come out of the sealed-up room tucked away in the back of the Nautilus, or if they had, they were better at stealth than anyone he'd ever met. Including that Count of Monte Cristo fellow and his whole 'literally sinks into the shadows' thing he did. 

Robin glowered at the faded seals, uncertain about their exact meaning since the Grail hadn't, this time, deigned to fill him in on the written alphabet of a multitude of languages. Or dialects, for that matter. Not so long as they hadn't mattered to his Master nor the staff at the former Chaldea, or the Nautilus. But looking at them, the complex characters which reminded him of some form of Chinese, perhaps, and taking in the sheer number plastered onto the door was enough to get a clue. They probably said some variant of keep out, which was something of a problem when what he wanted to do was get in.

Just a little peek. Just to make sure that he wasn't half-mad from the summer heat on that day. That he hadn't hallucinated the pale figure whose crimson eyes sparkled with a dangerous delight, who had smiled at him with all the mischief of a fair folk, letting a new sunhat slip from slender fingers, with blackened fingernails. An unexpected gift falling upon his master's head. Only for them to disappear immediately after like some kind of ghost. No harm done, but the promise of it had remained, lingering around Vy for a long time, even if she hadn't noticed.

He'd had enough of ghosts lately, between the Lostbelts and BB's revamped Luluhawa. One more unknown popping up so suddenly just made his scalp itch. And one who had held an aura like that pulled at his memory of Yu Mei-Ren, with all of her hatred and anger, her venomous tongue. But there was something else, something darker. It wasn't like making eye contact with a Beast, nothing like looking into Kiara's hungry gaze. It was unsettling. Nameless.

Robin had, for a brief moment, felt as though he might lose Vy right then and there, with that stranger standing behind her. A wolf about to descend upon a sheep.

He shivered, all at once unsettled by the memory of that day. Of that briefest moment in time. Drawing himself back to the present, he looked once more upon the ebony wood door. He moved from his spot, eager to slip away. Eager to rid himself of it. He'd come back, of course, for his investigation was hardly over. He just needed to stretch his legs, clear his thoughts.

Still nothing, he noted, after making another circuit of the hallway. Whoever was inside, if anyone at all, must not get out much. Or had no reason to, which could well be the case.

Scratching at his cheek, he let No Face May King settle back into place, digging into the reserves of his patience and resolving to wait a little longer. He was a decent hunter for a somewhat more modern spirit. He could wait unless the little sparrow needed him.

                  ⬧                          ⬧                          ⬧      

"...he is still out there," Ao Bing sighed, the rustle of his sleeves seeming loud in the otherwise quiet room. Frowning at the closed door, he permitted himself a soft tsk as the inquisitive spirit on the other side took up its nosy post.

"Perhaps the Captain neglected to explain how loitering is rude to him," the dragon mused softly, not quite ignorant to the other in the room. The dark-haired being who had bound him to their side in a questionable contract, who sat at an antique writing table. The all too familiar pungent smell of the ink-stone made him wrinkle his nose, but he wasn't planning to fuss at the other as they lazily practiced their calligraphy. The ancient characters were brought to life upon the paper, blackened brush dragging just slightly, not enough to leave a mess. Nor enough to alter the words into something unsuitable for one who looked so young.

"Would you rather be out playing with xiǎo hǔ?" Xiao hummed, never taking their gaze off the paper, nor the way their brush moved. Heat rushed to Ao Bing’s cheeks, indignation dancing upon his tongue. “I do not-”

“It’s alright, I understand that you miss them, and that I’m keeping you from them, but it is for your own sake. Much as what that spirit,” they paused, setting their brush to rest with care, “is doing this for the sake of his Master. I suppose I would too if I had some inkling of knowledge as to what awaits me in this very room. Still...

What size coffin do you think he intends to ask for?”

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 25

In my defence I didn’t forget about updating here, I just didn’t want to.

First < Previous

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

“How do I look?” Marion asks as people fuss around him, not least of all Marinette herself.

“I hoped that would be obvious seeing as I designed this look,” She smirks at him eyes sparkling he can tell since the whites of the Domino mask are removed.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the greatest and all that,” He waves her off as a stylist tries to tame his hair to fit the messy look she wanted.

“Well it is true isn’t it?” She teases, someone also trying to follow her with a brush and comb as she flies around the room in a whirl of designing.

"Perhaps," Marion hums, gaze drifting over to the door where he notices a familiar figure, Marinette follows his smile.

“Luka!” Marinette exclaims, wrapping her friend in a hug, “When did you arrive?”

“Last night," Luka smiles, she was glad she got the chance to become his friend again as MDC, not that he knew their secret identity, "This city is so majestic,”

“Gotham at night?” Marion scoffs, turning in his seat, only to get scolded by the stylist, “Are we talking about the same place?”

“CD maybe you just haven't taken the time to really hear the city’s song,” Luka strums a few cords to demonstrate, “You should its melody compliments your own,”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Marion shrugs, sitting forward again, “Do you think you can use it to reach out to the Gotham audience? I really want to connect with them,”

“Will do boss,” Marion sticks his tongue at him, Luka only ever called him that in jest.

Luka gives a playful wave leaving to go sort out the music. He had his own responsibilities as the opening act. Marinette feels someone watching them and dismisses the stylist, congratulating her on a great job. She looks a tad peeved as Marion's hair is largely the same as when she entered, but many employees are used to the twins randomly leaving anyway. The door to their dressing room clicks closed and the presence makes itself known.

“What can we do for you, Batman?” Marinette asks, offering him a seat, although she knows he won’t accept it.

“MDC,” he inclines his head, not showing if he was taken aback by her catching him out, “We have reason to believe the concert will be attacked tonight,”

“Yeah, we thought that might happen,” Marion gets up, stretching, “Just try to keep whoever away from the crowd and we can handle the rest,”

“You don’t seem to understand, after the last attack-”

“Sorry to cut you off,” Wow it was weird acing professional around the same guy they had been tormenting the past few weeks, “But that was an impromptu event this one has been planned out for years,"

Officially not but they had designed the building to help them catch akuma in Paris while keeping an event going, they just applied that design to Gotham.

"If you would like to call in the rest of your coworkers we can show you the defenses we have in place so you can work with them,”

Batman seems surprised. What did he think they were just air-headed celebrities? Well, that wasn’t going to be the only surprise of the day then. Sure enough, he calls everyone in and Marinette’s a little hurt to see he invited everyone but Sparrow and Songbird to join in the fun. She hides this fact leading the ragtag group through the backstage area. Spotting their manager she walks over.

