#in maxwells place but rather what they would look like if they were in charlies court

[zombiedcattle-art]

starvetober day 11: triumphant

the wonderful charlie design was made by @souredwaters ! i like it a lot and have wanted to incorporate it into a drawing ever since i saw it :]

[awesomesaurous]

I agree with you, the skins are pretty bad, and certainly could use some rework, the moon is such a cool concept, I feel they could explore it a lot more. But anyways, apart from the skins what do you think of the "a little drama update"? And Charlie's play??

oh boy...well, I don't know if anything has changed in the play since the beta, but I watched a recording someone made of all the acts/scenes (since I haven't had time to play games lately) and...

this isn't making me like anyone more, it's making me like them less.

all of them.

And it's hard to pin down but it just feels a little...petty? cheesy? I'm sure Charlie has some anger about the whole thing, and rightly so, but I never got the impression before that her partnership with Maxwell was as lukewarm as the play seemed to imply. I thought they were at least better friends than that. The Throne can warp people's personalities, true, but I was reading the dialogue and thinking "did we look at the same lore stuff or am I going insane?" Maxwell sounds like a dweeb even as his post-codex successful self. I thought he'd have more charisma than that, or that he'd at least fake it.

Winona's loyalty to Charlie has always been one of my favorite things about her, and reducing her to a mother hen type isn't doing a good service to her character. I was hoping that Winona would encourage Charlie to be tougher, rather than treating her more delicately for some arbitrary reason.

I don't know what the mirror is! If it was ever mentioned before, then this is the first I've heard of it. Was it a stand-in for the codex or is it something else entirely? Was Charlie already communicating with Them before she got sucked into the Constant? That would be very interesting, though where it fits in to the Final Act and the William Carter puzzles I'm not sure.

i wish I could say I loved everything, truly, but I guess this is hitting me harder than the last several updates, because these are my favorite characters (of course).

Though, I do love the way the stage looks. The set piece is the kind of stylish gothic elegance stuff that drew me to this game in the first place.

[snugglycrow]

My Whole World Tilted on it Axis

Book: The Royal Romance (End of Book 1)

Pairing: Maxwell Beaumont x MC (Charlie Hart)

Rights belong to Pixelberry, most characters and some dialogue belong to them.

Series Summary: Maxwell was tasked to sponsor a woman to compete for Prince Liam’s hand. During Liam’s bachelor party he had found the perfect woman! A waitress from New York with no knowledge of courtly protocol that Liam fell head over heels for. The competition is at an end and the journey is almost complete or so they thought. 

Chapter Summary: At the Coronation ball, Maxwell tries to cheer Charlie up after she received a letter.

Word Count: 2,741

I tapped Charlie on the shoulder and announced myself, “Hey! I’m back.” I handed her the drink I had left to go get.

“Oh, hey Maxwell! Thank you.” Charlie squeaked, spun to face me and grabbed the drink. Sometimes when Charlie was nervous her voice would go up an octave, she claimed her voice had a mind of it’s own despite her vocal training.

“You okay?” I asked, concerned. Just earlier in the Coronation ball, we were given a letter marked urgent for Charlie. We had no idea who it came from but it was definitely threatening. She had every right to be upset.

“Yeah. This whole letter thing is throwing me off my game.” Charlie answered and her hands twitched towards her face. I could tell she wanted to run her hands through her hair but that was hard to do with her hair pinned up in a braided crown.

“You look like you could use a break. How about we get out of here for a little while and get some air?” I urged Charlie to join me hoping to get one last time we could hang out, just the two of us.

Charlie hesitated, looking wistfully towards the door. She countered “But Bertrand said to stay and socialize.” Her nose crinkled, obscuring some of her freckles, suggesting that was the last thing she wanted.

I smiled knowingly and replied “I know but it’s more important that you’re in the right frame of mind for tonight. What do you say, little blossom? It might be the last time we get to hang out before you become Queen!” I saw her swaying to my side of things and her shoulders sagged when I got to the last part.

Charlie nodded and gave in, “Okay, let’s take a break.” We gulped as much of our drinks as we could and then Charlie took the arm I offered. I escorted her outside to the palace grounds knowing her anxiety would be quelled by fresh air and no more crowds. It was very nice outside, we walked towards the ginormous fountain surrounded by a suspiciously green patch of grass. Listening to the water trickling from the fountain was pretty calming.

“It’s amazing to think about how far you’ve come, Charlie.” I mused, watching the water flow.

“Who would have thought that I would be standing here on the eve of potentially being selected as Cordonia’s future Queen?” She asked and looked at me.

“I did, you gotta believe in the person you’re sponsoring!” I gushed and I could feel the grin spreading across my face when I said that because it was true.

“Of course. You called it.” Charlie agreed, returning my smile and squeezed my shoulder in a friendly gesture.

“You know I did. Though I have to admit you’ve changed a bit since I first saw you in New York.” I observed, I always believed in Charlie. I knew she could win Liam’s heart and become queen but there was no question she had changed along the way. With the things she had been through, I’m sure anyone would.

“I don’t feel all that different! All I did was learn some courtly protocol.” Charlie argued, her brows furrowed and her arms were crossed. Uh oh, I didn’t mean to imply it was a bad thing!

“I think you’ve kept the good parts while learning some new skills” I began and winked at her attempting to set Charlie at ease. Her eyebrow raised in question but she couldn’t hide her smirk, that encouraged me to continue “You look like a natural at court now. You’ll manage fine without us. Not that I was ever very much help. I wish we could have showered with gifts, dresses and jewelry. One of the wealthier houses could’ve” I confessed, starting to feel down on myself. Charlie deserved the world and all of those things would have made going after Liam so much easier. I can’t imagine how she felt being constantly judged by others as less than.

“Maxwell! Look at me.” Charlie chastised me and waited until I locked eyes with hers, they were a pretty hazel color “I don’t need any of those things. You’re my best friend, I’m happy to just have you here supporting me and I’m also a New Yorker. We happen to be pretty tough.” Charlie insisted, she grabbed my hand and gave it a supporting squeeze. I shot back a small smile, that did make me feel a little better.

“That’s true, you’re pretty resilient. You’ve always impressed me. I think you’ve even impressed Bertrand too. It’s strange to think that you’ll be Queen soon and Bertrand and I will go back to being Duke Ramsford and his handsome brother.” I responded, agreeing with her.

“Will you two be okay? I’m worried about you guys. Even if I don’t win this thing, my home will always be open to you both.” Charlie implored looking up at me through her lashes, something she had to do a lot considering she was so small at 5’2.

“I really appreciate it, Charlie. I don’t think it’ll come to that. My feelings about believing in you haven’t changed.” I answered, earning a sigh from Charlie. My heart warmed at the thought of how much she cared about me, I’ve never had that before with anyone else.

“I’ll have to visit Ramsford often and I won’t hear otherwise!” Charlie promised, wrapping her arms around herself. Was she changing the subject? I just let it go. She’d tell me if something was bothering her.

“We can’t have a true Beaumont bash unless all the Beaumonts are there. That includes you!” I laughed until it faded into a sigh. My eyes sweeping across the grounds and over the fountain, losing myself in my thoughts.

“Hey,” Charlie started pulling me from my train of thought and grabbed my arm, her eyes gentle as she continued. “You’d tell me if there was something wrong, right?”

“Of course. I trust you.” I blurted out, I bit back at the bile building. I did trust Charlie with more things about my life than other people. I also hated lying and keeping secrets but this wasn’t my secret to tell. I had made a promise.

“Maxwell,” Charlie said. Her eyes let me know she didn’t believe me for a second. “I’m always here for you. No matter what, okay?”

“Trust me, Charlie. I’d tell you if something was wrong with me,” I insisted. I could feel my voice get strangled from my throat being tight with emotion. A tense nod from Charlie let me know she’d let this go for my sake. I really liked that about her, she’d let me open up whenever I was ready rather than pushing me for answers. We stood in a comfortable silence for a bit, the trickling of the fountain was the only thing that could be heard.

“I’ll really miss having you as part of our house, y’know? When you're queen I won’t be there to wake you up every morning. No more dragging you around to put on dresses. No more limo rides with Bertrand’s judging stare.” I joked half heartedly, my eyes meeting hers. Everything was going to change soon.

“Oh, Maxwell... “ Charlie sighed and gathered me in a tight hug. She continued “I’ll miss you, too. More than you know.”

“Really? Most people would be sick of me by now.” I murmured. I was shocked and touched by her words, eventually I remembered to return the hug.

“Come on, Maxwell. I don’t believe that for a second!” She cried out and pulled back, narrowing her eyes at me. Uh oh. I’ve summoned scary Charlie. I felt my eyes widen and gulped. “You’re my best friend and an amazing guy. Anyone who doesn’t see that is sorely missing out.” She insisted with a sad smile and playfully punched my arm.

“Okay, okay. I’ll concede for now.” I joked, bringing my hands up in surrender. Her glare got even more intense if that was possible. I changed the subject “I brought you out here to cheer you up so let’s do something wild before the announcement.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her eyes glittering with mischief, I could always count on Charlie to be a part of my shenanigans. “Okay! Let’s go!” She danced in place, too excited to even care that she was angry with me a second ago. I led Charlie by the hand back inside towards the grand staircase complete with red carpet and gold trim everywhere. Charlie looked confused, her brows knitted together.

“Max, why did you bring me to a staircase? I thought we were going to prank Bertrand or something,” Charlie asked. My heart leapt at my nickname, she rarely called me Max.

I stopped on the landing, spreading my arms and explained “Pranking Bertrand would be fun but these railings happen to be perfect for sliding! C’mon Charlie! Don’t you trust me?” I extended my hand out to her to grab. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. It was shouting at me.

“I do trust you.” Charlie grinned and grabbed my hand. Rushing up the stairs faster than I was somehow.

“Let’s do this! Ooh, we need to time it so we can reach the bottom at the same time!” Charlie exclaimed. She was so excited and got into position on the railing as soon as we reached the top of the stairs.

“Yeah! Then we can strike a pose!” I replied letting her enthusiasm infect me, for once. Charlie giggled. Great job, Agent Breakdance. Mission CCU has been accomplished. Mission objective: cheer Charlie up.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Max. Ready?” Charlie asked me, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I nodded excitedly already in position on the railing opposite of Charlie. I counted down for us. “On three! One… Two… Three!” We slid down the railings together.

“Wooo!!” I cheered, this was so much better than it is doing it alone!

I turned my head to watch Charlie with her hands in the air yelling “Yeahhhh!” With that, we jumped off in tandem. I pumped my fist in the air and placed one hand on my hip to pose like a superhero flying! Charlie went with the badass power pose with both her hands on her hips.

“We look so badass right now!” I shouted, not bothering to contain my excitement.

Charlie nodded and exclaimed “This room doesn’t know what hit ‘em!”

“If only we had sunglasses, this place wouldn’t have been able to take how awesome we are!” I told Charlie trying to be more aware of my volume. My brother wouldn’t be happy if we became the talk of the ball over this.

“That’s the spirit, Maxwell!” Charlie cheered and gave me a high-five.

I sighed and admitted “It’s been fun, Charlie. Thanks, for that.” Charlie grinned, she surprised me by leaning in and kissing me on the cheek.

“There’s no need to thank me, Maxwell! You’ve done just as much for me if not more. I’m glad I had you through it all. Really.” Charlie assured me. I felt my goofy lopsided grin spread across my face, I couldn’t help it. My hand raised to my cheek where she had kissed me. I turned to the ballroom, I didn’t want this moment to end. Nothing would have to change, we could just stay here for the rest of our lives. Realistically, I knew we couldn’t but it was nice to think about. My hand fell to my side and when I turned to look back at my friend, Charlie seemed lost in thought.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Charlie queried suddenly looking down.

“Ask me anything.” I answered earnestly.

“Are we still going to be friends if I’m not declared queen? I mean, I know I’m only really here as a suitor for House Beaumont. And one way or another, that’s about to end.” Charlie squeaked out.

“And so you’re wondering if we’re just going to kick you to the curb if you’re not crowned tonight?” I questioned back not that there was a doubt in my mind what would happen.

“Kind of...” Charlie answered, not looking me in my eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself as if she needed protection from me of all things. It was breaking my heart seeing Charlie like this. I felt this war going on within myself desperately wanting to comfort my best friend, to hold and touch her but was that even appropriate?

“Max? Don’t leave me hanging. Please say something, even if you think I don’t want to hear it.” Charlie pleaded with me, her voice had cracked and her eyes were still glued to the ground. That broke me, I lifted her chin with my crooked finger, staring into her eyes and waited for her to look at me. For the first time ever, Charlie actually looked scared.

“Charlie. We would never do that to you. You’re one of my best friends. Actually, my best friend now that I think about it.” I reassured her and searched her eyes hoping to provide some comfort. It just felt so easy being around Charlie. I didn’t feel the need to put up the front I normally did and I could be myself around her. There was no way I’d lose that even if she didn’t win.

“Max…” She sighed contentedly. The way Charlie said my name made my heart jump, stupid heart. I’m trying to comfort my best friend.

“Anyway, what I mean is, of course Bertrand and I really, really, really hope you become queen.” I could feel my nerves getting to me. Had I gone too far? I shouldn’t have touched her but why can’t I bring myself to let go? Looking into Charlie’s eyes, my stomach swooped. She didn’t look uncomfortable and she’d certainly have no qualms about telling me to back off so why did I feel so guilty? I continued, “I mean, I think Bertrand might kill me if you don’t…” I trailed off with a nervous laugh. “But as far as I’m concerned, win or lose, you’re still part of House Beaumont and I’d never just kick you out of our lives! Never ever.” I sputtered out the end, still nervous. I let go of her. Charlie’s smile never wavered and her eyes never left mine through the end of my monologue. I stepped away taking a deep breath not wanting to do something I would regret. I’ve never had a friendship so strong before where I felt compelled to kiss someone. I ran my fingers through my hair catching her watching me still, her face flushed knowing she’d been caught.

“Thanks Max, that means a lot to me.” Charlie whispered. I almost didn’t catch it. Before I knew it, I had been tackled by Charlie and engulfed in a bear hug.

“Anytime, little blossom. I just want you to be happy.” I whispered against her hair. I stepped back from the hug to see her smile grow and blush warm her freckled cheeks once more. I loved the effect the nickname had on Charlie so I used it as much as I could. My best friend was so pretty. I continued “We should probably get back if you’re okay, that is. I hope this made you feel better.” I encouraged her.

Charlie reassured me, “Worked like a charm, Max. You always know the right thing to say.” Normally, I’m really good at distractions but always knowing what to say? That was a first for me. I wanted people to be happy even if it meant they’d laugh at my expense but with Charlie, if she wasn’t happy it felt like my whole world tilted on its axis.

“My lady.” I said with a goofy grin, I stepped back bowing like a court jester and offered Charlie my arm to lighten the mood. She giggled and took my arm. My world righted itself hearing her laugh again. “Ready to get back in there?” I asked.

She squeezed my hand and assured me, “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Charlie certainly seemed in better spirits pulling me along to the dance floor, I couldn’t keep the giant grin off my face. I was grateful for being useful to someone for once. I’d chase that feeling to the ends of the Earth.

[abiggaynerd]

Light in the night

Another fanfic of @quetzalcoatlzz ‘s western au comic, link here if you would rather read it on AO3, there is a link here

Charlie looked out her window from her bed. It was clear out, and she could see the moon. She sighed, rubbing her forehead. She could not sleep. 

It was silent. 

She closed her eyes. It had been a long day. One of her girls had gotten sick, and she had had to contact Maxwell’s new boytoy and have him take care of her. She would be fine, the doctor had assured, but Charlie couldn’t help worrying. 

On top of that, a letter had come from her parents. 

Charlie’s family was never rich, but she was still sheltered. Her older sister and her parents had worked extremely hard to help her become a proper lady. They had been thrilled she had secured such a wealthy man. After the... incident, she had promised her parents they would marry when they reached Constant, ignoring their protests that traveling with a man she was not married too would be scandalous. She felt terrible for deceiving them, but she could not tell them the truth- she was not a pampered mistress of the Carter ranch, but Madame of a whorehouse. This was not at all what they had wanted for her. 

The only one who knew the truth- about her and Maxwell’s... preferences, about the broken off engagement, all of it- was her dear sister Winona. Winona understood everything- Charlie knew that the relationship with the female friend Winona was living with was not exactly chaste. Winona had urged her to tell their parents, at least about the broken off engagement, if nothing else, but Charlie still couldn’t work up the courage to tell them. In her (extremely rare) visits home, Maxwell would even come with her and lie. She was jealous of the close and open relationship he had with his family- they knew of their broken engagement, and the reasons, and had accepted it. Darling Wendy still called her Aunt, when she saw her, though. 

She looked at the unopened letter on her nightstand. Every time she got one, she was terrified they had found out- if they heard about everything... 

It would be better for her mental state to open it, but she found she could not. The letter opener lay on top of it, taunting her. 

THONK

Charlie jumped wildly and yelped as someone banged into her window. 

“CHARLIE!! YOU AWAKE?” 

Charlie rolled her eyes as she calmed down. She opened the window. “How could I not be, after that racket?” 

Willow grinned. “Can I come in?” Charlie nodded, and Willow began to try to get in through the window. 

“Not through the window! Through the door! Honestly, Willow, it’s like you’re a secret lover trying to catch a moment alone with your beloved without alerting her parents.” 

“I am,” Willow said cheerfully. “Except the parents part.” 

“Exactly, which is why you can come through the door. This is my house.” 

Willow grumbled, but went to the door to be let in. Charlie lit a candle, put on a robe, and walked through the rooms to get to the back door. 

“Kiss?” Willow asked, taking off her hat. She helpfully pointed at her lips to indicate where they were. 

“Very well,” Charlie said. She leaned over and pecked Willow on the lips, but before she could pull away, Willow deepened the kiss and put her hand on the back on Charlie’s head. Charlie relaxed into it. Being with Willow calmed her spirits. 

Charlie pulled away when it became apparent Willow had no problem having sex right where they were. “Come along, dear.” 

“It’s a bit chilly tonight,” Willow remarked, scampering after Charlie. “Just, incredibly cold. I’ve never seen it get this bad, really. You might freeze to death.” 

Willow cut in front of Charlie to open her bedroom door for her. Charlie smiled. “If you’re asking if you can make a fire in my room, you may.” 

“Yess,” Willow said, no regard for her noise level. She took Charlie’s candle and began fussing with the fireplace. It really had grown slightly chilly with the window open. Charlie closed it, as well as the curtains. 

“Where is Bernie?” Charlie asked, taking off her robe and climbing back into bed. 

“Maxwell has nice stables,” Willow said. 

“You walked all the way here from Maxy’s stables?? Why Willow, you must be exhausted!” 

“Any amount of exhaustion is worth it if I can inconvenience Maxwell,” Willow said. “Besides, he’s got great food for the horses. Bernie likes it there.” 

“Do you need food? A drink?” 

“I just need you,” Willow said, about to climb on Charlie’s bed. 

“Absolutely not! No, Willow, if you want to get on my bed with my good linens, you’re going to take a bath first.” 

Willow grimaced. “Really? Do I have to?” 

“Yes! But here, don’t make that face. I’ll wash you myself.” 

“...Fine.” 

“Come, help me set up the tub.” 

Having Willow to help lug around the heavy tub and buckets of water made the whole experience much faster. Willow was much stronger than Charlie, and had the added bonus of “liked to show off.” 

“Alright,” Charlie said. “Get in.” 

Willow seemed to have forgotten the bath was for her. She frowned. “What if I washed you instead?” 

“You don’t have to sleep with me, you know,” Charlie teased. “You can sleep on my floor. I can find a blanket.” 

Willow threw back her head and groaned. “FINE.” She threw off her clothes. Charlie watched appreciatively. 

Willow was not what most people considered attractive for a woman, but Charlie didn’t hold much stock in their opinions. Willow was toned, from hours of manual labor and horseback riding. She wore no corset, but instead wore nothing but men’s clothes. Her breasts, unlike Charlie’s, were small enough to need no support. She was thin, but strong. Her beautiful black hair was thick and shiny, if you ignored the layers of soot and dirt.

“At least it’s hot,” Willow said, stepping in. 

“Just below boiling, just how you like it,” Charlie said. She had a rag, and used a bit of her soap on it. Rose scented. Willow had admitted a while back that she liked smelling of Charlie’s soap. 

Willow seemed to be enjoying the heat, now she was actually in it. Charlie smiled, and took her hand. The nails were cut short, but caked with dirt. She began scrubbing. 

The water became murky as Charlie cleaned Willow. 

“You must have half the dust in Texas on you,” Charlie said. 

“Sometimes I roll in the dirt,” Willow said. 

Willow was practically boneless from Charlie’s rhythmic, gentle and careful cleaning; she now looked like an entirely different person. It was almost done, all that was necessary now was to rinse Willow’s hair. 

She unbraided the braids, running her fingers through it. The cloud of dust made her sneeze. 

“My hair too? Really?” 

“I’ll brush your hair after,” Charlie soothed. “Give you a nice scalp massage.” 

Charlie had to rinse the hair five times before she was certain all the grime was out of the hair. 

“Alright, all done,” Charlie said. Willow immediately bolted out of the tub, getting water everywhere.

Willow dried herself with a towel, then rummaged in Charlie’s drawers to find the clothes Charlie kept for her. She pulled out a nightgown and put it on. 

“Sit on the floor in front of me,” Charlie instructed. Willow complied. Charlie began to brush the hair. 

“You have beautiful hair,” Charlie said. 

“It doesn’t really do anything I want it to,” Willow said. “Always slips out of the braids! So irritating. I don’t know how fancy ladies like you keep your hair in those crazy styles all the time.” 

“Part of it is not rolling in dirt, dear.” 

“Well, I guess I’m never going to be able to do a fancy smancy hairstyle then.” 

“You never were going to in the first place.” 

“Ah! True.” 

Willow settled against Charlie’s legs. Charlie began to massage Willow’s scalp. 

“That’s nice,” sighed Willow. “I haven’t seen you in ages. I missed you a lot.” 

“It’s only been a few days.” 

“AGES.” Willows groaned. “You know Wilson- that doctor- he’s living with Maxwell now? He only comes to town for work. Goes back at night.” 

“Mr. Higgsbury is truly living with him? Maxy must be very fond of him.” 

“Why can’t I live with you,” Willow complained. “Why does that awful man get nice things and I, objectively the best person ever, do not?” 

“Am I not a nice thing?” 

“You’re the BEST THING!” 

Charlie chuckled. “You’re the best thing to me too.” She kissed her head. “I love you.” 

“If I wasn’t a wanted criminal I would be... Your housewife.” 

Charlie laughed. “You? A housewife? In what world?” 

“Well, I suppose I could be your bodyguard and scare away men who bother your girls.” 

“That would be nice.” 

Willow pulled away and turned around. 

“You’re nice. Want me to make you feel nice too?” 

Charlie nodded. Willow beamed. 

“Nothing too much tonight, though,” Charlie said. “I’m tired. We can do more tomorrow.” 

“Alright!” 

The sex was calm, and not rushed, but Charlie finished rather quickly.

She breathed heavily for a few moments before speaking.   

“Honestly, you devious thing, where did you even learn that?”

“I like to put things in my mouth.” Willow was on top of her now, and Charlie kissed her. They kissed passionately for a moment, until Willow pulled back. 

“Let’s go to sleep. Did you have a long day?” 

“Yes,” Charlie sighed. “But I feel better with you here.” 

They climbed until the covers. Charlie turned and saw the letter on the nightstand. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“A letter from my parents.” 

“Want me to kill them for you?” 

“No,” Charlie snorted. “You can’t kill all of my problems.” 

“I can try.” 

Charlie looked at it for a moment longer, before sitting back up and opening it. She smiled at Willow- her simply being there gave her enough courage to open the letter. 

She hesitantly read it. 

“Dearest Charlie,

We miss you terribly! Our neighbors have just had a baby girl, and she reminds us so much of you when you were her age. You were so small and perfect. We thought to ourselves, no matter what happens, we will love this child with all our hearts, and support her in all things. 

We hope you and your husband create a little miracle of your own very soon.

All our love, 

Mother and Father.” 

Charlie set down the letter. Her anxiety was eased a bit, but she stared pensively into the fire. 

“Willow, I think it may be time I told them the truth.” 

Willow pulled her close, kissing her forehead. 

“I’ll be with you whether they accept it or not. Don’t worry.” 

“I love you,” said Charlie. 

“I love you too.” 

Charlie fell asleep quickly held in Willow’s arms. 

[sunnygang]

analysing the sep 24 wigfrid animated short (don’t starve)

I am rewatching some Don’t Starve animations and catching up on some i hadn’t seen yet. I am watching the Wigfrid animation tonight for the first time (the sep 24 one). I am a few months late, whoops!

I will be putting this analysis under a cut, since I will be pairing a lot of screen caps from the short itself! Also this turned out WAY longer than I originally intended it to. There’s a tw for incest mention in one paragraph (about a stage play that is relevant, NOT about Wigfrid) and I put the warning surrounded in asterisks and bolded before the paragraph referenced!

The short opens with a shot from what is safe to assume is her front hallway. Wigfrid is an actress and she appears to live alone in a nice home.

The walls are of course covered in her various photographs and stage play memoriam. Over the mantle on the left the framed poster reads  Die Walküre (The Valkyrie). Keep this in mind as this is Wigfrid’s best role. Also peep that nice chaise lounge she’s sitting on!

Some national culture, we get to see the newspaper she is reading. This paper is The Kronicle. The real life Chronicle newspaper, upon searching it, returned a good number of results. I am going to say that this particular article is the Ohio Chronicle (founded by the Lorain Printing and Publishing Co which was founded in 1829, the paper itself may or may not have been founded that same year), and I will get into why later.

The front page features the Tragedy in San Francisco. The tragedy of Maxwell and Charlie! The article header specifically reading “Tragedy in San Francisco! Many Still Missing After Devastating Earthquake!” This is around the same date, it has to be within a matter of days for this short to take place from the date of the Charlie and Maxwell disappearance in San Francisco. We don’t get to see Wigfrid reading this article, however. This is merely set there for the viewer’s sake. This is helping form our timeline of when these events all occurred. Many still missing. That means the search continues. This article could have been published a few days after the mentioned earthquake or a week even. Still, it gives us somewhat of a timeline to reference. The earthquake and the events of this Wigfrid short happened in relatively short time from one another.

This newspaper article header reads “Is It Curtains for This Prima Donna? Former Rising Star Seems Unable to Recapture The Magic of Her Precious Role”

Wigfrid isn’t shown reading the front article because she is focused on the news centered around herself. She’s called a prima donna here in this headline. Being called a Prima Donna can mean a number of things. It can mean a principle female singer in an opera or concert organization OR someone who is vain/undisciplined and finds it difficult to work as a team. She doesn’t have any quotes in DST that would indicate Wigfrid doesn’t work well with others. She mostly greets the other players warmly and hopes for good blessings from Yggdrasil, etc.

I think the journalists who wrote the article were looking to have this kind of double idea happening. The term Prima Donna comes directly from Italian for the types of female leads to the definitive aspect of the term. However around the same time (19th cent) it came to mean the second definition as well. Those writing the article likely wrote it with both aspects in mind. This gives Wigfrid her personal reason for wanting to ask Maxwell for help in some way. This is her drive. She is obviously a talented lead opera lady given the decorations and extravagant nature of her home. But this article says she is unable to recapture the magic of her previous role. The role in question looks to be very different from the Wigfrid Valkyrie we know. Her best role may be her Valkyrie role and maybe when she’s trying to branch into something else it isn’t working. And the critics and journalists think it isn’t good for her. She was a powerful Valkyrie, but not whatever this role happened to be.

