#like. the quietness of traveling through a magical world and meeting different people and all that

[spectrearia]

lol watched the first two episodes of that Frieren anime because my friend recommended it to me and i was already ugly crying on the first episode haha what the heckkkk

[seaadc]

nothing’s new. | lyney

summary: lyney and [name], a well known couple in fontaine. life was great, you both spent every moment well, but what happens if it all becomes a blurred vision?

fem!reader, angst, no comfort, reader referred to as ‘mon amour’ & ‘darling’

based on this post: 🪄

lyney had always been a man of mystery and wonder, captivating audiences with his dazzling illusions and daring feats of magic. but behind the glitz and glamour of his stage persona, there was a man struggling with the weight of his own success.

he tried his hardest, working hard with his sister, lynette, and reached new heights of fame and popularity.

yes, lyney is a great magician. despite all the magic and flutter, there is a boy filled with disdain and misery.

never knew being a magician would be so troublesome, ‘no? lyney feels empty. like he’s missing a piece in his puzzle.

and that was you.

you were the missing piece.

it was always you, the light to his world, his everything.

you were his best, his first, and his greatest.

there was no denying that, lyney, the magician himself, was greatly attached. lynette found herself annoyed at the lovesick lyney. always babbling about his partner was his mon amour in life.

you and lyney cherished every moment that is supposed to be cherished, loving every second of it, spending time with eachother when necessary, or even if it’s just random dates, as in taking walks around fontaine, taking baths in the pouring rain as you try to comfort the hydro dragon.

it was a magical scene. one more magical than his performances. he truly loved you so much.

until, a day has come.

a card he is not able to foresee.

he can’t read it, it’s blurry, it’s blinding.

it almost makes him tear up.

lyney was troubled, he had been busy in work, wanting to become more known in fontaine for his tricks, so he for sure couldn’t decline the offer. he wanted his fame to skyrocket like monsieur neuvilette or the traveler, the hero.

he wanted to reach new heights that no one had seen before.

“Lyney.. It’s another request from [Name].” lynette says, almost a whisper from how quiet her voice is.

lyney sighs, practicing his new tricks as he paused, then continued on practicing his new tricks to amaze new people. “Cancel it.” he says, his voice cracking.

lynette could only keep quiet, disappointed with his brother’s choices in life, knowing there would be consequences shortly after. but oh well.

he, lyney, accepted more offers from different nations.

lyney spent long hours rehearsing, perfecting his craft, and traveling the world to perform in front of packed audiences.

months passed by, without a single mention of [Name] is when he realized— he still has a beloved.

a beloved who has waiting for him back home, waiting for his lovely compliments and private shows, waiting for his kisses, his love,

and yet here he was. prioritizing magic instead of the person who he called “his everything.”

lyney cleared off his pile of work for the day to spend time with his darling, it has been months since he cancelled dates and plans for them, now it was his time to return them back.

he got off work with the help of lynette, covering for him and for once proud of her brother for doing something more phenomenal.

through those months, you were left thinking, what was my worth?

you tried to understand, tried to be patient, tried to keep contact with him but you couldn’t. he was cancelling your plans, not meeting up with you, not giving you time for things that mattered most to you.

lyney opened the door, smiling brightly as he had a bouquet of flowers in his hand. you were sitting down the couch, shocked that lyney had actually returned.. for you.

you both talked, lyney felt the spark ignite inside once again, though you felt otherwise.

“Lyney..” you mumbled, lyney perked up at the sad tone of your voice and smiled faintly. “Yes, Mon Amour?” he softly spoke, to which you smiled sadly at.

that was one of the things that got you inlove with lyney, his soft, tender, gentle voice.

you couldn’t feel empathy. not now.

lyney felt nervous, why does he feel like he had done something wrong? sure, he left you hanging for months, not contacting you in any way but— “I think we should take a break.”

you cut his thoughts off, your voice echoing in his head as lyney’s eyes widened in shock. you stood up, looking down at lyney as his instinct kicked in and stood up shortly after you, his lips were trembling.

“Lyney… I’m sorry.” you murmured, reaching up to his cheeks as tears prickled in his eyelids, you caressed his cheeks as you spoke.

lyney stammered, “B-but..” he spoke.

“You were… a wonderful experience.”

the room kept silent, the atmosphere sinking in as lyney hugged you tight.

“You were… everything.”

you left, leaving him there as the realization started to sink in. he loved you, but not more than his work.

lyney was devastated. hehad never meant to hurt you, never meant to let his work come between you both. but as he sat alone in his empty abode, surrounded by the trappings of his success but devoid of the love and companionship he craved.

he didn’t want this. lyney didn’t wish for this.

but he made this.

it was this, the consequences of his choices.

you were his first, his best, his greatest,

his everything.

yet, he had lost you. will he be better without you? or is it the opposite?

he wished you had told him the doubts on your mind, so he could heal the wounds in your heart.

lyney’s sorry, he’s sorry.

he’s sorry for not being the one for you.

you both are now heading towards your new chapters, but lyney’s sure.

I don’t wanna live in a world where there’s no ‘us’.

oh, and he’s yours. but your not his anymore.

[supernaturalcharlie11]

Once upon a time there were six people. In another story, they would have been heroes. Not in this one, though. This one doesn’t need heroes. This one is kind and gentle. It teaches it‘s lessons through ink rather than blood.

Which is why those six people barely even meet. Heroes need villains to fight. And this story does it‘s best to avoid the latter. By keeping the heroes apart.

And because of that, Rosamund awakes not next to her found family, but instead in a warm bed. Briars recede as she opens her eyes. There is no prince, no true love‘s kiss. No one can explain how she woke up on her own and caused the kingdom to be set free from the dark forces that had send it to sleep some two odd years ago. But no one really cares. They‘re free, and that‘s all that matters.

Rosamund spends her days in peace and quiet, or goes on adventures on her own. After a while she knows the woods like the back of her hand. She‘s drawn to them without knowing why. But after a while she realises that the reason doesn‘t matter. It‘s home. And she‘s free.

When she meets the Princess Elody and the Prince Gerard at a ball held in her castle, she doesn‘t recognise the handsome prince. And he doesn‘t recognise her. But they get along from the first moment they lay eyes on each other.

Rosamund soon learns from Gerard that he and Elody are no longer married. They are still friends and like to attend these balls together, but he is much more inclined to see the world and go on adventures on his own. Rosamund nods and smiles. She knows that feeling intimately. Gerard tells her about his travels around the world, one more unbelievable than the last.

He claims to have met a talking cat once, who could turn a millers son into a king and got up to all kinds of shenanigans. Puss in Boots never stays in one spot for too long, instead enjoys wreaking havoc in a new village every few weeks.

Pinocchio still gets cursed, but his father doesn‘t die. Instead, they fight together to find a way to make him a real boy again. Even though both of them have no idea what that is supposed to mean. And when they finally succeed and Pinocchio is human again, they feel the exact same way about each other. Only now it is much easier for Pinocchio to give his father a big hug.

After their adventures, Pinocchio ventures the villages around his home and soon stumbles upon a storyteller.

He is old and kind and spends his evenings and most of his nights telling stories to the kids of the different villages. To them, he is only known as Mother Goose. Sometimes he will tell the stories of heroes and dragons, sometimes of magic and ink. And on rare occasions, he will even talk about his loving husband and his son Jack, who has caused at least as much ruckus as the ominous puss in boots.

A lot of the children come and go as they please, but two of them listen to every single one of Mother Goose‘s stories. A teenage boy and a teenage girl in a red cape.

She is a wild one, Mother Goose can tell, and when she leaves the villages at night to go back home to her family, she goes alone with a lantern and a little axe in her hands. She is afraid of nothing and proud of how she can beat almost any other teen in the villages in a race. But every now and then she gets quiet and stares off into the distance. As if she were listening to words that only she can hear. No, not words. Howls.

They all life their lives unburdened by the sacrifices they had to make to get here. Unchanged and unaltered by the adventure they went on.

But there is something at the edges of their consciousness. Something sharp and painful. Like pages, locked away behind a giant and indestructible briar wall.

And every now and then they catch a glimpse of what lies beneath. A group of people that shouldn’t have met, but did so nonetheless.

A princess with a bow made of briars.

A storyteller with a magical book.

A little cat with boots and daggers.

A wooden puppet that had once been a boy.

A prince, more frog than human.

And a little girl, who bears the mark of death.

An adventure to save not only their stories, but all of them.

Memories that feel no different than a dream. But they are real. Maybe even a little more real than the six would have liked them to be. But no matter how hard they try to hold onto those memories, without fail, they fade into a bright shade of orange.

Maybe it‘s for the best that they don‘t remember the pain they endured. Maybe it‘s for the worse that they forgot the unlikely family they found in the times of shadows. In the end, who can really tell?

After all, this is no happily ever after.

No.

This is a new story entirely.

A last upon a time.

[dearophelia]

best of sara's fic, according to her

Because I’m feeling some kind of way about my cancer lately and wanted to put together a Sara’s Greatest Fic Hits while I’m still around to do it (which is a morbid thing to type, but see the intro: been feeling some kind of way lately).

These range from my most popular fics, to the ones lost to weird posting hours, and everything in between. If I counted correctly, there are 14 fandoms on this list: from Mass Effect and Dragon Age, to Grey’s Anatomy and Stargate SG-1, to The West Wing and Calvin & Hobbes.

I’d appreciate reblogs on this (I am not ashamed to pull the stage iv cancer card here) so it can reach as many people as possible.

I have been writing fic for over 15 years; this is not a short list.

All are rated T or lower unless otherwise indicated. All stories are at or under the 3k mark unless otherwise indicated.

Stargate SG-1:

waves are universal (the heaven in hiding remix) (Sam/Jack; I’m very Normal about this fic; time travel and alternate realities, a host of OCs (and some familiar faces from Norafic if you look closely), oh and the Sam/Jack kid from the alternate reality! Only she’s an adult and working on a way to save the world! This has it all, folks: humor, romance, angst, action! I told you I’m Normal about it; 40k)

strange is the night where black stars rise (Sam; horror! A low creeping sense of doom! The King in Yellow! No, seriously, fuck that planet; 10k)

#sg1wedding (Sam/Jack; their wedding turned into An Event against their will; bets are going down about who would win in a fight: Bra’tac or the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs; also Jack loses his socks; twitterfic from 2012 and technology has definitely Marched On, just read it like an unhinged group chat fic)

phoenix (Sam/Daniel/Teal’c, Sam/Jack, Sam/Jack/Daniel/Teal’c; apocalypse (that I consulted a real live geologist on!); rebuilding in the wake of said apocalypse; team family feelings, kids, and some really shitty neighbors; 38k)

Dragon Age:

joy cometh in the morning (Ariadne; rated M; a host of OCs; mind the warnings; friendship; worldbuilding galore; friendships and mentors and first loves; did I mention friendship and worldbuilding?; 56k)

through the rude wind’s wild lament, and the bitter weather (Ari+Cullen; quiet magic, kind magic, good magic is still new to Cullen)

as the sun kissed the horizon (Ari/Josephine; a relationship in ten moments)

‘til we meet again (Ari+Cullen; platonic sleeping together!)

so hold my hand, consign me not to darkness (Ari; her faith is the core of who she is and, for the first time, Andraste isn’t there; post-Trespasser)

raise your fists up to the sky (Kylie/Krem; it’s Krem’s first day with the Chargers and there’s a naked elf in the middle of camp)

every demon wants his pound of flesh (Krem+Bull; Krem was in the Fade with the Inquisitor and the fear demon had some Things To Say To Him)

black dove (Anaya) & strange little girl (Anaya+Dagna) & dissolving clouds (Anaya+Cullen) (because neurodivergent Inquisitor, friendship, blossoming romance, and three very different takes on blood magic)

skeletons (Zahara+Bull; she is saarebas, he is Ben-Hassrath, and language is important)

children shouldn’t play with dead things (Juliette Amell; she’s always had an easier time with the dead than the living; cw for bugs)

a sorta fairytale (Josephine/Cassandra; flower shop & tattoo parlor AU; 8k)

Mass Effect Trilogy:

gonna set your flag on fire (Nora Vakarian, Liv/Garrus, James/Liara, Liv+Liara, Livfam; action! Humor! Angst! Worldbuilding! OCs!; I am Super Normal about this fic too; I promise everything’s okay in the end, promise, even though it isn’t written yet; Nora is an N3 and has an inactive control chip in her head. She and her team are ordered to investigate a Cerberus facility. It goes, shall we say, awry; 40k)

anthem (Liv/Garrus, Hannah/Zaeed, Liv+Liara; eight months is a long time without each other; angst with a happy ending (I promise); post-Destroy; 13k)

holy ground & dress (Liv/Garrus; ficlets from the night he gets sworn in as Councilor)

brightly shone the moon at night (Liv, Liv+Liara, Liv/Garrus, Livfam; five Christmases in Olivia Shepard’s life; 5k)

the pieces of gold, they light up your eyes & now we’re alone, now we’re alive (Liv/Garrus; the evolution of a relationship)

fighting is said to have reached palaven (Liv/Garrus; please, please let him be alive)

and some things you just can’t speak about (Quentus+Nico; the war)

‘cause i know that it’s delicate (Liv/Garrus; pre-wedding!)

nosce te ipsum (Nico; he likes boys and fanfiction and he didn’t think he’d get his little italicized oh moment)

i will write you love letters if you tell me to (Liv/Garrus; Hannah gives him one of Liv’s notebooks before he goes off to Omega; Garrus does the only thing he can think of with it)

i really need you (Liv/Garrus; James POV during the reunion scene in Priority: Palaven)

you look really tired (Liv/Garrus, Liv+Liara; post-Thessia, Olivia’s not doing well)

hey, so, ground rules (Liv+Zaeed; it’s a lot weird now that he’s dating her mom)

and all the scars you bear are from a previous war (Liv+Quentus; Mom!Liv)

you can hear it in the silence (Liv/Garrus; just a moment, post-war)

this all started because of a bad day (Liv/Garrus; from first meetings to matching rings)

combat, i’m ready for combat & turn on your favorite nightlight (Hannah; she’s a civilian and her daughter isn’t, and she’s bound and determined to know what Liv goes through when her boots hit the ground; Hannah, Zaeed, Liv, and Garrus hit up Armax)

four quarians who never made it back to the fleet (and one who did) (kinda what it says on the tin, honestly. Oh, Tali’s in this!)

everyone’s lost, the battle is won (Evangeline; somewhat predictably, my experiment in getting as many of my team killed as possible resulted in Feelings About It)

across the sky (Susan/Liara; how to make the Control ending feel good)

and yours is in red underlined (Vanessa; The Illusive Man has pissed her off for the last time)

i’m headed straight for the castle (Vanessa; renegade control ending; kneel before your queen)

Mass Effect Andromeda:

for saviours (Tori; ten scenes from a pre-Andromeda life; 10k)

ringing joyful and triumphant (Tori/Liam/Jaal; just some morning fluff)

the thing with the baby angara (Tori/Liam/Jaal; thinking about the future)

the undone and the divine (Tori/Liam/Jaal; the lone single solitary explicit fic on here, give it props for that alone; Liam gets absolutely railed by his partners. That’s it. That’s the fic.)