“Could you please clear our schedule we want to give them a personal tour of our security measures,” She asks Kate, to her credit only looking mildly surprised to see the whole Batfam trailing after them.

“I thought you might, I’ve already worked it into your schedule, just make sure you're there in time for the costume checks,” Kate looks down tapping away at her tablet, “Also call your uncle arrived in town last night he’ll want to wish you good luck so watch out for him,”

“We couldn’t do it without you,” Marinette beams, letting her go to attend her other duties.

They must make an odd sight, two superstars guiding a pack of vigilantes like ducklings through the backstage. They go over all the security protocols. Safe rooms that the staff was instructed to go to under certain circumstances. There were carefully lain traps that only a few people could trigger to set off. On the stage itself was a secret compartment Marion could make a quick getaway to get change in, a tunnel leading backstage. The entire backstage was a maze in itself all the staff specially trained to navigate it.

To protect the audience they hadn't packed it nearly as much as they could have so it meant it easier for them to reach the exits. Indeed there were hidden emergency exits that people could escape through if villains blocked the obvious ones, they were set to reveal themselves if that was the case. There were also hidden trapdoors in rows of seats that would glow if people were forced to duck behind the seats. It leads to underground tunnels that would lead them safely away. There were even tunnels connecting to the staff safe rooms so they could come and direct the audience as needed. Marinette had made sure to make the tunnels look inviting ad pleasant so no one would panic at being underground.

Then there were the special (comfy) perches that they showed to the Batfamily, each situated to look over everything and be hidden by the lights. There were wires leading to the stage and audience in case they needed to get down quickly and quietly. They also made a web above that they could run along and run any interference with ariel attacks. They also gave them each a blueprint of the stadium so they could see all the secret tunnels that were perfect for a surprise attack. There were ones leading into the entrance subtle enough someone could be pulled in while walking into the building, for the purposes of catching criminals before they even entered. There was also a trap door that could open underneath, she gave them each a remote control to these, warning them to use them wisely. Each hidden door leads to a room suited for fighting, carefully crafted to give the bats and edge.

It had taken a long time and a lot of money but they had invested, making a safe place they could rent out to other performers so there could be more shows in Gotham conducted safely. She could tell that by the end of the tour even Batman was impressed as they headed back to the stage through the empty audience seating.

“Hey! Superstars!” Jagged's voice booms across the arena, waving from the entrance of the place.

“Uncle Jagged!” Marion jumps over seats to reach him, Marinette a step behind him as they both tackle him into a hug.

“Good to see you too,” Jagged ruffles their hair, Marinette sends a silent apology to the stylist, “This place looks Rockin!”

“You bet just wait till I take the stage,” Marion grins, as they both hug Penny and Fang as well.

“Why wait! Show me what you got,” Jagged sends Marion off, who runs to the technicians asking if they can do an early mic check, everyone scrambles to make it happen.

“So how’re you finding Gotham?” Jagged asks her, walking with a side hug back towards the Batfamily.

“Oh, you know… busy,”

“I’d say the news with Marion? That was wicked!”

“Yes… wicked,” Penny pales at just the memory, and yeah fair enough.

“Yo Batman great to meet you!” Jagged boisterous nature meets Batman’s stoic one but the poor guy barely has a chance to adjust before Jagged’s moving on.

“Yo Red Hood right?” Hood looks a little shocked as Jagged claps a hand on his shoulder, “You saved my nephew, I really owe you one!”

“Oh-that's not- I just,” Marinette shares a smirk with Jagged which would have surely had Marion screaming.

“Yeah, he really looks up to you!” Jagged has him spluttering more, she would show him mercy but they only have so much time before Marion catches on.

“Oh Uncle Jagged I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” Marinette says in a suggestive tone, the stage is still empty of Marion.

“Of course, no I’d say it more that...” Marinette could actually laugh as Red Hood practically vibrates from anticipation, “He likes you,”

I think we just killed  him, Marinette notes as Red Hood internally combusts. Well now wasn't the time to show mercy.

“I’d say that's putting it rather lightly,” Marinette smirks as Red Hood is sent into another spluttering mess, and oh how she wishes he wasn't wearing that helmet.

“Right it’s more like-”

“Stop it both of you,” Penny’s reprimand has them both doubling over with laughter. The Batfamily looking absolutely bewildered. Minus of course, Red Hood who they may have to call an ambulance for soon if he doesn't start breathing.

“What are you two laughing at?” Marion walks to the edge of the stage, someone fusses with a microphone not too far away.

“Nooothhinggggg,” They chime simultaneously, with matching grins.

“Penny?” Marion all but whines, fidgeting nervously.

“They haven’t said anything bad,” She assures him, Marion foolishly relaxes.

“Hey is this the guy that saved your hide?” Jagged asks, having the guts to swing his arm around Red Hood’s shoulders.

“Uncle Jagged,” He hisses at the same time Penny hisses ‘Jagged’.

“You should thank him... sing endless!” Jagged exclaims, and Marinette couldn’t be sure he hasn't been planning this from the start, “You wrote it for him didn’t you?”

“Not for him its not-” Marion makes a bunch of vague gestures, “You know?”

“Not at all,” Jagged grins, dragging Red Hood closer to center stage seats, he plops down Red Hood right in the middle of the stadium. The rest of the Batfam take seats around them. “Sing Endless!”

Marion is scowling but doesn't have much other choice as a stagehand tell him he’s all set. He takes the microphone. Marinette mimes at him to breathe, he rolls his eyes but does anyway. The music starts Marion hitting his cue and with just the first few words she could see the tension drain away.

“And the world starts slowly caving it~”

It was such a gentle song. So many people had told him and still told him that it didn’t fit the violent vigilante. The producers had argued they should just fit it to someone else, someone people liked more. In the end, they had caved to Marion's arguments probably because it wasn't made to be an upbeat pop song so they weren't too attached to the money making aspect. That didn't stop the audience from arguing about it afterwards. Some claimed they just randomly selected the song, or that they shouldn't have done one for him at all.

Marion pointedly told them they were all wrong. And looking at Red Hood now, completely enthralled with Marion's singing she could tell that, yeah it had fit him perfectly all along.