We get to see her finishing reading the article (or maybe this short interrupts her just barely skimming it) and angrily crumple and toss the paper to the floor. She turns her nose up at it and dramatically walks to a bookshelf in the room and pulls out this record:

Die Walküre. This is the recorded orchestral arrangement for the stage play Die Walküre. In the bottom right of the record sleeve is the names of who I believe to be the composers for the recorded version of the orchestral arrangement. Vincenzo De Vera and Emmental Halle. Wigfrid’’s. Best. Role. The role with such “magic” that she has been since “unable to recapture.”

**incest mention in this next paragraph in the contexts of norse mythology and the real life stage play of The Valkyrie, not Wigfrid herself**

Interestingly enough, Die Walküre is a very real stage play. It is based on Norse Mythology about two twins who are separated in childhood and then eventually meet and fall in love (yikes!). This union angers the gods and they demand Siegmund die. Sieglinde and their unborn child are saved by the defiant actions of Wotan’s daughter, The Valkyrie. Valkyrie Brunnehilde faces the god’s retribution as a result of her actions.

More Valkyrie content hidden away in her shelves. She adored her role as The Valkyrie. Her house is, as we have seen, filled with memoriam from that stage play.

She plays the record and walks over to her wall and looks at her poster of herself as the Valkyrie. The newspaper clipping on the left reads “Audiences Left Spellbound by Soprano’s Powerful Performance.” Wigfrid is a GREAT performer and she is a soprano! She even has a little statue/sculpture of herself as The Valkyrie.

Here’s where I am going to go a little more into the Prima Donna bit. Wigfrid was the lead female for Die Walküre so she is a Prima Donna in that sense. however, she is also vain. She has surrounded herself with HERSELF. All over the walls in her home. Posters and pictures and photographs and SCULPTURES? You Prima Donna girl you, Wigfrid!

Her ceiling is even intricately decorated with scenes from Die Walküre.

And then we get here. We enter Wigfrid’s fantasy about performing as The Valkyrie who has to face a challenge. This challenge being a dragon that forms from this stack of newspaper pages. More entertainment pages that discuss Wigfrid’s stardom reaching an end.

Wigfrid’s real name is scratched out. So we know for certain that Wigfrid is NOT her real name. We can still call her real name whatever we please until we get more solid evidence surrounding her name. Wigfrid is probably Die Valküre’s name in the stage play that Wigfrid acted in. In The Constant it’s safe to assume that the character she takes on in the world happens to be this character, Wigfrid. At this point it raises some question as to whether or not Wigfrid is treating The Constant like a stage. Where she gets to really perform the role of The Valkyrie.

Back to the newspaper taking the form of a dragon, though. The papers are her enemy. The journalists writing about her in such awful ways literally conjure up as her enemy, a dragon, to vanquish. This reveals how she feels about the way others speak about her. Especially when they are critiquing her so harshly with claiming she is a fading star unable to capture her magic.

Wigfrid is thrust into the air by the dragon and she seems lost for a moment before she regains her composure and strikes down the dragon. These are the feelings she is expressing through her singing accompaniment with the arrangement playing on her record player. And Maxwell notices this.

Maxwell appears before Wigfrid through the newspaper. This intrigues me because we know that Them (the Shadow Creatures of the Constant) are capable of reaching into the real world from pages. Thinking back to Maxwell’s Codex Umbra where he first discovered Them and became Maxwell instead of William. Maxwell (or probably rather, They) reaches through these pages to communicate with Wigfrid and have her make a deal. The deal to regain her former glory.

Whisked away with this Shadow Maxwell form by the Shadows from the pages. And with that Wigfrid joins the missing group, taken to The Constant.

And then theres these shots in succession:

All that mail piled up. How long has it been since Wigfrid has disappeared. I think we can assume that some of the mail in her box might be fan mail. SHe has packages on her front step (in front of double doors for her entrance wowie!). I spy at least three packages there piled up with all the assorted mail she otherwise has accumulated while missing. I also spy at least four newspapers. It’s hard to say whether these newspapers are Morning Dailies, Afternoon Dailies, or Weeklies. And then we get the final, fifth newspaper copy tossed on top of the stack that labels Wigfrid as someone who is also now missing. This is an important newspaper because this paper is a DAILY newspaper.

The Kourier paper is likely a mirror to the IRL newspaper in Findlay, Ohio. This paper puts out a copy DAILY. I am going to assume that the first newspaper we see Wigfrid read is a weekly newspaper. It covers more national events such as the San Francisco tragedy. This final newspaper is a daily newspaper. This helps the timeline. Wigfrid has likely been missing for only five days at this point. At most it could have been a week, pushing it to of course seven days. Maybe one of the other papers in the could be another Kronicle copy, which I am deeming the weekly style paper. In my hunt for information about the IRL version of this paper in our real Ohio, I struggled to find specifics online whether this paper published weekly or daily. I do know for certain that tthe IRL Courier is put into circulation daily.

OKAY! Next I want to discuss the colors used in this short. Ignoring the fully colored bit in the center while Wigfrid fantasizes about performing for a moment.

In the beginning of the short we have warm colors. These colors can both reflect Wigfrid’s mood and also the time of day. Wigfrid is angry about the way she is being talked about in the newspaper articles. She is silhouetted by orange-red. It could also be the evening. Adding a little to what I stated just a bove about the newspapers, I think The Kronicle is a paper that is delivered in the afternoon. I personally deem this accurate because in this scene Wigfrid of course is just now reading this article (or rather just barely skimming it over for the first time). Judging by her reaction which I’ve detailed above. She isn’t reading it over again and having an already bummed reaction, One of her eyebrows is raised while she looks over the article before throwing it down. Thus, it was her first moment seeing the article along with us.

We see her anger melting into a kind of sadness, or forlorn feelings even when she first puts on her record. She is still angry of course, but she’s feeling a lot of emotions, as we do, at this point in time.

At the end of the short we have cold colors. At this point, Wigfrid has gone through her fantasy of performing The Valkyrie. She is feeling solemn about it all now though. What if the papers are true? What if I am losing my magic for my roles? I think it’s also into the night or even possibly into the morning. It’s either the shine of the moon coming in from the windows, or early morning blue hours peeking in. I don’t want to say that she spent the whole night fantasizing and performing for herself (The Valkyrie is not an 8 hour performance). BUT. When we get to see the scene where the last newspaper is delivered to her doorstep, it is again in the blue lighting. The Kourier newspaper delivered onto her stack of mail. The Kourier is a morning delivery vs The Kronicle being an afternoon delivery.

ALSO. Remember my post about Winona? WELL she was ALSO located in Ohio pre being dragged into The Constant. So far we have two characters safely concretely placed IN Ohio at the time of their disappearance. Obviously, The Shadow Creatures do not discriminate since Wes was likely trapped way back during the train derailment with William, and of course Charlie and Maxwell/William himself were taken from San Francisco.

Okay. That’s all I have time for this time around of over analyzing don’t starve content. I am glad I got into the imagery and symbolism this time around. I also went WAY in depth in this one. I plan on going in way depth on the other animated character shorts, so stay tuned!

[impishnature]

Unexpected Playmate

AO3 Fandom: Don’t Starve Rating: T (Warnings for Don’t Starve levels of game violence) Summary: Maxwell learns some lessons from the most unlikely of places. A/N: A birthday gift for my lovely @atlasioh who wanted some hurt/comfort and I could not resist the idea once it took me <3 

"...Such a strange child."

The words left him in a soft hush, blanketed and muffled by the inky pitch black around the fire.

Maxwell blinked, sitting up straighter as he brought himself back out of his reverie. He was meant to be on watch for the rest of their rag tag camp, not zoning out with odd lingering thoughts. He hadn't even meant to say anything, amusement colouring his mind as well as fascinated befuddlement.

Luckily, the rest of the camp were already mostly asleep, or not paying attention to him anyway. There was still a strained relationship to the whole affair, but at least they trusted him enough with this that he felt less like he might be stabbed in the night.

It was probably this trust that had led him to people watch. After all, he had done many dastardly things to this group and yet once he had fallen from grace they had accepted him into their camp with minimal resistance. He hadn't ever expected that, not in all of his musings, so on nights like this when he had all the time in the world to muse, he couldn't help but let his curiosity run over the others, wondering just what kind of people he had dragged into the Constant with little remorse.

Good people, as it turned out, and ones that had more intriguing stories to tell and lessons to be learned from, than he had thought possible.

However, the events of the day were colouring his musings of the night as he found himself caught by the movement of a rather fuzzy, small individual in their group. Or rather, the collection of small, fuzzy creatures that he had brought into their camp without question and had been rather put out when the others had given him a smaller campfire to the side of the main camp to house his new 'friends' around.

Unfortunately for them, he had also decided to stay there instead of the main camp where they could look after him.

He was, after all, beneath the furry exterior- just a small child, and the others struggled to break through the urge to protect him, regardless of how he wandered off without them constantly.

It was all quite comical in his eyes. The boy had taken to the constant with stride once he had been changed by it. Whilst others feared the monsters, Webber had somehow made them into friends.

Again- fascinating. A feat he'd never expected.

So, with nothing else but sleeping bodies and the shrouded darkness of Charlie's abyss beyond the flames, his eyes kept wandering over to the small boy and his undesirable spider guests. He'd had to bite his lip from chuckling as the boy pushed them closer to the fire in their sleep, patting them if their eyes opened and mumbling soft things that didn't quite make it through the crackling of the burning wood to Maxwell's attentive ears.

Laughter did escape him though as the boy wandered off to the edge of the fire light, stumbling back with a rather large log to dump on top of the cracking flames and almost tripping with the exertion.

The sound caught his attention, the boy's head tilting as he turned and caught Maxwell watching him.

Maxwell tried to ignore the urge to look away and into the flames, as if he'd never been watching, it would be unbecoming to back down from the child's gaze as if scalded. He was the adult here, not some petulant, naughty, child.

Webber blinked at him, an unnerving gesture that he tried to not to shudder at. It wouldn't be so bad if his multiple eyes didn't blink at different times, what a ridiculous design flaw for a creature.

Maxwell finally broke eye contact when it became obvious the boy wouldn't, his new found curiosity in Maxwell eclipsing his own.

It didn't do him any good though. No sooner had he broken eye contact that the boy seemed to take this as confirmation that he could move and started towards him, skipping over like he didn't have a care in the world.

The one spider that was still awake trotted behind him, like some abhorrent dog trailing its master.

Maxwell tried his best to keep the disgust off of his face, but he was sure his ever present scowl wasn't all that much better. He pulled his gaze even further away, prodding at the fire as if it was the most interesting thing in the world and to deter any conversation.

"Want something?"

...It was a pity the boy didn't understand his social cues.

"No." He hadn't meant to be quite so sharp, glad that the others were not around to admonish him for his quick barbed response. But he did not want a conversation nonetheless, and usually with most, his raised hackles at least warranted a few steps back out of his personal space.

"Oh."

Maxwell relaxed slightly at the dejected noise, it wouldn't be long now until the boy gave up and wandered away again to his side of the camp.

What he hadn't expected was for the boy to get even closer and sit down almost in front of him to grab his attention back again.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Maxwell raised an eyebrow at him, irritated disbelief seeping through his words. "...I'm on watch for the night, remember?"

Webber beamed at him, his sharp, white teeth visible in the fire light.

Apparently the boy's sheer optimism rendered the rumbling snarl to his voice futile.

"Same! Keeping friends safe while they sleep." Webber patted the spider that had followed him, now curled up into a ball at his feet.

Maxwell scrunched up his nose in distaste, watching the small creature fidget and settle under the boy's ministrations. "I see." He coughed, trying to keep the repulsion out of his words this time, for some unknown reason, not wanting to dampen the proud expression on the boy's face.

His eyes flicked back down to the spider, it's fidgeting increasing as strange noises escaped through it's teeth. "What is it doing?"

Webber followed his gaze, a soft, happy coo slipping past his lips as he continued to pet the spider, scratching and soothing it as it slept. "Aww, I think it's having a dream."

Maxwell couldn't keep the revulsion from dripping off his tongue. "Disgusting."

Webber pouted, glaring at him. "Meanie."

Maxwell rolled his eyes. "I've been called worse." He couldn't seem to pull his gaze away from the strangely moving spider. It was like a compulsion, watching it twist and shake. He couldn't imagine anything in the Constant dreaming. Nightmares, maybe, but dreams?

Perhaps he shouldn't voice that though, he'd rather the boy left it asleep for as long as possible.

"What is that?"

"Huh?"

"On it's leg." Maxwell's eyes lingered on a leg that stuck out unlike the rest of it's scuttling mates, moving a lot more sluggishly if at all as the creature snuffled.

"Oh. An angry puppy got hold of him. But we taught the puppy a lesson."

"Ahh." Of course, there had been the baying of hounds earlier that day. They'd dealt with a few of them in camp, but they had been pleasantly surprised by the dwindled number of them.

Now it made far more sense as to how little there had been.

He tried his best to ignore the strange mix of relief and nausea that bubbled up in his stomach at the thought of Webber playing with spiders and getting rather more than he bargained for.

It also now made sense how he'd managed to bring back so much spider silk with him as well as his little troupe of friends.

"So, why exactly are you keeping it?"

Webber frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "Why?"

"It's injured. It can't be much use anymore."

"He just needs some food!" Webber's voice rose, aghast at the mere suggestion. "He'll be fine in the morning with some food."

"That's a waste of our resources." It was perhaps a little harsh, but a necessary lesson that the boy needed to learn.

Unfortunately, the boy just continued to glare at him, a pout forming as his hands clung to the spider instead of petting him now.

"That's not very nice."

"Maybe not. But everything must have a use in this world, surely you know that."

"He has a use."

Maxwell raised an eyebrow as Webber sulked, no longer meeting his eye. "Oh?"

"He's a friend. That's all the use he needs to be."

What was this painful feeling in his chest?

Maxwell coughed, trying to dislodge the strange sensation from his throat, hoping that he had somehow got something stuck in it instead of anything far worse in his opinion. "Right. Of course."

It was probably for the best that he didn't argue with him anymore, regardless of the strange feeling settling in his stomach.

After all, if he made the boy cry or similarly upset him, he was sure that he would lose the newfound favour that the others had bestowed upon him.

"I suppose..." Maxwell hummed as Webber looked back up at him, eyes suspicious. "You did bring back a lot of resources today that no one was expecting. Surely, no one would mind if you used a spider gland on your... friend here."

Webber's eye lit up for a second before dimming, biting at his lip thoughtfully. "Maybe... We'll wait until the morning to see if he's better on his own first. No waste."

Huh, perhaps some of his words had gotten through.

They sat in awkward silence for a long moment, Maxwell going back to tending the fire uncomfortably as the boy just sat stroking his pet without a word. He sighed as he watched the boy begin to sway, his eyelids drooping every few moments before he sat himself up again and the cycle began anew.

"You should sleep."

"Can't." A yawn cut out his words as he rubbed his eyes. "Gotta keep the fire nice and warm."

"I'm already keeping one fire lit, it won't be hard to do the other as well."

He didn't know why he offered, only that the words slipped from his tongue before he could really think about them.

"Really?"

Maxwell frowned as the boy stared at him. He was more subdued than he had been before, doubtful distrust leaking into that one word like a foul taste.

He was probably just tired, that was all.

"Really. So go to sleep already."

Webber stared at him for a few more moments, eyes wide and scrutinising regardless of how tired he had been only moments before.

"...OK." The small boy jumped up, scooping up the spider into his arms and scurried off to snuggle in amongst the warm, furry bodies he had left beside the other campfire.

Maxwell stared back into the fire once he was sure the boy had passed out completely, trying his best to push down the swell of guilt that beat in time with his heartbeat at how the boy clutched at his injured spider pet as if concerned about what Maxwell might do to him.

~~~

Time stretched strangely in the Constant.

Or perhaps it was just the absence of weeks, dates and days, the constant reminder of routines that embodied the real world that they had lost upon entering this one.

Regardless, Maxwell had no idea how long their group had been together anymore. It felt like mere days and endless aeons depending on quite how frustrated he was with them all.

He could, however, pinpoint that it had been an exact week since Webber and he had had their rather impromptu nighttime conversation.

How? Because the boy had been acting even stranger around him since, enough so that the others were beginning to notice it.

He'd already had to brush aside Wilson's concern and accusations. Taking them in stride that perhaps the boy had just remembered what he had done to him the first time they had met.

For some mind boggling reason, that hadn't reassured the other man, leaving him to also scowl and avoid him for a while.

They were all such emotional beings.

But because of their scrutiny, he'd found it in his best interest to keep an eye on the boy where he could, always making up excuses for why he was going the same way as him when they were out foraging for resources.

Definitely because of the other adults scrutiny. It had nothing at all to do with thoughts of hounds and spiders and Charlie.

No, nothing at all.

It also had nothing to do with making amends for some... unforeseen folly he may have made with his wording.

The trouble was, he wasn't quite sure which part of their conversation had made the boy suspicious of him again.

Not that it mattered- he wasn't keeping an eye on him for that reason... right?

Maxwell shook himself, going back to the tree that he had been chopping down, his latest excuse in following the boy. It did mean that he'd taken his eye off of him for a few moments but if the excuse was going to be believable then he had to have something to show for it. He paused to listen intently, huffing when he heard the boys inane chatter in the forest nearby.

He really didn't need to do much to follow him, he wasn't the most sneaky of creatures to track.

With a groan, he gave the tree one last thwack, the accompanying groan of the tree giving him a rush of satisfaction. Job done, he could once more focus on his daily task. For a little while at least, until he needed to get some more wood to make up for the hours he would spend babysitting so that he had a reasonable excuse when they returned around the same time.

Before he could bundle up the logs however, a loud high pitched shriek rent the air.

It was a sharp sound, one that drove through his heart and left him gasping, it was a sound of distress, of utter pain and it was something that he hadn't heard in a very long time. "Webber." The word came out as a puff of fear, his strides darting him off towards the sound without much thought into how it looked.

He stumbled through the trees, hearing more and more ruckus as he got closer, glad for the iron tight grip he had on his axe.

He may not be the best fighter but at a push he was sure he could be useful.

As long as he didn't accidentally hit one of Webber's little friends.

He came to an abrupt halt at the edge of the clearing, finally taking a moment to assess the situation instead of running blindly in.

It wouldn't do to hinder or make the situation worse.

It was hard to see anything with the multitude of creatures that were fighting in the open area. So many spiders- when had Webber gathered so many little friends? But that still didn't make sense as to why Webber had been-

Ahh.

Maxwell tutted, contempt colouring his face and his words. "Slobbering fools..."

"I kill now!"

The cry set off an alarm bell but to his relief the pigs were focused on the group of spiders encircling them and not the rather larger spider boy that he was more concerned about.

Or so he hoped- he couldn't quite catch sight of the blasted child.

"Come on, come on, where are you- there you are." Maxwell's eyes hooked on a spider that seemed to pull itself up out of the throng, thankfully at the edge of it all. He held a little hand up to his face, scrubbing up and down as if it hurt before coming out of it and turning back towards the carnage.

Maxwell cursed as he pushed back through the spiders, his high pitch yells carrying over to him with their disappointment and frustration.

"No! Stop! Stop fighting!"

Maxwell pushed into clearing just as a pig turned to the small boy running towards it, without a weapon in sight.

"You go smash!"

Webber shrieked again, propelled backwards by the pigs fist. Maxwell winced as his body scraped across the rough ground, smacking straight into a bush with another whining yell. Thankfully, the spiders descended again, just as Webber stood up on shaking legs, holding his arm at an odd angle. He looked ready to try again before his shoulders fell in defeat and he instead he bolted from the fight, scrubbing at his eyes as he did so, his other arm limp at his side.

Unfortunately, he was headed away from Maxwell as well.

"Blast! Webber!" He was already out of sight before the words could escape him. He darted out of the brush, giving the ensuing fight a wide berth as he followed the boy's path.

He hadn't got far.

Maxwell skidded to a halt as he heard sniffling nearby. He looked around in sharp, quick motions, spotting only a large boulder within the vicinity that the boy could be hiding behind.

He took his approach gently, not wanting to startle him into lashing out.

He'd rather not be attacked by a multitude of spiders if he could help it. That would be an awful way to go.

Maxwell poked his head around the rock, taking in the small ball of a boy, curled into himself, his head in his knees as he sniffled pitifully. "There you are."

Webber flinched, head snapping up to stare at him. "Maxwell!" He scrubbed at his eyes, trying his best not to wince as he used the wrong arm to do so. He stood up on shaking legs, leaning back against the rock and hiding his arm behind him in one quick motion. "Uhm- what are- that is- why-"

"I thought I heard a yell." Maxwell cut off the awkward words, not wanting him to freak out more than he already seemed to be.

"Oh." Webber looked down at his feet. "Was probably another spider."

Maxwell frowned. "Are you sure? You look a bit shaken up."

Webber shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Your face says otherwise."

Webber scrubbed at his eyes again, glaring up at him. "Does not."

Maxwell sighed, squatting down to Webber's height. "You're bleeding."

"No, I'm not."

Good lord, children were a pain.

"Then why is there blood on you?"

Webber stared down at his arm, face twisting sulkily as he pushed it further out of sight. "It's not mine."

"Oh, isn't it? Whose is it then?" Maxwell waited as Webber stared off away from him, ignoring him entirely. "You're a terrible liar, Webber." He shuffled closer still, inspecting the small scratch along his cheek as well with a soft tut. "Just let me take a look and get you all patched up. I think I've got some honey poultice in my backpack-"

"No!"

Maxwell froze, hand still outstretched towards Webber. He swallowed, mildly hurt at the rejection of his help. "Would you rather I took you back to camp so Wilson can take a look?" His frown deepened as Webber shook his head fervently. "Then what?"

"S'a waste of resources."

Oh dear.

"Now, how do you figure that?" Maxwell coughed, trying to push down the lump in his throat. It tasted strangely of guilt but he refused to acknowledge that.

Webber shrugged, kicking his feet against the rock. "Cause I haven't done anything useful today."

Oh dear.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Wilson was going to kill him.

"Nonsense."

Webber squeaked as Maxwell took matters into his own hands and picked him up. He propped him on top of the boulder so that he didn't have to squat whilst he did his work. The surprise didn't last long enough though, the young boy speaking up while he was rooting round in his bag for supplies.

"What's nonsense?"

"That you haven't been useful. You're very useful."

Webber shook his head. "Not today though!"

"And? You don't have to be useful every day." Maxwell rolled his eyes, tugging Webber's arm towards him. "Besides, are you saying you wouldn't help someone else at camp if they were hurt just because they hadn't been helpful that day?"

"No!" Webber tried to tug his arm away indignantly, before his eyebrows furrowed deeply and he shot Maxwell a glare. "But you said-"

"And you listened?" Maxwell smirked at him, or as best he could in that moment, when he really felt like grimacing. "Thought you'd know by now that that was a foolish idea."

Webber huffed, but didn't answer. Maxwell took it as a win that his shoulders relaxed and he stopped trying to pull away.

Perhaps he was getting somewhere with that mistake of his.

Not that he was trying to rectify anything, of course.

Webber kicked his feet as Maxwell tended to his wounds, trying his best not to wince or fidget as his arm was bandaged up and the cut on his face was checked over. At least he no longer seemed worried that Maxwell wouldn't help him, or worse would throw him aside like one of his spiders- a thought that Maxwell was pointedly trying not to let take root in his skull, lest the shame of it morph into something more. Instead he turned his gaze back to the way they had come, towards the little dots of light where the pig houses sat, his face falling and scrunching up as if he was trying not to cry.

"Why do they hate me?"

Maxwell sighed at the quiet utterance, hating how it tugged at his heartstrings.

Having a heart was really rather tiresome.

"You shouldn't take it personally." Maxwell pulled away to make them a torch as the gloom made it difficult to finish his work. He could feel Webber's eyes on him, though he stayed silent as if waiting for him to elaborate. Unable to take the silence, he did. "Spiders and Pigs are just natural enemies in the Constant. They can't help but fight one another."

"That's silly."

Maxwell chuckled. "Perhaps. But it's the way things are."

"Things should change."

Maxwell couldn't help but agree, and who was he to say what could and couldn't change after his remarkable fall from grace? "They should. But where would you start?"

"... I don't know. Somewhere. I'll tell the spiders off for attacking pigs."

Maxwell laughed. "Will you tell them off for attacking us too?"

"I do! Spiders understand once you give them food."

"But the others still attack us."

Webber pouted. "And you guys attack back. All silly. All of you. We can all be friends."

Maxwell nodded. "I guess we are all very silly." He finished tying up the last bandages around his arm, tightening it slightly before tugging at the knot. "How does that feel?"

Webber nodded noncommittally, his eyes still locked to the pig houses as if just willing them to understand would make it all come true.

What was this protective urge rearing its ugly head in his chest?

"Do you know the story of the three little pigs?"

Webber turned back to him, tilting his head. "Uh-huh?"

"What's the best thing a pig should make his house from?"

"Stone!" Webber chirped, kicking his feet again, easily distracted from his injuries and dismayed thoughts. Maxwell wished it was that easy when you were older.

"And what have the pigs here made their houses out of?"

Webber hummed, glancing over at the house thoughtfully. "Uhm... wood?"

"Then they better watch out, hadn't they?" Maxwell held out his arms to set Webber back on the ground. "Cause I'll huff and I'll puff-"

Webber squeaked delightedly as he was picked back up, his face beaming as he prodded Maxwell in the chest before being put down. "You're not the big bad wolf!"

Maxwell raised an eyebrow at him, trying to keep a straight face as the child laughed at him. "Oh, aren't I?"

Webber shook his head. "Nu-uh. You don't make noises like the doggies do."

Maxwell choked on a laugh.

"And Wormwood doesn't call you a woofer.”

...Oh the simplicity of childhood.

~~~

Somehow, even with a spider child practically hanging off his arm and talking his ear off, the other camp mates still seemed unsure about him.

Though, perhaps they knew, that a child's attention was about as constant as the tide. It ebbed and flowed depending on what new and exciting thing was happening around them.

One minute Webber couldn't look at him, the next he refused to so much as sit a few feet away from him, all with a drop of a hat as far as the rest of them were concerned.

Then again, he had arrived back in camp with a still mildly sniffling child, his head and arm bandaged up as well as he could- which considering he was hardly used to the task, was not the best.

The fact that Webber had got hurt at all if he could have prevented it, had instantly set some of them off, regardless of the small boy hiding behind his legs as if he was in trouble.

Then again, Maxwell was used to their ire so it was probably for the best they turned on him instead of that fearful scolding that appeared when talking to rather reckless children.

If anything he was rather less fortunate with Wilson's intrigued stare, watching the others snarl and snap whilst he redid Webber's bandages. There was a glint there, a thoughtful tilt to his head, like he knew that Maxwell was forcing the attention on to himself. Forever, the magician on his stage, misdirecting and corralling them as only he knew how.

He was even more unfortunate when he realised Wilson was still watching him when the others took Webber out of his eye line and that irritatingly protective urge reared back up again and plastered it's displeasure across his face. Or perhaps it was more how he relaxed as the small bouncing ball of a boy struggled his way back out of their grasp and scurried back to sit beside him.

...Apparently, he was trustworthy now.

...How naive.