you’re like the thing that makes the universe explode (Sara Ryder/Suvi, Drack; kid, the only people who don’t know that you like Suvi are people who haven’t met you and Suvi)

this one’s for the torn down, the experts at the fall (Tori+Garrus; one night in the intersection of Victoria Ryder and Archangel; maybe they’re better friends than they both thought)

The West Wing:

a great revelation sigh (CJ; she’s Chief of Staff; ten steps to the apocalypse; the apocalypse source probably didn’t age well, heads up)

it’s in my blood and i won’t give up ‘cause it’s running through my veins (Amy+Andi; it’s Election Day in the future and Amy has nothing to do)

Grey’s Anatomy:

dropsonde (the singers in a lower choir remix) (Addison/Alex, Derek/Meredith, Addison+Derek, Addison+Mark, Mark+Derek; the one that kicked off all the remixes; absolutely off the rails from canon somewhere in S3; budding romances and kidfic and my theory about people being storms and lighthouses; 40k)

scarlet city (Mark/Addison, Burke/Cristina; film noir gangster and detective AU; Addison’s the gangster, Burke’s the detective; literally everyone I could fit into this fic shows up; also Denny is comic relief; 18k)

Misc:

access records (Star Trek Voyager; Naomi Wildman’s holodeck access for the past week; worldbuilding!)

in this twilight our choices seal our fate (the song in the house of night remix) (SVU; Olivia/Elliot; rated M; on the rise and fall of partnership; probably a little too much religious imagery but what the hell else am I gonna do with a minor in religious studies?; 4k)

the end of days job (Leverage; Parker+Eliot+Hardison; the apocalypse job, basically; this one ages well!)

let the only sound be the overflow (D&D; Calia/Kelpie/Edal, aka ot3: fathoms below; the ocean is big and they are not)

we are golden stars above silver seas (we hear echoes from another galaxy) (Calvin & Hobbes; Calvin+Susie; throughout all those years, she never gave up on him; this one went viral on tumblr [LINK] and I cleaned it up for the AO3 version)

lift her, pull her, from the orchids (Grace and Frankie; Grace/Frankie; the one where I invoke the spelling bee)

rocket queens (Babylon 5/Pacific Rim; Susan Ivanova/Talia Winters; look, they’re jaeger pilots, I really don’t know what else to tell you)

the great gig in the sky (Battlestar Galactica; Six; rebirth is painful, she forgets this sometimes)

[oh-honey-styles]

DIVIDE

II. THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY

Story Page // Words: 8.5k

•••

September 2017

London felt heavenly to Harry. 

The crisp early morning breeze that ushered in the shift from summer to fall, an orange hue subtly starting to sweep over every bit of green in sight. The nostalgic feeling of an afternoon walk into town that came hand in hand with the glorious ache in the arches of both feet after taking the long way back through the Heath. The anticipation of the inevitable golden hour sunset that would turn every blade of grass into pure, sparkling magic. 

For Harry, everything about London was like the release of a cathartic sigh after a hectic month… or year. It was familiarity and comfort in the midst of constant change. It was home in every sense of the word. 

And he would miss it dearly when he left the following week for his first ever solo tour. But while he could, he drank it all in.

So when his stylist asked to go over his prospective tour looks at a brand new pizza shop in Camden, Harry hesitated. Whenever he was home, he had a tendency to stick to the Heath, the place he could officially deem his stomping grounds after owning his house for a few years. But for some reason a spark of curiosity and the desire to go with the flow had him stepping out of his comfort zone just for that afternoon. Thankfully, a Tuesday at four o’clock was the perfect time to venture out. 

The foot traffic on this particular corner of Camden High Street was minimal, just a few people going about their day as Harry pulled into a parking spot along a side-street lined with shops. He was moderately early, per usual, and opted to wait in his Audi to avoid any sightings - a routine procedure he became reacquainted with after emerging from a quiet year, post band hiatus, and taking the world by storm… this time without four others. This time it was just Harry. 

And it was only just the beginning. His album was out. Dunkirk was out. The whirlwind promo tours for both were done. He had nothing to focus on now besides traveling the world with his best mates and doing the one thing he loved the most, the one thing he was also most anxious about - performing his own music live.

After a quick mindless social media scroll, Harry spotted the bright white hair of his stylist walking inside the pizza shop. Sliding his dark sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, he hopped out of his car and cautiously made his way across the street - a glance to the left and the right, looking out for cars and the occasional poorly hidden paparazzi, seemingly in the clear when he disappeared through the door.

The inside of the restaurant was charming - beautiful, authentic Italian decor and the mouth watering smell of robust tomato and basil, effortlessly transporting him straight to his favorite kitchen in Rome. 

And even though the room was practically empty, Harry and Lambert still requested a corner table on the back patio, a gorgeous open space full of colorful plants and blooms that offered privacy as the two ordered and then tediously went over the lengthy list of his tour attire.

A phenomenal veggie pizza and an entire catalog of suits later, the two had accomplished what they came to do. The majority of Harry’s shows found their match, with Gucci filling most nights. But a small handful of shows were left open for Lambert to keep searching for a few up and coming designers to take center stage.

With an appreciative hug and a plan to meet again in the next few days, Harry bid Lambert farewell and then pulled out his wallet to settle the bill.

“Harry? Harry Styles?” A woman’s voice came from over his shoulder.  

He turned hesitantly, noticing her tone was slightly different than the typical excited fan but still not wanting to make a scene in such a mellow restaurant. And when he made eye contact with the person standing behind him, he was relieved to see a very familiar face looking back with a wide smile.

“Quinn! Quinn Evans!” Harry beamed, the four legs of his chair instantly scraping against the concrete as he stood to meet his childhood friend in a hug.

“It’s so good to see you!” She sang, pulling away and leaving a warm pat on his back. “It feels like forever. How long has it been?”

Harry’s lips quirked to the side as he sifted through his memories. 

“You came to Wembley to see the band in… June 2014? So just over three years?”

Quinn’s smile grew even wider. “Yes! Impeccable memory,” she chuckled. “And you’ve been absolutely smashing it ever since! Your album's amazing and… a Christopher Nolan film? Who would’ve thought after the amount of times we watched Inception in your basement after school?”

Harry nodded shyly, feeling his cheeks growing warm from the attention. “It’s been a pretty crazy year. And what about you?” He quickly diverted. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh, amazing! Really amazing.” Quinn immediately lifted her hand and waved toward the inside of the restaurant. “Come meet my fiancé!”

“Fiancé?” Harry’s eyes widened and he wiggled his eyebrows, pushing his seat back in and following in her footsteps. 

They swerved through a maze of tables before stopping in front of the bar along the back of the room. Quinn called out to a man who stood with his elbows propped up on the window ledge leading into the kitchen. 

“Ant, this is Harry. Harry, this is my fiancé Anthony.”

“Harry Styles?” He turned fully, wiping his hands on his apron before meeting Harry in a shake. “Wow, hey man, It’s really great to meet you.”

“Harry and I went to secondary together before he ran off to the X-Factor,” Quinn explained with a wink.

Harry loved moments like this, running into an old friend who knew him before the hype and the fame. It was like stumbling upon a little treasure trove of memories from a past life, a life that seemed pure and uncomplicated in hindsight. With no place to be, he lingered right there on top of a bar stool, reacquainting with Quinn and getting to know Anthony, happily listening to their story.

“So when’s the wedding?” Harry excitedly chimed in.

“Oh, well,” Quinn glanced around the empty restaurant, “we actually took our wedding savings and a gift from our parents and dumped it into this place.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide, following her visual sweep across the room. “You two own this restaurant? That’s incredible.”

“We’ll probably just elope at some point,” Anthony lovingly ran his hand across Quinn’s back as she chuckled.

“As long as your family agrees to it.”

Anthony dipped his head with a shy laugh. “My family’s full blood Italian,” he explained to Harry, who was enjoying watching the dynamics between the two. “Seriously, think of the most stereotypical Italian family on the planet and that’s the Leto family.”

Turning slightly, Anthony motioned to the photo in the very center of the closest wall lined with framed photos and art.

“This is them here?” Harry stood to get a closer look. 

“Yes, my folks, Gino and Isabella…”

There were five of them, all huddled together, arms draped around each other pulling everyone in close. His dad and mum and two…

“…And my sisters.” 

Harry felt his stomach drop to his toes. 

Wait… he thought, his mind starting to race.

Even with the graininess of the picture, the eyes of the girl on the right were so familiar, he was certain he had seen them before. Squinting, he studied every feature - her dark brown hair, her bright smile… her honey brown eyes.

“That’s Emi on the left, she’s the social butterfly and that’s Franki, she’s the favorite child of the family, the token overachiever, ya know?”

Franki… that has to be her… he assured himself, recalling one of his most embarrassing moments from the airport only a few months back. That has to be her.

“Harry? You alright?” Quinn’s voice finally snapped his focus away from the photo, realizing he had been staring for too long.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry laughed off his pause awkwardly. “She— uh, they just look familiar.”

“Uh huh,” Anthony grinned teasingly. “My little sisters are gorgeous, it’s all I’ve heard my entire life.”

Harry felt his face go completely red, caught off guard by the assumption of why he was staring. Technically, he wasn’t wrong.

“They’re more than just looks, Ant. They actually own the boutique right next door,” Quinn did her best to shift the focus, pointing toward the far side of the shop. 

Harry’s ears perked up. “Do they?”

“Yeah, they’ve got a whole fashion line and all that jazz. They’ve had a pretty successful few years in their store. We’ve actually thought about putting in a petition for the city to change this street's name to Leto Avenue.”

The three of them laughed together while Harry’s gaze kept flitting back to the photo. 

“Hey! If you’re not busy…” Quinn spoke up. “We’d love it if you’d come tonight!”

Harry’s face lit up. “Tonight?”

“Yeah! We’re having an engagement slash store opening party here around eight.”

Happy that for once his calendar happened to be wide open, he took one more glance at the family photo and then back to Quinn and Anthony with a smile.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

•••

Harry sat in his Audi for longer than he would’ve liked to admit, his eyes fixed on the boutique next to the pizza shop. His curiosity had gotten the best of him, relentlessly wondering if Anthony’s sister was, in fact, the one he had spilled his coffee on. He’d thank the universe or whatever lucky star he needed to if it was and he was able to properly apologize. 

Pinching his lower lip between his two fingers, he watched a few customers come and go before a younger woman with dark brown hair stepped out through the front door. He was too far away to be able to tell if that was her, but when she picked up the store’s A-frame sign perched out on the curb to move it inside, he figured she must work there and it very well could be.

Before he could overthink any longer, his two feet were shuffling back across the street just as she was attempting to hold open the door with her foot while balancing the sign in her arms.

“Can I get that for you?” Harry offered, making it just in time to help her with the door.

“Oh, thank you!” The woman exhaled dramatically, her dark eyes going wide the second they found his. “Harry fucking Styles! No way!” She blurted, placing the sign against the wall as he followed her inside and let the door shut behind him. 

Okay, that’s not her… Harry let out the breath he was unknowingly holding in his lungs.

“Wow,” she lifted her hands and gestured vaguely. “Scratch that, I’m sorry… super unprofessional, don’t tell anyone that just happened.” She quickly glanced behind her toward the back of the store. 

Harry couldn’t help but smile at her infectious charisma, realizing she must be Emi, the social butterfly. 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Harry grinned, taking his own glance around the empty store, hoping to find a different shade of brown.

“What brings you in today, Harry?”

Harry suddenly froze. He hadn’t thought that far ahead before whatever force of nature pushed him out of his car and into the boutique. So with anxious nerves creeping up the back of his neck, he settled on telling a little white lie.

“Oh, I just wanted to drop by to…” he tried his best to be breezy, now looking at the racks of clothes around him. “…um, to buy something for tonight! I actually went to school with Quinn and just chatted with them next door.”

“No shit! You’re going to the party tonight?” She tilted her head, shooting him a surprised look. “My soon-to-be sister-in-law’s been holding out on us.”

Harry scratched down the back of his neck, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. “Uh, I guess so…”

“Wow,” she chuckled, “I can’t wait to tell Fr—“

“Hey, Emi…”

Just then, a voice came from the far corner of the room. Harry’s head turned just in time to see a woman walking slowly past a hanging curtain leading to the back, her focus fixed on what she was juggling in her hands - two rectangular packages and a hefty stack of envelopes and papers.

“…I’m going to the post office and the bank. Will you finish closing up?”

The delicate tone of her voice took Harry’s breath away. Her body was turned to the side for a moment, maneuvering blindly through the path to the front of the store, effortlessly stepping around racks of clothes and displays. And when she lifted her head and locked eyes with Harry’s, he was certain she was exactly who he thought she was.

Honey brown. That’s her. That’s Franki.

She was stunning, the same mesmerizing eyes that had been living rent free in his head for months. Her brown hair was lighter and her olive skin was darker than he remembered, both likely sunkissed by the summer. But her eyes…

However, the moment she registered that it was Harry standing with her sister, her eyebrows instantly furrowed.

“Heyyy Franki!” Emi sang. “Look who’s here! It’s Harry Styles… Harry Styles is going to the engagement party tonight and wanted to pick out a new outfit for the occasion!”

Franki’s brows somehow dipped even lower, her feet coming to a rolling stop when she finished making her way to where they stood.

“Why?”

Her single word came across with a chill, leaving Harry completely caught off guard by her seemingly unprompted annoyance.

“Jesus, Franki,” Emi mumbled under her breath. “Harry knows Quinn. And he’s also a customer… so maybe be a bit more… helpful?”

Franki blinked hard and then plastered on a toothy smile. “Okay, sorry.” But they could both tell she didn’t mean it. “Hello, Harry Styles, we’re closing shortly and I’m headed off—“

“No, I’ll take this,” Emi interrupted, throwing herself forward and yanking everything out of her hands, settling them in her own before taking backwards steps. “You stay and help our very kind, very attractive, very famous customer. Okay?”

Franki rolled her eyes and all at once Harry felt as if he was missing something. It was almost like he was being left out of an inside joke when Emi swiftly said her goodbye with a pat on his back and a wave to her sister. And just like that she was gone.

“Ohhhkay,” Franki exhaled, plopping her suddenly empty hands on her thighs, eyes shifting from Harry to the exit and back.

The silence swimming through the air turned deafening with just the two of them sharing the space in the room. 

“Sorry, I usually have music playing in the store so it’s not so awkward,” Franki swirled her finger around, attempting to fill the quiet void.

Harry nodded, mouthing an ‘oh’, and then the dead air promptly returned.

“Yeah,” she sighed, sweeping a piece of hair behind her ear. “We usually have One Direction’s greatest hits on repeat but, ya know, turned it off to get ready to close…”

Instantly, Harry’s head tipped back with a humored huff at her wittiness. And when a smile threatened to crack her stoic disposition, he caught it, her face lighting up with a small dimple poking into her cheek and then vanishing as fast as it appeared. He was completely mesmerized, unable to break his focus away from her, especially the brilliant shade of her eyes.

Noticing he was staring and still hadn’t said a thing, she adjusted her shoulders awkwardly. “Um, you alright?”

“Me?” Harry coughed, finally squeezing his eyes shut and then shaking his head. “Yes— sorry.” 