"All the words you said were they true? or just selfish li-es~"

Marinette broke her gaze away from Marion to look at the rest of the Batfamily. Suffice to say they were all enthralled, hopefully they wouldn't be this distracted at the concert tonight. Although she supposed it was a good thing they were doing the mic check now so they could watch now and focus later. Then again she doubted Red Hood would be much use regardless, he was leaning forward in his seat the rest of the world dead to him. To fair Marion wasn't much better. In a crowd he would look around or at least pick a random stop to sing to no one. This time however? this time he was locked on to Red Hood sinign directly to him and he probably didn't even realise.

"Gave all I ever had try to make you laugh try to please you~"

Batman looked uncomfortable at the line. Judjing by the times she had seen them spend together there was a tension between them a past she didn't know. How Marion managed to pick up on that long before they came to Gotham she doesn't know. It was almost like he could see into his soul, a connection there despite never having met, like the pull of a miraculous.

"All I know is gone, now I'm all alone~"

Marion wasn’t testing out the mics. That much was obvious. He was straight up performing. And no he hadn’t written the song for Red Hood persay. But she had watched him every night and day agonize over the right words to use, the tune, the feeling behind it. Scraping up every bit of information he could it was probably more thorough than any police investigation done on Red Hood. It was then she realized, their room covered top to bottom in pictures of him covering the ones she had of Adrien, that Marion had completely and utterly fallen for the guy. No, it wasn't a song for him, it was a love letter for him, to him, about him. It was a picture that painted exactly how Marion saw him.

And she was willing to bet that the only people that didn’t realize it were them, both completely captivated by each other as Marion finished.

“What is it~” He holds the next note until the music fades out into nothingness, “Inside~”

The music stops, Marion opening his eyes, almost seeming startled that there were other people sitting before him. It’s only then he seemed to realize that there was more than just one other person in the arena and spirited off to check with the sound. It was as he turned to walk away Marinette could tell Hood had seen it, the robins newly stitched up the back of his jacket.

[the-lady-writes-what]

22. Keigo Takami

          Theme: Warlock, soulmate 

          Kinks: Mutual intoxication, dry humping, cowgirl

Masterlist

You clutch your spellbook tight like how mothers hold onto their babies. It’s worn and weathered, and its black leather tells more of a story than how to cure warts with a bit of bacon grease. It’s probably as old as your line, and it traveled all the way down that family tree to you, a mere leaf. The pack on your shoulders was ladened down with food stock, a knife, quill feathers, bottles of ink, charms, clothes, and an extra pair of socks. You found yourself at the center of a family dispute. Marriage had been on the table. Two men that you wouldn’t be caught dead with at the harvest festival, let alone meet him at the altar. It wasn’t that they were ugly; you weren’t that shallow. It was their personalities that made you gag. One was a raging hot-head with the ego to match his fire-powered magic. The other was just as bad except add an inferiority complex and creepy blue eyes. Naturally, picking neither displeased your family so much that they were forced to fight and debate, which would be the better match.

Your opinion was a moot point.

An idea struck you in the middle of the night. You woke from a dream where you walked through a forest, and it was raining red feathers. This was the omen you waited for. Well, any excuse would have nice, but you couldn’t imagine the serendipitous coincidence of such a dream a few days before your parents would decide your fate…for you. By dawn, you already began to set your plan in motion. At midnight the following night, you secreted some things away in a large pack, snuck out, and hurried into the woods where they didn’t dare to follow you.

Within a couple of days, you couldn’t smell the smoke of chimneys or hear the cows and goats. Instead, you smelled damp earth and ripening wild apple trees and listened to the calls of various birds. Magpies, cuckoos, sparrows, and crows, you heard them all but no red feathers. You never saw a cardinal, which you hoped to mean that you were on the right path just as you interpreted your dream. Once or twice you took shelter beneath a conifer or the ruins of an ancient building to escape the rain, which it often did. You foraged where you could and slept on a pillow of moss. You were tired, but this was the sweetest price of freedom.

The forest wasn’t particularly cursed or haunted. There weren’t any wolves, and nobody had seen a bear roam through here in decades. You knew enough about the wildlife to leave enough alone. All you had to do was march through the woods and reach the next village on the other side before winter set in. Your family was too good for trekking through the woods and far too proud to ask someone on the other side of the woods for help. Soon, you’d be out of their hair.

You were trampling through the woods one afternoon. The earth and fallen leaves were sodden with a recent shower. You barely had enough time the night before to create a shelter for you with a spell you found in your family’s tome. It was rightfully yours by birth, and your mother had no interest or skill in magic at any rate. Your grandmother certainly approved when she helped you sneak it out of the house. Wherever you went in the world, you would find work. Witches and warlocks had been in high demand for some of their conjurations, and with your skills and knowledge as a healer, you could find a job easily enough. If not in the next village, then in the next one. Or maybe you would go far into one of those cities you heard so much about from passing travelers.

Your leather shoes were soaked through having trekked through the mud and rain puddles. It dampened your socks all the way to the marrow of your bones underneath. You could feel your toes begin to tingle. You looked around, hoping to find more ruins or a cave, for a place to build a fire. You looked at the trees, and your heart sank a little. All the branches around you looked too wet to be used as firewood. There were a handful of matches left in your pack, but you needed to save those for emergencies, not just because your toes were getting cold. You had to find shelter soon. The clouds had been gray all morning, and the rain was coming again. You sighed for the umpteenth time while looking at the sky.

A laughing brook ran out ahead of you. The width was big enough for you to jump across no problem. You thought that if there was a brook, it could turn into a stream. A stream meant a waterway, and where there was a waterway, there was bound to be people. People lived in houses. You followed the brook through its natural course. Just as you thought, the brook grew bigger and bigger in size. It turned into a stream, then a creek and finally a small river. It cut through a clearing in the forest. Your eyes traveled with it to a lovely two-story cottage. Attached to that cottage was a watermill that turned the water into frothing foam. A garden grew wild though somehow not choked by weeds. You stopped in your tracks.

No. That couldn’t be. Your eyes must be deceiving you.

In the garden grew all sorts of flowers and herbs, most of which were out of season. You saw lush leaves, blooms, and green foliage even from where you stood when you knew that they should have turned brown with the season. That was the first of your many mysterious and curious sights. You drew closer to the place and discovered that the cottage was no cottage. Wood turned into cobbled stones, and the humble appearance took on a new shape. It wasn’t the size of a castle, but it imitated its shape. There was a keep, a tower, and a courtyard that grew a variety of trees. The bricks were made of stones you never laid eyes on before. They seemed to glitter despite the dull sunlight. That was one thing that this mysterious place couldn’t change the weather.