But he guessed, only time would tell, if the others would follow suit or not, after this latest debacle.

~~~

The clinging didn't last for long.

And thankfully the defensive urge fizzled out along with it.

If the child felt confident enough to wander off on his own again, then he would rejoice in his much needed solitude once more.

There was only so... much he could handle.

At least while he'd been on a stage there had always been a general boundary between himself and everyone else. His own personal space, peace and quiet, that had been severely hindered and lacking since joining this confounding group of people.

Which was why it had been a relief to walk in the completely opposite direction that morning, out to gather his own resources without anyone else's input.

That is until he stumbled across his past.

Suddenly, being alone didn't seem quite so appealing.

He stared at his own visage, victorious satisfaction plastered across a stony exterior. His own face twisted in response, an ironic grimace marring skin and flesh. He raised a hand towards the cold carved rock, skimming over the details he remembered requiring in his monument. The outstretched arms, no longer a magician longing for an audience, but a king commanding the attention of one.

He could hear the laughter that wished to rise from the statues lips, that hollow crow that mocked and tormented so many.

He'd been so sure of himself, so eager to push the boundaries between Them and himself.

So eager to please.

It had been so easy to forget that he was just as much a puppet on a string to Them.

Looking back, he wasn't sure when it had happened. When he had changed.

He hadn't been that dark before the Constant, he was sure of it. Before he'd found the Codex.

What had he let Them do to him?

What had he done to himself?

When had he stopped caring?

Or more importantly- when had he started caring again?

"It seems so foolish now..."

Maxwell pulled his hand away from the rock like it burned, but in reality he felt cold. Sickly and clammy as he stared at his reflection- who he was, who he had once been.

He didn't want to be that person anymore.

"Careful now, eh? I don't want to wake up any more of those horses."

Blast.

He was not in the mood for company, especially not now. Not here.

Maxwell's flicked around, settling on a grove of trees off to the side. He darted there quickly, sinking down so as not to be seen, hoping that whoever it was would quickly continue their travels elsewhere.

"You know, I wouldn't mind seeing another. I still haven't figured out how they work."

Ah. Ever the scientist. Maxwell snorted, covering his mouth quickly. If he hadn't watched the other get resurrected over and over again across the Constant, he'd wonder how he'd never got himself into trouble with that scientific curiosity of his.

"I'd rather we didn't, please don't wake any more up, otherwise you'll be answering to Lucy."

"They're boring, they don't play chess properly anyway- hey, whats that?"

Oh drat.

How had he forgotten the rather obvious consequence of the area?

There was no way the others would just carry on their treks when there was a goddamn statue of him standing in all it's glory in the middle of a chess pieces lair.

He guessed he had Charlie to thank for that comedic affair.

...Thanks, Charlie.

His teeth clenched as footsteps got closer and closer to his hiding space. He closed his eyes as one of them whistled, a long, drawn out sound that was laced with disbelief but mostly dripping with sarcasm.

"Heh, he's a lot shorter in person, isn't he?"

Maxwell huffed, covering his mouth to stop from choking out a laugh.

He should be insulted. Offended. But honestly, he was far too used to Wilson by now to be surprised by his impertinence.

If anything he was rather relieved. The scientist had no idea he was listening, he could have said anything in that moment.

A slight to his height was about as good as he could have hoped for given the circumstances.

"Hey, didn't he come this way earlier? You think we can catch up to him?"

Maxwell scowled at Woodie's voice, tightening his curled up position on the floor to make sure they didn't catch sight of him.

No way was he greeting them now. Not if they wanted to converse about... this.

He tried not to sigh in relief at Wilson's non-committal response.

"Shame. Guess we'll have to make fun of him later, eh?"

His scowl deepened.

Heaven forbid he try to forget all of this ever happened.

Then again... he guessed he deserved it really.

"What do you think, Webber?"

Maxwell raised an eyebrow from his hiding space. There was a very pointed tone to that question, nonchalant and yet entirely focused.

He couldn't help but wonder if this was his way of testing the waters, now that he had the boy on his own.

Or well, in front of Wilson but that didn't seem to matter. Unlike him, everyone seemed to trust Wilson.

"Hmm?"

There was a thoughtful lilt to the hum, like Webber was contemplating a lot more than Maxwell could fathom from the tone.

Not that it mattered, obviously. But he was intrigued by how seriously he was taking the question when the other two had mocked his statue.

"We're still a little mad at him..."

Huh. Not as naive as he appeared.

Maxwell was oddly proud of the boy.

Pride. Yes. That's what that sharp feeling in his chest was.

"But only a little."

~~~

The camp had become a lot more bearable now that it was clear that he hadn't upset the spider child. The others were a lot more forgiving in their stares as well as their actions now that the boy ran up to him and chattered inanely at him no matter how hard he tried to dissuade the activity.

He also couldn't stand that knowing smile on Wilson's face whenever it happened.

Thankfully they had all lost interest recently as the seasons changed, and with it, a number of strange objects could be found around the area.

Useless, frivolous items, but he guessed there was a use in them, keeping up morale as they did.

Apparently yelling that he wasn't a vampire when they kept giving him the broken stakes they were finding only heightened their need to find more of them.

And so what if he brought back any he found to add to the growing pile that the others liked so much? It wasn't like he liked them. They were far too tacky for his taste.

It wasn't that he had found a gaudy ring, complete with eight little legs and thrown it towards a small boy. It wasn't his little happy shout of 'A friend for our finger!' that led him to collect more of the items because he might like them.

Not at all.

Never.

He wasn't sure what the others thought anymore as the small boy ran over with his latest find- a small fake spider dangling from a string.

"Maxwell, look! It's a fake friend!" He jiggled it in his face as Maxwell crouched down to take a look at it. "What do you think?"

"Hmm... I think I like the real ones better." Maxwell internally winced, waiting for that disappointed face he found he now loathed when he accidentally put his foot in it. He just couldn't quite keep up a filter around them when he'd never had to before.

Not that it mattered.

Webber grinned at him, eyes lighting up. "Really? Me too! But this is still cool. We should hang it somewhere." And with that he was off, leaving a bemused Maxwell in his wake.

A soft laugh brought him back to his senses.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd grown rather fond of the boy."

Maxwell huffed, feeling his cheeks warm in embarrassment as an indignant strangled noise sat at the back of his throat. He stood up quickly, dusting off his suit as he did so.