She was the one studying him meticulously now, an unreadable expression back on her face. Realizing this was his moment, that it was as good of a time as any, Harry gulped away the lump in his throat along with his unruly nerves.

“Can I ask you something a bit… weird?”

He paused, swallowing thickly again, watching as she raised her brows in impatient anticipation. Harry chuckled awkwardly and then continued. 

“Were you by any chance at JFK back in March? I had this, um, unfortunate moment with a stranger where I basically spilled my coffee all over them but had to leave the situation really quickly.”

Franki was a deer in headlights for a split second before her mouth parted to respond.

“Wow,” she drew out her word. “That sounds really really embarrassing.”

Harry’s forehead creased, her initial reaction suddenly making him doubt if it was her. “Yeah, it was actually,” he narrowed his eyes.

“I mean,” she huffed, dramatically rolling her neck. “For the other person, that must’ve been really awful for them…”

Harry was so confused. Was it her or not? Surely that’s the same honey brown. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he stuttered. “I’m sure they’re probably fine…I hope they were. But, um…” His thumb was nervously fidgeting with the ring on his middle finger. “That wasn’t you?”

Franki waited a beat, clearly mulling over something in her head and then looked at him dead in the eye.

“Why would you think it was me?”

The tone of her voice turned so soft, her question out of genuine curiosity.

“It’s just—“ Harry gulped, stumbling over his words, completely taken back by the way she was looking at him. “Your eyes… they’re… I could never forget—”

“Nope,” she clipped, cutting him off before he could finish.

Harry physiclally tensed at her abrupt response. 

“Nope?” He mimicked her, his mouth parting in perplexed surprise.

“Sorry, not me,” she giggled uncomfortably. “Yeah, I’ve, uh, never even been to New York!”

With a squeak in her voice, she ducked her head, taking a few steps backwards into the store.

“Oh… okay,”  Harry forfeited, a hefty pit now settled in his stomach, feeling more awkward than ever.

“So, um, I’m confused. How do you know Quinn?” she swiftly changed the subject, lifting her head to show what appeared to be a blush on her cheeks.

Harry shifted his weight on his feet, gratefully following her lead with a new topic of conversation. “We are friends from school, we went to secondary together.”

“That’s… brand new information.” She blinked hard before her eyes opened wide. “Well…” she stood straight, her poker face returning. “We are about to close up and I really don’t think we have anything you’d be interested in here.”

“Really?” Harry laughed, looked around the room, easily spotting a handful of things he would purchase on the spot.

He was the definition of baffled at her switch back to a chilly tone - it was complete whiplash. However, he supposed it didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t exactly need to go to the engagement party knowing that she wasn’t the mystery airport fan. 

But now… he was consumed with figuring out who Franki was, why she was such an enigma and, most of all, why he was so bloody attracted to her. 

It never seems to be that easy, does it? Harry reminded himself.

“Okay,” he took a tentative step toward the exit. “I wasn’t sure how formal tonight was but…anyway! That’s fine, no worries. I’ll get out of your hair…”

“Actually…” Franki’s voice stopped him in his tracks, catching the slightest glint in her eye. “Hold on just a minute...”

•••

Later that night, Harry found himself in the same exact spot he had been parked in earlier that day. This time, however, lamp posts and fluorescent signs illuminated the street while people were packed like sardines inside Anthony and Quinn’s pizza shop - the buzz of excitement and loud music spilling out into the evening’s air from every door and window.

After leaving the boutique a few hours prior, with a garment bag in hand, he rushed home to get ready. He showered before throwing on his new suit picked out by Franki herself. It was a game of hurry up and wait though, his eagerness getting the best of him as he slipped on his boots and then paced around his house until it was an appropriate time to leave.

He had circled through his living room nearly a hundred times before gathering his things and setting off.

Harry’s thumb tapped anxiously on his steering wheel, suddenly having to muster up the courage to get out of the car and walk inside. Post fame, a social setting like this was never his cup of tea - he much preferred smaller gatherings. But regardless of the amount of people gathered inside the pizza shop, Harry found himself set on the fact that he couldn’t miss an opportunity to be in the same room as Franki again.

Climbing out of his Audi, his golden metallic boots hitting the concrete one after the other, he adjusted his brand new purple paisley suit by pulling at the crisp cuffs and brushing off any creases before making his way toward the party.

But when he stepped up onto the curb in front of the restaurant, he stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes darted everywhere, from the hanging paper signs to the party store tinsel draped from the ceiling, immediately noticing every person in sight was casually dressed. Laidback trousers and jeans and summer dresses - there was absolutely nothing formal about the engagement party at all.

Harry’s mouth was gaping open, confused. He contemplated whether or not he could duck away before anyone spotted him - a quick rush home and he could change. Or better yet, he could just disappear completely and eventually, one day, explain to Quinn that something came up and he simply couldn’t make it. 

But as his eyes frantically scanned the scene, processing the fact that he was way over dressed… there, in the very back of the restaurant, was Franki.

She was sitting on top of the bar’s counter, legs dangling off the side with a glass in her hand, surrounded by a crowd of people including Quinn, Anthony and Emi. With her hair pulled back, Harry could see every animated expression that lit up her face as she listened and laughed along with whoever happened to be talking. 

And in that moment, his jaw tensed and he let out a quiet laugh.

A joke? A prank? He thought. But why?

Smoothing his hand down over his suit jacket, he pushed his shoulders back, deciding he needed an answer to his question. He stepped forward with a deep breath and pulled open the store’s door, willingly about to give Franki the satisfaction of seeing her handy work play out. Thankfully it didn’t hurt that the suit happened to fit like a glove. 

“Harry!” 

A chorus of excited hellos greeted him as he scooted through the crowded room to the familiar faces by the bar.

“Bro, you look sharp!” Anthony held out his hand for a high five and then pulled Harry into a hug. It was obvious that the drinks had already been flowing freely.

Quinn wrapped her arms around him next, a sympathetic look across her face. “Sorry Harry! We should’ve told you it was a casual party!”

Harry blew out a breath, tentatively shifting his gaze to the left. And once he locked eyes with Franki, she had a full blown smirk on her face. She looked back at him with satisfaction as Emi leaned into her, covering her mouth to whisper something in her ear.

“Don’t mind it, really,” Harry’s fingertips adjusted the collar of his white undershirt, making sure to point his words directly at Franki. “It’s a gorgeous suit, innit?”

Her smug look faltered for a second and she quickly lifted her glass to her lips to cover it. 

“Let’s get you a drink!” Anthony squeezed his shoulder. “What’ll it be?”

Harry broke his eye contact with Franki to answer, hoping at some point there would be a moment to ask why she felt the need to embarrass him… or at least try to. He would need some liquid courage to do it though.

“Tequila… on the rocks, please.”

“Atta boy!” Emi shouted, raising her nearly empty glass up into the air.

Harry’s lips curved into a small smile as he shrugged out of the suit jacket and draped it over a chair, followed by unbuttoning and rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt next. And before he knew it, Anthony was back placing a full glass in his hands. 

Harry was mid-sip when Franki cleared her throat loudly.

“I’m still confused why you’re here?” She deadpanned in Harry’s direction, her soft voice lifting above the music and din of the crowded room.

Harry felt his temperature starting to grow uncomfortably warm, in spite of shedding the weighty suit jacket he had been wearing - a stark contrast to the relaxed tank top and jeans Franki had on. He cleared his throat as well, doing his best to brush off her confusing animosity, unsure what explanation she needed to hear.

“Don’t be rude, Franki,” Anthony interjected with a muffled scoff. “Harry grew up with Quinn.”

Franki, on the other hand, didn’t bother hiding her belittling scoff, her gaze switching from Harry to her sister-in-law to be.

“Quinn has literally never talked about Harry Styles… ever.”

An awkward pause had everyone in their small circle furrowing their brow at Franki's uncharacteristic behavior.

“Okay?” Quinn adjusted her shoulders with a laugh. “I guess it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. Plus there’s a good chance you just weren’t paying attention.”

Under their breath, the siblings muttered their impressed reactions to Quinn’s jab while Franki shifted her weight on top of the counter where she sat, forfeiting her silly argument with a subtle eye roll.

“Why are you acting so weird?” Anthony forgoed being subtle, wagging his finger between Franki and Harry. “Do you two know each other or something?” 

“No!”

“No…”

They answered simultaneously, eyes locking in surprise that Franki was so much more adamant in her response and Harry still had no clue why.

“Um,” Harry stood a bit taller, running his hand across the sleek material of the suit jacket next to him. “I popped into the boutique earlier today and your sister helped me pick out this… incredible suit for tonight.”

Everyone’s head snapped to where Franki was smiling cheekily, pride still radiating off every inch of her frame at the fact that she managed to pull one over on The Harry Styles.

“Uh, bit formal, don’t ya think Frank?” Anthony side-eyed her. 

“What?” Franki shrugged nonchalantly, attempting to keep her pleased smile from growing any wider. “His last name is Styles. Thought it was fitting.”

“Oh come off it, Franki,” Emi piped up, bringing her glass to her lips. And after swallowing her sip she continued, knowingly spoiling Franki’s little game. “She’s got her knickers in a bunch because Harry here dumped coffee all over her at JFK earlier this year.”

A resounding groan came from everyone now that the truth was out in the open. However Franki, whose glass was pressed to her lips mid-swallow, nearly spat out her drink along with a pointed whisper. 

“Shut-up, Emi!” She jolted her dangling foot directly into Emi’s thigh, in which her sister playfully nudged her back. 

“And jokes on you, Franki, because he looks fucking amazing!”

Emi heartily patted Harry on the back as everyone agreed with her compliment, the same nervous heat that had been gradually growing from the tip of his toes to the crown of his head now consuming him whole. Harry blinked slowly, his tongue poking into the corner of his mouth, before looking at Franki. 

Her eyes did what they could to steer clear of his, but her cheeks gave her away - a very obvious tinge of pink after being caught in her lies. 

Dropping his head toward the ground with a small half-embarrassed-half-impressed laugh, Harry attempted to mask his nervousness and confusion with a grin, the quirk of his lips making his dimple dip slowly into his cheek.

“So that was you? You do remember it?”

Franki clicked her tongue, switching her drink to her opposite side so she could properly speak with her hands. “Um, you dumped an entire cup of coffee on me and then walked away! One doesn’t forget that, Gary.”

Harry lifted his finger, shaking it in protest. “You even said you’ve never been to New York.”

“Oh, Franki loves New York!”

“Shut-up Emi!” Franki kicked her sister again before pushing up off the counter with her palms and landing directly in front of Harry. 

After picking up her glass, she gripped Harry’s elbow hard, pulling him with her away from her nosy siblings. His feet clumsily fell in step behind her, not stopping until they were tucked in a hallway off to the side of the room and she was squaring herself with him, their bodies merely inches apart.

“Okay, I’m sorry! I lied!” she blurted, unable to look him directly in the eye. “I just didn’t want you to have the benefit of the doubt. It felt oddly satisfying knowing you couldn’t apologize if you thought it wasn’t me.”

Standing in such close proximity, Harry’s heart rate quickened, his senses now being consumed by the scent of her perfume mixed with the alcohol on the tip of her tongue. 

Ignoring the way her closeness was unraveling him, he teasingly scrunched his nose and popped his hip. 

“A bit mean, innit?”

Franki ran a hand across her forehead in frustration. “Well, the coffee was one thing. But I missed my entire flight because of you, herego… a very important pitch meeting which ended up going to fucking Gucci.”

Harry’s face fell, a divet instantly appearing between his brows. 

“I had no idea.”

Their eyes locked then. Feeling the remorse in Harry’s words, Franki sighed.

“We’ll, duh, of course you didn’t!”

Before he could think twice to stop himself, he reached out and brushed his fingertips along her forearm. And when goosebumps tumbled across her skin, she visibly gulped.

“Franki, I’d never purposefully do that. But I am very sorry it happened. I wish I could make it up to you.”

Another weighty sigh.

“Well, you can’t.” A smirk tugged at her lips. “But the suit thing definitely helped. And I’m sorry too… for being a bitch. I seriously don’t know what came over me.”

“Okay,” Harry inquisitively tilted his head to the side, “But I have a feeling that's not true, I doubt you’re the bitchy type."   

Franki guffawed, leaning the slightest bit closer to him. “But you don’t even know me…”

Harry’s heart continued to race, her scent now fully making him dizzy. “I’m a pretty good judge of character. Suppose it’s your aura or summat.”

Squinting in disbelief, she shook her head. “I’ve literally been nothing but rude to you since the moment you walked into my store. I sold you a purple paisley suit knowing every single person in here would be dressed in jeans!”

His smile grew playfully wide. “Oh, but it’s a gorgeous suit…”

With a mutual laugh, they mirrored each other and lifted their glasses, pressing them to their lips and taking a long swig, keeping their eyes locked the entire time. Harry’s smile was unwavering when he decided to brush his hand back over Franki’s forearm, wanting to make sure she fully understood. 

"I’m very sorry for the coffee incident."

Much to her surprise, Franki found herself soaking in his warm touch, completely lost in his crystal clear green eyes. 

Jesus, I must be drunk… she convinced herself, stubbornly ignoring the fluttering feeling stirring in her belly.

"No worries. Water under the bridge right?" She hesitantly reciprocated his smile, bringing her glass upward in a toast. "To a fun evening… with you, apparently.”

And just after Harry clinked his glass to hers, before he could say another word, Franki stepped back and quickly beelined it out of the narrow hallway.

“Hi, honey!” An older man with salt and pepper hair called out the second they remerged into the crowd. He was walking straight toward them with his arms open wide, dressed in an incredibly expensive looking blue suit.

Franki stopped and tipped her head back. “Of fucking course Gino Leto shows up in a designer suit,” she muttered loud enough for both him and Harry to hear.

“No one is overdressed or underdressed in a crisp suit, sweetheart!” The man sang, pulling her into a hug.

Harry held up his pointer finger. “He’s not wrong…” he mumbled and Franki shot him a disapproving look over her shoulder.

"And who do we have here?"

Franki turned so she was standing between the two men. “Oh, this? This is just some guy… Gary,” she quipped and Harry chuckled. “Gary, this is my dad, Gino.”

“You’re Harry Styles!” Gino barked as he reached out and assertively shook Harry’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you!”

Franki scoffed at the same moment her three siblings joined them to say hello to their dad. 

“Since when are you all die hard Harry Styles fans?” 

"Not sure what you're referring to, Francesca,” Gino placed his arm around Harry’s shoulder like they were old friends. “But Harry here just signed with Gucci. I’ve spoken with Alessandro about you, son!”

"Oh—" Harry's eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. He was used to being noticed for his music, but fashion was somewhat of a new venture.

“Gucci?” Franki rolled her eyes, very clearly unimpressed. “Of course he did.”

“I mean—” Harry stuttered, remembering what Franki had just told her about her missed meeting and Gucci. “I still like to work with other designers…”

She pressed her glass to her lips and hummed, “Mmhmm… I bet.”

Through the speakers that were spread out across the restaurant, a mellow song faded into the iconic sound of a beautiful organ melody, followed by guitar chords that brought in the song's beat.