You realized that the smoke billowing out of the chimney wasn’t gray but shimmering purple. Plumes of it belched into the sky before disappearing. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You had to skulk about the courtyard to find the main entrance. It was a heavy ebony wood door with a green-blue Green Man’s face for an ornate knocker. You clutched the ring in your hand and banged on the door twice and stood on the stoop for probably ten minutes before the door swung open.

You didn’t know what or who you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Instead of a wizened old man with a flowing white beard or a velvet-clad seductress, it was a young man, not much older than you. He had golden eyes marked at two corners with black arrows. Blonde hair was swept back from his face and yet remained uncontrolled. The man rubbed the sleep from his eyes. You felt bad for waking him up from his nap (because how could he still be asleep at noon?).

“Excuse me, sir, I was wondering if you mind terribly granting me shelter. I’ve been traveling for days, and my boots are soaked all the way through. It’s going to rain soon, and I was hoping to mind somewhere safe to rest and stay clear out of it,” you said.

The man in the doorway stared and stared and stared. After a while, he had to blink or go blind.

“What did you say your name was?” His voice made you tremble.

Not out of fear, though. There was something in his voice that sent a playful tingle down your spine. You furrowed your brows.

“I-I didn’t give you my name,” you said, curious.

“Why don’t you come on in and warm yourself by the fire? We can exchange introductions over some tea?” The man in the doorway pulled the door open wide enough for you to enter.

If you thought his house was big on the outside, it was much bigger on the inside. Or it would have been if the space wasn’t taken up by trinkets, tools, and books. Towers of books reached the vaulted ceilings. You picked up the front of your skirts to give your legs room to keep up with him. He was a little shorter than you, but he walked a lot faster. His parlor was, so far, the cleanest space in his home you’d seen. At least, by comparison, the parlor was spacious, and you could comfortably sit down in the large armchair by the fire. You set your bag down and plopped right into the chair. Your feet would be singing your praises if they had mouths and sentience. You warmed your feet by the fire while your host left to make tea.

He returned after a long while with a serving tray. Jasmine filled the parlor as he poured two cups. Taking the seat across from you, he sipped from his cup.

“I’m Keigo Takami,” he said.

Politely, you returned, “Y/N L/N.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N, if I have permission to call you that?”

“You do.” You grinned into your teacup.

“What brings you all the way out here in the middle of the woods? Get lost on the way to the next town?” Keigo asked.

“Not exactly.” You swallowed some tea and continued. “Escaping an unwanted arranged marriage.”

Keigo didn’t seem surprised. His golden eyes softened, and he nodded. It was as if he understood your situation.

“My old man wanted me to be a foot soldier. I told him ‘no.’ He didn’t take it too kindly. Locked me up in a tower until I ‘came to see the error in my ways.’ And look where I am now!” Keigo gestured around the room.

While cluttered beyond imagination, the parlor held expensive treasures and gadgets. Clocks, sundials, colorful glass vases, feathers…Feathers?

Your eyes snapped to a red streak dashing in front of the stained glass window in the hall. It was followed by another, third, and a fourth. A red feather floated on the air as if pulled by an invisible string into the parlor. A few more followed. The feathers went to work dusting, wiping, and putting books on the shelves. Some of them pulled off your boots, strung your socks up on the mantle to dry, and pulled on a fresh pair that were soft as sheepskin. Your eyes followed the red feathers wherever they traveled. Keigo wore a small smile while watching you marvel at the feathers. However, you were following them with your eyes for a reason different than the one he was thinking about.

“I just thought I’d tidy up a little. It’s been a while since I’ve had company. They’re a pet project of mine. It took me a while to get the enchantment just right,” said Keigo.

One of the feathers fell into your lap. You picked it up like it was a delicate spider-web.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Keigo showed you the rest of his house: the kitchen, dining room, second parlor, library, observatory, and the guest bedrooms. You sat down to dinner with him to discuss some sort of arrangement. You felt terrible taking up his space and mucking up his lovely floors.

“What if I worked for you? That way, I can get some training, you’ll have an extra hand around, and we won’t have to be lonely come winter. I know I’m just a village girl who ran away from home, but I know things. And I’m a fast learner,” you explained over a pot of stew.

“I work with a lot of hoity-toity rich folk for commissions. That won’t be a problem, will it?”  

You shook your head. “No, sir. Not at all.”

“Don’t call me ‘sir.’ Makes me feel old,” said Keigo. “It does get frustrating having nobody to talk to all the way out here. You seem real eager to learn, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t take up an apprentice.”

You clinked your glasses of wine together to solidify your spoken contract. You stared at the red feathers again as they swooped in to take care of the dinner table. Keigo caught you standing frozen as your eyes flickered this way and that to follow them.

“I apologize if this sounds rude but, did you have a lot of magic where you came from?” Asked Keigo.

“Well, yes, but—” You bit your lower lip. “You’re going to think it’s silly.”

Keigo smiled and turned his head towards the doorway. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

You tore your eyes away from the marvelous red feathers and followed him out into the hallway. Without turning back to speak to you, Keigo said, “And bring your spellbook with you.”

           You ran back to the parlor and found your spellbook on an end table where you found it. Keigo came, found you, and led you to the observatory. The glass dome showed the brightest stars. The moon was in her full glory.

           “I’ve noticed how you’ve been staring at my feathers. Is there any particular reason why? Trying to discover how to do it yourself?”

           “No, nothing like that!” You said as you shook your head again. “Before…before I left home, I had this weird dream. You see, I remember in that dream I was walking through a forest and all of a sudden it started raining red feathers. I didn’t know what it meant, not that I do now. I think that I was led here by something.”

           “Let me see your book,” said Keigo.

           You were more than hesitant to hand it over. You didn’t like your family, never had, but this was still your family’s spellbook. It was an heirloom. Your hands shook a bit when you held it out for Keigo to take. Someone of his magical caliber would know the weight of a family’s spellbook and would respect its secrets, wouldn’t he? Your heart started beating louder as if Keigo was rifling through your personal belongings.

           Keigo pried open the cover and pulled out a gray and brown feather, and closed the book. He set it gently on a table and kept the feather. Your brows furrowed; you never saw that before.

           “You see, Y/N, I had a strange dream too. A few weeks ago, I dreamt that I was also walking through the woods. I saw a young woman in a green cloak just like yours hand me a book. Inside was a feather just like this.”