"Preposterous. It's a good thing you know better, Higgsbury."

~~~

A/N:  The quote 'Why do they hate me?' was what set this ball rolling. Poor Webber just wants some friends!! I had a lot of fun with game dialogue so hopefully none of this seemed ooc. <3 Hope you enjoyed! xx

[badchoicesposts]

Don’t Dream It’s Over Chapter 19

Series Summary: Liam and Ali thought that their relationship was perfect, but their whole world came crashing down when Constantine called him back to Cordonia. Four years later they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party, determined to make things between them work even if it isn’t always easy.

In this AU, Liam and MC (Ali Moonessar) dated for a year in New York while Leo was still crown prince. They broke up when Constantine asked Liam to come back to Cordonia, but they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party before the social season. The story will contain flashbacks, which will be italicized, of their relationship and follow them as they try to navigate the season with Ali as a suitor. I’ve messed around with the timeline a bit so that it fits the story better. I’ve also added in a few OCs of my own.

Pairing: Liam x MC (Ali Moonessar), Platonic!Drake x MC

DISCLAIMER: I’ve changed up the timeline of the social season a bit to fit my story better. I’ve based it off of some research I did on the British Social Season. Some of the dialogue was taken directly from Book 1 of The Royal Romance but was changed a bit to fit my fic.

Also, I’ve never been pregnant so the small amount of information about pregnancy that I stated in this chapter was based purely on my research on the topic. I apologize if any of it it inaccurate.

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of a panic attack and abortion.

Taglist: @flowerpowell, @ao719, @kingliam2019, @emceesynonymroll, @hopefulmoonobject, @dcbbw, @qammh-blog, @liamxs-world, @drakesensworld, @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @lauradowning29, @texaskitten30, @senseofduties, @indiacater, @alexintheskyy, @jared2612

A/N: This is my first time ever posting a fic. Please let me know if you enjoyed it and would like to read more. I thrive on validation, lol. Thanks for reading!

Catch Up: Masterlist,  Costumes (Don’t Dream It’s Over One shot)

Ali’s shoulders relaxed under the warm spray of water, and she leaned her head against the shower wall, trying to focus on her breathing. It had been two days since she spoke to Maxwell and Bastien, and she had definitely noticed Charlie hanging around more since then. She was glad it was him and not some random member of the guard that she had never met, but it was still strange to know that she needed security.

She turned off the water and wrapped herself in a towel, before wandering back into her bedroom. Her brown eyes swept over the gold dress that she would be wearing tonight, and she bit her lip nervously in anticipation of what was to come. 

Liam had decided that it would be nice to get everyone together for a dinner. He believed that it would be a good chance for all of the noble children to get acquainted with one another. They were the future leaders of the country, and he wanted them all to be on good terms. However, the dinner wasn’t the cause of Ali’s anxiety. Now that they were back at the palace, Liam had taken to spending nights with her again, and she knew that she needed to tell him everything tonight. She couldn’t put it off any longer. He deserved to know. Not to mention, it was dangerous to keep it from him with the looming threat of someone leaking it to the press hanging over her head.

Ali slipped on her dress and shoes, pausing for a moment to look at her reflection in the mirror. The small heart shaped pendant that Liam had given her the night of The Masquerade twinkled as it caught the light, and for some reason it was calming to her. Her eyes travelled down to her stomach, and she placed her hand on top of it. She had been researching pregnancy nonstop for the past few days, and she knew that she probably wasn’t going to be showing anytime soon. By her calculations she was only just barely two months along, and it was by sheer dumb luck that she even found out this early. But, knowing that there was a baby growing inside of her caused her heart to swell with happiness. That is until she remembered who the baby’s father was. 

She dropped her hand, straightened her posture, and left to meet Maxwell. 

“Hey! You’re early,” he said, opening his bedroom door.

He had expected to meet her right before they went downstairs the way he always did. 

“Yeah, I wanted to make sure I was on time,” she said, awkwardly rocking back and forth on her feet. 

Maxwell moved aside so she could come in, and she perched herself on the edge of his bed as she watched him tie his shoelaces. She glanced around his room, her eyes going wide at the book she saw on his nightstand.

“Are you reading a pregnancy book?” she asked with a smile as she grabbed it and began flipping through it.

“Yeah! I figured if I wanted to help you I would need to understand what your body is going through,” Maxwell said as he finished tying his shoe. “Not that I could ever fully understand what your body is going through. You know, with me not having a uterus and all.”

Ali smiled at Maxwell’s sweet words. 

“That’s really nice of you, Max!” 

“I’ve been brushing up on my prenatal yoga too! Not to toot my own horn, but I think I’ll be ready to start teaching classes any day now,” he said, with a smile as he shrugged on his jacket.

“Brushing up? As in you already had prior knowledge of it?” she asked with a playful smile, not really thinking anything of her words. 

A blush rose up onto Maxwell’s face, and he sputtered for a moment. 

“Pshhhh, what! No! Why would I know anything about prenatal yoga? You’re the only pregnant woman I’ve ever met before in my life. Like ever,” he said nervously. 

“Um, okay,” Ali responded confusedly, “Thanks anyway. It’s really sweet of you. You’re gonna be a great uncle!” 

“Not just a great uncle,” Maxwell said returning to his usual demeanor, “I’m going to be Maxwell Jr.’s favorite uncle!”

“Maxwell Jr.?” Ali questioned with a smile. “What if it’s a girl?”

“Maxine,” Maxwell responded immediately. He had obviously given the topic a great amount of thought. 

Ali watched as he made his way around the room, grabbing his wallet and shoving some dirty clothes into a hamper before making his way back to stand in front of her. 

“So, are you excited to tell him?” he asked.

Just like that, the previous fun that they had been having disappeared. She began to fidget nervously again.

“No, I think I’m going to throw up,” she said, running her hand up and down her arms, in attempts to calm herself down.

“Maybe that’s just morning sickness,” Maxwell responded. 

“Trust me. It’s not.”

“I think he’ll be happy,” he said, trying to make her feel better.

Ali looked up into Maxwell’s eyes and saw genuine hope there. It almost made her feel bad for being so cynical. But then she remembered that Maxwell wasn’t the one carrying the future king’s illegitimate child. 

“I guess we’ll see,” she said, wanting to just drop the topic. “So who’s going to be at this dinner?”

“All of the suitors, Ben, Bertrand, Drake, Tariq, me, and two other noblemen I don’t think you’ve met. Neville and Rashad,” Maxwell responded.

She had been briefly introduced to Tariq already, but neither of them had ever gone out of their way to speak to each other, and he had seemed rather dull if she was being honest.

“Is there anything I need to know about these other noblemen?” she asked, as they began to make their way down to the dining room. 

“Well, Rashad is pretty laid back. His only issue is that he doesn’t mind spending time with Neville,” Maxwell continued.

“Wow, Neville’s that bad?” 

“Just be prepared to hear him insult Drake for being a commoner all night.”

“But, I’m a commoner,” she said as they walked through the palace halls.

“Yes, but he can’t insult one of Liam’s suitors right in front of him.”

They lined up with some of the other guests outside of the dining room, and Ali quietly observed the two men that she hadn’t previously met. 

“I better not have to sit next to the commoner,” said one of them as the dining room doors opened. 

“I’ll take a guess and say that’s Neville,” Ali mumbled to Maxwell under her breath. 

He nodded wordlessly, and they found their seats. 

“Of course she’s seated right next to the prince,” Kiara said to Penelope in an undertone as Ali sat down. 

She took a deep breath and psyched herself up for what was sure to be a long night as everyone took their seats as well. 

“Thank you all for joining me this evening,” Liam began once they were all seated. “As we are the new generation of leaders I thought it would be nice for us to spend an evening getting to know each other.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Liam. However, many of us are already acquainted with each other,” Olivia spoke from her place on Liam’s other side. 

There was a brief pause in conversation as the first course was served, and everyone began eating.

“Well, it’s been some time since we’ve all been together like this, and I do believe there are a few new faces here as well,” Liam said with a quick glance in Ali’s direction. “Lady Alison, I believe this is your first time meeting Lord Neville and Rashad.”

“Yes, it is,” she said, placing a kind smile on her face. “It’s very nice to meet you both.” 

“It’s nice to meet you as well, my lady,” Rashad responded politely. 

“Rashad spends most of his time on business trips. He’s often away from Cordonia for long periods of time,” Liam explained. 

“I do enjoy my travelling, but Cordonia is my home,” Rashad elaborated. 

“I completely understand. You can build a new home anywhere in the world, but there’s always a special attachment to the first,” Ali said. 

“Exactly,” Rashad said, a small smile on his face.

“And where was your first home, Lady Alison?” Neville asked. 

“I was born and raised in New York.” 

“Oh,” he said.

“You seem surprised, Lord Neville,” she said, an amused smile on her face. 

“It’s just that you look…” he trailed off, nodding in her direction as if that was supposed to make his point clearer. 

“I’m sorry. How do I look?” she asked. 

“Exotic,” he finished. 

Ali had to stop herself from gagging.

“Yes, well my parents were first generation immigrants. They moved from the Caribbean to The States before I was born, so I was born and raised in New York,” she said, the displeasure evident in her voice.

“Good to see you’re as charming as ever, Neville,” Lizzie said sarcastically, causing the man to narrow his eyes at her.

Liam nudged her foot gently under the table, and when she looked over at him she could see him holding back a laugh. She narrowed her eyes at him and kicked him back harder, biting back her own smile. He let out a small cough to mask his laughter, but this did not go unnoticed by Olivia who was watching their interaction closely.

“Liam, it was so nice of you to set up this lovely dinner. Although, I have to admit I’m not completely sure why Drake’s here,” she said, smirking over at the other man.

“It’s because I’m a joy to be around, Olivia,” Drake shot back sarcastically.

“Yes, the man who never smiles is such a joy to be around,” the redhead responded. 

“Drake has been a fixture at court since he was a child. He has also served as my trusted counsel more times than I can count. It seemed inappropriate to do this without him present,” Liam responded, ending the conversation with a hint of amusement in his own voice, obviously entertained by the interaction. 

“I think Drake’s great!” Maxwell said happily from his spot on Ali’s other side.

“Yes, I’m sure Ali does too,” Madeleine mumbled as she brought her wine glass up to her lips.

Ali narrowed her eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch that,” she said, smiling sweetly. 

Well, this night was going just about as well as she had assumed. 

“I just said that I’m sure you agree with Maxwell’s sentiment. We all know that the two of you are quite fond of each other, but I was wondering when you planned on telling Prince Liam just how fond,” she said, a venomous smile on her lips. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” Ali said, bringing her own water glass to her lips and taking a sip of the cool liquid in attempts to calm the butterflies that had just erupted in her stomach.

“I’m referring to the fact that you’re pregnant with Drake Walker’s child,” Madeleine said, getting straight to the point and looking extremely proud of herself.

Ali, who had still been drinking her water, choked on the liquid and brought the glass back down to the table, attempting to clear her throat as several gasps were heard throughout the room. Maxwell patted her back in a way that was well meaning, but still unhelpful when you were choking on water. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m still not sure what you’re referring to,” Ali said, her voice hard now and her shoulders tense. 

“Oh, aren’t you?” Madeleine said, placing her phone on the table.

Ali and Drake’s voices filled the room from the speaker, and it felt like all the air had been sucked out of it as everyone heard their conversation from the first day of the Apple Blossom Festival. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Yeah, I have.” 

“You can’t ask me to get you a pregnancy test and then pretend like it didn’t happen.”

There was a momentary pause as neither of them spoke.

“Damn, what are you going to do?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’m scared, Drake.”

“We’ll figure it out. I promise,” he said.

“I can’t have a baby! I’m still a baby!” 

“Eh, I think you’re more of an angsty teen than you are a baby.”

“Sorry,” Drake said. “Look, I know you’re scared, but everything’s going to be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

Another moment of silence followed. 

“You have to tell him,” he continued.

“I can’t. I don’t know how.”

The recording cut off after that point, but that didn't matter. It had already confirmed that she was pregnant. 

Ali couldn’t breathe. Her initial reaction was to believe that this was all her fault. If she had just told Liam when she first found out then they wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. He wouldn’t be finding out like this. The room seemed to be closing in on her. She was having a panic attack. 

“Ali,” Liam said her name as he gently touched her arm. 

He was sitting right next to her, but it sounded as if he were a million miles away. Kiara was muttering rapidly in French, and Olivia looked as if she had just been slapped in the face. She refused to even look at Bertrand. Then, a thought occurred to her.

 “You didn’t hear the entire conversation,” she said, her voice hoarse as she tried to breathe normally.

“What?” Madeleine asked, the smile on her lips wavering the slightest bit. 

“The entire conversation. That wasn’t the entire conversation,” she continued, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest. 

“Y-yes, it was,” Madeleine responded, defensively. 

“Actually, it wasn’t. You only heard what the person you had following us bothered to listen to,” Drake finally spoke up. “If you had heard the entire conversation you wouldn’t be making careless accusations.”

“What are you talking about?” Madeleine asked, her anger now evident.

“It’s not his baby, you idiot!” Olivia spoke up, quickly realizing what was going on. 

Ali looked over to Liam for the first time since this conversation began. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her the entire time, and his mouth was still hanging open in shock. 

“I’m sorry you found out like this. I was going to tell you tonight,” she said, rising from her seat and walking to stand next to him. 

Ali grabbed Liam’s hand and placed it on her stomach, still holding onto his wrist tightly. Liam was looking down at both of their hands intently. He didn’t speak for a few moments, but there were tears shining in his eyes when he looked back up to her.

“Are you sure?” 

Ali nodded, and she was surprised at the large smile that crossed his face. Liam shot out of his seat and pulled her into his arms. He effortlessly lifted her off the floor and spun her in a circle. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck in surprise and didn’t bother to stop the laugh that fell from her lips. In that moment they both forgot where they were. They forgot that they were in a room full of people, of women that were supposed to be vying for Liam’s hand in marriage.

“We’re going to be parents?” he asked, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Yeah, we are,” she said, gripping onto the lapels of his jacket tightly. 

Happy tears were streaming down his face as he pressed kiss all over her face. His lips brushed against her forehead, her nose, her chin, and both of her cheeks before he finally pulled her into a sweet kiss. Both of them getting lost in each other.

“Well, this is awkward!” Lizzie said loudly, in attempts to draw them back to their current setting. 

The two of them looked back over to the table to find a mixture of both shocked and confused expressions. Maxwell, Ben, and Lizzie were beaming at them excitedly. Olivia and Madeleine both looked furious but neither of them said anything, while Penelope and Kiara both looked upset, but resigned to the fact that they were never going to be chosen anyway. 

Ali nervously glanced at Liam, but even though they were in an uncomfortable and unconventional situation, the man couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. He kept one hand on the small of her back, and she was interested to see how he would diffuse this situation. 

“Prince Liam, Lady Alison, please come with me,” Bastien said, opening the dining room door and striding purposefully into the room.

Ali shot Liam another nervous look and followed Bastien out the room without a second thought, listening as Liam remained behind for a moment to address the dinner party. 

“This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I told you to tell him,” Bastien mumbled to her under his breath.

“Yeah, it wasn’t what I had in mind either. But, at least we know who was following me,” she said back as Liam joined them. 

“This is bad isn’t it?” Ali said, as he placed his hand on the small of her back.

“It is. But, I can’t seem to care right now,” Liam said, smiling down at her with love in his eyes.

“I’m sure your father will,” Bastien stated, breaking up their conversation and beginning to lead them up to Constantine’s office. “I already have someone up there explaining everything to him.”

They stopped outside of Constantine’s office just in time to see another member of the guard emerging from the room. The man looked shaken up, and he glanced nervously in their direction before continuing down the hall. Liam squeezed Ali’s hand reassuringly before entering the room with Bastien following behind them. 

Constantine was leaning back in his office chair, his hand resting on the desk in front of him. The only light in the room was coming from a lit fireplace in the corner, and it was casting menacing shadows across his face. It almost made him look like a Disney villain. 

“Please, sit down,” he said, gesturing to the chairs in front of the desk. 

Liam pulled one of them out for her and allowed her to get situated before sitting down on a chair next to her. He rested a hand on her knee protectively and looked over at his father, an unreadable expression on both of their faces. 

Ali was doing her best to refrain from showing her nervousness, but it was still obvious by the death grip she had on the wrist of Liam’s hand.

“So, it seems that the two of you have had an… eventful evening,” Constantine said, his voice filled with controlled anger. 

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. If he was looking for an apology he wasn’t going to get one. Her initial reaction was to blame herself, and she still did. She felt terrible for how Liam found out, but Madeleine was the one who had caused a scene.

“Yes, we have. I should be congratulating you. You’re going to be a grandfather,” Liam said, a smirk on his face. 

Ali could tell he was trying to keep the mood light, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on the king. 

“How long have you known?” Constantine asked, his gaze hard as he looked her over. 

“A few days, sir,” she answered, her voice cracking slightly.

Her grip on Liam’s wrist tightened even further, and he reached over to place his other hand on top of hers, gently rubbing circles on her skin.

“And how long did you plan on keeping this information to yourself?” he asked, grabbing a bottle of bourbon from the side of his desk and refilling the glass next to it. 

Liam’s eyes narrowed at his father’s accusatory tone, but he said nothing, his jaw clenched tightly shut.

“I was going to tell Liam after dinner tonight. I didn’t know that Madeleine knew or that she was planning to announce it,” she responded, her voice quiet but stronger this time.

Constantine looked at her appraisingly as he sipped from his glass. 

“You were reckless,” he said, turning in his seat to meet Liam’s eye. 

He laughed humorlessly before continuing. 

“Leo has been reckless since the day he was born. He’s caused countless scandals that we’ve all had to help cover up and do damage control for, but never once has he gotten anyone pregnant!”

“That we know of,” Ali mumbled sarcastically under her breath. 

She saw Bastien hold back a smirk at her comment, but Constantine didn’t seem too pleased with it. 

“Get out! Both of you, get out of my sight!” he yelled, motioning for Ali and Liam to head to the door. “Bastien, stay behind.” 

The two of them didn’t need to be told twice. They both scrambled out of their seats like scolded children and were out of his office in a heartbeat. They stopped once the door had closed behind them, exchanging nervous looks. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said that,” Ali whispered. 

Liam broke out into a grin and went to pull her into his arms, when they heard Constantine’s voice through the door. She brought a finger up to her lips in a shushing motion and pressed her ear to the door, pulling him to do the same.

“You’ve known this for a week, and you still didn’t come to me with it?” Constantine questioned, the same controlled anger in his voice as when they had first entered the room. 

“I’ve only found out for sure a few days ago, sir. I’ve already set Lady Alison up with a guard, and I’ve been keeping her safe since,” the other man responded.

“That’s not the point! I told you to come to me with anything you found out about her, anything that could stop her from becoming queen. But, you kept this information to yourself and now look at what’s happened!”

Ali’s jaw dropped at his words, and Liam had a similar reaction. However, his shock was quickly replaced with anger, and she was forced to grab onto his arm to keep him from storming back into the office. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I believed that due to the… sensitivity of the situation, Alison should have had time to come to terms with things before it was brought to anyone’s attention,” Bastien responded. 

They didn’t stick around for the rest of the conversation. Ali pulled Liam away from the door, and led him back to her room. She shut the door behind him and turned to look to him. They were truly alone together for the first time since he found out about the pregnancy, and she wasn’t sure what to do now. There was a mix of anger and sadness on his face, and she wasn’t sure which topic she should address first: the pregnancy or his father’s intention to keep them apart.

She opened her mouth and closed it a few times, trying to figure out what to say. She kept searching for an articulate and neat way to tell him everything that was going through her mind, but when she couldn’t she just let the words spill out of her mouth. She told him about the Drake and the pregnancy test, about how someone (apparently Madeleine) wanted to make the press believe that Drake was the father. She told him about the guilt she had been feeling for keeping the pregnancy from him and how sorry she was for not doing it sooner. She let out all of her fears about what was going to happen now that everyone knew, but reminded him that she loved him and wanted this baby more than anything in the world. 

Liam listened intently as she rambled on. She was about to start talking about what Constantine said when Liam stopped her. 

“That was a lot of information to get in thirty seconds,” he joked, pulling her down to lay on her bed beside him. 

She cuddled into his side, her face burning with embarrassment.

“Are you mad?” 

“About what?” he asked, furrowing his brows in confusion and running his hand up and down her back. 

“That I’m pregnant. That I didn’t tell you sooner,” she said.

He sighed and pulled her closer into him. 

“I understand why you needed some time, but I do wish I hadn’t come out the way that it did,” he said. 

“I’m so sorry. I was so scared, and I wanted to tell you, but I just kept picturing the worst case scenario, and every time I decided to tell you I would remember that your father didn’t think I would be a good queen, and-” she began rambling once again, her words coming out in a nervous jumble before Liam quieted her. 

“I know that it wasn’t your intention for this to happen. I’m more upset with the situation than I am with you. If I wasn’t crown prince, if we didn’t have to worry about the press or the people, if I was just a normal man, then we could be celebrating instead of worrying right now,” he said more to himself than to her. “I still can’t believe we’re going to be parents.” 

His voice was more cheerful when he said this than it had been a moment ago.

“Are you okay with everything?” she asked. 

“I should be the one asking you that,” Liam chuckled.

“Well, you just found out that you’re going to dad and that your dad is a snake, so I just figured you may need more comforting than me right now,” she tried to say nonchalantly, but the bitterness was still evident in her voice. 

“I can’t believe he was looking for ways to discredit you,” Liam said, running his hand down his face.

“I’m just glad he never found anything. I’ve never been more thankful for my boring ass life,” she said with a laugh. 

“Your life isn’t boring,” Liam said, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“It was! Before I came here my time consisted of me going to work, class, and then going home to binge watch Criminal Minds,” she said, pulling herself out of his arms and sitting up. “But, look at me now. I moved to a different country, and got knocked up by the future king.”

Ali looked into Liam’s eyes and smiled softly as his hand came up to cup the side of her face. 

“We’re really having a baby,” he murmured, sitting up and pulling her into a gentle kiss. 

Ali sunk into his embrace, her body falling on top of his as he lay back on the bed once again. He kissed her softly, not willing to pull away from her until they were both desperate for air. 

“I love you,” he mumbled, before flipping them over and moving down to lay his head against her stomach where he repeated the words once again. 

Ali smiled and began running her fingers through his hair. Liam’s arms wrapped around her hips as she did this, and it was just a matter of minutes before he was lulled to sleep by her gentle touch and soft breathing. 

Ali woke the next morning to find Liam sleeping soundly beside her. She was still in her dress from the previous night, but he had woken up at some point in the night and pulled her blankets over their bodies. She sat up in bed and raised her arms above her head, stretching her muscles. Two arms snaked around her waist, pulling her back into the bed. Liam rested his head against her shoulder and pressed a few soft kisses to the exposed skin of her neck as his hand lovingly caressed her stomach.

“Good morning, my love,” he mumbled sleepily against her skin. 

Ali turned to rest on her side so she could face him.

“Good morning,” she said, tracing the stubble on his jaw with the tips of her fingers. 

He turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her palm, opening his eyes fully for the first time that morning and taking in the expression of the woman lying next to him. 

“You look upset,” he observed, his voice still gravelly from sleep.

“I’m not upset. Just a little anxious,” she admitted. “What do you think your father’s going to do?”

Liam sighed and pulled Ali into him. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes. 

“I’m not sure,” he began, his mind already reeling with ideas of how to proceed from here. “By now the news has probably made its way around. He can’t deny the pregnancy because a room full of people heard it confirmed.”

“I still can’t believe you found out like that,” Ali groaned, pushing her body closer into his. “I always imagined telling the father of my child that I was pregnant in a cutesy way. Not by being outed at a formal dinner party.”

The sound of Liam’s laughter filled her ears, and she pulled herself up so that she could glare at him.

“It’s not funny!” 

Liam tried to suppress chuckles and sat up next to her when he failed. 

“I don’t know how we ended up here, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead when his laughter finally subsided. 

A loud knock interrupted their moment and they exchanged looks of disdain. 

“So, time to face this, huh?” she asked, getting up and trying to straighten the dress she had fallen asleep in. 

“We’ll do it together,” Liam reassured her, getting to his feet and grabbing his jacket from where he had carelessly thrown it on the floor the night before. 

Ali took a deep breath and opened her room door. A pair of blue eyes were looking back at her with sympathy.

“The queen wants to see you and the king wants to see Liam,” Charlie said, taking in their disheveled appearance. 

“What are they trying to do by separating us?” she narrowed her eyes and looked back at Liam. 

“I don’t know, but you should change before you meet with Regina,” he said, stepping forward and giving her a gentle kiss. “Don’t worry, I promise everything will be okay. And, don’t let her intimidate you.”

“That’s a lot easier said than done!” Ali called after his retreating frame. 

“Everything will be okay!” he called back. 

Ali looked over at Charlie incredulously, but the man simply shrugged in response. She rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. 

“Give me a second to get changed.”

She dressed quickly, not wanting to keep the other woman waiting, but also not at all looking forward to their meeting. The fact that Constantine and Regina wanted to meet with them separately didn’t sit well with her. Why couldn’t they speak to them together?

“How bad do you think this is going to be?” she asked Charlie as he trailed alongside her on their way to meet the queen. 

“I don’t know, but remember she can smell fear,” he joked in attempts to cheer her up. 

Ali glared at him and he shrunk away from her gaze, shooting her a sheepish smile in apology. 

“Okay, I can do this,” she said to herself, straightening her spine and knocking on the door to Regina’s study. 

“Come in,” the queen called through the door. 

“Good morning, ma’am,” Ali said as she entered the room .

“Lady Alison, please join me,” she said, motioning to the small sitting area of the room. 

Ali awkwardly perched herself on the edge of the chair next to Regina’s.

“Tea?” the woman asked, already pouring hot tea into a small teacup and handing it to her. 

Ali accepted the cup and took a small sip of the liquid. She had always been a coffee person and didn’t really care for tea, but she thought it would be inappropriate to refuse it. 

“So, it seems that we have run into a spot of trouble,” Regina began, leaning back comfortably in her chair. 

Ali mustered up a small smile, but remained silent. 

“Of course, we can’t deny the rumors that have already begun to spread. Not when an entire dinner party heard it confirmed.”

“I’m sorry that happened. It was my intention to tell Liam in private, but Madeleine announced it before I had the chance to speak with him,” Ali said, bringing the teacup back to her lips again. 

“Yes, well Madeleine’s actions were unfortunate for all of us,” Regina responded, a hint of anger in her voice. 

Ali nervously glanced out the window, unsure who Regina was more angry with, her or Madeleine.

“But, that being said, we can still take care of this before it gets out of hand. So, how much?”

Ali furrowed her brows in confusion.

“I’m sorry, how much what?” she asked, placing the teacup back onto its saucer and putting it down on the small table in front of them.

“How much do you want to make our little problem go away,” Regina said casually.

Ali’s jaw dropped, and she made no attempt to regain her posture, her mind moving a million miles a minute. 

“M-make our problem go away!” she said incredulously. “You mean to get rid of it?”

“Yes,” Regina replied calmly. 

“Oh, my god!” she said, shooting out of her chair and pacing up and down in front of the queen. “I- I can’t believe… I don’t want money!” 

She continued her meltdown, the queen relaxing in her chair, watching her reaction with a look of amusement. Ali felt sick to her stomach at the proposition. Even more so to the fact that Regina seemed to find her reaction entertaining. 

“Come now, you can’t possibly believe that you and Liam are just going to have this child and live happily ever after can you? The fact that you’re carrying an illegitimate heir to the throne is bad enough, but that can still be remedied. However, Cordonia would be doomed if you became queen,” Regina said with a laugh. 

Ali opened and closed her mouth repeatedly in a way that resembled a fish. She had no idea what to say to that. 

“Yeah, cause I’m sure the people would just love the thought of me aborting Liam’s baby,” she finally said sarcastically. 

“Oh, no, not an abortion. You lose the baby and run home to New York overcome with grief. Liam mourns for a day or two and then chooses another one of the suitors and moves on with his life,” Regina states, a feigned look of sympathy on her face.

Ali let out a humorless laugh and gripped the sides of her head in her hands. 

“So you would just lie to everyone?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, you really have it all figured out, don’t you?”

“Yes.” 

“Well, sorry, but that’s NOT going to happen,” she said, turning without another word and walking out the door. 

She ran straight into the Charlie in the hallway, tears welling up in her eyes as the weight of Regina’s words fully came down on her. 

“Where’s Liam?” she asked him through gritted teeth. 

“I think he’s back in his office. I take it the meeting didn’t go well,” he said, looking over her red rimmed eyes. 

She turned and walked into the direction of Liam’s office without another word, barely aware of the man trailing behind her. Already overcome with emotion, she threw his door open without even bothering to knock. 

“You’re stepmother just offered to pay me off to have an abortion and leave the country!” she shrieked.

“What?” Liam asked, caught off guard because of her sudden appearance and not fully processing her words.

“I’ll make a terrible queen anyway, so you can just tell everyone that I lost the baby and decided to leave, and then you can just move on with your life!” she continued, beginning to pace the length of his office now instead. 

“My love, please calm down,” Liam tried to say in a soothing voice.

However, this only served to agitate Ali even more.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” she yelled hysterically. “I’ve never been more insulted or disgusted in my life! And that’s saying something considering I’ve spent the past three years as a waitress for drunk frat guys!”

“Bastien, Drake, please give us a minute,” Liam spoke into the corner of the room behind her. 

Ali turned and noticed the two men standing there for the first time since she entered. They both looked extremely uncomfortable and wasted no time in heading to the door. 

Liam’s heart broke as he looked back at the woman he loved. He had seen Ali upset on several occasions. He had seen her break down and have panic attacks. He knew what her bad depression days looked like, and he knew what she was like when she was feeling insecure. But, the man had never seen her look this distraught. There were tears streaming freely down her face, and her entire body was shaking. 

“My love, look at me,” he said, walking over to her and taking her face into his hands. “That is not going to happen.”

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead, keeping his mouth against her skin for a few moments longer, in attempts to calm her down. His thumbs unconsciously stroked her cheeks, wiping away her tears. Ali wrapped her hands around Liam’s wrists, desperate to keep him close to her after the things that Regina said. As they stood there, the sound of Ali’s sobs the only noise filling the room, neither of them knew what to say, only that they needed to be near each other. 

After her breathing had finally returned to normal, Ali released Liam’s wrists. She was about to move away from him when he pulled her back into him, their chests pressed together and his forehead resting against hers. 

“Marry me,” he whispered softly.

[jeksburydigital]

Circus/Freak show AU Part 1

Charlie beamed and spun in a circle, her arms outstretched. Maxwell smiled softly, glad she was enjoying herself.

"Oh, Maxie, it reminds me of our first show!" She chirped as she motioned at the large carnival around them. Looking around, he had to admit it really did. The two had met at the circus, both performing magic tricks, and a majority of their first night working there had been spent exploring and trying to catch each other's eye. It had been at least eight years since then, the two now happily married and extremely successful in the magic industry, performing on big stages in packed theatres. It was nice to be able to take her on a date like this, away from the screaming fans and busy schedules. "Maxie, look!" Charlie's bubbling laughter snapped him out of his thoughts. The Vietnamese woman was pointing towards a large, long tent with a sign reading 'Sir Machavelli's House of Monsters, Beasts, and Freaks'. Maxwell couldn't help but smile; their first kiss had happened in one of these freak show attractions, so of course Charlie would be excited to go inside.

She grabbed his hand and dragged him inside, laughing with him as he stumbled over his own gangly legs. The inside was filled with what he expected; fish tails sewn on dead monkeys, cheap taxidermy, and other such obvious hoaxes, though it was still fun to point and snicker quietly to themselves. As they reached the end of the long 'hallway' they noticed a man in a brightly striped suit standing on a circular stage with a large curtain. A small crowd was gathered around him, and Charlie eagerly rushed over.

"Ladies and gents, what we have here is a bonefied monster straight from the depths of your nightmares!" The man, who Maxwell assumed was 'Sir Machavelli', proclaimed to the crowd. "What you are about to see may very well stop your heart! For those of you with with a weak mind or stomach, it is advised you look away now. Behold, the horrifying... Arachnide!!" He yanked back the curtain to reveal a tall cylindrical cage, and Maxwell couldn't help the shudder that rolled down his spine. A performer hung from a fake tree, wrapped up in a silvery rope or wire of some sort. The person inside was very convincing, he'd give them that. He couldn't seem to find the seams on their extra limbs, and the way their additional eyes gazed at the crowd, unblinking, was unnerving indeed. He was impressed.