'Well I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body, I know not everybody, has got a body like you'

"Oh, here we go!" Franki lit up, setting her glass on the nearest table and clapping her hands together. She grabbed Emi's hand and yanked it toward the outdoor patio which had been cleared of all tables and turned into a dance floor.

"Don’t mind the psychotic outburst,” Anthony leaned in and explained to Harry as he side-stepped around him. “George Michael is her emotional support rockstar.”

"Harry?" Emi raised her eyebrows noticing his feet hadn’t moved.

Before he could answer, Franki shouted back at him. "You too, Gary! Don’t care how cool of an ex-boy bander you are. No one sleeps on George Michael!"

"Let's go, Harry," Quinn grabbed his hand to pull him along with her fiancé. "Take it back to those X-Factor audition days!" 

"Oh," Harry gave her an extremely serious look, "you wanna see the shoulder thrusts?" He joked, willingly following as they filtered out onto the patio and into the crowd of people on the dance floor.

Shimmying his shoulders in an undeniably 'dad-like' fashion, Harry held his drink in his hand as he danced, his eyes undeniably staying locked on Franki across the way. Something about her had him in a trance… and he wouldn’t be able to look away if he tried.

Feeling his stare, Franki turned, letting her eyes meet his. And from the short distance between them, she could feel a force pulling them together. 

But holding fast to her stubborn nature, Franki spun on her heel and ignored it. 

George Michael faded into Tears for Fears and the party showed no sign of slowing down. The night continued on, everyone dancing and drinking. Harry was having a blast getting to know everyone from the Leto family. Each of them were the warmest and most welcoming humans, making him feel as if he’d known them his entire life.

Franki, however, kept her distance. The two interacted a few times, at one point while refilling their drinks and they even found themselves brushing arms on the dance floor. But in spite of the air being cleared between them, she remained an uninterested closed book… which unfortunately just made Harry want to know her even more.

The night’s temperature had dipped, but that didn’t stop Franki from enjoying herself on the dance floor.  At some point, however, when someone handed her another full glass, she suddenly realized she was at least two drinks past sober and needed to slow down.

She danced her way to the outskirts of the dance floor, and just as she whirled around to escape…

BAM.

Her eyes were as wide as saucers when they focused on a purple paisley design and a soaking wet white button down, raising slowly to see a shade of green in shock.

“Holy—sh—,“ she stuttered, watching the way Harry held his arms out to the side, the alcohol seeping through the fabric exposing the shape of a butterfly on his abdomen, making Franki’s already fuzzy head spin.

“Well, shit…“ Harry chuckled, his voice low, no doubt from the tequila he had been sipping all night.

Having no clue or care about who he was talking with, Franki spontaneously placed her hand in his and pulled. And she didn’t stop until they were through the crowded restaurant, the kitchen, out the back door and standing in the alley way in front of, what he assumed to be, a door to her boutique. 

“God I’m so sorry…” Franki mumbled flusteredly, attempting to jostle her key into the keyhole, unsuccessfully.

“Here,” Harry giggled softly, placing his hand on hers and taking the keys from her grasp. Her eyes were still wide with shock when she turned to see him leaning into her, closer and closer until their mouths were so close she was tempted to pucker. “Let me help you with that.”

“Oh!” She released a shaky breath as Harry easily slid the key into the lock and turned it.

He followed her inside, letting the door shut tight behind him. His ears were ringing from the switch to sudden silence, taking note of the subtle buzz when Franki flipped on an overhead light. 

Without looking back at him, she disappeared past the curtain for a few minutes. And before Harry could decide if he was supposed to tag along, she reemerged with a yellow t-shirt in her hand.

“Here. Yellow seems like it would be a good color on you.”

He took the shirt and held it up in the air to see a faded vintage Camel Cigarettes graphic across the pocket and the back.

“This is brilliant,” he beamed. “And yellow happens to be my favorite color.”

She dropped her head with a small smile. And when she looked up, Harry had slid the unscathed, dry suit jacket off his shoulders and his fingertips were already fiddling with the buttons of his undershirt.

Franki’s eyes were fixed like concrete, intrigued in every sense of the word. With each button that was undone, more of his tanned skin and glimpses of black shaded tattoos peeked out until his soaked shirt was gone and his skin was fully bare. Franki blinked away before she could start drooling as a relentless shade of pink spread over her cheeks… but Harry noticed and smirked.

“Um,” she gulped and laughed simultaneously. “You have a lot of tattoos.”

“I do.” His smirk was still prominent, his hands fumbling with the hem of the yellow t-shirt, situating it to pull on. “I, uh, actually have a Careless Whisper tattoo...”

Franki’s eyes grew wide with excitement, trying not to fixate on the twin laurel tattoos that seemingly framed his happy trail. 

“No you don’t!”

“I do,” he feigned offense, his head popping out from the neck, sending his curls scattering across his forehead. “I have ‘never gonna’ and ‘dance again’ across my ankles.”

“Shut up—” Franki shook her head, pausing to watch him situate the shirt around his torso, impressed by both his clever tattoo and his fit body. “That’s…actually amazing.”

Harry sighed dramatically, running his hand through his hair with a twist of his wrist. “Well, I also have ‘big’ tattooed on my big toe, so, don’t give me too much credit.”

They were both laughing then, Franki bending down to pick up his wet shirt while Harry shamelessly took in her incredible figure.

 “I’ll have this dry cleaned for you…”

“Oh, no need,” he insisted. “I’ve got a closet full of those. But, uh, can I pay you for the shirt?”

Franki deadpanned, lifting her finger to flip off the light and then moved towards the back exit. 

“S’on me. Guess we’re even now.”

Harry couldn’t help how wide his grin had grown, alcohol induced or not, beyond grateful for the shift that had happened between them since that afternoon.

“Guess so…”

The street light in the alleyway above them flickered as Franki managed to successfully lock the door.

“Well, have a nice night,” she waved at Harry, taking steps in the opposite direction from the pizza shop.

Harry was pulling his suit jacket back on when she spoke, assuming he had heard her wrong. “Are you not going back to the party?”

Franki shook her head and yawned, stretching her arms up into the air. The alcohol had very clearly done its job making her feel good.

“Oh, if I go back now, I won’t be able to leave for hours. Italians take their parties very seriously.” She started taking slow backward steps. “You should head back though, Gino Leto really lets loose at midnight.”

With an awkward laugh, Harry hesitated, suddenly side swiped by the realization they were about to part ways and he’d likely never see her again. And he hated it.

”You’re walking home by yourself?” Harry found his feet following her without even realizing it.

“Listen,” she chuckled softly, turning her back to him, “I’ve made this walk a billion times - sober and not sober. I could do it with my eyes closed.”

A burst of drunken boldness had Harry jogging to catch up to her. Unsure what had come over him, he slipped a hand over her eyes and around her waist from behind, making her yelp from the sudden lack of sight.

“Prove it,” he teased. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

Franki was laughing loudly when she quickly wiggled out of his grasp, batting at his bicep once she was properly balanced on her feet at his side.

His heart was thumping in his ears from the sensation of her skin on his… but he laughed it off, realizing she was actually covered in goosebumps from the cold. At least that’s what he assumed.

 “You’re, uh— you’re freezing!”

Wrapping her arms around herself, she ducked her head. 

“Well, I’m drunk and it’s cold,” she stated plainly. “…And I left my jacket back there…” she pointed behind them and then abruptly patted her jean pockets. “Shit, and my phone…”

“Do you want me to run and—“

Franki waved her hands, gesturing vaguely. “No it’s fine, Emi will bring it home.”

Without having to think, he stopped and intuitively shrugged out of his suit jacket and held it open for her. "May I?"

Taken back by his chivalry, she turned, hesitating for a beat before taking the few steps back to where he stood.

They exchanged lazy grins as Franki turned and slipped into the arms. She was unable to stop herself from inhaling deeply, taking in his crisp, clean scent as he settled the fabric on her shoulders. And when she turned back around, her chest was merely inches from his. With her breath hitched in her throat, she lifted her gaze from the cross dangling against the yellow t-shirt, all the way up to his deep green eyes.

"Thank you," she exhaled.

"Of course.” Tequila and mint mingled as he took in every detail of her face.

Time stood still before either one of them moved or spoke again, unsure what force of nature had put where they were. But with a sudden burst of courage, Harry cleared his throat.

“Can I walk you home?”

Franki had no clue what he meant, she was terrible with inuedos. Is he being polite? Or does he want a shag? Her uncertainty had her reverting back to her sass.

“I don’t need a chaperone,” she took off, now taking wide strides in the direction of her home.

But… what if he did want a shag? She paused, considering the likely mind-blowing possibility.

“But,” she huffed, glancing over at Harry who was already two steps behind her. “We’re already halfway there so you might as well.”

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets, falling in step next to her with his dimples deep in his cheeks. 

The walk was shorter than Harry would’ve liked, just a handful of minutes before they were stopped in front of a stunning four story Camden complex.

“Well… thanks for the walk,” Franki said as she waved at the elderly gentleman standing behind the concierge desk inside, the entrance clicking and unlocking shortly after. “Have a nice—“

“Un-uh,” Harry protested cheekily. “Wouldn’t be a proper gentleman if I didn’t make sure you made it all the way inside safely.”

Franki giggled but only to bury the now thrashing waves of nervousness in her belly.

Are we really doing this? She attempted to play it cool, suddenly panicked about what state she had left her bedroom in before leaving for the party.

But for some crazy, spontaneous reason, she held open the door for him anyway.

“Hi George…” Franki greeted her doorman.

“Evening Ms Leto, who’s this?”

She side eyed Harry, noticing the way his hands were still stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders were slightly slumped, dimples still prevelant.

“This is Gary. He’ll be seeing himself out shortly.”

“Evening, Gary.”

She chanced another glance just as he brought his hand to his forehead and sent George a salute, an unmistakable tinge of pink across his cheeks. Possibly from the alcohol or…

What in the world is he thinking? Franki screamed in her head as the lift doors closed them inside. 

They were standing closer than two strangers would, the suit jacket sleeve brushing against his bare arm. Not a word was spoken, but the tension in the air was thick. And much too soon, the lift dinged when they reached her floor and before they knew it, they were coming to a stop on Franki’s doorstep. 

“So I’ve been wanting to ask you something…”

Harry spoke first and Franki felt her entire body ignite with heat.

“Oh?”

His eyes burned into hers for a moment, before he let out a quiet laugh and continued.

“Would you be interested in letting me wear some of your designs for my tour?”

Oh… 

Franki swallowed thickly, doing her best to keep her facial expression unreadable. “You want to… hire me?”

Harry nodded.

“But you know nothing about me…”

“I know you did a fantastic job pickling out this extremely fancy suit here…”

A wider smile made his eyes twinkle when he reached out and tugged at the opening of the sleeve where her hand rested, brushing his knuckles against hers. 

Simultaneously, Franki’s heart sped from his touch in the same moment she remembered all of the silly circumstances of the day.

“Is this a pity hire?” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Because you dumped your coffee on me? Remember we’re even now?”

“No,” Harry objected. “I guess I’m just saying, I would love to get to know you better.”

Little did Franki know Harry’s heart had sped to its breaking point, certain she could see it pounding through his yellow t-shirt.

“Oh, so do you want me to work for you or do you want to get to know me?” Her furrowed brows lifted high.

Harry paused, teetering on a tightrope for a moment before poking out his tongue and licking his lips.

“What if I want both?”

Franki laughed shakily. “You’re a pest, Harry Styles.”

His gorgeous pink lips quirked proudly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Unsure what exactly was happening between them then and there, Franki placed her hand on her doorknob with a grin.

“You can’t have it both ways.”

He was quick to respond, taking one step closer. “Can’t I?”

You could cut the tension in the air with a knife as they held their eye contact steady. 

“Nope… because I can still dislike you if you’re just a client.”

He smirked at that. “I don’t think you actually want to dislike me... I think you want me to follow you through that door.”

Everything stood still in that moment, not a single sound other than two rapidly beating hearts thumping away, pretending to be confident when really they were merely testing out the waters. 

“Do I?” Franki exhaled.

Harry mirrored her exhale with one of his own. “I don’t know… do you?”

Franki’s eyes stayed fixed on him as he lingered, his voice slow and deep, looking back at her with what appeared to be hungry eyes. She was just about to give in to temptation and pull him inside, when her brain caught up to her lustful thoughts.

It’s never really that easy is it? She thought to herself. A quick shag and then you’d never see him again. Or you could add a worldwide tour to your professional roster.

She masked her uncertainty with a dose of boldness, ignoring the very likely possibility that she would regret what she was about to do. But Franki committed to her choice, shrugging his jacket from her shoulders and holding it out his way. And when he dropped his head and took it from her, she was already walking backwards through her front door with a smirk.

“Have a nice night, Harry.”

•••

The next morning hit Franki like a ton of bricks. A hangover for the ages plagued her as she dragged her slippered feet down the hall and into her kitchen in search of water. 

Like an oasis in the desert, Franki found a bottle of water, painkillers and her phone resting on the island countertop, left for her by Emi. 

After gulping away her remorse, she picked up her phone to find a voicemail waiting. A few taps later, she pressed ‘speaker’ and waited.

“Hello this message is for Franki Leto. My name is Harry Lambert, I’m Harry Styles’ stylist. Harry tracked down your number and we were hoping to set up a time to discuss using a couple of your suit designs in his upcoming tour. If you could give me a call back that would be lovely.”

Franki’s smile was smug and wide as she hung up the phone, reassuring herself she had made the right decision not to sleep with Harry.

And just as she was about to return the phone call, a text popped up across the lock screen. She leaned forward curiously, seeing a familiar name that made her heart flutter. 

Gavin: Hey there beautiful… miss talking to you. Let me know when we can catch up. Xx

•••

•••

A/N: Well what did we think?? 😅 This is one of the longest parts I’ve written in a minute so thank you for making it through 🫶 I’m so grateful for you reading and I’d love to hear from you if you have a quick moment. Thank you for my forever hype women @for-fucks-sake-h @andwhenshesays I love you so so so much.

•••

Tag list: @sweetwanderlust05 @dayxoxodreamer @very-berry-harry @didhewinkback

[natsstar]

a coffee house in italy.

pairing: scarlett johansson X fem reader

warnings: fluff & angst (sad ending) implied age gap (definitely legal)

word count: 3,900

summary: you travel abroad after graduating college in an attempt to find yourself- who will you meet along the way?

————————————————————————

Turning twenty-two felt like treading water. Exhausting, but necessary. You spent your last year of college going through the motions, graduating with good enough grade to be considered “smart”, yet you had no jobs lined up and no idea what you wanted to do with your life. You found yourself back at home in your childhood bedroom, watching from the sidelines as your friends started their internships in New York and Chicago, doing whatever the fuck they wanted. You had aspirations sure, but it seemed like opportunities weren’t falling into your lap like they were for everyone else. Soon you found yourself researching flights– not to anywhere specific, mostly just anywhere but here. You proposed the idea to your parents over dinner, watching them exchange worried glances but refraining to protest, understanding that they couldn’t stop you.

—

Croatia’s beautiful. You spend two weeks in Split– walking around, buying coffee, reading by sea cliffs and swimming until sunset. Traveling alone has a sort of otherworldly feel to it– something you never thought you would experience. Something about watching the sun sink below the horizon without any distractions, just you and the world– it’s magic.