           You were acutely aware that you still held onto one of Keigo’s red feathers. A shiver ran down your spine as Keigo slowly closed the gap separating you. His golden eyes looked straight into yours. An alchemical experiment was taking place in his eyes. You could see all sorts of emotions congealing and mixing in there. You were too dizzy to distinguish one from another. Keigo took your hand that held his red feather in the one where he carried the gray feather. He clasped your fingers between his. You felt his blood race in the center of his palm.

           “Do you believe in soulmates, Y/N? Because I don’t know how else to explain this.”

           “I…don’t know,” you answered honestly.

           “Can I kiss you?”

           “Y-Yeah.”

           Keigo pressed his mouth against yours, hands still clasped together. His free hand found your waist, and his thumb began to draw infinite circles on top of your bodice. You kissed before (not that your parents would ever know), so this shouldn’t have been anything new. But the way Keigo moved his lips against yours and how his tongue slowly teased you, it felt like being kissed for the very first time. Your hand moved to caress the back of his neck, which brought your bodies a lot closer.

           Suddenly, you were falling. You landed on a pile of pillows that weren’t there before. Keigo landed on top of you, shedding his outer coat. He went back to kissing you without missing a beat. Your fingers deftly unlaced the front of your bodice and let Keigo peel it away. You weren’t a virgin anymore, but that didn’t stop the goosebumps from arising in your skin when he touched you, kissed your skin, or teased you with his adept tongue. Calloused hands moved under your skirt to remove your bloomers and a couple layers of petticoats. Keigo nestled between your thighs, gently humping you. Your face darkened while he continued and played with your clit. Your back arched like a bow as you came for the first time that evening.

           Keigo leaned above you, smiling like a triumphant demon of seduction. The illusion sold a lot better if he wasn’t panting slightly or dripping with sweat. A wooden box carried by a team of feathers wandered into the room. They set the box in Keigo’s hands. He opened the lid and turned to you.

           “Want to try an experiment with me?” He asked.

           “What kind of an experiment?”

You were just coming down from your high when Keigo took out the contents of the box and set it aside. In his hand, he held two large, dark orange flowers.

“This is Epifagus Aboreum. You pull the flower from the stem and suck on end. I’ve heard that it produces a very ‘relaxed’ state of being. Do you want to try it with me?”

You nodded.

You and Keigo carefully removed the flower from their stems. You watched Keigo suckle the end of the flower, which looked like a horn to blow into. You did the same. There seemed to be no effect at first. Not for long, however. In ten minutes, you and Keigo were back at peeling each other’s clothes off. Skin never felt so alive under your hands. You could feel his heart racing. Mouths pressed together again. Licking and nipping at each other while you rolled around on the pillows. Keigo’s hands palmed your breasts while you rubbed his shoulder with one hand and stroked his cock with the other. Your head felt heavy and light at the same time. The stars shining through the glass dome appeared brighter and more clear. Candles flickered with a multitude of colors, shifting, changing, morphing.

“Oh, Keigo,” you moaned as the man suckled on your neck, making sure to leave a love bite.

“Do you feel good?”

“Mhmm, yes.” You hummed.

           “Wanna continue?”

           “Yes!”

           Keigo shifted you onto your side and lifted one leg over his shoulder. The blunt head of his cock brushed against the wet seam of your cunt. He slipped twice, unable to get it in the right way. The third time proved the charm as he slid inside your walls without much more effort. Your cunt fluttered around him. From this angle, you could see everything he did to you.

           His first thrusts were sloppy as if he couldn’t figure out what angle to pound you with. Keigo quickly got the hang of it and rutted against you, fast and hard. You weren’t aware of how loud you were. His body moving on top of and inside you created new sensations you couldn’t understand while under the influence of the flower-drug. Stars burst in front of your eyes with each stroke of his cock. There was no beginning or end. It was just the two of you. You clawed at the pillows as you tried to find purchase. Your mind was going blank.

           “You feel so good, baby bird. Fuck, where have you been all my life?”

           “O-Over the brook and through the woods. At grandma’s house.”

           This made him chuckle, though it didn’t stop his rough treatment of you. Keigo’s grip was bruising, but you don’t feel any pain. There was no cause of complaint when he was burying himself deep inside of you. You couldn’t tell if it was just him or if the flower-drug made him thicker. His veiny ridges created the right amount of friction against your inner walls.

           You were both panting like dogs in heat. You moved your hips against him, and his calloused fingers tweaked your clit.

           “K-Keigo…”

           “Me too, baby. I’m gonna cum...so hard.”

           Keigo was an honest man. After what seemed like hours of him railing you, Keigo groaned loudly. He shoved his cock all the way in until the blunt head brushed along your cervix. You didn’t have time to climax first before he was releasing all he heads straight into your womb. Warmth spread throughout your body. The drug, Keigo’s cock, and the cum painting your insides white were all enough to have your eyes roll into the back of your skull. You came shortly after.

           The room was spinning so much after coming so hard that you couldn’t move a muscle. Apparently, Keigo wasn’t better. He was still inside your body when he rolled over and laid you on top of his chest. His cock remained buried deep, all the way in, when conscious hit you both.

           When you awoke, you still lay on top of Keigo. You looked down to find you had been inside. Even though he was still asleep and limp within the confines of your pussy, that ddin’t stop the naughty grin across your face. You were awake and fully alert. No drugs in your system could prevent you from feeling Keigo unhindered. You moved your hips up and down, impaling yourself on his cock. You braced your hands on his hips to help steady yourself.

           Keigo stirred when he felt himself grow hard and feel the moist walls of your cunt, sucking him in. He rubbed his eyes, then laid back to enjoy the view. Your breasts bounced seductively in front of him as you rode him just as hard as he rode you the night before. Keigo couldn’t resist palming each breast in his hands and play with your nipples. Your hair swayed with each of your movements like a warrior-queen riding her powerful stead.

           He heard footsteps climbing up the stairs, but he was too lazy and felt too good to make you stop. Whoever it was, they were about to get an eyeful of your ass, and easily you took his cock. Keigo wore nothing but a smirk. Your eyes were heavy-lidded while you concentrated on riding him. You couldn’t hear a thing other than the wet clap of flesh against flesh.

           A tall, feminine figure approached. Her white bunny ears grazed the top doorway before she stopped dead. Your back was turned to her, so you did not see her. Keigo looked past your form and gave her a curious look. You were too busy to notice him. His friend quickly disappeared rather than wait in the doorway for him to finish with you. Keigo snapped his hips upwards to meet your every downward thrust. He teased your clit to ensure a speedy climax. Keigo filled you up again and let you scream to the high heavens. You held his hands as you came around him one more time. Keigo pulled out gently and pulled a couple blankets literally out of thin air to cover you with. While he dressed, once more, you drifted to sleep. Keigo gave one last look at you from the doorway and smiled to himself. He quickly turned into the hallway to find his friend. The sooner he figured out what she wanted, the sooner Keigo could return and spend all of his time with you and learning everything there was to know about you.