The audience shrank back with disgusted gasps, parents pulling their children closer on instinct. Even Charlie took a step back, eyes wide with a mixture of shock, awe, and the slightest trace of fear. Maxwell, to the surprise of both the showman and the crowd, stepped closer, enamoured by the craftsmanship of the costume. He leaned against the polished wood if the stage, staring up at the actor. Eight eyes stared back, the two human ones (the real ones, he reminded himself) filled with curiosity and confusion. They began to lower themself, still upside down, the string seemingly coming from their mouth. Maxwell felt a spike of irritation at that; no performance was worth an actors health, and he doubted that keeping all that material hidden in their jaw was comfortable. Their faces were level with one another now, and Maxwell found himself confused at the genuine look of awe on the other's face. Their plush lips were parted slightly, the ends of thin fangs peeking out, and a set of spindly fingers began clutched the bars of the cage. Another hand slowly crept forward, hesitant, reaching between the bars. The younger person's fingers had just barely grazed Maxwell's cheek when a thick wooden pole was shoved between the bars, hitting the performer in the face. Maxwell felt sick at the sight of blood oozing from their nose, the actor now hanging limply from the wires, clearly disoriented by the hits.

"You've taken this act too far!" Maxwell shouted, enraged. Charlie was quickly at his side, looking just as angry, if not more. She had always been protective of the younger employees during their time at the circus, and she had clearly kept that attitude. "I want to speak to your employer; your treatment of this actor is inexcusable!!" By now the other members of the audience were filing out, disgust on their faces as they pieced together that an actor had just been harmed for a stunt. Machavelli glared heatedly at Maxwell and Charlie, though his eyes filled with panic as he leapt between them and the cage, cutting off Charlie attempts to reach out to the young performer.

"You don't understand what you're dealing with here!" He seethed. Charlie moved to get around him only to be stopped once more, and Maxwell felt a surge of pride as he noticed her discreetly snag the keys from the man's belt. "I don't have time for this!" He griped, pulling the curtains closed. "I'm going on break. I doubt I'll get any more customers with the scene you just made." He stormed off, grumbling about idiotic tourists getting too close to the stage. As soon as he'd gone, Charlie hopped up onto the stage, pulling back the curtains once more. The actor was still hanging upside down, staring at the two unblinking, eyes wide and almost hopeful. Charlie jingled the keys with a triumphant smirk before unlocking the door. She pulled it open and stepped inside, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket to wipe the blood off the other's face. She clicked her tongue in disappointment as she cleaned their face, her brows knitting together in confusion as she noticed the lack of red. When it smeared, the substance was actually revealed to be a dark purple. She paused, looking at where the six arms connected, at the eyes, and by the time her pulse had quickened in realization, the creature had already dropped fully to the floor, tilting it's head at her inquistively.

"Max," She breathed, frozen in shock. Maxwell, oblivious to the reasoning behind her reaction, approached them, believing the 'actor' to be more injured than originally thought. It didn't take him long to come to the same conclusion as Charlie as soon as he got a better look at the thing crouched on the floor of the cage.

"We need to leave," He choked out after a few tense seconds of silence, hoisting Charlie to her feet. He didn't hesitate to then scoop up the creature, trying not to focus on the disturbing feeling of six hands clutching desperately at his shirt. Charlie lifted the cloth of the tent walls and peered outside. Upon seeing no one, she motioned for Maxwell to follow her. From there, it was a tense journey back to their car, having to avoid staff and visitors alike. Thankfully the parking lot was empty, everyone already enjoying the shows and games out on the massive grassy field. Maxwell hurriedly placed the being in the backseat, climbing in beside it as Charlie got in the driver's seat. She started driving almost immediately, bareky giving Maxwell anytime to clip not only his seatbelt, but the newly freed Arachnide's as well.

As Charlie pulled out onto the highway, the fact that they had a legitimate spider human in their car sank in. It was hard for Maxwell to be afraid when there were three sets of hands grabbing onto his arm, the Arachnide looking around wide-eyed, obviously having very rarely, if ever, left their cage. They (She?? The thing had a rather feminine form, but he couldn't be sure) kept cautiously letting go of Maxwell's at, with two or three of their hands to gently run their fingers over every surface they could, only to quickly draw back and return to clinging to Maxwell like a lost child. It was a tense two hour drive back to their house, fear of being caught gripping their hearts every time they stopped for gas. As soon as they pulled into their garage, Maxwell rushed their new acquaintance inside, setting them down on the sofa and quickly backing away, nervous. The creature looked around, made a distressed chittering noise, and scurried over to the corner of the room farthest from Charlie and Maxwell. They stuck their thin fingers into their mouth and pulled out what Maxwell now realized was a strand of spider silk. They stuck it to the wall, then added another, and Maxwell wondered dazedly if the rapidly forming web would peel the paint. He turned to make eye contact with Charlie, both equally stunned by their impromptu rescue mission, let out a slight wheeze coupled with a trembling smile, and promptly fell to the floor unconscious.

[nicoletteduclare]

 These fireside meetings were always a bore, and Maxwell tried not to close his eyes for the brief respite that it would provide if only for the fact he did not need an earful right now. Someone giving him grief for not paying attention would require him to actually reply, and to reply, well, he'd have to cough up the whole reason for this meeting quite literally. That would be a whole new conversation and involve more questions and annoyance then Max was particularly interested in dealing with.

Besides, there was a headache blooming behind his temples, most likely thanks to the flowers in his throat. There were very few people he'd humor with listening to right now. They're all complaining about managing their own (admittedly, rather fragile for most of them) sanity more often. The surprising fact is that he is too. Unlike the lot of them, though, Maxwell is acutely aware of the source.

It would be lovely if they could just finish up already, he can make out some idea of moving camp, seeing as they can't seem to find the source, and he closes his eyes to ignore the shadow out of the corner of his eye, desperately wanting to cough.

This batch seems like it'll be painful. The dark petals are amazingly useful, or, well, they would be if he could actually use the codex more often, but having them come up randomly is quite damaging, even to his own mental resilience. Not to mention his physical state, which is far more delicate. There's been quite a lot of blood lately. Feels like his mouth always tastes of copper.

Even as a child who was far too eager to believe in magic and the fae, even then, Maxwell had considered this a myth. Coughing up petals because the heart yearns for someone and never telling them, being scared to tell them? Absolutely ridiculous, a complete fairy tale. Not to mention that he'd completely been too afraid to tell Charlie for at least a good few months, and he'd never coughed up petals then.

And he absolutely loved her, loved her so much... and then he'd managed to screw the whole bloody thing up and fail to protect her and ruin the both of them. If he'd just... if he'd only...

That always left a bitter taste in his mouth, petals or no petals and Maxwell valiantly tried to shake the thoughts of the past from his mind. That, honestly, is probably the biggest reason for these blasted flower petals, though there are quite a few.

Why get close to someone else again, when all he's ever brought to anyone is misery? Why fail someone again? He's ruined every single good thing in his life through a wonderful mix of no forethought and too much pride. Everything good crumbles in his hands, and who's to say, even if his affections where returned, that it wouldn't blow up in his face, that he wouldn't fail and ruin them the same way he'd ruined Charlie. What if they ended up worse off than Charlie?

What was the point of even considering that it was possible?

He'd rather let himself choke to death on flowers before letting that happen to someone that he cares about again.

There's a nudge from his side, and his eyes flutter open. "I'm really starting to wonder if you ever pay any attention to anything we talk about." Wilson was practically glaring at him, a scowled frown on his face.

He either has to reveal the petals by coughing them up or just swallow them down, and as painful at it is, Maxwell chose the later, looking away from Wilson to speak. "I pay plenty of attention, Higgsbury." Even though his throat ached, probably scratched raw, he managed a dry, even tone, though it was a little strained.

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose, an annoyed sigh escaping and Maxwell noticed the brilliant flower crown perched quite nicely on his head. "Whatever you say. We're going to start moving camp tomorrow, maybe see if there's something new we've missed that's driving everyone insane. It's been getting pretty bad... though I doubt it even bothers you."

He just nodded along, pretending that whatever it was absolutely did not bother him, and watched Wilson sigh again and get up. A few moments in front of the fire before turning to go off to the tents, and Maxwell is glad they're all scattering, he can feel the urge to cough start to rise.

If only Wilson knew the half of it.

Though, if he even knew... Maxwell bit his tongue to keep from coughing just yet and moved to go find a quiet, private area to discreetly cough up the blasted mess from his throat. If he knew, it wouldn't matter anyway.

-

It'd been what, a few weeks since they'd completed moving, a setting up the new camp (not too far from the old camp, they'd judged about a half a day's walk back and forth was far enough if it was something new they'd missed that was draining sanity) and yet... Wilson pitched the bridge of his nose. He'd just staved off a headache and the shadows at the edge of his vision, between flower crowns and green mushroom caps. No one else seemed to be fairing any better either.

What a waste of a good chunk of their fall prep period then. They could have stayed put and put more effort into making the best of the fall growing period before winter made any sort of plant growth stop. It probably wouldn't be a disaster, they did have good stores in place already, but it was frustrating that this move solved nothing.

He flipped through his journal to the last handful of pages, where he'd been writing down various scenarios. He still thought that it was something new he was overlooking. Maybe it was small, like a new flower. He wouldn't be too surprised, the roses were something he overlooked until he needed a flower and got thorns in his hand.

Some of the other things seemed a little less probable. He doubted anything underground could affect them up here, and he wasn't sure there actually was a cavern below them. And something they used might have started to drain their sanity, but he really doubted that.

There was a note about feeling better after leaving camp, and Wilson frowned. He'd forgotten about that. Maybe someone had drug something back, and didn't realize what it was doing?

That would be a bit harder to find, really. They may have brought it back to trade with the pig king later, like other new trinkets that occasionally showed up. Or maybe something like the rose pedestal, something that followed light, and hung around camp if you were unlucky to find them.

He could ask Max for help, honestly. This obviously wasn't affecting him, the man rarely ended up in the mental state the rest of them constantly were trying to avoid; Max's occasional careful use of the shadow amulet excluded.

If anything, Maxwell would at least tell him if something seemed completely impossible. While his memory wasn't infallible, he at least could have some knowledge of what one could do in control of this world. Though, stubborn bastard he was, Wilson didn't doubt he might have to bribe him with doing a few hated chores.

Though... that brought to mind the fact Maxwell had been trading off his shifts for night watch for other chores. Hadn't... Wilson thought back. Maxwell had actually asked to trade a shift for going down below for lightbulbs and mushrooms with Wolfgang.

Wilson wasn't sure as to why Maxwell hated the underground so much, but he'd had his suspicions that the enclosed, dark space was uncomfortably close to the throne room he'd found Maxwell in at the end of his little adventure. 

So that was one of the chores Max used almost always tried to shove off onto him. And Maxwell usually tried to trade that off for a night shift if he couldn't weasel his way out of it, Wickerbottom might have permanent insomnia, but Maxwell was frequently also victim to it and so it was an easy swap.  

He had also been going off on his own a lot, avoiding everyone really, though that wasn't surprising, but he usually had one of his shadow puppets out. Now Wilson tried to remember the last time he'd even seen Max with a shadow clone.

Perhaps Maxwell wasn't as immune as he thought, though the underground thing was still a bit of a mystery. Something was going on there.

He'd have to ask, really. Wilson didn't expect a straight response, Maxwell used to not even let him know when he'd been injured. Fun, discovering that your only companion at the time was incapacitated because of an internal wound. That he'd known of. Weakness always seemed to be something Maxwell hid.

Maybe some of the others would think Maxwell was up to something, and

honestly, a cynical bit of him said he was stupid for not really entertaining the idea. But as much as he argued with Maxwell, he was fairly certain Max wasn't about to stab him in the back. 

He could hear someone stiring, a tent rustling as someone pulled open the fabric, and he looked up. It was time for a new shift, and Wilson's shoulders relaxed. It'd be good to get some sleep.

He'd talk to Maxwell in the morning. It'd be a nightmare, but Wilson would either have an assistant (he could almost hear Maxwell denying being one, and the mere thought produced a smile,) or manage to get him to admit that something was wrong.

-

Death was becoming far too frequent, though it wasn't like any of them really noticed, or at least if they did, none of them pressed it. The most reaction he'd picked up on was Willow muttering something about being irresponsible, and he almost scoffed at her. He couldn't remember exactly what of this lovely floral disaster was the crux of all of his dying, the usual fog of revival masked it.

Since he couldn't remember, and he didn't want to exactly risk being found out, Maxwell fell into the habit of being alone for his own sake, and in some ways, everyone else's as well.

The idea of this... affliction, being found out, was mortifying. Besides the agonizing questions, this did destroy some of the facade he'd worked hard to put up; that none of them meant anything to him. And considering that, the idea that his affections would even be remotely reciprocated was downright laughable in the worst possible way. Much like the rest of his life, a giant cosmic joke.

So, Maxwell had accepted the thorny stems, sharp edged rust red and ink black petals, and the pain that came with it as his penance for even daring to let his heart consider another love after the first one had been utterly demolished by his own hubris. The headaches, the shadows out of the corners of his eyes, the world slowly becoming a gray husk shot through with streaks of red? That was an added bonus. Even as he managed to keep himself from teetering at the edge of his sanity, the world was never quite as vibrant as it should have been.

The time between deaths was getting shorter, and the Maxwell couldn't help but wonder if there was a point where the time between his deaths would be only hours. That, or he'd finally succumb to the terrorbeaks.

Maybe this is what he deserved. It was about time, considering how many years it's been since Charlie pulled Wilson from the throne and threw the two of them together. Besides, the guilt surrounding this mad little game he'd thrown together certainly wasn't enough.

Just as well to have a bloody punishment to fit the crime.

The last death was only a week ago, or was it five days? One of the two, and no matter, even though he couldn't remember the circumstance surrounding the last handful of deaths, something told him this was near the end. He was on his hands and knees at the base of a pine tree.

He'd actually been trying to make himself useful for once, what a joke, honestly. There was a tiny notch in the tree from an axe, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the not-so-tiny pile of blood soaked petals underneath him, more blood dripping from his mouth as he stared at them, eyes trying to focus under the strain.

His arms were shaking to hold up his weight, and yet, as he heard a voice, Maxwell tried to force himself to stand. A mix of pride and self-preservation, he couldn't let this be seen. Especially not by...

"Stars and atoms, Maxwell, what the hell are yo-..." The question was left unfinished as Max's strength left him, collapsing back down as he choked up more petals, an awful gagging noise before silence. Wilson was already next to him as there was a pathetic gasp for air, a warm arm trying to help him up or heimlich, one of the two, winding underneath, but it was far too late this time.

-

The next thing Maxwell could remember was the cold marble flooring that meant camp, and that frankly, was absolutely terrifying. He hadn't had the materials, or really the strength to recreate a meat effigy since the first death by his affliction; touchstones were his main means of revival while he worked to at least manage the coughing fits somewhat.

Instead of the wood and broken stone around a touchstone, dead pig heads staring at him, Wilson was looking at him in the twilight, a small fire going, his own pack tossed nearby.

The place seemed... empty, for camp. Usually there was a lot more fuss if someone was revived, and while there was a little bit of relief towards that, it was... unnerving until he saw the lack of any of their usual structures, things were broken down to be reused. It was their old, recently abandoned camp, seeing as the fire-pit was still in good condition.

He hadn't gotten up yet, eyes just tracing so he could figure out what to do, but before he could get farther into figuring out the situation, Maxwell was joined by Wilson kneeling next to him.

"Why didn't you tell anyone, you absolute idiot!" He hissed between his teeth as he dug for something. While it was obvious he'd died, the reality of the situation didn't quite set in as he gave Wilson a confused look before pushing himself away in shock, sitting up.

Wilson must have seen him die. Logically, then, Wilson had seen the petals. Not that he could remember the man's reaction, which was probably a good thing, but it was the only conclusion to his words. However, this posed a problem.

Wilson knew.

That was quite frankly terrifying; and while he was trying to process this horribly unlucky turn of events, Maxwell couldn't react before there was a godawful needle jabbed into his arm, the sleeve having been pushed up before he was fully awake.

"How long?" Wilson asked, eyes alert and narrowed as he practically glared at Maxwell, before turning back to the bag, fishing something else out with a mutter of "Frankly, if it wasn't for my mother's stories about her younger sister's death due to this, I wouldn't believe it." Maxwell used the mild distraction of rustling for something to stand up, his own pack was near enough to scoop up, ignoring the wobble in his legs.

"It's none of your business, Higgsbury." Lies are so easy, still, and but this one was quiet, Maxwell's shoulders tensed as he backed up, ignoring the gold chain in Wilson's hand.

It's dropped back into the bag as Wilson stood up, glaring at Maxwell, arms crossed. "None of my business? Really, Maxwell?" Looking away was so much easier then confronting this. Heavens, everything truly does go wrong, doesn't it.

"You think that it's 'none of my business' when this is probably what's been affecting the rest of us? I saw the kind of petals you're dealing with, I'm not stupid. Not to mention that you're wasting resources then. I thought you might have just gotten into a few scrapes, but no, you were hiding this from us. You think that it isn't my business? Really?" It's certainly venomous, and while it looks like Wilson might have more to say, he isn't in the mood for this, teeth clenched to keep himself from coughing up more of the blasted petals right then, before he turned on his heel, not a word, and walked away, ignoring the start and stop of Wilson's voice trying to protest.

It was always a lost cause, he knew that from the get-go, but this proved it far past a shadow of a doubt, and Max knew that he was going to be saddled with this for a long, long time, as he closed his eyes and made his plans, heading for the woods.

-

Maxwell sorted through the pack, making sure his things had been undisturbed by any other survivor or monster that might have stumbled upon his bones from the last death. The codex was there, despite how useless it was in his condition.

Every little bit of sanity counted, but on the off-chance he was surprised by a giant or something, a shadow fighter might buy him some time to get away. He already had enough deaths to handle.

Then there was his winter gear, traps and tools, water skin, some medical supplies; bandages and salves, plenty of torches and fire wood, and finally, thankfully untouched, was his stash of food. Nothing extremely wonderful, Maxwell wasn't stupid enough to risk being found to stop and make a crock pot, but rabbits and moleworms were easy enough pickings to supply him with meat, along with berries and carrots and the occasional gobbler.

He'd retrieved a few choice materials in the middle of the night, after Wilson revived him, but frankly, he'd already had most of his own supplies. Thankfully, his tent and chest were at the outskirts of camp by choice, and he was quiet enough to head off without anyone noticing. He hadn't actually taken much more then the winter gear and his copy of their maps, the essentials considering that it'd turned to winter only a week after he'd left.

He had a walking death sentence. Carrying more then the basics seemed stupid.

Still, sometimes it was a bit obnoxious, he wouldn't mind having a fur roll to wrap around himself right about now. Instead, he shivered as he slid the vest off the skeleton and retrieved his stupid looking but warm hat. He managed both of them on before pulling out a frozen thermal stone out of the interior pocket of the vest, another shiver wracking his body.

He slid the thermal stone back into his pack to reheat soon, pulling out the map of the underground caves instead, x's through certain locations. He'd have to mark it off properly once he got a fire started, but he mentally noted where he'd been in the caves when he'd woken up. Another touchstone down.

It was obvious that he was going to run out of them soon, but he didn't want to, well, he couldn't really face any of the other survivors right now. Knowing Wilson's inability to keep his mouth shut (far more charming when it was about science, less so when it dealt with... well, this, and he probably had, as he said, it affected everyone,) he had to hope none of them had believed it. He wouldn't have, certainly. Even with the reality of honest to god magic, Maxwell would have scoffed at the idea of this fairytale being real. It was a story, told to children and young adults to warn them away from being foolish with their hearts. To keep people from pinning for those they couldn't be with.

Well, he'd never been good at listening to warnings, had he? His chest ached all the time, these days, probably due to the floral infestation. He'd suffocate on them once again, and waste yet another touchstone.

Maxwell started to cough as he put away the map and stood up, a few petals falling out of his mouth and laying against the white snow. For all the problems the cold had, being tracked through the snow wasn't one of them, at least. The footprints left would quickly vanish, intended to keep certain horrors hidden.

Normally, one would expect to see the tracks in the snow from monsters such as the MacTusk or the hounds, but that made things too easy. It also had the benefit of keeping surviors from retracing their footsteps, and while it had been a pain, now Maxwell was silently thankful for it. All he had to do was keep the petals from leaving a trail, and he was hidden, bones excluded. No one could tell they were his anyway, and he had no space for bone shards.

He couldn't help but remember the first morning this had happened as he gathered up the petals and walked away from his latest death.  

The night before this started, the pair of them had been forced into watch after stumbling back into camp late, and they took the time to patch themselves up.

Hound mounds were always trouble, but cactus flowers were too useful to not gather in the summer. However, Wilson had forgotten the territory range, and ventured just a few inches too close for the hound's comfort.

A few shadow clones and a spear were perfectly fine for getting rid of the nuisance, but neither of them came out of it unscathed.

At least it hadn't been the dragonfly, but still. Wilson had pulled a hound off of his back, the last one, thankfully, but it'd torn open the flesh under his shoulder blade.

Normally, he'd have insisted he could take care of it himself, but between the exhaustion and pain, he accepted Wilson's offer of help, besides, it was hard to bandage his back. The normal banter, a few light jabs of 'how do you honestly survive out here, you're paper,' from Wilson, as well as a mutter of being glad it was superficial, hands gentle on the bare skin next to the wound as Wilson looked it over.

It'd been surprisingly... nice, but over all too soon. Wilson had shifted over so they could sit next to one another as Maxwell had looked at the damage to his clothing. He had to repair both his shirt and suit jacket, Wilson had poked at him wearing it in the heat earlier that day.

He was already planning that out before he looked over at his companion. Wilson looked... exhausted, slumped on the log. The permanent bags under his eyes looked darker then normal, and he was well aware of how badly Wilson (and most of the others,) handled the night. It would be worse on an already tired mind.  

Before he could really think about it, Maxwell offered to take over fully, a smart comment of "I don't need you falling into insanity on me," dying on his lips when Wilson smiled.

A tired thank you, and between the smile and the slightly wilted flower crown perched on Wilson's head to try and make the night easier had completely derailed any thought besides the soft, fluttery feeling in his chest as Wilson left.

He'd tried very hard not to think about it for the rest of his watch as he repaired his shirt and suit jacket, until Wickerbottom arrived from her nightly reading nook to relieve him. He'd gone to bed halfway through the night with a frankly terrifying realization, and woken up to the start of a nightmare.

 Obviously, hindsight was 20/20, unlike his own eyesight. That wasn't the catalyst of his affectionate feelings towards the scientist, but it was moment it finally, really, dawned on him. He'd tried to keep his distance from the other survivors once he was thrown into the mix, but Wilson was apparently a special case, and that was terrifying. Caring deeply about him scared Maxwell down to the very core of his being, and the realization of his feelings came with that terror.

It may have been that feeling, the fear that had buried in his stomach as he repaired his clothing, that brought these suffocating flowers along. Choking on his own fear.

But that fear was warranted. He ruined things so easily... especially Charlie, the last person he'd felt anything like this towards, he'd ruined her life and that was a something he could never make amends for. Maxwell was fairly certain that even on the slim chance that these feelings were returned, he'd destroy it, without meaning to, as well. And with their last conversation, words that still sometimes came up in his thoughts, and another reason for avoiding the whole lot of them... well, at least he couldn't break something that was never going to happen in the first place.

A cold piece of comfort, and he shivered as the wind managed through the layers.

-

Wilson huffed as he looked at the fractures in the gold flecked rock he'd been working on shattering. It wasn't the first rock of the day, he'd been at this for a while now, trying to get a handle on the anxiety that had come forward in full force this morning. He'd been headed to the rocky field to get some supplies for new thermal stones, some people hadn't been keeping theirs repaired and he had found a new skeleton. There wasn't a satchel or anything of note around it, but it was most certainly new. It was in the normal path to the northern cave entrance that was right near the outcrop of rocks, there was no way it was just a skeleton they'd missed.

It made him sick to see. Stupid, idiotic... he took another breath and looked at the rock again, trying to ignore the knots in his stomach. Maxwell had vanished. He'd been silent and left before Wilson could even finish saying what he'd been trying to get out of his system after seeing the man choke to death on petals.

Hanahaki is what he knew it by, mostly due to his mother. She'd never elaborated, and it was apparently ignored by the medical community as he'd never encountered it in undergrad, but she'd given him a brief description that he decided was just a poetic way of saying that her sister died of a broken heart.

What a horrifying thing to witness, to see the whole thing play out in front of her, in her own sister, and to not even be able to revive her. It had been horrifying enough for Wilson, and he at least could bring someone back to life in this realm. He kept thinking too much about how pale Maxwell had looked, blood trickling out of his open mouth and onto a pile of blood soaked petals on the ground as the man asphyxiated and Wilson tried and failed to get him to breathe again.

He shivered and picked up his pick-axe, hoping he could stop this train of thought again. But, alas. His brain fixated on things too well. Why hadn't Maxwell just said something? To any of them? It didn't have to be the whole camp, but someone should have been told so at least, maybe, they could fix it before it had gotten bad.

Instead, he got to find out with Maxwell suffocating on petals as Wilson desperately tried to get him to breathe. His words after the fact were maybe, well, less maybe and more most certainly, sharp. He'd been angry, it was affecting all of them, but he was also incredibly scared and he didn't know how to phrase it.

Maxwell had used his effigy earlier, and it'd been a tiny bit eyebrow raising, but none of them had questioned it. He'd started to go off on his own before then, he'd probably just bitten off more then he could chew.

Well, he had, but not in the way Wilson was expecting.  And then he had the gall to go and disappear! He'd looked for Max, had been for weeks, and the most he'd found were bones. He swung, listening to the rock shatter. Doing these sort of chores usually helped when he was dealing with overthinking, certainly had the last time he'd turned a thought over and over in his head til he could scream.

The physical activity usually wore him down, and that stopped the pacing around. Usually then, it'd shut up or he'd pass out to sleep.

He could only hope that would be today's remedy. Wilson was sure he'd already talked Wickerbottom's ear off about this, she was the only one he'd really discussed Max's condition with at length. He needed to confide in someone, and she was the most likely to have maybe a lick of experience with the illness. Everyone else got a hand waved 'he's sick and being stubborn' because it was the barest truth he could say.

The two of them were understandably concerned about the fact he was coughing up up dark petals, for both the effects on the rest of them, and discussion on what that meant for Maxwell. He was always more steady, mentally, then the rest of them, so there was a point in his favour, but that only could last so long. Which, as Wickerbottom pointed out, was probably why it took so long for someone to find out.

The signs were far more blatant now, but weren't things always more apparent when looking back? Maxwell had been relying less on his shadow clones, he'd ceased using them practically all together before the curtain had been pulled back on his condition, but he'd been using only one for quite some time. It was a little crass, but Wilson found it ironic that when he had a steady source of the material for nightmare fuel, it would be in a way that rendered his clones unusable.

Well, it was more sad then ironic.

They'd talked carefully about it, no need to stress everyone else about it, mostly at night during watch. The one question neither of them posed was the question of who Maxwell was pining over. He didn't want to focus on it, it was an obvious thing really. Who else could it be but Miss Charlie?

He never talked about her very much, some things Wilson had only picked up on from overhearing Maxwell talking to himself. Whenever she did come up in conversation, the guilt and pain was an undertone that had originally been surprising, but it mixed with the sad adoration that was far more apparent. Just through a few short conversations it had been obvious that to him that Maxwell was in love with her.

So Wilson kept his own feelings close to his chest. It was more then a little bit frustrating, an old flame that had started to burn anew. Maxwell had gone from his loved voice on the radio, to a demon, then to a pain in the ass ally, to... well, a soft, unrequited love again. He accepted it with ease at the time when it struck him, that was just how his life always went. There wasn't anything he could do about it; why bother tying himself up in knots about it? He tried not to at least, shoving his feelings to the side and acting like it was the same as always.

That was why he'd just stood there as Maxwell walked off after the initial outburst of frustration. He didn't know what else to say that wouldn't reveal everything. Wilson figured, hoped really, that he'd be back at camp, or something sensible instead of running off. Max refused to be sensible, it seemed.

He had wanted (he still did) to help. Find something to ease the coughing, or at least keep him from dying.  It was impossible to solve the pinning problem, really. There wasn't any other cure, the few scraps of knowledge Wickerbottom had pointed towards the only thing that was even remotely close to a cure had a tendency to have side effects relating towards memory loss, even to the point of becoming cold. Wilson honestly didn't understand how that was possible, but it was something to look into. But he'd rather not toy with someone else's feelings.

There had to be another way.

-

Sunlight was one way to wake up. Waking up from hacking up his lungs was another, and it was never a pleasant way to come out of sleep, but these days Maxwell was getting used to it.

 There were some embers still left of his fire. Before it could extinguish itself, he threw the petals from the night and morning onto the fire, the fire starting to properly burn again. That awful straw roll he'd used to sleep on (Maxwell yearned for the days of beefalo wool and rabbit fur now) was rolled up into a tight bundle to sit on. He'd burn it before he left, but he needed to cook on a more controlled flame right now.

A gobbler leg, wrapped in scrap paper to keep the meat from the rest of his bag was today's breakfast. Better then some days, and he sighed as he tossed the paper into the fire and skewered the leg into a stick. Roasting these things was never an exact science, but as long as it wasn't raw.

Semi-burned wasn't too bad, and the meat was far more comforting and filling then a few charred carrots. It made him feel a bit warmer, though the more likely source of that was the thermal stone tucked into his vest being warmed by the fire.

Once he'd eaten, he pulled a few green mushrooms from his pack to roast quickly on a slowly dying fire before tossing the straw roll into the flames. It burst back to life, and he stepped back to keep from letting any of his clothing catch on fire and yet allow himself, and his thermal stone, to bask in the warmth.

Sadly, he couldn't stay too long around the fire. Just long enough to let the thermal stone hit peak temperature as he wrapped his mushroom caps and place them at the top of his pack. He left as the fire started to wane, it would soon die, and the ashes would vanish under the snow.

It felt like they were gearing up for another storm soon, he'd have to head to the caves again. As much of a pain as it was, he rather prefered to not be underground, it was safer during these blizzards, since he didn't have a stable camp. He'd been using the caves to avoid the hounds as well. They'd cleared the areas closest to the entrences of danger ages ago, and he didn't have to go too far into them just to avoid hounds.

Besides, it probably wasn't too long until he died again, he'd want to get closer to the caves so he didn't have to travel too far to retrive his things anyway. He'd had a few good days, and now he was fairly certain that he had at most, three days left. Not that it truly mattered. He was just going to die again.

In order to get away from the places he was more likely to be discovered in, he'd been forgoing sleep (he used to do it all the time, the nightmares in his head were harder to fight off) but a terrorbeak almost solid enough to bite his head off was reminder enough that those days were gone. Staying up all night wasn't helpful for his already diminished sanity.

Maybe it'd be easier to just give up the ghost and let one of those terrors kill him. Oh, it'd be bloody painful, but it wasn't like he'd be able to full remember it anyway. If he was lucky he might not ever remember getting letting himself get to that point until he saw the skeleton.