You hop on a boat to Italy once you decide it’s time for a change of scenery. It’s a sailboat and the captain doesn’t speak English, but you don’t mind. You sleep on top of the deck for the few nights you’re overseas, taking in the salt air and wondering what Italy might bring. You end up docking in the Amalfi Coast, parting ways with the captain and heading into town, finding an inn with a few open rooms and booking a three week stay.

You spend the first week wandering around town, trying coffee at different cafes and finding cute girls to talk to on the beach. You find that the people here are much nicer than you expected and Italian citrus is ten times better than anything you can find in the United States. You quickly become acquainted with a coffee shop a couple blocks away from the inn, relishing how quiet it is and how you can hear the ocean when you sit at the table by the window. You begin going there everyday, sitting at the same table and sipping coffee as you read books about sapphic lovers in ancient worlds, getting lost in the fantasy of it all.

You get up earlier than usual one morning, grabbing your book and walking towards the coffee shop, the sun only just coming up and the morning air crisp. You want to watch the sunrise from your favorite table, chat with your favorite barista in broken Italian and feel what it’s like to be the only one awake. You open the door, the little bell chiming, but you stop in your tracks momentarily– there’s a woman at your table. It’s rare for someone to be here this early in the morning let alone at all. You shrug it off, sitting at a table on the other side of the room after ordering a black coffee. The woman doesn’t seem particularly friendly, as she’s wearing a headscarf and sunglasses, despite being indoors. She’s tapping away on her computer, clearly very focused on something. You pay no mind, sipping your coffee and reading your book until you can find a reason to leave.

You come in the next three days at the same time each morning, and each time she’s still there, still at your table. Every time you walk in, you give a longing glance towards her, sitting in your favorite spot, before going to the table across the room and doing your same morning routine.

The fourth day you’re getting desperate. She’s still there and you want that stupid table. It had the best view of the ocean and that’s something you just aren’t able to give up. On your walk from the inn you tell yourself that if she’s there again, you’ll take it as a chance to possibly make a friend. Maybe the two of you could bond on how great the view is. You walk in through the door and she’s there– of course she’s there. You head towards the table and loom over her, willing her to peel her eyes away from her computer screen.

“Hi. Uh– I’m Y/N. Can I sit here?” you’re nervous as she gives you a smile and nods.

You sit down across from her, setting your book and coffee on the table, “Sorry I don’t mean to bother, this is just my favorite table and– I promise I’ll be quiet, just pretend I’m not here.” You look down at your book, a little bit flustered. There goes the friendship possibility.

She takes off her sunglasses, “I’m Scarlett,” her voice raspy from the morning air.

You whip your head up, a little shocked to see another American. And that’s when your eyes go wide, your mouth clamping shut and your body going rigid. Scarlett Johansson. It’s fucking Scarlett Johansson goddamnit.

“Yeah hi um–” you stutter, “I’m Y/N, hi” you squint your eyes, wincing as you realize that’s the second time you’ve introduced yourself.

She pretends not to notice, giving you a warm smile in return, “Are you here on vacation? I’ve seen you here in this coffee shop almost everyday this week.”

“Um I- no. Well yes? I’m just,” fuck. “I’m taking some time off I guess,” you say, trying your best to breathe and regain whatever drop of composure you have left, “I finished University in May and wanted to just-” you pause. What were you doing here? “Find myself. I guess.” You let out a little laugh, trying to seem less awkward. In your defense, you have had very little human interaction over the past few weeks.

She gives you a knowing nod, “Gotcha.”

“And what are you doing here?” you press on.

She thinks for a moment, “Same as you. Finding myself. I guess.” She gives you a little knowing smile and goes back to her laptop, typing away.

You stare at her for a moment before opening up your book, doing your best not to sneak too many glances at the woman in front of you for your remaining time in the coffee shop. You smile to yourself– maybe you do have a new friend.

—

The next morning she’s there again, and you wordlessly sit across from her. It becomes a regular thing– her being there each morning and you with her, the two of you coexisting. There’s usually very little small talk, just some chatting here and there about what the two of you have been up to before going to your separate tasks. She always gives you a smile as you walk up to your table, and as the days go on you see her getting more comfortable, noticing that she takes off her sunglasses and headscarf when you walk in.

—

A week goes by and you begin to pry, asking her questions about what she’s working on, how long she’s staying, what she’s been doing in town, etc. She gives vague answers, but you’re satisfied, knowing that you’re probably the only person she’s had a conversation with in a week, and her definitely being the only person you’ve talked to in a month. You learn that she comes here every year, staying in this small little town for a few weeks to “cool off” and take time away from her work. She doesn’t specify what “her work” is, but you nod and smile, never letting her know that you’re very well aware of who she is and what she does.

It’s the last day of your reservation at the inn and you go into the shop at the same time you always do, book in hand and ready to spend your last morning in Italy as you had for the past three weeks. You’re not sure where you're heading next, but having no place to stay, you’re prepared to head to the docks after you have your morning coffee and find a boat to hitch a ride on. You walk in and the air is stiller than usual and it’s dead silent– Scarlett isn’t there. You’re a little sad that you won’t be able to say goodbye to her, but you go on ordering your coffee and settling down at your table anyways. You’re about thirty minutes into reading your book, when you hear the little door bell ding and look up to see who’s walking in. It’s Scarlett– she walks right up to your table, but doesn’t sit down.

“Hi. Y/N,” she says, looking a little bit flustered.

“Scarlett,” You return, looking up at her from your seat.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” She asks, avoiding your eyes, “I could charter a boat for the day, and I kind of just want to get away for a minute.”

“Yes,” you say, eyes wide, “Yes, yeah that sounds fun.”

The two of you head to the docks and maneuver your way into a boat rental. You’re surprised to find out that Scarlett knows how to sail, and you watch her hoist the sails up and untie the boat from the dock before taking off. You two haven’t said much to each other by this point, besides when you offered to chip in for the rental, resulting in her shooing you away, saying she would cover it.

“I’m sorry if this is weird,” Scarlett says, breaking the silence, “We barely know each other, you’re just the only person I’ve really had much contact with during my trip and I-” she pauses for a moment, tying a knot, “I guess I just didn’t want to be alone today.”

She’s not looking at you as she’s running around the boat getting everything into place, but you smile, “I appreciate it, actually. I love traveling alone so far, but it can get very lonely.”

She finishes up and takes a seat next to you, letting out a sigh as she finally starts to relax. “I know a little island- it’s only a couple miles away. I figured we could dock there, explore the beach maybe. If that’s okay with you,” she turns her head to look at you and you turn to look back.

“Sounds great,” you respond, “I don’t have any plans so works for me,” you let out a small laugh. You realize that you haven’t really been able to get a good look at her, the two of you really only sharing small glances in the coffee shop, her head usually buried in her computer. You notice that her eyes are green- very green actually, and if you look hard enough there’s little flecks of gold in them. There’s dark circles under her eyes, and she looks like she hasn’t been sleeping well, but she’s still sunkissed and glowing, her hair a golden blonde under the sun.

“So,” she starts, “Have you found yourself yet?” There’s a sparkle in her eyes and you’re having trouble ripping your eyes away from hers.

You stare at her for a second before responding, “Oh! Well, um,” you certainly do not know how to answer this question. “I’m not sure. I’m definitely having a good time exploring new places and what not but– does anyone ever really find themselves?”

With that she gives you a small smile, “Good question.”

You watch as she lays back, closing her eyes as she basks in the sun.

“We should be there in about twenty minutes,” she mutters.

You turn away from her and look out towards the open ocean in front of you. The water is the bluest you’ve ever seen, a deep aqua with the sunlight bouncing off of it perfectly. Lifting your head towards the sky, you sink into deep thought. You woke up this morning with the intention of venturing off to another country, yet here you are, on a boat, with Scarlett Johansson. You imagined yourself doing some cool shit, sure, but this– you never could’ve predicted this. For the first time in a long time you feel no pressure, no stress and no dread for the future. You’re in a beautiful country with a beautiful woman, what more do you need?

After a long while of zoning out, you hear Scarlett jostling next to you, “Almost there, just a couple more minutes- hey look there’s the island,” she points ahead at a quaint little island, it has white sand and crystal clear water.

“How good of a swimmer are you?” Scarlett asks, adjusting the sails and preparing the anchor.

“I’m alright, why?” you ask.

“Well there’s no dock, the island’s too small, so we’re gonna have to swim to shore. It’s really not bad, pretty do-able in my opinion,” she says, shooting you a wink from her post.

You let out a little laugh, “Alright.”

—

After a couple more minutes, Scarlett drops the anchor. You peer over the edge of the boat, looking at the distance between you and the island.

“You ready?” Scarlett calls from behind you.

You look over your shoulder to see her throwing her flowy shirt and her shorts to the side, leaving her in a blue bikini. The sight of her in so little clothing has you flustered, but you try to cover it up by lifting your dress over your head and throwing it into her pile of clothes.

She makes her way over the railing, balancing on the side of the boat, ready to jump in. You join her, taking the hand she offers you as you climb over the railing to reach her. The two of you stare down at the deep blue, standing shoulder to shoulder. You look at her with a pained smile, and Scarlett just offers you her hand in return. You take it, the wicked grin on her face telling you there’s no turning back.

“Ready?” Scarlett asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

The two of you jump and hit the water with a splash, you clutching onto her hand until you physically couldn’t anymore. You both come up for air laughing, Scarlett sending a little splash your way before swimming towards the island. The water is the perfect temperature as the two of you make your way towards the shore. You try to take it all in, diving under the water and coming back up again in utter bliss. Scarlett looks even more perfect a couple feet ahead of you, her wet hair flowing behind her. Every time she looks back at you, your heart skips a beat. You make it to the island mildly exhausted, sitting in the sand right on the shoreline trying to catch your breath. Scarlett’s completely unphased, running out of the water and onto the sand, a huge smile on her face. You sit there, breathing heavily as the water laps at your stomach, watching as she runs in circles before petering out.

“God I fucking love it here!” She yells, flopping onto the sand in a heap of giggles.

You let out a breathy laugh, mostly just happy to be sharing this moment with her.

“You come here often huh,” you say, crawling out of the water and onto your knees in the warm sand. “Is that why you learned to sail? So you could come here whenever you want?”

Scarlett looks at you for a moment, you notice her eyes flashing something– pain maybe, but her smile stays the same.

“No, uh.” She looks down, making shapes in the sand with her finger. “My ex taught me.”

You nod, dropping the subject.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, catching your breath and taking in the salty air.

“Hey Scarlett.”

“Yeah?”

“When are you leaving?”

She doesn’t make eye contact, her gaze on the horizon. “Tomorrow.”

You knew she had to go eventually, but the pang in your chest is prominent. You look at her while she looks at the water, silently thanking her. You get up and walk over to her, she looks up at you questioningly, but you offer her your hand and she takes it. You hold her hand tight and run towards the water, the two of you jumping in with a loud splash and a fit of giggles.

You spend the rest of the afternoon laying on the beach, eventually jumping in once it got too hot and repeating the cycle until the sun started to set.

—

By the time the two of you make it back to the boat, the sky is exploding with color, pink and orange paint the clouds above you.

“Shouldn’t we get the boat back?” You ask, wringing your hair out over the side of the boat.

Scarlett leans on the railing, her focus on the sun as it slowly sinks. “No point trying to get back in the dark. We can sleep on the deck, I’ll pay the guy extra tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” you whisper, trying to hide the smile creeping up your face. “I’m going to go below deck to try to find some towels or blankets, or something,” you say, beginning to shiver in your wet bikini. You climb down the ladder and eventually fish out a couple wool blankets, bringing them to the deck and laying them out.

You climb under one of the bigger blankets, curling up as you watch the sky change colors. Out of the corner of your eye you see Scarlett coming, walking towards your spot on the deck. She had to be cold as well, also still in a wet bikini. She gently lifts your blanket and climbs under without saying a word, laying close enough so that you can feel her body heat, but not touching. The two of you lay there as the sky darkens, looking up at the sky as the day fades away.

“Scarlett,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” she whispers back.

“Who do you want to be?”

The question catches her off guard, laying there without saying a word for a long moment.

“A good mom,” she finally answers in a low whisper.

Your heart aches. “What makes you think you aren’t?”

Scarlett takes a sharp intake of breath. “My daughter- she’ll never understand why me and her dad aren’t together anymore. I just wish-” Scarlett takes a long pause, letting out a sigh. Not knowing what to say, you find her hand under the blanket, lacing your fingers in hers and squeezing. “I wish I could be with him, for her, but I can’t. I just can’t.”

You lay there in silence, listening to her breathe and wishing you could take away her pain. You watch as the first stars are uncovered, admiring how bright they look out here. You listen to the waves lightly lap at the boat, the gentle sway making your eyelids feel heavy. You think about what you’ll do tomorrow, wondering what’s in store for you next. Maybe Switzerland you think, spend a couple weeks hiking through the Swiss Alps, smell the mountain air and hopefully find a different woman to help you forget about the one next to you. You begin to drift off, the sun and excitement of the day finally wearing on you. In your last few moments of consciousness you feel your hand being released as a warm arm comes across your body, wrapping around your waist and pulling you in. You hold her just as tight, your head in her neck, falling asleep to the rhythm of her breath and the smell of her skin.

—

You wake up slow, first noticing the sound of the waves and the gentle rock of the ship. You then become aware that Scarlett’s still wrapped around you, the two of you entwined together underneath the blanket. You melt into her, trying to take in as much as you can. You focus on the way her bare skin feels against yours, the way she smells like sea salt and sweet perfume, and the way she clutches you tight, even in her sleep. You wish you didn’t have to leave this boat, leave her, leave this moment.

You feel her start to wake up, her legs starting to fidget beneath yours and her fingers sliding up to run through your hair. The sun starts rising and you sigh, knowing that it means goodbye. You feel a lump in your throat, tightening your hold on Scarlett’s body.

“Not yet,” you whisper into Scarlett’s shoulder.

“I know love,” she whispers back, her fingers gently detangling your hair as you try to absorb every part of her that you can.

Eventually she gets up, leaving you as she goes to prepare the ship. You watch her pull up the anchor and ready the sails, silently begging her to come back and lay there with you forever. You heave a sigh, getting up and pulling your dress back over your head before tugging the blankets back below the deck. You sit back down on the deck in silence as Scarlett starts steering towards the mainland. You don’t say a word the entire trip back, sitting with your knees tucked into your chest and staring out at the waves in front of you, trying to keep the tears away. Scarlett doesn’t say anything either, but you don’t look at her, trying to ignore the ways her eyes light a fire within you. The sun’s almost completely risen by the time the two of you reach the dock, Scarlett reaching over the side of the boat to securely tie it in. She walks over to where you’re still sitting, not ready to get up yet. She holds out her hand and you take it, standing up to face her.

She moves a piece of salt caked hair out of your face and holds your eye contact, “Where are you heading next?” she says, giving you a soft smile.

“I was thinking Switzerland,” you say back, giving her your best smile. “I thought maybe spending some time in the mountains would be a good idea…” you start to trail off, avoiding her eyes.