[annoyed-galaxy]

One Moment at Sea

Welp no shame. This is pretty old, but some nice bonding moment between Sparrow and Reaver cause why not. Posted this on AO3 so feel free to read it over there as well but I'll also post it here cause why not.

What was she doing here honestly? Out on the seas in Reaver’s stupid prototype ship. No sails, it only ran off of steam produced by coal that would turn some device propelling the ship forward. Honestly though, this could barely pass as a ship. It was barely bigger than a fishing boat. Sparrow guessed it made sense since Reaver had never tried this out before and there was no point in spending a lot of money on something that wasn’t going to work. So far, it was doing pretty good.

Sparrow was actually impressed. She didn’t take Reaver to be an inventor. But knowing him, he probably stole some of these ideas from someone else and just had the money to actually make it. Sparrow kind of didn’t care. It was pretty peaceful. She stood at the front of the boat, leaning against the railing watching the water part in front of her. There was no land around them, just the open sea. It did make her slightly nervous to be around so much water with no land.

Still, it was the most peace she had gotten ever since...well since she was born. It was kind of sad that this was the only time she had ever experienced peace within her life.

“Enjoying the view?” a voice came from behind her.

Well. Peace ruined.

Sparrow looked over her shoulder at Reaver who was wiping soot off his face. “What were you doing?” she asked.

“Oh well, turns out the coal will run out. So unfortunately I had to shovel more into the engine. Now I’m all dirty,” Reaver complained looking down at his clothes.

Sparrow rolled her eyes and motioned to the open water around them. “You have an endless source of water to clean your clothes,” she snorted.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Reaver rolled his eyes. He joined her at the front of the boat and leaned against the railing. His arm brushed against hers, but she didn’t move.

“Please tell me this thing will get us back to Albion,” Sparrow clucked looking around. “We got this far and there is no longer any sort of land in sight.”

Reaver chuckled. “Of course it will get us back. I calculated how much coal we would need to power this lovely thing and got a little extra. Besides, due to its size, it’s not going to consume much.”

“Yeah about that,” Sparrow started. She pointed behind her to where the wheel was. It was on a deck above what she had assumed was the one and only quarter on this floating hell. There was also a small trapdoor that led to the “engine”. “Why is there only one quarter?” she asked.

Reaver smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Well, to save on space obviously,” he drawled. “Besides, you don’t mind sharing a bed with me anymore do you?”

A blush spread across Sparrow’s face. They hadn’t engaged in any sexual activity, but they had slept in the same bedroll when traveling on the road when it was too cold one night. She had hated that night. Reaver had no problem snuggling up to her, but she was annoyed. Mainly annoyed because she had liked it when he held her. Liked it when had nuzzled his face into her neck. Ever since, they had shared a bed only twice due to similar reasons. Or when there was only one inn room left and it was too small for him to sleep on the floor. She had really hated being in the same bed as him because when he had held her, she didn’t push him away.

A thumb stroking her cheek pulled her out of her thoughts. She blinked a couple times and saw Reaver looking at her with a smile on his face. She frowned, but did not slap his hand away. “Can I help you?” she muttered.

Reaver didn’t say anything, he just moved in closer and brought his other arm around her back. He pulled her into him. Sparrow’s blush deepened and she froze. Part of her screamed to push him away and off overboard, but another part wanted to lean into him.

“Has anyone ever told you you are beautiful?” Reaver said suddenly, his eyes scanning her face. Sparrow had never realized how blue his eyes were before.

“Only when they were trying to get in my good graces or just wanted to throw a random compliment at me,” she grumbled.

“No one has told you sincerely?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. The hand on her cheek moved to her chin.

“N-no,” Sparrow stammered really hating how she liked him now caressing her lips.

“Well, I think despite everything you’ve been through, you are still absolutely gorgeous,” he whispered. “Stunningly breathtaking. I have never met someone as interesting as you Sparrow. You intrigue me so much that I don’t want to let you go.”

“Is that why you kept me around trying to keep me alive?” Sparrow breathed, her breath almost hitching as Reaver leaned in closer.

“Yes,” he replied plainly. “I don’t want to lose my source of entertainment.” He smirked as he said that. Sparrow had half the mind the punch him, but she was still frozen. He was so close their breaths mingled. “I find it interesting how you claim to hate me, yet I have gotten this close and you haven’t punched me or pushed me away,” Reaver chuckled. It seems he had noticed that she was paralyzed and how she liked being held by him.

“What’s the point of fighting you?” Sparrow murmured, looking away. She put her hands on his chest, but she didn’t push.

“So what would you do if I kissed you?” he whispered, gripping her chin with his thumb and forefinger and forcing her to look back at him. She was one hundred percent positive that her entire face was red, even the blue Will lines that traveled across her skin could be red with how much she was burning up.

Again, part of her screamed no, but another part of her really did want him to kiss her. He had kissed her only once and that was right after the balverines had attacked her. But that had been just a small peck on the lips that lasted only a couple seconds. It was right before he offered his proposition to her. It had been a crazy year since then, but now she was on the open sea, in his arms with him literally just centimeters away from her lips asking what she would do if he kissed her.

She looked at his eyes but they were on her lips. Only when he realized she was looking at him did he look up. Sparrow had never really looked into his eyes before. They matched the ocean around them.

Her lips parted just slightly and Reaver took notice as his eyes darted back to her lips.

He took it as an invitation.

Sparrow was overcome with so many emotions when Reaver had finally closed the gap and put his lips on hers. Sparrow closed her eyes and hated how her hands moved from his chest to the back of his neck pulling him closer to her. Reaver took that as another invitation and his tongue broke through her lips. Sparrow was lost in bliss as their tongues danced together. Reaver’s arms moved right above her bottom and he pulled her closer. Their bodies were now touching and their mouths were ravishing each other. Sparrow hated how much she loved this.

Reaver had pulled away from the kiss, but he went to her neck immediately with kisses. They had turned so that Sparrow’s back was against the railing. She tilted her head back as Reaver left delicate kisses on her neck. Then her body lit up when he dragged his tongue from the bottom of her neck to her chin. Her breathed hitched and she really hated how it did.