He'd been hoarding blue and green mushrooms whenever he could find them, and the mushroom forests underground he'd usually have to go through after dying also gave him a decent supply, but maybe it'd just be easier to get it over with. Ignore his health and sanity and just let it happen, again and again until he couldn't revive any more.

Not today though. It sounded tempting, but right now, he wasn't even sure if he had a touchstone left. The map could be wrong, or a more likely option, any of the unmarked ones could be one he'd used when the lot of them were in the caves and he'd made a mis-step. Then, his options would basically be the other survivors. Ghosts were drawn towards the living when there wasn't any other source of revival, and while he doubted any of them would want to bring him back, if they did, he'd just be cornered.

Maxwell would sigh if it wasn't for the need to cough, and he leaned against a tree to hack a batch of the blasted things up into his hand. At least he wasn't too far away from his goal, and the petals weren't too bloody. He'd have to pocket and burn them, better to not leave breadcrumb when you didn't want to be found. He'd make fuel, but he had plenty, and making more then he could carry was stupid, another thing to lead people to him. At least the petals could rot, but Max wasn't taking a chance on that.

It wasn't even mid morning yet, and he could tell there were shadows lurking at the edges of his vision. Maybe he was more out of it then he’d thought, or the petals were making things even worse then they had before. He thought that barely being able to last a day, not to mention the nights, was bad enough, but just a few short hours?

He shuddered and started to cough again, petals not caught this time as they instead hit the snow, a bit of blood joining them. Stupid flowers, he thought as he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself against the tree, watching slightly more firm shadows take their place in front of his eyes instead of at the side.

Mushrooms, he tried to remind himself before the thought slipped away. Right, he needed a cap or two or three to handle this.

He pulled around his pack and pulled the freshly cooked ones out, thankful that he always stuck these at the top. They wouldn't help the pain in his throat, but some more bleeding was nothing compared to trying to fight off shadows, and as much as he entertained the idea earlier, he really didn't want to die to one of those.

He'd barely gotten to swallow the first one down when there was a crunch, the icy layer of the snow being broken through by something. He hadn't heard any howls, so it couldn't be the hounds.

Maxwell swallowed again as he slowly turned to stare at Wilson, who was staring back, bearded and looking quite concerned.

He barely thought, just turned and ran, ignoring the cry for him to stop, please. He wasn't that far from the caves, he could lose him.  

-

Once again, Wilson had gotten himself gently kicked out of camp for a few hours for pacing. Even the kids knew something was bothering him, and he had a feeling most of the adults in camp were ready to throttle him. Wickerbottom had her usual calm demeanor, but Wilson wasn't blind, he could see the tension underneath. They were all fed up with his hand wringing, and she'd kindly asked him to go chop some wood, as Woodie had watch tonight and so was dozing off for a few hours. It was something useful to do at least, even with the approaching nightfall.

So, now here he was, in the midst of a quiet woods, his small campfire the main source of noise around. The light it gave was enough to keep him safe from the night as he worked on chopping down a lumpy pine.

These chores were becoming rather frequent, more so then hunting or gathering food, but it was probably a good thing. Being away from everyone sometimes gave him a better perspective, and the repetitive swing of an axe or pick axe was surprisingly soothing. The steady rhythm of hits was background noise as he thought about solutions. None of them were actual solutions, but he figured the more he chopped at it, much like the tree, he'd find something useful.

Not that any actual solution would be much of any use if he didn't find Maxwell first and foremost. But there had to be a way to keep him alive, even if the flowers had to stay, a way to keep him from dying so frequently at the very least. Something to ease it, if not solve it, living with flowers in your body had to be better then dying to them by choking them up. Maybe even keeping them from affecting everyone else.

But, once again, the biggest problem was finding the man. He'd kept an eye out, and the only sign that Maxwell was even alive was that people kept stumbling upon new skeletons, nothing around them. Nothing else. He was surprisingly good about covering his tracks.

Still, the number of skeletons gave him a bad gut feeling. The latest one he'd found himself, heading off to get rabbit fur from the caves, yet another chore he did alone to keep his relentless pacing down. His stomach sank at the thought of dying out here alone, freezing while choking up blood and petals and stems and such. Even though they've all died on a fairly regular basis, going back to dying alone and scared was something unimaginable these days. Not to mention the possibilities of dying to terrorbeaks and crawling horrors.

He had no one, and it'd been so long since Wilson's been well and truely alone that anyone going through that was hard to think about. Maybe back when it was just a shoddy alliance between them, and he was waiting to be back-stabbed, he'd find some dark bit of humor in Max suffering like that. Now, it was just depressing. No one to lean on or force him to accept help for once.

Well, he was going to force him to take help when he found him. And it was a when, not a if. There couldn't be that many places around to hide, even the longest trek from from camp was a handful of days, not to mention wormholes and beefalo. Someone was bound to encounter him at some point.

Another few whacks, and the tree started to fall. Wilson stepped back and felt the audible thump as hit his the ground, taking a second before he start to peel the branches off to feed his fire.

Stars, it didn't help he still felt like he should have done more, said something better after he'd revived the moron. Bit back the anger, expressed the worry underneath the frustration of Maxwell hiding things. Maybe he'd have saved himself all of this anxiety .

He huffed and capped his axe into the stump of the tree before starting to gather up the now peeled off branches. He'd gather up the logs he'd made later, the stump could stay for now.

Even with all of this, even with knowing exactly who was at the heart of Maxwell's pining... his chest had a dull ache in it just at the mere thought of him dying alone. Even now, he couldn't shed the unrequited feelings. Oh, he'd worry if Maxwell was just a friend, sure. But somehow, the man had managed to make him care about him again.

It was never going to happen, and that was something he had to keep reminding himself, he'd accepted it, sure, but the thoughts still crept in. Wilson had managed to put it under lock and key for the most part.

Instead, he enjoyed their stupid, petty arguments that were mostly for the sake of arguing until they went too far. He greatly enjoyed the times Maxwell would actually talk about magic, few and far between, but it always was insightful. It was nice, when he wasn't being a cagey bastard. Then there were the times that Maxwell ended up being the voice of reason when something new had cropped up and Wilson was over-eager to test it, though at times, it was the reverse.

They both had the tendency to get in over their heads, and when Wilson did, Max pulled him back. Once again, it was his turn to pull Maxwell back and help him, because he was most certainly in over his head.

His fire was starting to flicker, and Wilson threw another branch into the flames to feed it. At least the chores were physically exhausting. Maybe after some food he could get some actual rest. It'd be nice instead of staying up all night overthinking everything.

Thankfully, his pack had more then his usual jerky for travel. They'd had plenty of vegetables sitting in the fridge that he'd made a stuffed eggplant, along with a few morsels. Warming it wasn't exactly easy, but he'd done it before, and after skewering some morsels, he had a warm, filling meal.

With luck, he'd sleep.

Before that, though, he gathered up the last of the excess tree limbs and threw them into the fire, making sure that he'd have light through the night. Between that and his fur roll, Wilson felt like it should be quite comfortable, granted that it didn't start snowing.

He watched the flames dance for a few moments after lying down before turning over, the fire warming his back and his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The last thought before he slid into sleep was that he hoped Max was managing to stay alive.

Maxwell was once again on his mind after being woken up by the sunrise and groggily trying to suss out what he was up to the night before. After fishing out a piece of jerky from his bag, he could only assume that the best place to look was probably around the caves. The entrances to the vast underground below their feet had been where quit a few of the new skeletons had been showing up.

He bundled the logs into the bottom of his bag as he settled on a plan. He'd check the entrance near the rock field before heading back to camp, he could check in on the closer one in the evening before he got back. It wasn't a walk to look forward to, but maybe it would put his mind at ease, even if he didn't find Max.  

The last thing he had to do was pull the axe from where he'd left it in the stump, and that was easy to put away, right into the little loop he'd added to his pack. Kept a spear or axe handy without cluttering up the space he used for torches, as well as leaving his hands free.

Useful in the winter, he could shove his hands into the vest to stay warm. At least they hadn't had another late winter snowstorm yet. Walking in the old, refrozen snow was hard enough without an extra layer of white, fluffy snow. And even without the new layer of snow, tracks never seemed to stay. It seemed to be some joke of the Constant to keep you from following your own tracks back home, or discover a monster before they snuck up on you. The snow was nothing more then a hinderance, but at least it wasn't knee deep yet.  

Besides, the wind was cruel enough, snow or no snow. Even a full beard didn't keep his face warm. It always seemed like no matter how much he prepared for this weather, it never was enough.

The walk was uneventful, really, the winds were bad but nothing else . Mostly, Wilson had to turn out of the wind for a few moments when it whipped up into a harsh breeze to keep his eyes and nose from turning into icicles, otherwise, it was a quiet, if long, walk. It'd been a few hours since he'd woken up, and Wilson was fairly certain he was almost out of the woods and into the empty clearing before a rock field that would have one of the entrances to the caves. Then he'd turn around and head back to camp along the tree line, staying out of spider nests and trouble in general until about the area where there had been the grass geckos. He'd take a left and go look at the other-

Wilson's train of thoughts went right out the window as he heard a distinctively harsh hacking in the distance. Oh. Relief and some panic mixed together as he tried to silently walk over. It was an impossible task, but he didn't need to sound like a hound or something gallivanting over to maul him.

Maxwell was leaning against a tree, hunched over and shaking as he coughed, dark colored blobs against the ground which could only be petals. As he stood up, the man looked panicked, still shaking slightly, glancing around like he was surrounded. Wilson could only assume that he was, quietly watching with an ache in his chest as Max pulled his pack off to grab a packet of mushrooms, stuffing one into his mouth as he swung it back on.

He stepped closer, thinking about what he had in his own bag that might help.

That was what alerted Maxwell. His back tensed, and Wilson winced before the other spun around and they both just stared at one another. The moment felt far longer then it was, but he also wasn't expecting Maxwell to turn on his heel and bolt like a scared animal.

He didn't even pause when Wilson shouted "Wait, stop! Maxwell, hold on!"

So instead Wilson followed. Through the last bit of the woods and across the clearing he'd been headed towards and down into the caves themselves, both of them not even hesitating to pull out a torch and light it, too much practice to need a moment to stop. The cave was abnormally dark, not even light-bulb flowers in the distance. That, or all of them were withered at the time. It didn't matter much, Maxwell wasn't slowing down, and Wilson wasn't about to stop and lose him now.

"Maxwell! Seriously, stop, please!" There wasn't any response to his shouting as they turned a corner into a narrow causeway. He wasn't stopping as he turned a corner marked by a crossed out rectangle, one of their crude markings that meant dead end. He must have missed it while in a panic to get away. While the dead end was useful, he really didn't want to trap Maxwell to get him back to camp.

There was a rumble around them, and Wilson almost stopped to regain his balance as the cave floor shifted under him, if this dead end caved in... "It's a dead end, Max!" He shouted, trying to be heard over the rumble as he headed forward. At least if it caved in and they were together he could get them out of it.

At least it looked he'd already hit the end of the corridor. Maxwell was leaning against the back wall, coughing so hard is seemed like he'd cough up his lungs first, torch discarded onto the floor. Wilson winced as he caught a few stones on the arm as he rushed to catch up. Closer, it was obvious  gently pushed down on his shoulder to get him to sit as the man caught his breath.  The moment he did, however, he started into another fit, petals in a growing pile in front of him.

For all the planning, Wilson felt very helpless in the moment, kneeling down to rub the other's back  with his free hand until the fit started to calm again. He hated this. Hated feeling like there was nothing he could do, that nothing was going to work... "Do you have any water?" He asked quietly, shifting to finally get a good close look at him in the torch light. He kept looking everywhere, scanning for things that weren't really there, not yet, anyway, though Wilson could tell it was bad enough that he was starting to notice things out of the corner of his eyes.

Wonderful. He didn't want to fight the damned shadows here, so Wilson gently pulled Max's bag from his shoulders. He'd had a mushroom earlier, hopefully he had more.

There were more, thank the stars, and there was a water-skin as well, half full. he took both things out and handed the mushrooms over to Maxwell first, before moving away to start a fire before his torch burned out. At least he'd been cutting wood, there was plenty of cords to keep a fire going it they had to stay here a while.

The cave had gone silent, but with the last of his torch's flame, he lit the logs and sighed in relief at a fire going. It wasn't as cold without the wind, but the cool rock sapped heat away quickly. At least they'd lucked out with the earthquake, but here they were. Maxwell wasn't even looking at him, pointedly looking towards a wall, his water skin in hand. "You've been gone awhile, you know?" Wilson said, trying to get the man to look at him, trying to be reassuring, that there was something that could be done.

Maxwell just made some sort of noise that sounded like it was agreement at the sentence, and nothing else. He didn't even look towards him. They were going to do this again, Wilson wanting to help and Maxwell just... refusing it.

Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

-

Oh, this was absolutely fantastic. Maxwell leaned back, his eyes closed, silently condemning everything.  Why did it have to be Wilson? Any of the survivors would be a problem, but when it just made his chest ache worse... some force of the universe must enjoy him suffering.

Not to mention the man was quietly trying to ease the pain... it was exceedingly comforting, unfairly so, to have someone care. Not to mention that it was Wilson of all people, but Maxwell was fairly certain that this was bound to end up going from comforting to questioning. Wilson had expressed some sort of familiarity, he remembered that much from the last time they'd been a few feet from one another. Family, if he was recalling it correctly. He'd only known about it from fairy tales, the more glamorous accounts. Roses and peonies and other lovely flowers falling from pining maids and princesses' mouths, for some dashing prince or knight or brave peasant boy or something. It glossed over the wretched details.

If Wilson knew more about this then he did, well, it was to be expected that it would go poorly. There was bound to be a inquiry as to whom it was that captured the 'heartless Maxwell's heart.' He could even hear the gentle ribbing in Wilson's voice just thinking of one of the many epithets the other used. The taunting had become comfortable and expected.

His 'whom' was currently staring at him, evaluating him, and Maxwell was continuing to avoid his gaze. Ever since he'd given him something that was barely a reply, Wilson was just watching.

Couldn't this just be over already? The last coughing fit was more violent then the last, his throat was raw... and the cherry on top was the fact he'd been followed down here and the most Wilson had done was make sure that he didn't hit the rock bottom of his sanity, a few quietly, oddly concerned words. Why? He didn't deserve by any long shot, wasn't he the one 'affecting everyone else' and such? Wasn't Wilson just making things worse on himself anyway? Why did he care? Maxwell made sure that it, and by extension, himself, were no longer any of Wilson's business. Wasn't that what he wanted?

There was that familiar urge rising in the back of his throat, and in barely any time he was back to hacking up a lung, he pushed forward to keep the blood off of his clothing. The petals past his lips felt larger this time around, something that felt like a full flower a well. The pain was contrasted with the warm hand on his back again, steady circles. The urge to shove him away was as strong as the urge to lean into the hand.

He took a breath and opened his eyes, looking at the mess of blood and flower petals, tongue tracing the cuts on his cheeks and gums, there must have been brambles and thorns mixed into the batch. Maxwell sighed and tried to quell the shaking in his arms. The world was dull, even the fire seemed dull before he closed his eyes, trying to gather his wits again. Heavens, he was exhausted.

His eyes shot open at the sound of a music box ringing in his ears. "Wils- Higgsbury, the fire." He managed out, voice raw as he saw a shadowy hand start to snake towards the fire, and Wilson left his side immediately, a few curses at the dratted thing before he also grabbed some things from his bag. Maxwell figured it was more logs and closed his eyes again, bone deep exhaustion settling in.

There was a gentle nudge at his shoulder, a small mess of mushrooms handed over, including some blue ones, one roasted, one not. Once those were in hand, Wilson wandered back to the fire, and it was silent. He saved the raw one til last, eating the cooked green and blue caps first, before letting the healing properties from the blue mushroom soothe his sore mouth and throat.

Wilson was quietly weaving a flower crown, the silence was... stifling, to put it mildly. But, Maxwell didn't doubt that it was probably because Wilson needed the flower crown if he had any hope of keeping himself together. The pile of petals he still hasn't gotten up to burn looked like it was the equivalent of a whole ring of evil flowers. He tried not to stare, instead turning his head to watch the light and shadows on the cave wall, but he could see a glimpse of that focused, narrowed in on what he was doing look that Wilson tended to have when he was working on something important to him, something he'd been quietly fond of seeing. It made him close his eyes and ignore the painful want in his heart. Why didn't he just leave already?

Instead, there were footsteps coming closer, not away. Maxwell silently debated trying to shove him away somehow but before he could even figure that out, a flower crown was gently settled on top of the awful winter hat he had to wear to stay warm. "We're going to head back to camp." Wilson said, putting a certain insistence behind the 'we.' "I'll see if we don't already have supplies for an effigy or life amulet, if not, well... I'll have to make you a heart or something as back-up. Don't need you hovering around as a ghost for a while if this gets worse."

Maxwell finally opened his eyes, looked up at Wilson and instantly regretted it. Wilson had a sad smile under all that awful beard, and if he was a hopeful man, it almost could have made him think there was something else closer to love there, instead of pity.

The cynic in him said it wasn't even pity. There was probably something he was needed for, though it wasn't completely sensible, considering that everyone's own sanity was in jeopardy if he was around them. The honest truth was probably Wilson being unable to leave a problem alone combined with his tendency to extend help to people. After their initial fist fight after being thrown into the same world, Wilson had passed him a kebab after everything he'd done.

Granted, this was after a day of both of them mulling over everything (acting like children, really, though he'd never admit it,) but it was still surprising. But it meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Wilson didn't want to have someone's death on his conscious, they didn't exactly care much about one another then.

So this didn't exactly mean much of anything either, now did it?

He just nodded, all the fight gone from him, as much as he should push Wilson away. Instead, Maxwell just gathered all the petals from the cave floor and threw the whole lot into the flame. They at least burned well, they were as good at fueling a blaze as they were at making nightmare fuel. Wilson pulled another torch from his pack and lit it with the fire and started down the pathway.

Maxwell took another second of warmth before following to keep in the light's radius. Didn't need to die in the dark after everything, though... no, it would be pointless. Instead he just tried to keep distance between them, arms crossed to conserve heat as he felt the air grow colder as they made their way back to the exit. The urge to cough was coming back, but thankfully, not bad enough that he couldn't hold it back to swallow the petals down. There wasn't the time for that.

Swallowing the petals was also a bad idea for his sanity, but it was better then making a scene and having Wilson react with the same pity from earlier.

The pair of them shivered the moment they hit wind, right at the mouth of the cave. It was snowing again, and it seemed like the wind was picking up. One last horrible storm before the winter was up.

Still, Maxwell reasoned, if Wilson was dead set at getting back to camp today, they'd just have to brave it. He was too tired to argue against it, not like it mattered much anyway.

 If he died again, then he died again.   

[dahl-my-life]

From the Shadows

Chapter four: A Frozen Tear

She loathed the cold. The fire was never warm enough while boots were always full of water and Willow Everlight always hated how quiet the world seemed. Winter was always a time of rest, her mother had always repeated whenever Willow complained. A time for the land and seas to replenish what was taken, and a time for families to spend together.

She rolled her eyes, “I still hate silence.”

Nestled in a mound of blankets with her back to the wall Willow scanned the seemly endless pages of notes Wilson had left her. He had caught on to the language better than Marion. Although, he was only good at reading and writing it…

“I can't blame him though. Latin seems easier then Shadow Tongue.” She mused before sneezing. Pulling the blankets tighter around her, Willow added another log to the fireplace. Another reason why she hated winter…

Wilson and Chester had embarked not too long ago to gather what they could find, which left her to look after the camp and try to beat the cold she caught. It was moments like this where she was grateful they decided to build the cabin before winter fully began. While most of the home was bare, Wilson had his work table nestled in the corner near the fireplace and Willow had her space across from him. A small room to the right was the kitchen which she had been banned from after one too many failed attempts at cooking. They both had a small room to the left that had a bed and a chest for personal items.

She eyed the desk, covered in crumpled up paper. Wilson had had yet another sleepless night.

Scanning the papers once more, she nodded and tucked them away with the others. He was catching on faster than Marion did, which didn’t surprise her. Wilson always had a way of picking up on new things rather well. To her delight, she noticed that he started to use the language when documenting any new findings.

Willow bit her lip as she pulled out the Codex Lunae. There was one section she kept hiding from Wilson… She wasn’t sure what Yvaine was referring to or why, but it made her nervous every time she passed the page.

“There is a darkness to this world. One that is far worse than the Nightmare Creatures or even Grue during a hunt. The Knight and They are nothing compared to the woman we just encountered...I–I have never seen Umbra so scared before. Lux has been hiding his emotions as of late which is unlike him. Whatever is lurking beyond the shadows has been enough to keep us from the Constant. I pray she never finds a way out of the chains...for Lux and Umbra’s sake.

“What is she talking about?” Willow bit the end of her pencil. Flipping around she studied the sketches of various Nightmare Creatures and what appeared to be Grue, a shadowy lady with blood red eyes, but neither entries had new information. “Although…” she flipped back to the page about Grue.

“Grue, Umbra’s Knight and closest friend. She works in the dark to protect not only Umbra but Lux as well. Stars above she will have my head if I forget any information! The Knight is always chosen when a new king or queen is crowned and serve solely as the protector. She has claimed to do hunts during the night to end any soul caught in the dark. More times than not said soul is of crooked heart and Grue feels no remorse for ending them…”

Willow stood, wrapping the blanket tighter around her. She paced to the window flipping back to where most of the spells were kept. There was one she was hoping to find…

“How...odd.” A gentle voice startled her from outside. “I have not seen that book in quite some time. To avoid Maxwell’s wrath, I would keep it from sight.”

Willow swallowed, she spied a pair of blood red eyes hiding in the shadows of the trees before her. She stood in the open doorway, watching the shadowy woman stare back.

“I cannot leave from my place,” Grue sighed. “You must be one of the newer ones?”

“Ye–yes.” Willow held the Codex close to her chest. “You must be Grue?”

She nodded once, “As well as another.”

“What do you mean by that?” She took a step forward without thinking.

“I was fused with another soul after they were brought here. It’s why I’m here before you actually.” Grue glanced to the north. “We have come to ask for your help. There is a soul not far from you that needs help. We have marked them with a rose, so we do not attack them at night.”

Willow paused, her mind racing at what those words could mean…

“Please...I fear the cold will claim them soon.”

“Willow?” Wilson called over to her.

She grabbed her thermal stone before locking eyes with Grue. “Lead the way.”

“Willow!” He swore under his breath before chasing after her. For once Wilson was glad he knew tonight would be a full moon...

The snow was beginning to pick up as she followed after Grue. She felt the bite of the howling winds the farther into the forest Willow ran. Only one thought played over in her head…

Marion might be alive!

Grue paused to allow Willow to catch up every so often. A look of panic passed when she thought she had lost the young Shadowling. “Please,” she ducked under a tree, “we promise they are up ahead.”

Wilson grabbed Willow’s hand, “Willow!” He shouted over the wind. “What has gotten into you?”

He followed her gaze, paling at the sight of Grue hiding beneath the trees.

“She said there is someone who needs our help.” Willow fought to free her arm from his grasp.

“It could be a trick and you are not supposed to be out here in the cold!” He tried to lead her back only to stumble when Willow dug her heels into the snow.

Her eyes held a sense of hope and plea. “Wilson, what if it’s Marion?”

Wilson whirled to face her. “That isn’t possible!”

“How?” She seethed, “How can you be so positive that it couldn’t be him?”

“Because he is gone!” Wilson shouted before thinking.

“You thought I was dead and ta-da!”

Wilson stepped closer, grabbing her arms before she bolted away. “Willow Everlight, Marion is gone. He is never coming back because...because…” tears stung his eyes.

“Because what?” She hissed.

“Do you remember how some Americans hated immigrants?”

Her eyes went wide. “No…”

“There was an outbreak,” Wilson bowed his head, refusing to meet her stare. “I urged him to go help the others. Apparently, he found a young girl needing help shortly after arriving and was attacked and robbed. I was the one who travelled to bring his body home and I am the one who helped his sister lay him to rest.”

The world slowed to a halt.

Willow’s hands covered her mouth as her knees gave out. “No…” she repeated. Her eyes stung now too as tears mixed with the snow. He couldn’t be gone. Her friend couldn’t be gone…

“Willow I’m–I’m so sorry.” Wilson knelt before her.

She shoved him back. Pain mixed with anger flashed in her eyes, “You should have told me!” Willow screamed.

“Save her,” Grue’s voice echoed in the wind as the full moon rose.

Willow stood, glaring at Wilson. “I am going to find this girl.”

He could only nod as he stood himself.

They searched the area just ahead of them. Despite the helpful light from the full moon and the touches Chester had, it was hard to see in the snowstorm. Finally, Wilson stumbled upon what appeared to be a child.

“Willow!” He called out, quickly wrapping the young girl in a blanket he kept with Chester. Wilson noted how light she was and how small. She was still breathing but shaking like a leaf despite the warmth of the blanket and the thermal stone.

Willow circled one more time for anyone else, picking up a tattered backpack and a flower. “No one else. Is she…?”

“We have to act fast but she’s still breathing.”

Once back to camp, Willow held the child close beside the fireplace while Wilson raced around looking for what he needed to treat the injuries. She brushed away some blonde hair and finally smiled. The little one was drowning in the clothes Willow had put her in but the several blankets helped. Wilson carefully offered a cup of cider before moving to the other side of the fire. Willow glared but took the cup.

“Come on, little one,” Willow shifted carefully to help the child drink. “There you go. How are you feeling?”

Blue eyes struggled to stay open. “C–cold.”

Wilson nodded, “I’ll get you some food too.”

“So, does our little snow fairy have a name?” Willow asked as she placed the empty cup aside and fixed the blankets.

“I’m Wendy,” she whispered as she snuggled closer to Willow. “Wendy Carter.”

Willow held her close. “That’s a lovely name. What were you doing out in the cold all by yourself?”

“I wasn’t by myself…” Wendy started.

They heard Wilson yelp in alarm followed by a loud crash from the kitchen.

“I have my sister, Abigail.”

Willow blinked in shock at the sight of the ghost who looked identical to Wendy, looming over Wilson. “Abigail, why not come over here and keep your sister company?” She offered.

We need Wendy to warm up more and I need help keeping her awake…

Abigail settled next to Wendy and Willow, concern in her eyes. “Is my sister going to be okay?”

“I promise.” Willow smiled. “Why not tell us how two lovely little ladies ended up out in the cold?”

Wilson attempted to bring over food and a new thermal stone but froze in place when not only Willow, but Abigail glared at him. He had Chester bring them the items before sitting at his work desk. The pain in Willow’s eyes tore at him…

I should have told her sooner. I owed her that much…

“We were looking for food for Wendy when the snow started.” Abigail spoke as her sister ate. “Then her ankle got caught in some tree roots and she got hurt. We weren’t expecting the cold to hit so fast… Our auntie found us right as Wendy got sleepy.”

“Auntie?” Willow raised a brow.

Wendy nodded, “Auntie Charlie. She is...is inside that shadow lady.”

“She found us and told us to wait while she found help. A few days ago, she did this to me after I,” Abigail stared at her hands. “After I died. We are sorry for the loss of your friend Miss Willow.”

“Thank you and I’m sorry you have to be like this.” She reached out, surprised she could actually smooth down some of her hair. “I promise we will find a way to help you.”

Wilson flipped through the Codex Lunae without much luck. “I’ll figure something out. It seems Yvaine didn’t think to add anything like that.”

Abigail tensed when Willow’s ears twitched back.

“Should I scare him again?” She whispered to Willow.

Willow thought for a moment. “No, don’t be upset with him. This is between us, alright?”

Wendy yawned, snuggling closer to Willow again. “How are you so warm?”

She chuckled, “I’ve always been a bit of a heater. It’s harder to keep that in the winter though.” Willow started to gently rock Wendy once she was certain the child was warm enough again. She sang softly, “sleep my child and peace attend thee–all through the night…”

Abigail nestled close, yawning herself. “Mama would...sing us,” she fell asleep before finishing her train of thought.

Willow kept singing for a bit longer.

“Firelight…” Wilson whispered after what felt like an eternity.

She finally met his gaze. “Don’t,” Willow’s voice held nothing, “I don’t want to hear it. You should have told me.”

“With everything that happened recently I–” He paused. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I know it doesn’t make up for it and I should have told you. Willow, I’m so sorry.”

She watched him before sighing. “Things have been...hectic huh?”

“Mama…” Wendy whimpered in her sleep.

Without thinking, Willow smoothed down her hair and whispered, “I’m here. It’ll be alright.” She blinked, registering what she did.

Wilson could only chuckle. “You always were rather maternal.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Though I suppose Abigail is upset with me because I made you upset?” Wilson moved closer, warming his hands to the fire for a moment. He glanced outside to see that the storm only grew worse.

Willow gestured him over, “Something like that. I’m sure she’ll come around.” Willow yawned.

He sat down beside Willow, blushing when she leaned against him.

“I’m still upset with you, but it won’t change anything...helping the girls comes first.”

Wilson draped an arm around her shoulders with a sigh. “You know…”

Willow hummed as her eyes slide closed.

“My mother loved that song. She would sing it whenever she could.”

“I bet she was amazing.”

He paused, “She was. Come morning I think I’ll have a few stories to tell, deal?”

“Deal,” Willow sighed, drifting off to sleep.

“She really was…” Wilson sighed.

[ljones41]

"A VIEW TO A KILL" (1985) Review

"A VIEW TO A KILL" Review The year 1985 marked a milestone in the history of the Bond franchise. This was the year in which EON Productions released their latest Bond film, "A VIEW TO A KILL". The movie would turn out to be Roger Moore's last turn as the British agent, James Bond. With this movie, Moore would become the only actor who has portrayed Bond for EON Productions more than any other - seven times. Sean Connery would also portray Bond seven times, but his last effort would not be for EON Productions.