She puts a hand on your face, lightly cupping your cheek, “Don’t be sad darling, not over me.”

You pull her into a tight hug, holding her for as long as you can, breathing her in for the last time. She holds you just as tight, the two of you clutching each other in silence.

Eventually you pull away, Scarlett’s hands holding your face as she looks into your glassy eyes. “Find yourself my love,” she whispers. You lean into her and she reciprocates, pulling your face to hers, allowing your lips to meet. You kiss her with everything you have, knowing it’s the first and last time you’ll ever have her lips on yours, letting your hands roam over the parts of her body you longed to last night, sliding your fingers up her spine and tangling them in her hair. She pulls away, giving your hand a squeeze before she steps off the boat. You watch her walk down the dock, the perfect bubble the two of you had created bursting around you. You turn away, peeling your eyes from her figure as she disappears from your line of sight.

“Switzerland,” you whisper to yourself, wiping away a stray tear.

edit: i hope you like this it made me violently upset lmao

[ravenhol-m]

Walking through those quiet, empty library walls, you take note of every book you walk past in hopes of finding what you are looking for. The information you search is well hidden even to members of the Ravenholm council like yourself. Surely it had to be in here. Surely.

You walk the building stalls and floors for another dozen hours. You recall arriving at the library shortly after noon, and now you can see the faint alpenglow of the sun on the horizon. You think to yourself about how you'd spend weeks in here if you had to. Just to find what you need.

The wooden floor creaks and bends underfoot, a testament to the age of this architecture. The wooden bannister that runs the full length of the stairs has gained a thick layer of dust across it dampening that pale yellow of exposed and splintered wood as you travel further up the stairs.

As you climb the spiralling staircase, you notice the railing seems to gain back its rich, dark colour visible even through the now centimetre thick layer of dust. Finally, stepping foot on the final floor of the building, you begin to scoure the shelves and frantically search the spine of every book. As you scamper through the room, you notice, only for a split second, a book atop a shelf.

Grabbing a nearby stool, you hoist it off the floor, ripping countless connecting spider webs from it with a faint tear and place it just infront of the shelf so that you can lay your hand upon the top of the bookcase.

Pulling the book from its perch, you feverishly wipe the potentially decade's worth of grime from its surface, along with a small family of spiders. Reading the golden words upon its face, you realise you've found it.

"A brief explanation of magic" dated 1894, just over 4 years ago.

The pages separate with a crinkle, and you are surprised to see it is still in remarkable condition as you finally begin to read.

I've managed to narrow it down to the 4 main types of magic that are still left in the world, those being: Flame,Crystalline,Dark, and regenerative. All magic within the world has 3 different forms: the base, evolution, and awakened. Or atleast that is what I have dubbed them.

The strength of a person's magic can change depending on three things: how powerful the soul is, the amount of time spent training their magic, and if they have a natural inclination towards magic.

Like how some people are just naturally better at math without having to actually revise or educate themselves whole others may need to spend all day learning. If someone has a natural inclination to a magic type, it means that it matches their personality better than it would others.

The main drawback to the magic system is that no matter what type of magic is used, it has severe negative effects on the users physical form and the users soul, which can only be negated through consistent training and practice. However, in order for a magic user to reach the point where all the negatives no longer apply.

Now, getting into the magic types properly.

Flame magic: Flame magic is a representation of one's most basic primal emotions, such as rage and hatred but also love and passion. This means that flame magic users are surprisingly some of the most enjoyable and loving people you could meet. Flame magic users, in order to use their magic, must actively break off and destroy the outer parts of their soul to generate the energy needed to summon flame.

Because of how their magic is created and how flame users are known for being loving, this can lead to situations where weilders of the magic type have completely destroyed their souls to protect the people they hold dear.

Crystalline magic: Crystalline magic is technically speaking, not a type of magic at all. When a soul is removed from a person's body, it often tries to protect itself by hardening its outer layers and forming an incredibly durable outer shell similar in strength to steel. The crystals created by a soul defending itself are often incredibly small, often only afew millimetres in diameter but still about as bright as the oil lamps used to light up the city streets at night. Any decent sized part of the soul will Crystalize when removed from the body. Some users of this 'magic' have begun using this to their advantage. The soul can heal itself over the course of several weeks, and people who are aware of this often try to force smaller parts of their soul out of their body and force them to Crystalise. Through countless years of training, a crystaline magic user can force these incredibly small parts of souls to turn into crystals up to 2 centimetres or more in length, this may not sound like alot, but when they are as hard as steel people have found ways to weaponise them, often firing them from crossbows, using them as blades, or in incredibly rare circumstances, leaving a small portion of the soul left inside the Crystal allowing them to control it outside their body.

This type of magic can be affected by a person's mental strength and will power aswell as the strength of their physical form, the stronger any of these are, the bigger and more durable crystals they can make aswell as having better control of them once created outside the body.

Regenerative magic: regenerative magic is the trading of pain. Regenerative magic is a splinter of crystaline magic. Users of regenerative magic will trade parts of their soul for another person's or to replace a part of the soul that was lost. If a person is injured physically, their soul will take damage in the corresponding area, and vice versa, this damaged part can then be healed using parts of another person's soul or if it a more permanent type of damage than it can be traded with the user of regenerative magic having to take on that pain for them. If a user of this magic were to heal a cut, then they would then receive that same cut as that part of their soul is given away, this applies to all physical wounds. Even loss of limbs. Only afew cases have been reported where a regenerative magic user has attempted to heal a lost limb, while they were successful their leg shortly after underwent necrosis and had to be amputated.

This type of magic can be bolstered by how caring and empathetic a person is, the more they relate or are able to understand the pain the faster the magic affects the unwell and the less pain it causes the user.

An unknown side affect of this type of magic is that if it is used to frequently it can often result in negative affects on the healed primarily, tumors, excess skin, cancer, bone and muscle deformations and in some cases result in the spawning of a FOR...

The ink seems to smudge and fade away as you make it to the bottom of the second page, you turn it only to see that it is severely water damaged to the point wher only maybe half the next page is visible. And none of the information is useful from what you can tell.

Flipping through every single page, there is still nothing you can use, except for a half faded number reading 23-54-26.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Downhill, Dread, and Dreams

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Twenty-Two

A JSE Fanfic

Oh wow another part :D I don’t have much to say, so I’m gonna go right on to the summary. Chase, Marvin, and Jameson are traveling to Suilthair. And on the way, Jameson has some important information to share about a vision. Then that night, Chase dreams something similar, but different. Meanwhile, Jackie and Henrik are alone, going south and hoping to meet up with other Phantoms. Nothing else to add. Have fun :)

Previous Part | More AU in Chronological Order

Taglist: @brokentimewatch 

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Chase woke up first that morning, opening his eyes to an itch on his nose that turned out to be some sort of bug. One of the drawbacks of sleeping outside, but after suddenly leaving the town of Miryfern, they hadn’t been able to reach another town before the night. So they had to settle for laying their bedrolls beneath a large pear tree. It was starting to flower, small white blossoms dotting its branches, but hadn’t come close to bearing fruit.

“Gah!” That sound meant that Chase wasn’t the only one awake. He brushed the bug off his face and rolled over to see Marvin sitting up, swiping at his own face. Something was flying away. “Why don’t all animals respect personal space?!” he griped.

“So we’re waking up, then?” Chase said, sitting up.

“Don’t blame me, blame the butterfly,” Marvin said defensively. “I swear I covered my head, how’d it get onto me?!”

“Well, people tend to move around while sleeping.” Chase climbed out of the bedroll and onto the grass. “Is Jameson awake?”

Marvin looked to the side. “No. Not unless he’s pretending to sleep.” Jameson’s back was to the both of them. “Jair.” Marvin leaned over and shook his shoulder. “Wake up.”

Jameson didn’t move for a while, then let out a small breath, like a sigh, and sat up. Are we moving immediately? he asked.

Chase opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. He wanted to ask Jameson something. But...it could wait a little, couldn’t it? They’d all barely gotten up, after all. “We’re having breakfast first,” he said. “Where’s the pack with the food?”

“Underneath Draco,” Marvin said, pointing at where his cat was curled up on top of a leather bag. “I’ll bear the burden of waking him up.”

Things were quiet as they ate. It wasn’t much of a breakfast. They may have stocked up on supplies in Miryfern, but none of them wanted to light a fire to warm anything up. Because even though they had seen all of the warriors in town disappear through a magic doorway into the mountains, the camp still felt a bit too close for comfort. So it was just rolls, with some cheese that Chase had bought in the Miryfern marketplace.

Not that it tasted like anything. Chase couldn’t speak for Marvin or Jameson, but his thoughts were too focused on their friends back at Wyvernlair to taste anything but ash. He hadn’t been able to get to sleep out of worry for them. Instead he just laid in his bedroll for most of the night, trying not to picture the battle that was surely taking place in the mountains. The others looked tired too. Maybe they both had similar problems.

“Are we all finished, then?” Marvin asked once the rolls had disappeared.

I suppose, Jameson said. I wish there was fruit.

“Not the season for fresh ones,” Chase said. “And we’ll save the dried fruit for lunch.” He laughed. “You’d think that, with all the magic in the world, there would be some to conjure up food whenever you wanted.”

Instinctively, both he and Jameson glanced at Marvin, who was feeding a piece of salted meat to Draco. He returned the look. “What?”

Can you do that? Jameson asked.

“Conjure food? No. If I was a sorcerer, I could grow a berry bush or a fruit tree. But I’m a wizard, and food is a different matter. You can’t conjure something like that out of thin air. At least, not without knowing how it’s made. But I only know the most basic of cooking. Hold it over the fire until it doesn’t make you sick to eat.”

Chase chuckled a little. Then he fell quiet. He turned his attention to Jameson. “So... is this far enough away? Do you feel ready to tell us about that vision of yours?”

Jameson looked down at the grass. Yesterday, Chase had tried to convince him to share the vision he’d had, the one that featured Chase himself. But Jameson refused. He said they should wait until the next morning. Let’s pack up and get on the road first, he said now. I’ll tell you as we walk. Can’t waste any time getting to Suilthair.

“Alright,” Chase said quietly. “But we have to talk then.”

Jameson nodded. Once. He wouldn’t meet Chase’s eyes.

They rolled up their bedrolls, made sure everything was secured in their various packs, and walked back to the wide packed-dirt road they’d been following since they left Miryfern. It sloped slightly downward, but soon it would level out altogether, and they would officially be in the flatlands. The forests, fields, and farmlands that made up most of the kingdom of Glasúil. Draco walked by Marvin’s side, constantly getting in the way of his legs, but by now Marvin had enough practice at avoiding his familiar when he got too close to his feet.

They walked for only a couple minutes before Chase cleared his throat. “Well? I don’t mean to push you, but...”

Jameson took a deep breath. Alright. The vision. Another breath, as if bracing himself. I’m sorry for making you wait so long. I had to prepare myself.

“For what?” Marvin asked.

For your reactions. He paused, reluctant, but pressed on. I’ll understand if you’re angry.

“Why would I be angry?” Chase asked. “Is my fate terrible?”

No. At least, I don’t think so, but everyone is different in what they want from their future. Are you ready to hear it?

Chase hesitated for a moment. Then nodded.

Alright. A third breath, deepest of all. Jameson adjusted the straps of his pack, making sure they were secure before he continued. I had this vision at the end of summer. I remember what I was doing at the time vividly. Playing Reversi by myself.

“Must take talent to make that interesting,” Marvin muttered.

A smile flickered across Jameson’s face.  I’d just placed a piece in the corner and gave blue a huge advantage when I felt it come on. I can do that, you know. It’s a strange feeling in my chest and head that causes my muscles to tense. If I wasn’t already sitting, I would have just enough time to sit on the floor before I got caught up in it. 

In the vision, it was storming. Black clouds overhead pouring rain. But everything was lit up, because there was a fire. A great one, distant but bright enough so I could still see what was happening nearby. There were two men facing each other. On one side of them was a forest, which is where the fire was coming from. On the other side were sheer cliffs. One man had a deer mask. The other man was the King.

Chase heard Marvin inhale sharply. He might have done the same, if he didn’t suddenly feel out of breath.

The man in the deer mask was you, Chase, but I didn’t know it until you ran into me in Abhanna, after Marvin’s planned execution. At the time, I just knew the man was in his thirties, and he came from the mountains. Jameson paused, scanning the others’ reactions. Then he continued. You and the King stood some ways away. You were talking, shouting over the sound of the rain, but I don’t know what you said. And then the King ran forward to attack you. You defended yourself, but didn’t fight back beyond that. The two of you continued to fight, and then you both fell, rolling to the edge of the cliffs. Lightning struck the ground, causing another fire that cut you off. You both sat up, and the King continued to attack, having the advantage. Then you said something. I don’t know what. But after a moment passed, the King let you go, and collapsed to the ground beside you. The vision ended there, but a phrase rang in my mind: “He has been defeated.”

“I...I’m not...” Chase wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, but he couldn’t say it anyway. The words got caught in his throat.

“Chase will defeat the King?” Marvin whispered, in awe.

If all goes well. The future is not set. Jameson went quiet for a while. Marvin started to say something else, but Chase held out a hand, sensing there was more. And he was right, because Jameson slowly raised his hands to speak again, gesturing shakily. When I awoke from the vision, the King was there. Leaning over me. He always knew when I had a vision. And with his enchanter’s powers, he saw everything I saw. He knew he would be defeated by a man in a deer mask, who came from the mountains. Jameson blinked back sudden wetness in his eyes. The very next day, I heard him talking with one of his generals about how long it would take to travel to the mountains. I heard him speak of wizard’s fire. I don’t know if I understood what he meant. Maybe I did, but pretended he didn’t.

Chase felt ice creep through his chest. A sick feeling rolled through his stomach. “What do you mean?” His voice was almost too quiet to hear.

Jameson stopped walking. He finally turned, looking Chase in his eyes. It’s my fault. He blinked again, but a few tears still escaped. It’s my fault that your home was destroyed. His shoulders shook as his breathing sped up. He saw the vision, and he knew where you came from. He wanted to stop the vision from happening, he’d done it so many times before, it was no trouble for him. It’s my fault that you’re here, that your family was taken and so many others killed. I’m truly, deeply sorry, Chase. I never meant for this to happen. 

Chase said nothing. That sick feeling was growing, and he felt as though he might throw up the rolls and cheese they had for breakfast.

“It’s not your fault, Jair.” Marvin said fiercely, walking up to stand next to Jameson. “You didn’t tell the King to burn the mountain villages. He made that decision himself.” He leaned until their shoulders were touching.

I let him see what I was seeing, Jameson said, hands moving weakly.

“What were you supposed to do? You can’t stave off the visions when they happen. And you were imprisoned, it’s not your fault he was nearby.”

Don’t say that like I was in a dungeon, Jameson protested. I had a nice room. And he took me with him wherever he went, I could have escaped on the road at any time, but I was too weak—

“Don’t.” Chase stepped closer and rested a hand on Jameson’s shoulder. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Jameson looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. But it’s true.

“It’s not. Jameson, you were living with a man who could read your mind. The King would know if you tried to leave. And who knows what he would’ve done if you made a move?”