“I didn’t think you’d allow this, Sparrow,” Reaver breathed, his mouth by her ear now.

Sparrow groaned. “Shut up.”

Reaver chuckled, but went back to placing kisses on her throat. As he was kissing her, his hands traveled down her back and cupped her bottom. She had gasped when he pulled her against him, but by some weird instinct, she wrapped her legs around him. Reaver chuckled and pulled away from her neck just to kiss her again. Sparrow’s fingers dug into his hair, messing it up, as their kiss became more and more fiery.

She hated this so much. Hated how much she loved it. Hated the taste of him. Hated how she felt in his harms. She hated everything about this, but that’s what made it better. They broke apart and were panting. Sparrow’s hands moved to Reaver’s cheeks and she just looked at him. She hated how she was falling for such a selfish asshole.

“Tell me one thing Reaver,” she whispered, caressing the heart mole on his cheek, “did you ever care about anyone before? And I mean at all.”

Reaver raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“Because the way I see it, there was someone you used to love,” Sparrow whispered. “And you lost them. And to make yourself never feel that pain ever again, you isolated yourself and pushed anyone who got too close away...or well just made sure no one ever got that close.”

Reaver’s mouth parted slightly and Sparrow could see genuine surprise on his face. “W-what makes you say that?” he stammered. Odd. Reaver never stumbled on his words.

Sparrow smiled and slid her thumb across his lower lip. “I found some old journals of yours. I couldn’t read them but I paid someone to read them for me. Don’t worry, I managed to erase their memory so only I know your secrets Reaver.” Sparrow’s smile widened as Reaver’s eyes went wide with shock and disbelief. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve come to realize that you and I are not so different. We lost people close to us and went about that loss in very different ways. You didn’t want to die so you made a deal to live forever. I wanted vengeance but when I found it and lost my purpose, I didn’t want to live anymore. Somehow, I just think that makes us work well together. You don’t have to call it love cause I know you’d claim to be above such feeling, but I just think this was meant to be. At least for a time.”

The entire time she spoke, her thumb ran across Reaver’s lip and her other hand played with a strand of his hair. “Now would be the time to dump me in the ocean and leave,” Sparrow added, her tone suddenly becoming darker. “Or do you sincerely want to keep me?”

Reaver was too stunned to really say anything. Sparrow managed to say things that resurfaced old dark feelings he had refused to acknowledge ever again. She read him like an open book. It made him...nervous. But she was right. He hated to admit it, but he was actually caring for her, beyond her entertainment value. He loved seeing her yell at him, loved seeing her get feisty when people refused to back down, loved seeing her fight. Most of all, he loved it when she kissed him back. When she doesn’t push him away. They were no strangers to giving themselves away to other men and women, but he didn’t think they had ever felt so right in each other’s arms.

He knew he should stop. If he opened his heart again, he knew it would break. Sparrow already gave her life away for him. It wouldn’t be long before she started to wither away. After all, when he saw her on the beach a year later after she made the sacrifice, her hair had turned almost completely white. He knew he shouldn’t let her in, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was too intriguing for him. If he could just ignore the fact that she’d be gone in a few years, everything would be alright.

“Sparrow,” Reaver finally spoke up. “I will never let you go because you are mine. And I don’t like losing what’s mine,” he declared. It was the closest thing Sparrow would ever get to some sort of declaration of love from him, but for some reason, she liked this much better.

She smiled. “Then don’t let me go. Keep me here in this world for just a little while longer.” For once ever since defeating Lucien, she felt at peace, happy. She moved to kiss him and he met her halfway. The loss of Rose would forever haunt her, but she now knew she wasn’t alone anymore. She would stay as long as Reaver kept her here. However, she knew to keep her heart guarded. There was no telling whether or not Reaver would stay true to his word or cast her aside.

But she let herself believe that maybe he would keep her for as long as she lived. When they shared the bed this time, Sparrow let herself cuddle close to Reaver. It was going to be a rocky road from here on out, but she didn’t care. It gave her a new purpose.

[robininthelabyrinth]

I've been thinking on this for ages, but I can't decide on a character, maybe Leonard Snart, Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian. He saves, on purpose or by accident, a baby dragon. The dragon takes a shine to him and decides to hoard him. It's tiny, so the hoarding is really ineffective. It consists mainly on riding on shoulders and hissing at everyone. It's really cute.

Lan Wangji

“I like you! I’m going to keep you!” the tiny little dragon said, grinning widely. It was only large enough to fill two hands, black scales with red whiskers, and it had a mouth made for smiling.

“Get lost,” Lan Wangji said, walking faster; his uncle had explained regarding Wei Wuxian’s unusual cursed state so that he would be aware of it, but somehow his uncle had failed to mention how horribly cute Wei Wuxian’s little dragon form was.

“Lan Zhaaaaaan, you don’t meant that…!”

Wei Wuxian

“Her name is Chenqing,” Wei Wuxian said proudly, holding out his hands to show her off. “I found her wrapped around an old flute and I’m keeping her.”

The little serpentine dragon rolled around happily in his hands, lolling around and holding her little arms out in a big stretch. “Uh-uh,” she said, her voice a little kitten whisper, wrapping her tail around his wrist. “Mine!”

“Well, that’s new,” Jiang Cheng said faintly; a glance at Lan Wangji’s face revealed he also didn’t know exactly what to say. “But I suppose…congratulations are in order?”

Jiang Cheng

Zidian is his mother’s, long lithe and silver except when she’s sparking purple; she’s fiercely independent and hates anyone touching her but her master. Jiang Cheng loved to look at her as a child, the way she twisted around her mother’s hand like a bracelet, around her neck like a necklace, even around her ear, hissing a joke that only she can understand.

He’s wanted to have her in his hands since forever.

Not like this, though.

Nie Huaisang

“I found a little bird,” Nie Huaisang explained happily. “A little goldfinch! We only have eagles and vultures in Qinghe.”

“I can’t believe you brought it into the lecture,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Well, I couldn’t leave her behind! I found her right before I arrived.”

“Uh, Nie-gongzi?” Wei Wuxian, who was peeking under the cloth of the cage, said. “I don’t think this is a goldfinch.”

Wei Wuxian pulled off the cloth. The little gold-scaled dragon beamed at them from the perch, long whiskers waiving in the air.

“…yes?” Nie Huaisang says. “Is it a sparrow, then? I’m really not good with birds.”