But this review is not about Moore's tenure as James Bond. It is about his last movie - namely "A VIEW TO A KILL". The franchise's 14th installment is not what I would call a remarkable film. But I do not consider it a travesty like many other Bond fans do. On the whole, it struck me as a slight remake of the 1964 film, "GOLDFINGER" in regard to one scene and the villain's objective. In "GOLDFINGER", the villain's objective was to destroy the U.S. gold reserve at Fort Knox with a nuclear bomb in order to drive up the value of his own supply of gold. In "A VIEW TO A KILL", the villain's objective was to destroy the U.S. dominant control of the microchip market by causing a "natural disaster" in Silicon Valley. Both movies also feature scenes in which the villain reveals his scheme to potential "investors". But whereas "GOLDFINGER" created a major plot hole in its version of this particular scene, "A VIEW TO A KILL" managed to avoid one. Bond's discovery of a microchip on the body of the dead Agent 003 in Siberia leads to MI-6's investigation of an industrialist named Max Zorin, who now owns the very company that the British government and military have contracts. Bond's investigation leads to his introduction of certain individuals - a former Nazi criminal/scientist named Carl Mortner, an oil geologist named Conley and the movie's leading lady, whose name is Stacy Sutton. In a nutshell, these three characters - especially Sutton - allowed Bond to discover Zorin's past as a KGB agent, his betrayal of his bosses, and his plot to destroy Silicon Valley. Michael G. Wilson and Richard Maibaum's screenplay is not very original, considering its strong similarity to "GOLDFINGER". Fortunately for "A VIEW TO A KILL", director John Glen did what he could with Wilson and Maibaum’s screenplay and did a commendable job in avoiding the major mistakes of the 1964 film. Granted, the movie’s portrayal of the San Francisco Police seemed straight out of the Keystone Cops. Nor I did not care for the writers’ attempt to keep Stacy in the story by allowing her character to reveal the details of Zorin’s plot. It seemed to be stretching things a bit. But in the end, I rather liked the story. And I liked Glen’s direction. I believe that he did better with movies like "FOR YOUR EYES ONLY", "OCTOPUSSY”, "THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS" and even "LICENSE TO KILL". But at least I have nothing major to complain about. The cast’s performance seemed to be pretty solid. The only complaint I have of Roger Moore is that in certain scenes, he looked a little too old and tired to be portraying Bond. Some fans would attribute this to his age (he was 57 when he shot the movie). But from what I had learned, Moore had been suffering from the flu at the time. However, there were scenes in which he looked like a handsome, middle-aged man. Despite his illness, Moore managed to turn in a good performance that had not been marred by the occasional silly joke, as it had in "OCTOPUSSY". Aside from the silly Beach Boys moment and the movie's final scene, the humor in "A VIEW TO A KILL" seemed more restrained and tasteful. Ironically, three of Moore’s best moments featured both humor – which featured Bond’s impersonation as a spoiled and demanding playboy and his reunion with KGB agent Pola Ivanova (Fiona Fullerton) - and also drama – his dislike of Zorin apparent, following the murder of Mr. Howe (Daniel Benzali) of the Department of Conservation. I would never regard Tanya Roberts ("CHARLIE’S ANGELS"/"THAT 70s SHOW") to be a great actress.  But I cannot deny that she gave a solid performance as Stacy Sutton, the California State geologist, whose oil company Zorin wanted to buy. But she did have her moments of wooden acting. Fortunately for Roberts, she can at least claim to be a better actress than either Barbara Bach or Lois Chiles. And despite her acting limitations, she managed to inject a great deal of spirit and moxie into the Stacy character. Oscar winner Christopher Walker, on the other hand, was great. I loved his slightly off-kilter portrayal of the greedy and psychotic Max Zorin – former KBG agent-turned-entrepreneur and industrialist. And considering that Walken was portraying a psychotic, it is a credit to his skills as an actor that he did not ham it up for the screen. He even managed to provide some great moments. But my favorite Walken moment featured Zorin’s reaction to his discovery that Bond’s true identity. And of course there is Grace Jones as Zorin’s equally psychotic henchwoman, May Day. Perhaps she was not as psychotic, considering she was able to mourn the deaths of her two female assistants (Alison Doody and Papillon Soo Soo). But like Walken, she brought a lot of style and verve to her role without going over the top. And for an exhibitionist like Jones, it was a miracle. The regular Bond cast seemed to be their solid selves. I especially enjoyed Moore’s last on-screen interaction with Lois Maxwell (Miss Moneypenny). However, I must confess that the movie’s last scene of Q (Desmond Llewelyn) using a remote controlled "rover" to peep into Bond and Stacy’s shower activities at the end of the movie struck me as distasteful. Included among Bond’s allies is Patrick Macnee, portraying Sir Godfrey Tibbett. Tibbett is a gentleman horse breeder who helps MI-6 investigates the mystery of Zorin’s success on the racetrack (microchips imbedded in the horses’ flesh). Macnee (the fourth ”AVENGERS” cast member to appear in a Bond film) gave a very competent and classy performance and seemed to have produced a good screen chemistry with Moore. It seemed a shame that he was only present in the movie’s first half. Cinematographer Alan Hume did a great job in taking advantage of the elegant settings of Paris, the French countryside and surprisingly, San Francisco. In fact, I believe that ”A VIEW TO A KILL” marked one of those rare times in a Bond movie in which the U.S. locations actually looked tasteful or interesting. I am usually not a fan of Duran Duran, but I must admit that I am a fan of their rendition of the movie’s theme song – "A View to a Kill" (written by Duran Duran and John Barry). I am not surprised that the song ended up second place on the U.K. pop charts and at the top of the charts in the U.S. "A VIEW TO A KILL” will never be considered a top favorite of mine. Aside from the cinematography, the theme song by Duran Duran and Christopher Walken’s performance, there is nothing really remarkable about it. Many Bond fans consider it a travesty that Moore had to end his tenure on such a low. I personally do not regard "A VIEW TO A KILL" as a low note for Moore. In fact, I feel that he was lucky to end his tenure with a good, solid action film of which he had nothing to feel ashamed.

R.I.P. Tanya Roberts (1955-2021)

[kaaramel]

here’s the deal:

the famine’s friends DST roleplay server recently hit 2000 days and us players collectively decided to jump to a new world; and for in-RP reasons + for the sake of upping the difficulty we wanted to start the new server in wilderness mode and scatter ourselves randomly around the world. we did an IC test server to see if this would work for roleplay, make sure it wouldn’t crash if we decided to switch to survival mode later, etc.

so... the events below are in a weird limbo state where they probably aren’t Official Famine’s Friends Canon, but they did happen in one of our roleplay servers, and i liked how they happened to turn out well enough to write them up in fic form anyway. charlie was played by @helveticastandard, and any mangling or misremembering of her lines is on me

for further context: how the last server ended, from webber’s point of view (effectively a direct prequel to this), @itstheblob‘s writeup of entering the wilderness server from wilson’s pov (happening simultaneously with the events below)

Webber opened one eye cautiously, and then the rest, a few at a time. They were lying in the grass and looking up at the nearly-colorless sky. Birds were chirping somewhere nearby. They were still wearing their party dress, but the pockets were empty and they had no backpack. The party. The Queen. The world falling apart. Their spiderlimbs dug into the dirt and shoved hard to push into sitting up, staring around wildly. The little meadow wasn't anyplace that they recognized. There were no charcoal-and-wood signposts, or rose-covered archways, or neatly planted rows of trees. There were no moon-eyes in the distance making an eerie beacon out of the feeling of being watched. It was a brand-new island, and they were alone.

They could have given up, and sat there to watch the birds until night fell, and that would be that. They'd been alone for a long time before, and then they'd been dead, and then they'd been found by everyone else and built the ramshackle, precarious home the old island had become. Going back to being alone.. it was something out of their nightmares, except it was real and happening now and there would be no waking up. It was the spider who stood up and began picking grass and gathering branches to spin into torches and tools, while the boy stood numbly aside. It reminded him that they'd been on their own like this before, and survived then. Their friends might still be out there somewhere, or they could learn to pry open the doors between islands. One way or another, now that they knew there were other people out there, they wouldn't settle for being alone again. They started walking.

The places where grass had been plucked down to the ground were a good sign. Even the big bullying pigs who built houses didn't do that - only people did. Webber hadn't done it, and island grass grew back pretty fast; therefore, other people were here, and they were close. They were looking for useful rocks near a place where the forest gave way to bare stone ground when they heard footsteps. Perking up, they peered eagerly around a gold-veined mound of rock, ready to greet whichever friend they'd stumbled across. The joyful shout they had been preparing choked off in their throat and came out as a strangled yell of dismay, spiderlimbs clapping over their mouth too late to stifle it. The woman's eyes widened in what looked like honest confusion, but Webber was already running for the trees. They'd only seen her face once before, but it had been recent and they weren't likely to forget - Charlie, the queen-of-queens, the woman who had been the teeth in the darkness, who'd brought monsters and meteors and unmade their world at a whim. And rather than hunt him down with hounds or bend the ground under his feet to bring him back, she called out, "Wait!" in a sweet, clear, puzzled voice. Webber paused despite himself. Their hearts were beating out of time with each other out of sheer panic, an unpleasant sensation that always made him a little dizzy. Charlie was approaching cautiously, not chasing, not threatening. "Why did you run?" She was wearing a clean, simple dress of light-colored, draped fabric, not the elegant, menacing black robes she'd worn before. Webber bit their lip (not something to be undertaken lightly, when one had fangs) and settled rather lamely on, "We're sorry, we were... startled." A dozen questions were straining at the tips of their tongues and they were determined to ask absolutely none of them. If she really wasn't angry and wasn't here to hurt anyone, no need to remind her. "I suppose I was startled too," she said, more warmly, giving Webber an appraising look, fur and fangs and extra limbs and all. "You don't seem so bad, though. My name's Charlie. It's nice to meet you." She didn't remember at all? "Our name's Webber." They took her hand, lightly, careful with their claws. "It's nice to meet you too. Have you seen anyone else here?" Charlie shook her head. "Just you." "We're looking for our friends." They looked up at her face, searching for any hint of the queen's regal malice and finding only open friendliness. "You can come too, if you want. It's not always safe to be alone." "I'd like that," she agreed, and let Webber lead the way.

Webber ranged ahead rather than sticking too closely to Charlie, meandering from side to side to check both sides of the path. Spider and human were both on edge still, silently trading half-formed thoughts and theories between their minds. Magic? Shadows pretending to be people? A real person, pretending very, very well... Their thoughts were going nowhere, and it was usually rude to talk to themselves when someone else was there. "Have you been finding enough to eat?" they asked, pausing to let Charlie catch up. She didn't look hurt or exhausted, but she also didn't seem like she was quite used to walking all day. It had been an awful long time since Webber had had that problem. "Not really," Charlie admitted. This was more familiar ground. Webber rooted around in the pockets of their slightly-battered party dress. "We've got enough to share," they assured her, and it was true. The spider meat would be no good for her, and the mushrooms were no good for anybody unless they were cooked; but they could and did spare the rest of what they'd found, solemnly handing over a handful of wild carrots and a velvety-furred moleworm corpse. It wasn't much of a meal, by the old camp's standards (standards like pies and ice cream and Mr. Wolfgang's family recipe for honey-glazed ham, the thought of which made their tummy ache just a little). But it was better than a lot of things, and if Ms. Charlie didn't know that yet she'd learn it soon. She took the scraps of food without complaint, only a gracious "Thank you." They'd already turned away to continue down the path when she added, "What do I owe you?" The question brought Webber up short, tilting their head to one side as they considered this. "You don't have to worry about it, ma'am." They really hadn't thought about it. Giving away extra food to someone who didn't have any was just.. the right thing to do. Humans shared with each other, it was kind and polite; spiders who were successful hunters brought food to the weaker members to keep the whole hive strong. "We can keep sharing things as we need to," Webber said, just in case she was going to feel bad if she wasn't going to be able to pay them back at all. Charlie nodded assent, lips curling into a warm smile.

That night, Ms. Charlie helped them fell a tree and chop it into manageable logs for a fire, the comfortingly familiar smell of pine sap rising around them as they worked. Building a campfire was a familiar and well-practiced motion, and between the two of them they had one crackling merrily away in no time. There was a clump of berry bushes near where they chose to camp, and Webber wandered over to the edge of the firelight to examine them, running his claws through the tightly packed leaves. They'd been stripped clean of the familiar red fruits. "Ms. Charlie, come see this," Webber called over, and she rose from her place beside the fire, half-roasted carrot in hand. "Don't worry, we'll find something else," she said, reassuring and gentle. Webber shook their head, spiderlimbs swaying a little with the emphatic motion. "No, what we mean is - somebody picked them. There's more people here." Webber turned to smile up at her. "We can keep looking in the morning. Hopefully they're close!" "I hope so too," Charlie agreed, and they accompanied her back to the fire, humming a little under their breath. Night fell as it always had, the dim but steady light of evening dimming rapidly into pure darkness. Was the night the same dangerous time it had been in the old world? Webber didn't know the full story, but he knew Mr. Maxwell had done.. something... and Charlie had been the unseen hunter in the night that came with teeth. Was there something new out there, if Charlie was here? Or perhaps the person sitting next to them wasn't the real Charlie, or was only part of Charlie. As far as he knew, almost anything was possible, and Webber wasn't eager to make an experiment. Webber's eyes were more like human eyes than spider eyes, but they stared out into the pitch-darkness anyway, impatient for morning. Their friends were out there - they had to believe that. They'd be able to rebuild. There was hope, as long as their hearts were still beating.

[someone-im-close-to-fanfic-blog]

Chapter 10- Charlie, Charlie

Wilson’s bonds are finally put to the test. Charlie, you truly are a bitch.

Chapter Rating: PG13

The world seemed to spin for a split second before Wilson sat up. His vision was blurry for a moment but quickly adjusted. Everything around him was dark, darker than the cave they were in just moments before. He surveyed the space around him. Just meters in front of him, he could make out the silhouettes of two dark columns that were likely around one and a half meters tall. To the sides, there wasn’t anything he could see besides a darkness so thick you could cut it with a knife. He saw that the others were all sitting up, rubbing their heads and looking around, just as confused and dazed as he was. Wilson groaned as he pulled himself to his feet.

“Is everyone here?” He asked as the others slowly came to.

“I think so.” Willow flipped out her lighter but quickly put it away when she saw it had no effect on the looming darkness around them.

“Where are we?” Wigfrid looked around, amazed. Wendy and Webber locked hands for comfort, a bit unsure of their new surroundings. Wes trembled, and Wolfgang attempted to soothe him despite his own fear of the dark. Woodie clutched his axe defensively.

Wilson bit his lip. Now that he thought about it, he recognized this place. A look over at Maxwell showed that he recognized it as well, and the look in his eyes made it clear that they shared a mutual feeling of dread.

“Charlie.” The magician mouthed over at him. Wilson nodded.

“It has to be.” He moved a little closer, hoping that no one else would hear. “God. Something tells me we just messed up really badly.”

His comment was immediately followed by the sound of a woman laughing loudly, and his heart leapt into his throat. That voice was certainly much more chilling in person.

“Wonderful show, all of you!” Atop the columns, flames suddenly burst forth systematically. It started from the first two, and conflagrations quickly appeared on row after row behind them. Standing between the very last two was a woman in a long black dress, arms outstretched. Her cropped black hair hung around her face in a way that was almost beautiful, and she wore a black hat that had a red feather in it.

“Charlie.” Wilson swallowed. So this is what she looked like. Admittedly, she was shorter than he’d remembered; she was probably somewhere between Wickerbottom and Maxwell’s heights. Her face also looked different than what was expected as well. Her lips were thin and red, drawn into a sly smile against her pale, pale face. Her eyes were a startling robin’s egg blue and her lids were powdered with what appeared to be a dark purple powder. Her eyebrows were thin and raised slightly as she sneered at the dazed group standing meters in front of her. She looked surprisingly young, as if the shadows and her time on the Throne hadn’t affected her physically the way it had Maxwell.

“Who are you?” Wigfrid slowly raised her spear, a bit unsure of how to feel about the woman. Wilson remembered that the others hadn’t a notion of who Charlie was just yet, and knew they were in for a terrible surprise.

“Aww, Maxie, you’ve told them who I was but not the others?” She crossed her arms over her chest, glancing at the Higgsbury siblings coldly and then back to him. “I’m offended.”

Wilson noticed she was imitating Willow’s reaction to similar news upon her arrival. ‘Jerk.’

“I...uh…” Maxwell faltered over his words.

“Maxwell. Just who exactly is this, and how do you know her?” Wigfrid turned the point of her spear at him, her tone slowly switching from suspicious to both suspicious and mad.

“Wigfrid. Calm down.” Woodie prompted, placing a hand on the redhead’s shoulder, but she quickly slapped it away.

“No, I want an answer. You kept this from us on purpose, didn’t you?” She took a few steps closer to Maxwell, spear out. “Didn’t you!”

“Yes, he did.” Charlie sneered. “You certainly turn on other people easily, don’t you, Wigfrid Jonsdottir?”

Wigfrid stopped dead in her tracks and turned to look at Charlie, amazed and terrified. “How did you know my full name? I’ve never told it to anyone here.”

Charlie laughed. “I know all of your names, and everything about you!” She said, delighted with the horrified reactions that came from everybody that didn’t previously know of her existence. “Allow me to introduce myself, dearies. I’m Charlie, more or less your queen. I’ve been reigning over this land for longer than most of you have been here, and as such have been lucky enough to witness what you all have been doing in your time here.” She giggled. “You’re an interesting group, I’ll give you that much.”

“Excuse me!” Wigfrid suddenly flushed red. “Exactly how much do you know about me, or any of us for that matter?”

“As I said, everything,” Charlie smirked and dared to take a few steps closer. “Even the most personal of things. Nothing is safe from me, so long as it’s in your mind.”

“But how?” Wigfrid began to tremble, and Willow put an arm on her shoulder comfortingly.

“Well, it’s a bit hard to explain.” Charlie tapped her chin with a finger in thought. “How do I put this...I get my power from the darkness, like what surrounds you at night. Have you ever wandered around at night without a torch and felt something strike you?” Mostly everyone in the group nodded. “That was me!” The woman giggled. “I must say, being the highest power of this land is certainly a rewarding experience, even if it’s an exhausting one.”

“So you’re...like a god.” Wendy’s eyes widened and she exchanged an uneasy glance with Webber.

“Exactly, dear child.” Charlie crooned and looked back over to Wigfrid. “Among my powers are reading minds and controlling shadows at will. That’s how I know that your two biggest insecurities are how people perceive you and your breasts. With a size 32C, well, who can blame you?”

Wigfrid looked horrified. Her face went from bright red to sheet white in an instant. Willow wrapped an arm around her comfortingly.

‘Oh, you bitch.’ Wilson thought, furious with this woman for what she’d just said. If there’s anything he’d learned from growing up with Willow, it was this; never, ever comment on a person’s biggest insecurities. It’s either going to cripple their confidence for life, cause them to get so mad they kick your arse to the moon and back, or both.

“Good god, Charlie, what’s come over you?” Maxwell seemed equally horrified. “You’re not at all like I remember you!”

“Neither are you.” Charlie pursed her lips, her cruel smile fading.

“Speaking of which, how do you two know each other?” Woodie prompted, trying to change the subject away from Charlie’s condescending nature.

“Why don’t you tell them, Maxie.” Charlie crossed her arms. “Since you seemed to have no problem telling them.” Her eyes flicked over to the Higgsbury siblings again and then back to Maxwell. The man sighed.

“Charlie and I came here together, after an accident.” He pursed his lips. It was obvious that recounting this story pained him. “She was my assistant in a magic show. Afterward, I was seated on the shadow throne, and she became the darkness. After Wilson freed me, he was bound to the throne until Charlie came and let him go. I’m assuming that you’ve been the one pulling the reigns to this place since then, haven’t you?” He questioned the woman. She nodded.

“You’re so smart.” She giggled. “Glad to see that much hasn’t changed.”

“So why didn’t you tell any of us this before?” Webber asked.

“It...hurts to bring it back up.” The magician admitted truthfully. “I’m sorry. That, and I had my doubts about how our safety would be affected if I told.”

“Speaking of which.” Wigfrid seemed to have recovered some from her bout of horror. “Safety….Your name’s Charlie, right?”

The queen nodded.

Wigfrid’s eyes widened. “Oh my god. So it was you who killed Wickerbottom. Not Maxwell.”

Charlie nodded with a malicious grin. The words hit everyone in the face like bricks. Even Wilson and Willow were affected. The male Higgsbury figured it was because of an underlying belief that Maxwell had just fabricated the story.

“Well, Wigfrid. Took you long enough to piece that together. You seem to be very much like your oh-so-wonderful girlfriend and her brother. At least, up here you are.” She tapped the side of her forehead with a finger. “But can you figure out why? There’s a motive to every single move a person makes, you know. Every single one.”

That stumped them. What reason did Charlie have for killing Wickerbottom? Every theory that any of them had brainstormed regarding motives flew out the window now that they knew for a fact that someone they knew nothing about was responsible.

Maxwell sighed, just about summing up what everyone else felt about this. “Charlie, come on. This is unnecessary. Just tell us what you've been doing this whole time. Even I'm stumped on this. It's like I don't even know you.” The emotion in his voice was enough to bring Wilson to tears, and he turned his head away to make sure he didn't see them.

“Very well, then.” Charlie said. “I suppose I could tell you. Why don't we go somewhere a bit more comfortable.” She said it as more of a command rather than an invitation, and everyone was far too scared of her to object. She'd murdered one of them, after all, and in such a clean and precise way that they could have never guessed it was her. Well, maybe they had an idea of it, but that wasn't the point. The point was that this woman was intimidating to them all, and no one dared to disobey her out of fear of losing their own lives as well. Charlie led them away from the place where they'd woken up, passing column after column that lit up as soon as they passed and put themselves out as soon as they moved on. Wilson remembered feeling fascinated upon seeing them for the first time, but it had been long since then. He was sure this was how Willow felt about the pillars, too, underneath all the stress and fear she appeared to be going under. After a little bit of walking, they appeared before a tall staircase that was pitch black. It led up to a raised platform, and atop it was none other than the Nightmare Throne itself. Potted plants were scattered here and there, containing roses and ferns that Wilson recognized from his dream a few nights earlier. It was both quaint and chilling. The scientist glanced over at Maxwell and saw him tense up severely at the sight, so he quickly reached over and squeezed his hand before letting go. That seemed to ease both of their nerves a bit, but not by much.

“Well. Here we are.” Charlie’s heels clicked against the stairs as she climbed up to sit on the throne. “Oh, did you all expect to have a place to sit, too? Apologies, but I forgot to mention that this is the only chair here, and I'm sure none of you would like to spend even a second on it.” She gestured to the chair and laughed darkly. “Especially Maxwell and Wilson. I believe it's safe to say that you two would hate this thing the most.”

She wasn't wrong about that, Wilson thought. Despite his lack of ability to remember just what had happened during his time on that throne, so much as the thought of it brought forth a feeling of despise that lingered in his subconscious that was so profound that he would never have guessed himself able to feel such a deeply vile feeling. Somehow, however, he did.

“Now…” Charlie tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair, and it echoed in the dark room. Wilson wondered if there were any walls to this place, or if there was just an endless span of nothing. And even if there were to be walls, what would lie beyond them? “I've noticed that you all have been rather tense and up in arms about the recent murder, whether you've shown it or not.”

Everyone nodded slowly, not sure what else to do. Webber clung to Willow again, and Wendy to Wilson. The Higgsburies allowed them to.

“I'll admit, I'm rather proud of that feat. Wigfrid was right in that a shadow clone was used for the job. She was just wrong about whose clone it was.” She chuckled darkly. She must have a habit of laughing maniacally. Wilson figured that's what happened to people stuck in dark chasms all day doing god knows what. “But I know you're not interested in how. You're interested in why.” When no one said anything, she raised an eyebrow. “Right?”

“Right…” Came the slow, unsteady reply.

“Well,” Charlie took a deep breath. “It's because this has all been one big experiment.”

Experiment? Wilson’s ears perked up at that. “Of what sorts?” He asked, immediately receiving a shocked glance of “why would you say that?!” from Willow.

Charlie smiled. “Quite the curious one, or so I've observed. Funny you should ask, Wilson, considering this whole thing has been about you.”

The scientist’s stomach dropped into his feet so quickly he thought he'd had an aneurysm just then. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Don't you get it? This whole thing, this bringing back someone, this murder--it's all been about you.” She sneered. “You know, at first I was opposed to the idea of Maxwell ever bringing other people to this realm. Back then, however...well, I was just no fun at all, wasn't I? When Maxwell brought you here, I immediately noticed three distinct things about you.” She held up a finger and began to list them off. “One. You're extremely emotional, and your feelings tend to dictate your actions. Occasionally, if your sanity is low enough or if conditions aren't ideal to you, then you become extremely unstable and impulsive. Despite this, however, you've managed to adapt and learn about this realm quickly. It's a very curious thing to see in someone like yourself, actually.

“Two. You're ambiverted. When you want to be alone, you’re happy, but when you need attention you need it badly. Even when you were alone, I saw that your attitude towards socializing fluctuated greatly. Some nights, you'd be content working by yourself. On others, you'd be extremely lonely. I've seen you weep over those you miss, or over missing people in general, and you had a tendency to talk to yourself a lot during this time.

“Three. Your intellect is a lifesaver, but your curiosity is the opposite, or at least it can be at times. You're a risk-taker, extremely observant, and obsessed with finding out everything possible about the things that interest you. I recall a few times where you've literally starved to death because you wouldn't pull yourself away from your work.” Willow gasped at this and glared at her brother.

“Wilson!” She scolded. Wilson expected a strong, hard slap across the face for his past foolishness, but it never came, fortunately. While it wasn't usually appreciated, Willow could hit hard.

“Okay...so what does this have to do with things, and where do we come in?” Wigfrid asked.

Charlie huffed. “Oh, Willow, how can you stand such an impatient woman? I'm getting there.” Again, Wigfrid looked horrified and ashamed, turning her face to the ground. Wilson’s contempt for Charlie only grew, and he could tell Willow was feeling the same way. “Now, Wilson. What I'm trying to say here is that I've grown to like you quite a bit. Not romantically, of course. I mean in the way that a scientist like yourself grows to love his experiments and his other works.”

A mix of emotions hit Wilson so hard that it physically hurt. Experiment. Works. Hearing himself, the scientist, being described as the experiment was probably the single-handedly most offensive and downright terrible thing he could have heard in that moment.

“Is that so.” Is all he was able to say.

“Yes,” Charlie chuckled. “It is. It's why I freed you from the throne as well, but not before you did some pretty nasty stuff to Maxwell. Hah! Oh, if only you remembered! But I wiped both your memory and his clean of the experience since I didn't want it to affect how you two interacted. I figured it would be more interesting that way.” She smiled slyly in a way that was akin to the Cheshire Cat.

“You're evil.” That was all Wilson could manage out through all his emotion. Charlie laughed.

“I know I am, dear. As your precious Maxwell told you, the shadows change people. In my case, I became the ruler of the shadows, and how liberating it is! Oh, Maxwell, I am sorry for not believing anything that lovely book of yours had to say about this realm! It's fantastic here, really, at least if you're the one with power.”

“Sounds familiar.” Willow mumbled.

“After releasing you back to the wilderness with him, whom you hated so very much at the time, I decided I'd monitor you. I lost interest in Maxwell; I'd known you for too long. I'm sorry, dear, you just weren't as interesting as he was.” Charlie pointed a thumb at the trembling red-and-black clad scientist. “After a while, I noticed you lot scheming to find a way out, and I decided I'd use that as an opportunity to bring more people in. I must say, it worked out quite well, and as more people came and were forced to adapt to their new surroundings you managed to keep your rivalry with Maxwell mostly at bay and helped them around. It was quite kind, actually.” Charlie nodded. “Interesting, too. You must have been dying for some attention. Well, I knew you had a sister, but I intentionally decided not to bring her here. It was entertaining to watch your love for her slowly start to cripple you and pull you away from the group. Maxwell’s attempts at getting you to fess up were quite adorable, I must say, and you slowly falling for him was inevitable yet somehow surprising. Oh, I just had to throw in that kill, you know, so as to see what you'd do and see if the society you've worked so hard to keep in order turn on one another.” She chuckled maliciously. “Sacrificing an arm for him was such a stupid move, you know, especially considering that most of his romantic advances onto you were controlled by me and not completely genuine. That long-ass rant of reasons why he liked you? Ha! You really think he could come up with something like that? That was from me. You're welcome, Maxwell." She shot a glance at the magician, who turned a bit red. "I didn't plan to interfere any further than that, though. You're just so interesting, Wilson, even without manipulating others. It tempted me. After seeing what you were really like, I just couldn't help but decide to find out how you'd react to my little obstacles.” She stared down at him, waiting for a reaction.

Wilson felt numb. Empty.

‘This was all a sick little game.’ He thought, barely able to breathe. ‘This was all the doings of a woman like her...by god, it was because of me.’ Repressing tears, he looked bravely back up at the woman before him. “I see.” He tried to keep his voice from wavering, but as she'd said, his emotions dictated his actions, and it wavered here and there. “So then, what do you plan for me next? Surely this can't be the end.”

“And it isn't.” Charlie smiled. “There's one thing I've been dying to see.” She beckoned for the scientist to come forward, and he obeyed numbly. Everyone else was too stunned to move. “Now, I'm sure you've had quite the experience dealing with my commands in those lovely dreams I've given to you lately, right?”

“You could say that.” Wilson bit his lip.

“You may want to drop that habit, dear, or else your pretty lips will scar.” Wilson wanted to slap her for that, but he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to do much as raise a finger. Such were the ways of emotions, he supposed. “Now, where was I? Oh yes. That's right.” Charlie's smile changed to a smirk. “Maxwell, Willow. Please step forward as well.”

Wilson’s stomach dropped again. No. No. She wouldn't dare, would she? Not here. Not now.

Alas, she would.

“If you had to choose which of these two people lived or died, who would it be?” Charlie was obviously delighted at the look of raw terror that crossed Wilson’s face. Willow seemed alarmed by this, but not particularly distraught. Maxwell simply appeared sad, as though he expected Wilson to choose him, and that only made it harder for him to come to a conclusion.

“Oh, Charlie, really?” He finally asked after what felt like an eternity of being undecided. “Please, for god's sake. I can't choose between them! I can't choose between any of them!” He pointed at the people behind him. “We’ve all become close, and I can't say for certain anymore that I'd be happy if one of them died! Please, just drop the question. I can't bear to pick. Please.” He felt himself weaken and feared that he would drop to his knees.

Charlie snorted. “You really think I'm going to let you off that easily? Boy, I will leave you here for an eternity if you choose not to comply, and by then everyone you love will be gone. Is that what you want?” Wilson shook his head rapidly, terrified by the rapid change in her demeanor. “That's what I thought. Now choose. They'll die eventually either way. You just have to pick which one gets put out of their misery first.”

The scientist felt himself trembling and cast his eyes first to Maxwell and then to Willow. His indecisiveness grew slowly, worrying him thoroughly about what to do when suddenly Willow stepped forward.

“Let it be me.” She said coolly.

“What?” Everyone gasped. Charlie cocked an eyebrow.

“Willow, don't!” Wigfrid shouted, terrified. Her brother gave her a look that said the same.

“So you want to choose for him.” Charlie shrugged. “Well, alright. I suppose that counts, as long as Wilson agrees with your decision.” She looked over to the scientist expectantly. “Tell us, then, if you agree with this arrangement.”

Wilson didn't know what to say. Of course he didn't agree! But did he have a choice? It felt horribly selfish to choose Maxwell over her, his lifelong companion, but choosing Willow still felt like losing parts of himself, both old and new, and he didn't want that at all.

‘I guess it's not a matter of what I want, though. It's what I think is right.’ But as Charlie had said, his emotions did play a large role in his decision-making. ‘That begs the question; what's truly the right choice in this situation?’ It was hard for him to come to a conclusion until he looked over at Willow.

It was a gesture so subtle that he would have missed it if he'd been looking somewhere else at the time. Their eyes met for a second and Willow winked at him with her left eye, the one closest to Wilson, so that Charlie wouldn't see, and quickly covered it up as a full blink. The gesture did manage to take a lot of the stress off her brother’s shoulders, and he knew that she had something in mind and was trying to tell him to go with it, but the idea of what it could be made him slightly worried again.

“We're waiting.” Charlie reminded, sounding a bit bored. Wilson brought forth a feigned unhappiness as a cover for his realization and sighed deeply.

“Let her do it.” He said, trying to sound as genuine as possible. Charlie seemed to fall for it, and so did everyone else.

“No! Please!” Wigfrid begged, falling to her knees. “Leave Willow be! I'll give myself for her, just let this beautiful woman live!”

“Or me!” Wendy volunteered. “I wouldn't mind, really. Then I'd get to be with Abigail forever.”

Charlie chuckled. “Oh, please. You lot are adorable. This doesn't concern you, so stay out of it. This is a trial for Wilson, and once it's done, I may have the mind to let you all go back to where you came from before I brought you here. Even you, Maxie.”

“Wait…” Everybody stopped. “Are you serious?”

“Of course.” Charlie nodded. “What, did you expect me to keep you all here forever? No. I'm cruel, but not that cruel. This was just an experiment. No need to hold you captive forever. You all will get to live your lives as it were before you came after I get the results I need.”

Wilson looked back and saw that everyone there seemed shocked. He couldn't help but wonder: what were their lives like before this? Would it be better if Charlie let them back? Would they like that life better than this? What would become of Webber, since he was made here? What of himself after the experiment was done? He pushed the questions to the back of his mind. No time for that now. Now was the time to face Charlie and one of his worst fears: losing his beautiful sister, the one who truly meant the world to him no matter what.

“Now, Wilson, are you sure you'd let Willow give herself?” Charlie asked, almost mockingly. “You'd rather your lifelong companion die than the man you've hated deeply for years, and have only recently come to love? Is that really so? Because if it is, then I suppose you don't truly love her after all. Some wonderful big brother you are.” She sneered.

Wilson bit the inside of his cheek. ‘You're wrong.’ He thought, disgusted with her snide attitude. ‘I do love Willow. I always have. After all the shit I've been through at your hands, the knowledge of my love is the only, ONLY thing I've been able to remain sure of. My...feelings for Maxwell are strange, yes, but these I'm sure of as well. Besides, he's changed. He's becoming a better person, and I love that as well. You, on the other hand, seem to be getting worse by the minute, you condescending, malicious bitch.’ Oh, how he wanted to spit those words at her, but he couldn't bring himself to, for he feared that speaking such harsh words would anger her to where she killed not only his beloved sister but also himself. He didn’t want to think of how the others would cope with the loss of three people over the course of a few days. He held those thoughts back and instead willed himself to simply nod.

“I’m sure.” He said grimly.

“Well.” Charlie chirped. “That was easy.” She stood back up and reached into her coat, producing something small that glimmered in the light of the fire burning atop the columns surrounding the throne. Wilson swallowed. It was a knife. How long had that been in there?

“Now…” The queen carefully started down the stairs towards them. “Maxwell. He’s made his choice. Go back with the others. And as for you.” She looked back to Wilson as the magician slowly backed away. “I’m sure you know what to do from here.” Carefully, she held the weapon out to him, handle first. Not seeing another option, Wilson saw that his hands trembled as he took it from her.

Internally, the man was screaming. He desperately wanted this to be over so badly. Fear and despair overpowered him, and he knew that if Willow had something up her sleeve than she’d better act fast, or else she’d be dead, and all because of him.

‘Maybe,’ He realized with horror. ‘Maybe that was her plan, to die in Maxwell’s place. Oh, Willow…’ He felt himself begin to tear up and let himself do so. No point in holding back anymore. Might as well give the cruel goddess what she wanted.