Marvin nodded. “He’s right. Didn’t you say that you tried to escape for the first couple years, and he knew where you would be every time?”

Jameson turned to him, surprised. You remember that?

“Of course I do.”

A moment passed. Jameson turned away, facing forward and not looking at either of them. I remember what happened after those attempts, he said slowly. I don’t want to. But I do. And that’s how I knew it wouldn’t be worth it. But if I kept trying, maybe—

“You would’ve just got yourself hurt,” Chase said gently. “It was an impossible situation. You did good for how shit it all was to you.” He gave a small smile. “And I think you’re pretty strong, you know? Not anyone could’ve lasted that long.”

“He’s right,” Marvin agreed. “And you never went back to him once you were away. Despite how much it scared you to be away. You took control back.”

“Right. That. And...” Chase cleared his throat. “You know, there was that thing we did before we left Wyvernlair.”

Jameson seemed to come back to himself. He nodded. Chase? It’s in your bag, right? Can I hold it?

“Of course,” Chase said, and took his pack off to look through it.

Marvin blinked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Here.” Chase pulled out the object in question, buried at the bottom with his deer mask. He handed it to Jameson. “Safe and sound.”

Jameson took the item in his hands. It was a mask. Made of white plaster. He traced the eyeholes, and ran a finger along the long ears that stuck out the top.

“That’s... that’s a Masked Phantom mask,” Marvin said.

Jameson nodded. You said something similar before, Chase. I said I wanted to be brave, and you said I already was. And in that moment, I wanted to do even more. So I decided to join. To do the same as you guys. I started to doubt myself after I made the connection between my vision and your village burning. But now I remember.

“Sometimes people need a reminder,” Chase said with a smile. “Why a rabbit, by the way?”

“It’s for your family, isn’t it?” Marvin’s voice was soft. “The Jairsolas family crest features a rabbit.”

Another nod. Jameson took a shaky breath. They would want this.

“You’ll make them proud,” Marvin said. “I’m sure of it.”

I’ll make it happen. Jameson took off his own pack and slipped it inside. I’ll keep it with me now. Thanks for carrying it so far, Chase.

“Not a problem.” Chase adjusted his pack straps. “Now. Are you alright to keep walking?”

Of course. Jameson shouldered his bags again. Daylight is wasting.

And the three of them started off down the road again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The mountain forest was still wet with rain when Henrik awoke. He and Jackie had wandered for most of the day, until it became too difficult to navigate the mud and the darkness. They found a relatively dry spot beneath a large pine tree to take shelter. The branches were low, so they had to wriggle underneath and couldn’t sit up without bumping into needles and bark, but it was fine for the moment. Henrik fell asleep first.

He didn’t wake up first the next morning. That was Jackie, who somehow managed to slip out from under the tree without making much noise. When Henrik opened his eyes, Jackie was sitting out in the open, watching the surrounding wilderness.

“Jackie,” he whispered.

Jackie tensed, hand going to the sword on his hip. Then he turned around and relaxed. “Good morning,” he said, giving a tired smile.

“Good morning,” Henrik repeated. “Can you help me get out of here? I do not want to move my leg.” He hadn’t wanted to move it last night, either, but it was either move his injury, or spend the night getting rained on.

“Of course.” Jackie shifted position, and after a minute or two, he managed to pull Henrik completely out. “No one’s come by, if you’re wondering. No King’s warriors, and no one from Wyvernlair. How do you feel?”

“Dammt schrecklich,” Henrik muttered.

Jackie chuckled. He knew enough Alterdan to understand what Henrik meant. “Well, we did sleep in the mud all night.” Their clothes were covered with dirt, as were their masks, which they’d worn while they slept. Jackie now pushed his back, showing a clean face. “Do you have anything to eat in your bags? I didn’t manage to grab any in the chaos.”

“These are both all medical supplies, I think.” Henrik took off both bags, each slung over a different shoulder, and started searching one. “Ah! But there is luck.” He pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth that crunched when he touched it. “I think these are crackers or hard biscuits of some sort.”

“Let me see.” Jackie reached out, and Henrik handed him the bundle. Sure enough, it revealed a stack of broken crackers when unwrapped. “It’s not much, but it’s enough until we can forage. Here, you have them. Your leg is still hurt, right? I can work on that while you eat.”

“You tell the doctor to sit back while the not-doctor works on the injury,” Henrik chuckled.

“Hey, I’m trying to be nice.”

“I know you are. Thank you. The bandages are in this other bag, and the infection balms should be there as well, and water for cleaning.”

Jackie did a fairly good job at treating the bite on Henrik’s leg, though he did step in at the end to secure the bandaging, handing off the crackers to Jackie so he could eat. “Do you think you can stand?” Jackie asked, worried.

“Yes.” Henrik said quietly. “I’m more concerned about walking. I will need your help.”

“Not a problem.”

They stood, each shouldering a bag, and slowly started to walk through the Dragon’s Greatwoods. It was lucky that Jackie had a compass on him yesterday when the attack happened, otherwise they wouldn’t have known which way was south, towards the Cliffs of Feall where they had planned to meet the other Phantoms.

The general idea was to walk along the mountain range until they got there, but Jackie and Henrik spent the next couple hours arguing about whether they should stay up high in the mountains or go down into the foothills. The mountains were more difficult terrain, but they were more likely to run across other Phantoms on the way. The foothills were easier, but it was unlikely that they’d find any familiar faces on that route. They debated travel time and the need for stealth until, eventually, Henrik won. They would leave the mountains for the foothills.

“I only agreed because we’re short on food,” Jackie grumbled. “And you’re in no shape to hunt.”

Henrik said nothing, only smiled smugly.

By now, the sun was high in the sky. Not nearly as high as it would be in summer, but as high as it would get at this time of year. Henrik stared up into the sky. It was so clear. You wouldn’t have known there was a thunderstorm for most of yesterday. He stared for a while more. It felt like he was forgetting something...

Oh! Right. With the way everything went to shit yesterday, he’d forgotten to take his medicine. He reached to the flask on his belt, unhooking it. One of his arms was wrapped around Jackie for support so he awkwardly uncapped it with his free hand and took a drink. As always, the medicine tasted a bit floral, like tea. It wasn’t exactly his favorite flavor, but he didn’t have much choice.

Huh. The flask was noticeably lighter than it had been a few days ago. He peered inside the opening and saw it was half empty. That wasn’t a problem. It just meant it was time to make another brew. He capped the flask again and put it back on his belt. Then he turned his attention to the bag hanging off his shoulder, rummaging inside. He found various bags, packets, and bottles of medical supplies and potion ingredients. But...

“Ah, Jackie? I may have a problem,” Henrik said delicately.

Jackie immediately stopped walking, right next to a large oak tree. “What? Is it your leg?”

“No, not that. I am just looking for something. It may be in the bag you have. Can you hand it over?”

“Oh. Sure.” Jackie took the bag off and held it out.

“Thank you.” Henrik leaned back against the oak’s trunk and looked through the bag Jackie had. Slowly. Then a bit faster. Then he checked his bag again. Twice. And Jackie’s bag, now frantically searching through the supplies packed inside.

“What is it?” Jackie asked, the trepidation in his voice already anticipating bad news.

Henrik looked up at him. “I am missing an ingredient for my medicine.”

“What?!” Jackie’s shout startled a nearby bird, which flew away and caused them both to jump at the sudden movement. “What do you mean?” he asked again in a harsh whisper.

“I cannot find the ghíneol root,” Henrik said in a hushed voice.

“Can you make the medicine without it?” Jackie suggested.

Henrik shook his head. “It is the most important ingredient. And before you ask if we can harvest it, no. The properties I need only appear if you pluck the plant when it is mature, and that will not be until fall. We—we need to find a town. One where we can buy preserved ghíneol.”

“Okay, I’m fully on your plan to get to the foothills now,” Jackie said. “We need to hurry. Should I carry you?”

Henrik barked out a laugh. “I do not think that would affect our pace that much.”

“What? I could definitely go faster.”

“Yes, but you will get tired sooner. Don’t deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Jackie protested.

“Yes you were, it was in your face.” Henrik pushed away from the tree, standing up straight. “I still have some medicine left. Things will be fine. I can be careful to ration it.”

“You mean taking smaller doses?” Jackie asked. “But won’t that make it less effective?”

“It will, but it is better to be less effective for a longer time than to run out sooner. Things will be fine,” Henrik repeated.

Jackie stared at him for a moment. Then he nodded. “Okay. We better start walking again, then. Here, give me the bag back. And give me your arm.”

They started off again, now silent. Henrik tried not to look at Jackie, though it was difficult when he was so close.

The truth was, his reassurances were hollow. The chances of finding ghíneol root at this time of year were rare. Especially with the way the King had spent the past few years making things difficult for doctors. Many of them would be hoarding their precious ingredients, only offering to sell at high prices that Henrik knew he and Jackie couldn’t afford. There hadn’t been any money in their bags, nor anything valuable enough to trade for something like that. They may have to resort to thievery.

He had to make his remaining supply of medicine last as long as possible. If he ran out, he’d be no use to anyone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chase, Marvin, and Jameson managed to walk to a wayhouse before night fell. It was a small place. Wayhouses were built to host small parties of travelers walking along the kingdom roads, so they were rarely more than two stories. Chase had never stayed in one before. Even when he went with the others to prevent Marvin’s execution. Their group had been too big for wayhouses that time. But now, they were just three people. Marvin did most of the talking with the owners, an elderly couple, and the two of them agreed to let the three stay a single night, in exchange for a single silver coin.

It wasn’t too different from being in an inn, just without the noise of other patrons leaking through the walls. Chase fell asleep the moment his head hit the bed.

And while he slept, he found himself back in a familiar garden, one that he had never once stepped foot in.

Through the dreamlike quality of the world, Chase was confused. This was the same draísling he’d been having before. But he stopped having it when he set out from Wyvernlair with Marvin and Jameson. He half-thought they were over completely.

But maybe he should have known better.

Things in the garden looked the same as he remembered. Trees and flowers hadn’t grown or wilted, and the moon above remained in the same spot, unblocked by clouds.

The deer with the golden antlers stepped forward. Chase tried to ask what was going on, why the dreams were back, if the deer was trying to tell him to do something. But he couldn’t speak. The deer’s head tilted slightly, as if nodding, acknowledging his unasked questions. Then it looked towards the distant well as it always had.

Chase stared at the well. He looked back at the deer, but got no other response. So he started walking. Just like the previous times he had the draísling, there was an invisible force trying to push him back from the well. It had been a while since he’d felt it, and he staggered a few times, but he always recovered. He walked steadily forward, and the well slowly approached. Its gray and brown stone bricks grew defined. His eyes flicked down to see one with a crack in the middle, in the third row from the bottom.

The well was in arm’s reach now. So he did just that: reach. Chase grabbed onto the edge of the well, latching tight onto it to anchor himself against whatever was pushing him back. He felt he was about to fall backwards at any moment, so he focused, remembering what he heard the last time he had the draísling.

There it was. The voice. It came from inside the well.

Chase braced himself and leaned forward, putting a whole arm into the well in an attempt to prevent the force from knocking him away. The well stretched downward, shadows consuming its end. He couldn’t see anything. Yet there was no denying what he heard. He didn’t expect it to work, but he opened his mouth... and out came his voice, calling, “Hello?”

The voice stopped. Then he heard it again, and now he could understand the word it said. “Hello?” It wasn’t just his own voice echoing back. It was someone else’s, though in this strange dreamy state he couldn’t identify anything about it. Not its pitch or timbre, not its accent or even language.

“Hello!” Chase said again, surprised that he could talk now but not earlier. “Do you... do you need help?”

A pause. Then the voice asked, “Who are you?” The question was cautious, nervous as it echoed from the depths.

Chase paused. “You’re not supposed to share your name with strange voices,” he said slowly. It was a lesson that he learned from stories about the strange, magical creatures lingering in the forests. You didn’t want to give them your name, because they may literally take it. “But I’m a friend... probably.”

“That’s not that helpful,” the voice said, a bit lower as if they didn’t want him to hear that. He did, though.

“Do you need help?” Chase asked again.

Another pause. “I may or may not,” the voice answered. Clearly, they were also reluctant to share information with him. “What would you do if I did?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how I could help.” He looked around the garden. There was nothing that could possibly reach into the depths of the well to pull out whoever this voice was coming from. “But I’d like to. Do you see anything useful?”

“...no.” The voice was so quiet, he almost mistook the word for an exhale. “There’s nothing around but darkness. It’s all... dark.”

“Oh. Do you... feel anything?” Chase asked.

“Just the walls of this room. They’re... circular. There is no door. No windows. Just walls and... nothing more...” The voice faded away. “Where... am I?”

“You’re at the bottom of a well,” Chase answered.

“Why am I here?” There was a hopeless tone to their question.

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m here, either.” Chase paused. “But... I’ll help you get out of there.”

“What do you want for it?”

“Huh? Why would I want something? I don’t need... well, if you were going to offer, I wouldn’t deny anything.”

The voice laughed, the sound hoarse and unused. “I suppose... you could help. I wouldn’t deny your aid. You said I was in a well. Is there anything around that I could climb up?”

“I didn’t see—”

Suddenly, the voice screamed.

“What?!” Chase tried to lean forward to get a better look, but the invisible force buffeted him back.

“The water! It’s rising.”

“Can you swim?” Chase called.

“Yes, but not now. My leg, it’s—” The voice stopped. “Thank you for offering. It was nice. A relief in this version of the nightmare.”

“You’re dreaming?” Chase asked. “I’m dreaming, too.”

“Of course you are.” The voice sounded somewhat amused.

“No, I mean, I’m real. I’m someone out there, I’m asleep like you—”

Suddenly, the force grew stronger. Chase cried out as it felt like a solid wall slammed against him, throwing him back—

And he bolted upright and screamed, “No!”

His eyes darted around the room. It was dark, except for the faint sliver of moonlight coming from in between the drawn curtains. There was another bed against the opposite wall where Jameson was sleeping. On the floor between them, though he couldn’t see him in the dark, Marvin slept curled up under a bedroll, having lost the game of wind-rain-fire that decided who would have the beds.

Chase’s breathing gradually slowed down, but he still felt his heart pounding in his chest. A few moments passed before he felt ready to lie back down. But he didn’t close his eyes.

He still didn’t understand the draísling. He didn’t know why it had returned, why the Horned Elder One had chosen him to have it, or even if it was truly the Horned Elder One giving him the dream. There was one thing tonight had revealed, though. Its purpose. He didn’t know why, but there was someone else in that dream world. They were trapped at the bottom of the well.

He had to rescue them. He didn’t care how many dreams it would take. He didn’t care if they were even real, or if their words about nightmares were misleading him. He was going to get them out of there. He couldn’t stand by and let them suffer.

[mssleepy876b]

To Flourish- Chapter 1

Summary: Carina Andrews had the outward appearance of a charmed New York Socialite life but the truth of her family was hidden from the public. Studying for a history degree in Richmond, a personal mystery leads her to the small town of Mystic Falls. That mystery connects her to the unknown world of the supernatural and later to the Original Family. How will this all change this young woman who is in uncharted waters?

Requested? No. Thanks though to @sleepmusicland for the encouragement to post.