Lan Xichen

Alone in seclusion, Lan Xichen wondered if he’d spent his entire life in service to others. To his uncle, who feared him becoming his father; to his brother, who he sought to protect; to his sworn brother, who betrayed him; to his sect, to their principles. They still meant everything to him, all of them – dead or alive – but…he was tired.

He lifted a finger to trace the head of the little dragon that had blown in through the window a few nights before – he should report it, a supernatural event like this, but…it’s not in the rules.

So he won’t.

He hasn’t yet named her, but he was going to. And then he would let her keep her the way she wanted to, nice and safe in her little hoard, for as long as she wanted him.

Nie Mingjue

Most of the time, Baxia was a saber, like all others in his sect. Like those in his ancestor’s shrine. Sometimes, though, she was something else.

“You’re mine,” she hissed in Nie Mingjue’s ear late at night, nestled deep in his soul. They’re bound together, sword and cultivator. “I won’t let you go, not in this lifetime.”

He rubbed his eyes and smiled despite himself. He didn’t smile often, his duties and dark future weighing him down, but his Baxia could do it; he sometimes thought that this was what it must be like to have a jealous wife. “Of course not. You’re my spiritual weapon; you’ll be by my side until I die, and then you’ll take your place in my tomb, with my ashes at your feet. Stop worrying so much.”

“I won’t let him take you this time,” she snarls. “Your head, your arms, your legs, your soul – they’re all mine. How dare he profane them!”

“Am I not supposed to be touching people anymore?” he chuckled, reaching back to run his fingers down her hilt; it turned into a tail and wrapped around his wrist, pinning him in place as if held down by a stronger man. “Baxia – if you just tell me who this ‘he’ is, I’ll avoid him, I promise.”

“No, he’s still necessary for now,” she said. “But when I tell you – strike true, no matter what the consequences. Do not allow your human compassion or etiquette overwhelm you. Promise me!”

“I promise,” he said, not for the first time, still as puzzled by it as he ever was. “I’ll listen to you. When the time comes, I’ll let you drink his blood to your heart’s content.”

Jin Guangyao

He’d always known there was a dragon inside Nie Mingjue, full of heat and fire and rage; he’d liked it, once upon a time, when it roared in his defense. It had been such a pity when it turned against him; he really hadn’t wanted to give him up, but he didn’t have a choice. He was backed into a corner – just like always.

He just hadn’t expected the man to turn into a literal dragon upon death.

Is this the real secret of the Nie? He wondered, backing up and reaching for his sword. Is this why they only bury their sabers, and never themselves?

The dragon curls around his neck, tight enough to choke.

“Are you going to kill me?” Jin Guangyao asked.

The dragon laughed with the sound like Nie Mingjue’s laugh, deep and sonorous and usually a little sarcastic.

“Only,” it murmured in his ear, “if you continue to misbehave, Meng Yao.”

Jin Ling

“Little Uncle got me a dog,” Jin Ling said, clutching Xiao Fairy to his chest. “So, Jiujiu, you’re getting me…a snake?”

“I’m getting you the opportunity to get a sna – to get a dragon. It’s not a snake. Stop calling it a snake.”

Jin Ling wasn’t really convinced. He squinted into the pool. “They look like snakes.”

“Of course they do, they’re flood dragons,” Jiang Cheng said irritably. “Those all look like water serpents when they’re swimming. Just…listen to me. Put the dog down – no, give it to me, yes, there’s a good puppy –”

Jin Ling coughed pointedly. “If this is all a scheme to steal pets from my dog…”

“It isn’t,” Jiang Cheng said, though his ears were suspiciously red. “Put your hand into the pool. If one of them likes you, they’ll claim you for their hoard and keep you for the rest of their lives. Give it a try. What can it hurt?”

Xiao Xingchen

Song Lan was the very first person he met when he came down off the mountain and, well, he was a bit over-excited about it – but luckily they hit it off very well, and it all worked out quite well for a few years. Song Lan was full of interesting ideas, like making their own sect based on friendship rather than blood; Xiao Xingchen liked it, but he liked Song Lan best of all.

Things went downhill, later, but as his shizun always said, it was cruel to keep a human that didn’t want to be kept any longer, so he gave him his eyes and left him alone, just as he’d asked, and hoped that one day Song Lan would come back to him. He had time, he could wait.

In the meantime, he met someone new – or rather, someone old, anew.

Xiao Xingchen decided to keep him, too.

Xue Yang

“I think I did something wrong,” Xue Yang announced to the air, though luckily nobody was around to hear him – his current employers at the Jin sect would be most unhappy if they heard, especially if they also heard that he has no idea what went wrong or how to fix it.

He looked down at what should be a repaired half piece of the Stygian Tiger Seal, but which is definitely a small black-and-grey dragon, staring right back at him.

After being locked in a staring match for a while (he loses, but he doesn’t think the dragon has eyelids so it doesn’t count), he tentatively reached out and rubbed it behind the ears.

It purred, then belched out a puff of pure yin resentful energy.

“…well, at least you still work, I guess?”

Wen Ning

“You’re mine,” the little dragon says, happily nuzzling up to him as it flops around in the dirt. “Mine, mine, mine!”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Wen Ning said, looking around all over to make sure nobody’s around. “All yours. Now, A-Yuan, please turn back before anyone sees you!”

“But…”

“A-Yuan! Please!”

Grumbling, the little dragon curled up into a ball and uncurled as a lovely bouncing little boy, and Wen Ning gave a sigh of relief. His sister hadn’t noticed the addition of an extra child to their group of refugees, assuming the way everyone else did that he’d been another Wen, someone’s child that got left behind or orphaned, and old granny had adopted him without so much as a word. He hadn’t known how to explain the truth.

But it was fine. He’d take care of A-Yuan, with the help of his sister and now Wei-gongzi, and no one would ever need to know.

Wen Qing

Wen Qing didn’t waste a lot of time worrying about things, and a dragon deciding to claim her wasn’t going to be the thing that messed up her day.

“Fine,” she said. “You can stay, but you have to earn your keep. How’s your memory? Can you take notes for me?”

The dragon nodded.

“I’ll be testing you,” she warned.

It nodded again, so she accepted it, put it in her sleeves, and went back to work.

Jiang Yanli

“I don’t need a dragon, though,” she said, quite appropriately in her mind. “I’m not much of a cultivator.”

The little dragon nuzzled her neck and picked up one of the melon seeds she’d been peeling with its jaws. “That’s okay,” it said. “I’m not much of a dragon. I mostly just like to eat and sleep.”

“Well, then,” she laughed. “In that case, I think we’ll get along.”