“Willow…” His voice broke as he said the name, tears welling into his eyes. “You know this isn’t something I’ve ever wanted, no matter how cross I’ve gotten with you..”

“I know, dear.” She lovingly cupped the side of his face with a hand. She was so soft and feminine that it only made her brother more emotional. It had to be a crime to destroy something as beautiful as this. “Just trust me. This is what’s right; I know it.” Carefully, she placed a hand atop the one Wilson used to grasp the handle of the knife. Oh so slightly, she probed at the space between her brother’s trembling fingers, and he got the message immediately. Willow wanted to hold the blade as well. He allowed her to do so, lacing their fingers together, and as he did so, she smiled warmly.

“Come on, Wilson, what are you afraid of?” She asked, almost playfully. “It’ll all be over in an instant, like a vaccine.”

“I can’t do it.” He choked out in response. “I love you too much.”

“Please.” She whispered this time, barely audible. “Just trust me.”

“Don’t look.” Maxwell urged the two children who stood only meters away, and they cast their glances elsewhere in horror. The thought of what was to come next was heavy in their minds, and it hurt them severely.

“Well…” Wilson took a deep breath. “Alright.” He sniffled. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“It’s okay.” Willow brushed away a tear from Wilson before removing her hand from his cheek. “I love you too, big brother.”

With that, she quickly snatched the blade from him, grabbed Charlie by the collar, and stabbed her in the stomach as hard as she could.

[justanotherdumpingground]

Chapter Reviews: June 11-15, 2019 + Thoughts on TRH and Sunkissed

Wishful Thinking Chapter 10:

Not a surprise Charlie is shady all along. I guess the rest of the story will revolve around digging up more dirt on him. My gut tells me that Ellen is cackling internally if she learns about this.

Me spending diamonds to help a character with a reused model? No thanks. Tony should get advice from other co-workers instead of the MC. I have more important matters to focus on, like who defamed the MC and what Charlie is up to.

Nightbound Chapter 9:

For the confessionals, the one that moved me the most is Vera's. I like that she acknowledges her mom's reappropriation of the Reimonenq Cruse for her benefit and the fear she commands while still disapproving of the abuse she inflicted on Vera. Whatever that is, I hope Vera well use her power for the greater good and step out of her mom's shadow.

I kinda like the Fate. She may seem like an ominous figure, but I like her concern for others while maintaining an aura of dignity. Her tear flashback was really emotional when telling the futures of her clients. For the young woman, I told her that her lover loves her back, even if this path leads to an untimely death. For the soldier, I chose to tell him that he'll die gloriously in battle. For the king, I told him he'll be kind, but his kingdom will be poor. Every time I picked my decision for the first two, I wanted to cry because of their untimely deaths. In the first's case, I was satisfied with telling the truth and having the knowledge that the woman will die surrounded by love.

Since one of the upcoming chapters involves meeting with the fae, I think Lord Elric's monster tear will be acquired soon. But first, let's see how the encounter with zombies go.

Passport to Romance Chapter 14:

Honestly, the MC of this story is so annoyingly ungrateful. Yvette has been covering their travel budget and ensuring their accountability in doing their job, and they paid back by quitting without acknowledging Yvette's hard work. And the premium option to get back on Carlisle isn't convincing. Sure I have no love for him and Bronwyn, but they're also underdeveloped and forgettable.

To aggravate matters, one of the bloggers ships the MC with Elliot. Ugh! I have made no secret of how much I dislike him for his immaturity and irreverent behavior. Let me be with Sumire in peace, you idiot! And I'd rather go to Ibiza alone than go to London with Elliot.

A Courtesan of Rome Chapter 21:

Wow! That was one way to end the story. The buildup to the MC and her family preparing for Caesar's assassination was fun to watch. Victus rallying gladiators to revolt, Delphinia gathering worshippers to give the MC strength and weaken Caesar, and the MC having premium options to hook up with the love interests. I didn't pick any of them, though. The real cake is watch the MC kill Caesar and getting to pick whether to side with Cassius or Antony. It was more or less a moot point because the Republic will soon be replaced with an empire, but because I'm pursuing neither, I might have dodged a bullet.

I'm glad this story gives me the option to stay single. Even though my MC's with Syphax and they chose to rebuild her tribe, I'm glad having a love interest isn't necessary to advance the plot. What's ultimately heartwarming is seeing the MC's family reunited properly once Caesar has been dealt with.

Overall, this story is pretty enjoyable. The middle chapters were a bit of a drag on the MC's story, but they pick up once again when Sabina gave Aquila a verbal smackdown. I also enjoy Delphinia's story and think it's the best of the three because of her charisma, care for others, and firmness. The story still has weak points, however, the most notable being Xanthe, who is undoubtedly an underused character who could've been an interesting character that provides commentary while still someone people could love to hate. Anyway, this story is one of several genderlocked stories I enjoy.

Platinum Chapter 4:

This story is starting to remind me of America's Most Eligible. The fake backstories and PR moves, the urge for competition and the need to reach the top. That looks like a recipe for fun, though.

I don't feel the urge to spend diamonds on instruments, songs, or moments with the LIs. To be honest, I'm generally uninterested in the romance aspect this time. Anyway, I would be excited if I get to customize the MC's stage name.

Red Carpet Diaries Chapter 2:

As expected, I got engaged to Victoria. Nice. And not to mention that I chose to be exclusive with her. Pity that buying an engagement ring with her costs diamonds, but no matter. This better mean that I won't spend too much time with Hunt, who doesn't deserve to be a love interest. Him becoming one involves disregarding the sexual harassment plot in Book 2, which is downright unacceptable.

On another bright note, the ocelot's back! Seriously, I'm annoyed that he can't go on vacation with me. What if he also stars in The Secret of Ninradell? He better do.

Ugh, seeing Markus von Groot today pisses me off. Why is this egotistical, entitled bully allowed to keep directing movies under different aliases? On the bright side, he didn't get to direct the movie of the book, but then again, he was never qualified to direct movies in the first place.

Another collection. Hooray. It looks like it functions more like the memory box in The Senior. Might as well avoid that.

Apparently, a summary for an upcoming chapter says that the MC will find a suitable director for the movie. Well, my money's on Thomas Hunt because he knows the content well.

The Elementalists Chapter 10:

Man, it feels like forever since I last played The Elementalists. Nevertheless, here it goes.

I like that the MC and Atlas chose to have each other's backs after the incident with Kane and Alma. Proof that siblings should stick together. I had to grab the gun because it might come in handy later on, though by that point I couldn't afford to listen to Raife's voice. *sigh*

Speaking of siblings, I seriously wonder what's with Beckett being emotionally needy that he has to have the MC accompany him. I have a love-hate relationship with him because of that and his intelligence. At least things went well with Katrina.

Free spell from Professor Englund? Yes, please! I need to arm myself with shurikens if the gun fails on me.

Finally Shreya has a good plan. Talking to Greygarden is definitely a good idea for more answers on Alma and Kane. And it better be good at the Gala.

Bloodbound Chapter 5:

What kind of scene was that with Lester? At first, I thought he was gonna kill the girl with Clarissa Waverly's model, but after it was revealed to be some sort of foreplay, I'm just horrified. Even if it was presented as consent, I'm still grossed out at the idea of an old creep like him feeding from a young girl. At least throwing a mannequin at him was satisfying.

Also, Jax in a disco outfit and hairstyle made me cringe. On a more important note, is anyone bothered by the lack of consistency with him? He mentioned that his parents met during a student protest during the 1960s, so shouldn't this vision be in the 1990s instead? Either way, I need to save diamonds for this fragment.

No way am I picking the premium option to hook up with Priya. It's just schmuk bait that leads to certain doom. Not to mention that she's never someone I have any respect for because of the way she treats her employees and muses. I seriously dodged a bullet.

I can't wait to see how the confrontation with Gaius goes. I think Lester has made a valid point that the Blood of the First should be destroyed because of the power it contains and that Adrian's feeling the effects through the serum he injected. After all, he mentioned that his serum contains some similarities with the blood.

Thoughts on The Royal Heir and Sunkissed:

It's no secret The Royal Romance has become a cash cow like The Freshman series, though I prefer TRR because of the politicking, Liam's subtle cunning, a cast of characters I enjoy (especially Maxwell, Olivia, and the corgi), and the opportunity to have my own piece of land. Anyway, one book of TRH should be enough.

I'm never excited for Sunkissed when it was first announced. The title and its first two ads on Instagram is enough for me to conclude that it's some forgettable summer romance, so I don't care that it's genderlocked. Even the recent trailer isn't too exciting for the most part. What captured my interest are the bottled message and the girl with long brown hair and creepy looking eyes. This book could be an intriguing mystery like Veil of Secrets or an utter failure for a light hearted story like Home for the Holidays. Either way, best keep a cautious eye on this story.

[petero1298]

S&P 500:  5 Dec 2017 (End of Day, EOD)

The Trend is: UP (Strength @ 100%)

Daily Price Action: The daily price action is bullish.

    Remarks

Since the trend is UP; you should not short sell the S&P 500 index.

Since the Daily Price Action is bullish, it does not make sense to be in CASH.

So the only logical position at this point in time is to be LONG.

S&P 500 e-minis position based on data @ 21 Nov 2017 EOD: LONG

Current Stock holding:  None. TSN and HD were sold on 5 Dec

—————————————-

The indicators used in my chart are quite sensitive. Meaning there is no point in preempting or front running potential changes in signals. It’s better to just wait for the signals to change and weigh up the weight of evidence.

This blog is a Work-in-progress. While every effort is made to maintain accuracy and consistency,  you should expect unannounced edits, changes in format style and content. This blog will evolve as my thinking evolves in response to an ever changing stock market.

“My Thoughts About Technical Analysis” was posted on 4 June 2017, 19 July 2017  

——————————————-

      “ Technical Analysis is a windsock, not a crystal ball. “ - Carl Swenlin.  (Editorial comment: We are using technical analysis to measure what the trend is doing today. We are not using it to predict what the trend will do tomorrow.)

“Good investment advice is repetitive and boring. There is nothing exciting about it.” – D. Muthukrishnan

“Everybody wants to win, of course. But not everybody wants to bet, and therein lies a difference of the greatest magnitude.” - Max Gunther

“Worry is not a sickness but a sign of health. If you are not worried, you are not risking enough.” - Max Gunther

“To make any kind of gain in life, … you must place some of your material and/or emotional capital at risk. That is the law of the universe. Except by blind chance, it cannot be circumvented. There are no appeals. It is the law. - Max Gunther

“Systems don’t need to be changed. The trick is for a trader to develop a system with which he is compatible.” - Ed Seykota

“I have never seen short term trading work over the long run.” - Anonymous

“Trends persist.” - Richard Donchian

          “I’ve learned many things from [George Soros]  but perhaps the most significant is that it’s not whether you’re right or wrong that’s important, but how much money you make when you’re right and how much you lose when you’re wrong. Soros has taught me that when you have tremendous conviction on a trade, you have to go for the jugular. As far as Soros is concerned, when you’re right on something, you can’t own enough. It takes courage to ride a profit with huge leverage.” - Stanley Druckenmiller

“And then all that is required is a willingness to bet heavily when the odds are extremely favorable, using resources available as a result of prudence and patience in the past. It’s not given to human beings to have such talent that they can just know everything about everything all the time. But it is given to human beings who work hard at it—who look and sift the world for a mispriced bet—that they can occasionally find one. And the wise ones bet heavily when the world offers them that opportunity. They bet big when they have the odds. And the rest of the time, they don’t. It’s just that simple.” - Charlie Munger

“The second piece, analytically, is bet size, which is once you have an edge, how much do you bet in your portfolio? That’s a second key component which is often overlooked.” - Michael Mauboussin

      [[[  Priority #1 in Technical Analysis is to identify the direction of the primary trend. That’s all we’re doing here. Which way is the stock going? Up or down? Answering that is step one. Then we want to look for either signs of strength or signs of exhaustion.

Price is the most important technical indicator we have. Moving averages are therefore a supplement to price behavior in the trend identification process.

If prices are making higher highs and higher lows above an upward sloping 200 day moving average, it’s most likely not in a downtrend.

…  my sole use for a moving average is to help identify the direction of the primary and/or secondary trend in a given market. This is not for buy and sell signals.

Something we want to avoid is when a stock (or any asset) is trading near a flat 200 period moving average. This is typically an environment that lacks any trend. ]]] - JC Parets

    [[[ “There’s no such thing as overbought in an uptrend.”  Technical analysis’ primary goal is to find stocks that are trending and then take advantage of that trend.  Assuming you don’t short things (please don’t), then the only way to make money as an investor is to buy low and sell high - i.e., ride an uptrend.

Given that finding and riding uptrends is our primary mission, once you are riding an uptrend, why would you ever get off of it before it reverses?  This is where the concept of “overbought” can work against you.  

“Oscillators oscillate.”  This brilliant insight reminds me that many technical indicators go up and down frequently - even if the stock is continuing to move higher.  They can’t help it.  They were designed to work that way.  (In reality, they are meant to be used when a stock is moving sideways, not when it is in an uptrend.) ]]] - Chip Anderson

          “In a bull market, buy fast and sell slow.” - Anonymous

“In a bull market, negative divergences (eg. momentum or breadth) tend to resolve themselves to the upside. This is called the bull market bias.” - Anonymous with hat tip to Carl Swenlin

“In a bull market, you buy the technically oversold condition. In a bear market, you short sell the over bought condition.” - Anonymous

          “Daniel-san, trust quality of what you know, not quantity.” - Mr Miyagi, Karate Kid.  ( It’s not how much you know. It’s how well you have mastered what you already know.)

“It’s not what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.” - Mark Twain

“Complexity is your enemy. Anybody can make things complicated. It’s hard to keep things simple.” - Richard Branson

“Simplicity has a way of improving performance through enabling us to better understand what we are doing.” - Charlie Munger

“Simple is not always best. But best is always simple.” - Anonymous

“Build systems, not goals. When you set a goal, you can fail to reach it. But with a system you always win.” Real success comes from following a system – not a random assortment of good ideas. - Ramit Sethi

          “The main thing is to keep the main thing, the main thing.” - Anonymous

“Your focus determines your reality.” - Qui-Gon Jinn, Star Wars Episode 1 (Editor: So what do you want to go big on?)

“Focus—and true productivity—is not what we’re doing but what we’re not doing.” - Caroline Beaton

“You cannot overestimate the unimportance of practically everything.” — John Maxwell

“Instead of widening your options, narrow your priorities.”   - Caroline Beaton  (Editor: So what do you want to go big on?)

“Just because something is valuable doesn’t mean that we need it.” ― Elle Luna

          “Not every decision we make is actually rational. We see what we want to see filtered through our inherent biases, and then we make decisions based on those biases. These biases are called cognitive biases and we all have them.” - Christine Comaford        

“There is only one side of the market and it is not the bull side or the bear side, but the right side.” - Jesse Livermore  (Editor: In the stock market, both bulls and bears can trade profitably. But pigs and mules tend to get slaughtered)

“I think it was a long step forward in my trading education when I realized at last that when old Mr. Partridge kept on telling other customers, “Well, you know this is a bull market!” he really meant to tell them that the big money was not in the individual fluctuations but in the main movements that is, not in reading the tape but in sizing up the entire market  and its trend.” - Jesse Livermore

          “The only way you can make money in the market is with a trend.  Price has to trend (move) higher or lower or you just break even.  This trend can be hours or months, smooth or choppy but it’s that trend, the movement of price that makes you money.  The trend, indeed, is your friend. “  Unknown

(Editorial comment: The more stable [or less volatile] the trend,  the easier it is to make money.)

“Trading is all about putting the odds in our favor, and we can increase our odds with one key assumption: The trend will remain in force until proven otherwise. In other words, a trend in motion is expected to stay in motion or assume that the trend will extend, and not end. - Arthur Hill

(Editorial comment:  And my own favorite bullish quote “The trend is up until it is not.”)

“Isn’t it strange how you want to enter long positions during a bull market, but you want to wait on that “pullback”?  Then the market pulls back and you think the selling has just begun and you don’t want to enter too early so you wait.  Everyone goes through this mental game.” - Tom Bowley

“Corrections are tricky because nobody knows how long they will last, how far they will extend and what path they will take. … the bigger trend is up … timing a correction is difficult. … I prefer timing the end of the correction rather than the beginning.“ - Arthur Hill

“Don’t buy the dip. Buy after the dip, once it begins to turn higher again. You don’t want to buy weakness indiscriminately. If you wait for the evidence that the buyers are back in control, you have a much higher probability trade with lower risk and stress.” - Brian Shannon

“One of the biggest challenges in technical analysis is to distinguish between a mere correction and the start of a bigger downtrend.” - Arthur Hill

“It is said that while bottoms are events, but tops are processes. Translated, markets bottom out when panic sets in, and therefore they can be more easily identifiable. By contrast, market tops form when a series of conditions come together, but not necessarily all at the same time” - Cam Hui

            “Man plans, and God laughs” - Yiddish Proverb

“Everybody has a plan until they get hit in the face. Then, like a rat, they stop in fear and freeze.” - Mike Tyson

“In economics (and markets), things take longer to happen than you think they will, and then they happen faster than you thought they could.” - Rudiger Dornbusch

“You can’t prepare for everything, but the things you can prepare for can set you up for life.” - Ramit Sethi

“It is not the strongest of the species that survives. It is the one that is most adaptable to change.” - Charles Darwin

          “Diversification is a protection against ignorance. It makes very little sense for those that know what they are doing.” - Warren Buffet

“I only focus on what is black or white and kind of sift out the gray area in my investing style.” - Stanley Druckenmiller

(Editor: Why invest in anything which you are unsure about when there are other options that you are more sure about? This is simple “opportunity cost” thinking.)

“Correlations on many assets go to one during a crisis.” - Unknown

“You can get in way more trouble with a good idea than a bad idea, because you forget that the good idea has limits.” – Ben Graham

“Not dead. Can’t quit.” - Richard Machowicz

“My goal is to build a life I don’t need a vacation from.” - Unknown

“The things that make life worth living cannot be thought in your head. It must be felt in your heart.” - Unknown

[nicoletteduclare]

These fireside meetings were always a bore, and Maxwell tried not to close his eyes for the brief respite that it would provide if only for the fact he did not need an earful right now. Someone giving him grief for not paying attention would require him to actually reply, and to reply, well, he'd have to cough up the whole reason for this meeting quite literally. That would be a whole new conversation and involve more questions and annoyance then Max was particularly interested in dealing with.

Besides, there was a headache blooming behind his temples, most likely thanks to the flowers in his throat. There were very few people he'd humor with listening to right now. They're all complaining about managing their own (admittedly, rather fragile for most of them) sanity more often. The surprising fact is that he is too. Unlike the lot of them, though, Maxwell is acutely aware of the source.

It would be lovely if they could just finish up already, he can make out some idea of moving camp, seeing as they can't seem to find the source, and he closes his eyes to ignore the shadow out of the corner of his eye, desperately wanting to cough.

This batch seems like it'll be painful. The dark petals are amazingly useful, or, well, they would be if he could actually use the codex more often, but having them come up randomly is quite damaging, even to his own mental resilience. Not to mention his physical state, which is far more delicate. There's been quite a lot of blood lately. Feels like his mouth always tastes of copper.

Even as a child who was far too eager to believe in magic and fae, even then, Maxwell had considered this a myth. Coughing up petals because the heart yearns for someone? Absolutely ridiculous, a complete fairy tale. Not to mention that he'd completely been too afraid to tell Charlie for at least a good few months, and he'd never coughed up petals then.

And he absolutely loved her, loved her so much... and then he'd managed to screw the whole bloody thing up and fail to protect her and ruin the both of them. If he'd just... if he'd only...

It left his stomach sour, and Maxwell valiantly tried to shake the thoughts of the past from his mind. That, honestly, is probably the biggest reason for these blasted flower petals, though there are quite a few.

Why get close to someone else again, when all he's ever brought to anyone is misery? Why fail someone again? He's ruined every single good thing in his life through a wonderful mix of no forethought and too much pride. Everything good crumbles in his hands, and who's to say, even if his affections where returned, that it wouldn't blow up in his face, that he wouldn't fail and ruin them the same way he'd ruined Charlie. What if they ended up worse off then Charlie?

What was the point of even considering that it was possible?

He'd rather let himself choke to death on flowers before letting that happen to someone that he cares about again.

There's a nudge from his side, and his eyes flutter open. "I'm really starting to wonder if you ever pay any attention to anything we talk about." Wilson was looking at him, a scowled frown on his face.

He either has to reveal the petals by coughing them up or just swallow them down, and as painful at it is, Maxwell chose the later, looking away from Wilson to speak. "I pay plenty of attention, Higgsbury." Even though his throat ached, probably scratched raw, he managed a dry, even tone, though it was a little strained.

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose, an annoyed sigh escaping and Maxwell noticed the wilted flower crown perched quite nicely on his head. "Whatever you say. We're going to start moving camp tomorrow, maybe see if there's something new we've missed that's driving everyone insane. It's been getting pretty bad... though I doubt it even bothers you."

He just nodded along, pretending that whatever it was absolutely did not bother him, and watched Wilson sigh again and get up. A few moments in front of the fire before turning to go off to the tents, and Maxwell is glad they're all scattering, he can feel the urge to cough start to rise.

If only Wilson knew the half of it.

Though, if he even knew... Maxwell bit his tongue to keep from coughing just yet and moved to go find a private area to remove this mess from his throat. It wouldn't make much difference anyway.

- Death was becoming far too frequent, though it wasn't like any of them really noticed, or at least if they did, none of them pressed it. The most reaction he'd picked up on was Willow muttering something about being irresponsible, and he almost scoffed at her. He couldn't remember exactly what of this lovely floral disaster was the crux of all of his dying, the usual fog of revival masked it.

Since he couldn't remember, and he didn't want to exactly risk being found out, Maxwell fell into the habit of being alone for his own sake, and in some ways, everyone else's as well.

The idea of this... affliction, being found out, was mortifying. Besides the agonizing questions, this did destroy some of the facade he'd worked hard to put up; that none of them meant anything to him. And considering that, the idea that his affections would even be remotely reciprocated was downright laughable and utterly hilarious in the worst possible way.

So, Maxwell had accepted the thorny stems, sharp edged rust red and ink black petals, and the pain that came with it as his penance for even daring to let his heart consider another love after the first one had been utterly demolished by his own hubris. The headaches, the shadows out of the corners of his eyes, the world slowly becoming a gray husk shot with streaks of red? That was an added bonus. Even as he managed to keep himself from teetering at the edge of his sanity, the world was never quite as vibrant as it should have been.

The time between deaths was getting shorter, and the Maxwell couldn't help but wonder if there was a point where the time between his deaths would be only hours. That, or he'd finally succumb to the terrorbeaks.

Maybe this is what he deserved. It was about time, considering how many years it's been since Charlie pulled Wilson from the throne and threw the two of them together. Besides, the guilt surrounding this mad little game he'd thrown together certainly wasn't enough.

Just as well to have a bloody punishment to fit the crime.

The last death was only a week ago, or was it five days? One of the two, and no matter, even though he couldn't remember the circumstance surrounding the last handful of deaths, something told him this was near the end. He was on his hands and knees at the base of a pine tree.

He'd actually been trying to make himself useful for once, what a joke, honestly. There was a tiny notch in the tree from an axe, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the not-so-tiny pile of blood soaked petals underneath him, more blood dripping from his mouth as he stared at them, eyes trying to focus under the strain.

His arms were shaking to hold up his body weight, and yet, as he heard a voice, Maxwell tried to force himself to stand. A mix of pride and self-preservation, he couldn't let this be seen. Especially not by...

"Stars and atoms, Maxwell, what the hell are yo-..." The question was left unfinished as Max's strength left him, collapsing back down as he choked up more petals, an awful gagging noise before silence. Wilson was already next to him as there was a pathetic gasp for air, a warm arm trying to help him up or Heimlich, one of the two, winding underneath, but it was far too late this time.

-

The next thing Maxwell could remember was the cold marble flooring that meant camp, and that frankly, was absolutely terrifying. He hadn't had the materials, or really the strength to recreate a meat effigy since the first death by his affliction; touchstones were his main means of revival while he worked to at least manage the coughing fits somewhat.

Instead of the wood and broken stone around a touchstone, dead pig heads staring at him, Wilson was looking at him in the twilight, a small fire going, his own pack tossed nearby.

The place seemed... empty, for camp. Usually there was a lot more fuss if someone was revived, and while there was a little bit of relief towards that, it was... unnerving until he saw the lack of any of their usual structures, things were broken down to be reused. It was their old, recently abandoned camp, seeing as the fire-pit was still in good condition.

He hadn't gotten up yet, eyes just tracing so he could figure out what to do, but before he could get farther into figuring out the situation, Maxwell was joined by Wilson kneeling next to him.

"Why didn't you tell anyone, you absolute idiot!" He hissed between his teeth as he dug for something. While it was obvious he'd died, the reality of the situation didn't quite set in as he gave Wilson a confused look before pushing himself away in shock, sitting up.

Wilson must have seen him die. Logically, then, Wilson had seen the petals. Not that he could remember the man's reaction, which was probably a good thing, but it was the only conclusion to his words.

Wilson knew.

That was quite frankly terrifying; and while he was trying to process this horribly unlucky turn of events, Maxwell couldn't react before there was a godawful needle jabbed into his arm, the sleeve having been pushed up before he was fully awake.

"How long?" Wilson asked, eyes alert and narrowed as he practically glared at Maxwell, before turning back to the bag, fishing something else out with a mutter of "Frankly, if it wasn't for my mother's stories about her younger sister's death due to this, I wouldn't believe it." Maxwell used the mild distraction of rustling for something to stand up, his own pack was near enough to scoop up, ignoring the wobble in his legs.

"It's none of your business, Higgsbury." Lies are so easy, still, and but this one is quiet, Maxwell's shoulders tensed as he backed up, ignoring the gold chain in Wilson's hand.

It's dropped back into the bag as Wilson stood up, glaring at Maxwell, arms crossed. "None of my business? Really, Maxwell?" Looking away is so much easier then confronting this. Heavens, everything truly does go wrong, doesn't it. "You think that it's 'none of my business' when this is probably what's been affecting the rest of us? I saw the kind of petals you're dealing with, I'm not stupid. Not to mention that you're wasting resources then. I thought you might have just gotten into a few scrapes, but no, you were hiding this from us. You think that it isn't my business? Really?" It's certainly venomous, and while it looks like Wilson might have more to say, he isn't in the mood for this, teeth clenched to keep himself from coughing up more of the blasted petals right then, before he turned on his heel, not a word, and walked away.

It was always a lost cause, he knew that from the get-go, but this proved it far past a shadow of a doubt, and Max knew that he was going to be saddled with this for a long, long time, as he closed his eyes and headed to the woods.

-

Maxwell sorted through the pack, making sure his things had been undisturbed by any other survivor or monster that might have stumbled upon his bones from the last death. The codex was there, despite how useless it was in his condition. Every little bit of sanity counted, but on the off-chance he was surprised by a giant or something, a fighter might buy him some time to get away. He already had enough deaths to handle. Then there was his winter gear, traps and tools, some medical supplies; bandages and salves, plenty of torches and fire wood, and finally, thankfully untouched, was his stash of food. Nothing extremely wonderful, Maxwell wasn't stupid enough to risk his health more, but rabbits and mole-worms were easy enough pickings to supply him with meat, along with berries and carrots and the occasional gobbler.

He'd retrieved a few choice materials in the middle of the night, when Wilson revived him, but frankly, he'd already had most of his own supplies. Thankfully, his tent and chest were at the outskirts of camp by choice, and he was quiet enough to head off without anyone noticing. He hadn't actually taken much more then the winter gear and his copy of their maps, the essentials considering that it'd turned to winter only a week after he'd left.

He had a walking death sentence. Carrying more then the basics seemed stupid.

Still, sometimes it was a bit obnoxious, he wouldn't mind having a fur roll to wrap around himself right about now. Instead, he shivered as he slid the vest off the skeleton and retrieved his stupid warm hat. He managed both of them on before pulling out a frozen thermal stone out of the interior pocket of the vest, another shiver wracking his body.

He slid it into his pack to reheat soon, pulling out the map of the underground caves instead. He'd have to mark it off once he got a fire started, but he mentally noted where he'd been in the caves when he'd woken up. Another touchstone down.

It was obvious that he was going to run out of them soon, but he didn't want to, he couldn't, face any of the other survivors right now. Knowing Wilson's inability to keep his mouth shut (far more charming when it was about science, less so when it dealt with... well, this, and he probably had, as he said, it affected everyone,) he had to hope none of them had believed it. He wouldn't have, certainly. Even with the reality of honest to god magic, Maxwell would have scoffed at the idea of this fairy tale being real. It was a story, told to children and young adults to warn them away from being foolish with their hearts. To keep people from pinning for those they couldn't be with.

Well, he'd never been good at listening to warnings, had he? His chest ached all the time, these days, probably due to the floral infestation. He'd probably suffocate on them once again, and waste yet another touchstone.

Maxwell started to cough as he put away the map and stood up, a few petals falling out of his mouth and laying against the white snow. He couldn't help but remember the first morning this had happened as he walked away from the bones.

The night before, the pair of them had been forced into watch after stumbling back into camp late, and they took the time to patch themselves up. Hound mounds were always trouble, but cactus flowers were too useful to not gather in the summer. However, Wilson had forgotten the territory range, and ventured just a few inches too close for the hound's comfort.

A few shadow clones and a spear were perfectly fine for getting rid of the nuisance, but neither of them came out of it unscathed.

At least it hadn't been the dragonfly, but still. Wilson had pulled a hound off of his back, the last one, thankfully, but it'd torn open the flesh under his shoulder blade.

Normally, he'd have insisted he could take care of it himself, but between the exhaustion and pain, he accepted Wilson's offer of help, besides, it was hard to bandage his back. The normal banter, a few light jabs of 'how do you honestly survive out here, you're paper,' from Wilson, as well as a mutter of being glad it was superficial, hands gentle on the bare skin next to the wound as Wilson looked it over.

It'd been surprisingly... nice, but over all too soon. Wilson had shifted over so they could sit next to one another as Maxwell had looked at the damage to his clothing, already planning repairs before he looked over at his companion. Wilson looked... exhausted. The permanent bags under his eyes looked darker then normal, and he was well aware of how badly Wilson (and most of the others,) handled the night. It would be worse on an already tired mind.

Before he could really think about it, Maxwell offered to take over fully, a smart comment of "I don't need you falling into insanity on me," dying on his lips when Wilson smiled.

A tired thank you, and between the smile and the slightly wilted flower crown perched on Wilson's head to try and make the night easier had completely derailed any thought besides the soft, fluttery feeling in his chest as Wilson left. He'd tried very hard not to think about it for the rest of his watch as he repaired his shirt and suit jacket, until Wickerbottom arrived from her nightly reading nook to relieve him. He'd gone to bed halfway through the night with a frankly terrifying realization, and woken up to the start of a nightmare.

Obviously, hindsight is 20/20, unlike his own eyesight. That wasn't the catalyst of his affectionate feelings towards the scientist, but it was moment it finally, really, dawned on him. He'd tried to keep his distance from the other survivors once he was thrown into the mix, but Wilson was apparently a special case, and that was terrifying. Caring deeply about him scared Maxwell down to the very core of his being, and the realization of his feelings came with that terror.

It may have been that feeling, the fear that had buried in his stomach as he repaired his clothing, that brought these suffocating flowers along. Choking on his own fear.

But the fear was warranted. He ruined things so easily... especially Charlie, the last person he'd felt anything like this towards, he'd ruined her life and it was a thing he could never repair. Maxwell was fairly certain that even on the slim chance that these feelings were returned, he'd destroy it, without meaning to, as well. And with their last conversation, words that still sometimes came up in his thoughts, and another reason for avoiding the whole lot of them... well, at least he couldn't break something that was never going to happen in the first place.

A cold piece of comfort, and he shivered as the wind managed through the layers. Time to find a place to light a fire and warm up for the rest of the short day.