Word count: 1533

Warnings: Slow Burn. Eventual smut scene and violence. Starts TVD Season 2, switches to TO as story progresses.

A/n: Unedited Sorry for any mistakes. Feedback PLEASE!!!

To Flourish Chapter 1

                Carina Andrews felt the cooling autumn air flow through her brown hair as her rental car travelled southwest from Charlottesville, Virginia.  The small, isolated town of Mystic Falls was her destination.  She was hoping that this town would be the final in the journey to understand the mark on her neck and the magic attached to it.  She prayed that the mystery of this mark and how it effects on her health could be solved thanks to the lead she was given in Richmond that then took her to Charlottesville.  The name of an expert which sent her to Mystic Falls was Sheila Bennett.

                She sighed as she pulled her car into the small bed and breakfast she had rented online.   After checking in, she walked through the quiet town square breathing in the calm evening air.  She focused on the Mystic Grill where people seemed to be heading in and out.  As she entered, the warm environment welcomed her in.  A smiling blonde haired young man gave her a menu and a promise to return with a glass of Sweet Tea.

                The young man, Matt, she learned his name was came back and got her dinner order and as the evening calmed, he came to chat with her.  She smiled as he came towards her table and surprised her as he sat down.  “So, what brings you to us here in Mystic Falls?” he asked her.

                “That obvious that I am new, huh?” she said.

                “Nah, not obvious but I have lived here all my life.  Haven’t seen you before and there is a new car parked over in the Bed and Breakfast lot.” He said shrugging.

                She chuckled before she spoke again.  “Sounds like the local police have a good recruit for their future.  But you are right.  I am new, not sure how long I will stay.  It all depends on how this search for answers will last.  It is time to solve the mystery of my life.”  He looked confused and concerned which caused her to speak up again.  “I have a birthmark, I guess you could call it, on the back and base of my neck.  It seems to fade and darken at different times in my life.  It effects my health horribly when it fades.  I usually end up in the hospital for anemia or something else like it.  The doctors can never find a cause for it.  I am tired of trying normal medical roads to understand this.  So, in Richmond, I reached out to a healer, she focused on herbs and non-traditional cures.  My mark mystified her, so she sent me to a peer in Charlottesville, who sent me here to meet a Ms. Sheila Bennett.  The healer in Charlottesville said Ms. Bennett was the only expert she knew who could give me an answer.”

                Matt could sense her frustration and fear, so he reached out a placed a hand on her arm.  “I just want to know what this is and how I can live a normal life.”  She said with a sigh.

                He smiled slightly and spoke, “Well, you are in luck.  Ms. Sheila is someone I have known all my life.  Her granddaughter is one of my best friends.  There she is, Bonnie.” He said pointing out a pretty African American teenager laughing with a blonde and brunette girl.  “Bonnie and Ms. Sheila are good people.  I will introduce you to Bonnie, if you want.”

                Carina reached out and caught his arm stopping him as he moved to stand.  “Can we do that tomorrow, Matt?  I am exhausted from the drive and feel it is time to head to my bed for the night.   But your help is a wonderful gift.“ she said smiling at him.

                “Sure.  Head out and I will arrange with Bonnie to meet you tomorrow.” He said as she stood to leave.

                “Thanks, Matt, I do appreciate it.” Carina said moving to head out the door.  She sighed and pulled her jacket closer feeling the chill in the night as she turned to walk over to the bed and breakfast.  She changed her clothes and snuggled down into her bed and sighed hoping that tomorrow would lead her to the answers she needed.

                The next morning, Carina smiled at the calm and quiet that seemed to surround Mystic Falls when compared to Richmond.  She wandered down to the quiet sitting room where she had her tea and a Danish and enjoyed a morning by the fire.  She figured that Matt and Bonnie would be at school, so she took out her computer and her wi-fi hotspot to check on her own college work while she waited.  After a small lunch at the Bed and Breakfast, Carina walked to the town square and sat on a bench to enjoy the quiet and the sunshine with a book she was reading for a class that had her fascinated.  A presence caught her attention from her book, her eyes met with a blonde woman in a police uniform who wandered over to her.

                “So, I guess you are the young guest at Ms. White’s bed and breakfast?” she said.

                “Yes, Officer.  My name is Carina Andrews, but please call me Cari.” Cari said standing and offering her hand to shake.

                The woman shook her hand.  “It is Sheriff actually, Sheriff Forbes.  Nice to meet you Cari, but I would guess that you and my daughter are similar in age.  Why are you not in school?”

                “That is easy, Sheriff.  I am already a High School Graduate.  I graduated early due being advanced from the other students I went to school with.  I am currently working on a final project for a bachelor’s degree in History from the University of Richmond in an accelerated program of study.  I actually sat in a virtual lecture earlier today and emailed a professor about a project for another class that I submitted for feedback before the final version is due.”  Cari reached in her pocket for her wallet and pulled out a college ID card.  “Here you go, Sheriff, here is my ID card from campus.  Hopefully, that clears up any concerns.”

                “Yes, Cari, thank you very much.  It does.  Why did you come to Mystic Falls from Richmond?” Sheriff Forbes asked.

                “I was suggested to meet Ms. Sheila Bennett for a health advisor.  The healers that I met with in both Richmond and Charlottesville led me here.  Matt from the Grill told me he would introduce me to her Granddaughter, Bonnie, this afternoon after school.” Cari told her.

                “Well, I hope Ms. Sheila can help you.  Her expertise with Herbs and natural remedies is well known throughout town.  Enjoy your visit and let me know if I can be of any help.” Sheriff Forbes said as another officer called out to her.  Cari smiled and nodded as Sheriff Forbes stood and left the park.

                Later that afternoon, Matt called Cari and invited her to the Grill.  He introduced her to Caroline, the sheriff’s daughter, Bonnie, Ms. Bennett’s granddaughter, and Elena Gilbert.  It was a strange sensation as Cari and Elena met.  They could be mistaken for sisters.  But as far as Cari knew she had no sisters even though she had been adopted as a child.  But the girls, with Matt, were very welcoming and Cari shared the story of her mark.  Bonnie took her hand and could sense the magic connected to her mark and said it felt very old.

                Bonnie called her grandmother who agreed to help Cari and wanted to meet right away.  Bonnie drove for both her and Cari.  The girls took the time to discuss and get to know each other and were laughing as they entered Ms. Bennett’s home.  “Grams?” Bonnie called out as they entered.

                “In the Dining Room, Bonnie.  Bring Ms. Andrews with you.” Her voice called out to them.  Cari followed quietly feeling an energy reaching out and almost touching her.  It felt safe but unknown.  Cari walked behind Bonnie into the dining room where the warmth of candlelight filled the room, and the smell of older books filled the air and brought comfort to Cari.

                Cari met the eyes of an older woman who seemed to give off this air of wisdom and knowledge that also comforted her.  Cari stepped forward and spoke up, “Thank you for agreeing to see me, Ms. Bennett, and letting me come into your home.”

                “You are very welcome, my dear.  My granddaughter is right, the magic that affects you is very old.  I can sense it without even touching you.  My peers were right to send you to me.  I will have to search my grimoires for more about this magic.  Can I see the mark?” Sheila said quietly.

                “Of course, Ms. Bennett.” Cari said turning gathering her hair up and moving the neck of her shirt down.               

“Call me, Ms. Sheila, my girl.”  Sheila said looking over Cari’s neck.  “I have a feeling that your answers are here in Mystic Falls and my granddaughter will be adding a friend to her life.”  Cari smiled at Ms. Sheila and Bonnie then followed as they sat around the table.

[officialleehadan]

Storming Hell

Myth and Magic

+++

“He isn’t dead.”

Seften didn’t jump when Mithale spoke, although she had been quiet all morning. He didn’t know if she was embarrassed about her nightmare the night before or just felt quiet. She certainly hadn’t had a good night of sleep either way. He wouldn’t blame her for simply keeping her own counsel.

He made a point of staying quiet himself, but otherwise didn’t break from the routine they were slowly working out over their travels. Obviously there wasn’t much left of their small campsite, which had been burned down to bare dirt by Mithale’s magic.

Now Seften understood why all of their possessions were carefully warded. He had thought it was silly, but let her ward his things. He was grateful for her forethought. If she hadn’t, he would have nothing to his name but the thin clothes he slept in.

“Your husband?” There could only be one ‘he’ that Mithale would speak of like that. Only one who had lived, or might still live, if Seften was understanding her right. “I heard some of the stories, but I don’t know how much truth there is to them.”

“It depends on which ones you heard,” Mithale said with a somewhat-pained twist of her mouth that might have been a wry smile on a better day. Her hand tightened on her staff. It didn’t look like the blue diamond one she was rumored to have in all the legends, but then, her eyes didn’t look like the fathomless, featureless blue they had been when she woke from her nightmare either. “Some of the earlier ones are true enough. We spent a while just traveling, before… well, before everything really started. Made friends, Helped people when we could.”

“There are songs.”

“We saved a bard from giant spiders,” Mithale said and laughed ruefully at some unspoken memory. “He followed us around for eight moons until Emar asked us to help put down an invasion attempt from the Green Glass Isles and we left him at court.”

Emar being High King Emarveris, lord of the entire western seaboard, and halfway to being an emperor if he wanted to call himself one.

There was a song about that invasion, too. It spoke of a pair of heroes who held the entire invasion front by themselves, with blazing staff and flashing sword and magic unlike any seen before or since. Seften had listened to the tale, enraptured.

It was different to realize that his sister was there, holding that line with only her husband beside her as ship upon ship of ruthless invaders poured onto the sand. As the bodies mounted up. As only two people walked away from a battle of thousands. As a High King offered them glories and honors, but only his hand in friendship was accepted as a reward.

Emarveris was the first crown they served, but not the only one. As their legend grew, they traveled to distant lands, passed from crown to crown, their services shared as a favor from whoever they worked with last.

His sister called the High King by a nickname.

Seften maybe needed to sit down.

“Too much?” Mithale asked when he sank down onto a log, trying to get his thoughts in order. She leaned on her staff and looked over him, just a little worried. “You’re going to meet Emar soonish. He doesn’t… he doesn’t know about Aelric and I need his help to get a component for a spell.”

Magic. Magic was a safer topic than royalty. “Spell?”

“I need to bar the Shadow Gates.”

Magic was not a safer topic than royalty.

Seften stared at her, baffled by every word she had said in explanation. It wasn’t that they weren’t, singly, understandable. It was that together, they were absolute madness, and possibly impossible to boot.

The Shadow Gates were a mythical series of gates that led into, and out of, one of the great Domains of Hell. The most dramatic of his sister’s legends suggested that she and her husband had stormed those gates to defeat a being of untold power. A fallen god who sought to rise again and rain blood on the world.

That story seemed rather more possible than it had just a moment ago.

“Why?” he croaked through a dry throat. “How? How can you- why would you- The Gates are real?”

A little jumbled, but he thought that he mostly got the words out the way they were supposed to go.

Okay, probably not, but hopefully Mithale would understand what he meant.

“Yes, the Gates are real,” Mithale said. She fished in one of her belt pouches and came up with a small, glimmering bottle the size of her thumb. It was full of a metallic liquid that seemed to shift from white to blue depending on how the light hit it. “Take a small sip of this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s for nightmares, but a little sip will handle panic too.”

Good enough. Seften flipped the top off the potion and took a measured sip of the glowing potion. It tasted like lazy summers, and fizzed across his tongue. Warmth suffused through his whole body. By the time he handed the potion back, he was a great deal calmer than he was just a minute before.

“The Gates are real,” Mithale told him as she tucked the potion away again. Seften got a glimpse of a dozen other tiny bottles in he padded pouch, but she didn’t offer an explanation. “There are seven. I need to bar the final one, which is the largest of them. To do it, I need some very specialized components, and a very dangerous favor from a very dangerous person. I understand if you would rather not be involved.”

“No, I’m coming with you,” Seften said, certain of that, even if he was certain of nothing else at the moment. The potion’s artificial calm gave him a clarity he might not have had otherwise. “You’re my sister. I’m not letting you do this alone. Just… why  are we going to Hell?”

“Because Aelric is there,” Mithale said, and allowed herself a small, wistful, half-broken smile. “Holding the Last Gate so that I have time to bar it.”

She paused, thinking. Seften got the feeling that she was weighing her trust for him against some great secret.

“My nightmares aren’t nightmares,” she said after coming to some sort of decision. Seften stared up at her, although their heads were nearly of a level, even with him sitting and her standing. All the stories painted Mithale of the White Flame as larger than life. A towering column of power, unlike any seen before. A healer and cursebreaker. A warrior and sorceress. Not a tired, sad woman who barely came to Seften’s shoulder at her tallest. “While my body sleeps, I send my soul out, to Aelric’s side. I hold the Gate for him while he rests, and travel back to my own body before dawn. Sometimes it… doesn’t go quite right when I come back. That’s when I wake up slinging spells.”

Seften was glad he was already sitting down, because his knees went weak all at once.

“You’re what?” he demanded, stunned and horrified. “You- How? How are you still sane?”

“To hear my friends tell it, I haven’t been sane for a long while,” Mithale joked dryly, apparently so used to her situation that she could laugh about it. Seften was stills tuck on being horrified by the very concept. “In this case, however, I haven’t been doing this for very long. My projecting to him so he can rest. I was back in this world for less than a week before I found you.”

That was another point that caught Seften up.

“If things- if he needs you so badly, why did you even bother finding me?” he asked curiously. It seemed like the safest of several bad options, and he clung to it. “Not that I’m not glad you did, but your husband needs you, doesn’t he? That’s more important.”

“You’re important too,” Mithale said. The sharp edges of her smile softened and she sat beside him. The caravan was moving on, but they could catch up easily enough in a bit. “I told Aelric about Mother’s letter when I found it. It was his suggestion that I come find you on my way to see Emarveris.”

“I haven’t cost you time?” With so much at stake, Seften wasn’t sure he could handle the thought that he had taken even a day away from his sister’s quest to save her husband from holding the Gates of Hell. “I don’t… how can I help? I’m not a very good mage. I have a few friends in the Guild, but not many. I don’t know anyone useful.”

Mithale was already shaking her head, and patted his shoulder comfortingly.

“I don’t need help, exactly,” she told him and watched the trading caravan as it passed them by. “Not with the components. I know where to find them. The spell isn’t complicated once you have all the pieces. It’s more…”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “I don’t think I can do this alone. I can handle the exhaustion, and the expense, and the travel. I can handle the magic. I even know who to bully into letting me back into Hell so I can cast the damned spell. It’s just…”

She trailed off, but Seften thought he understood what she meant. It wasn’t Mithale the White Flame who needed help. She had things well in hand, and a path before her to walk. She didn’t need a fellow hero to hold her hand and help her along.

But Mithale Nikka, his sister, the survivor of a dozen terrible wars, who was just trying to save her husband… she needed someone to talk with, who could keep her grounded in reality as she spent each night in Hell, and each day trudging along a dusty trade road.

Impossible as it seemed at first thought, there was nobody else in the world who could help her the way Seften could.

“Well,” he decided and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pack and all. “I’m glad you came to find me. You’re not alone. You’ve got me now, we’re going to get your husband back too, and then you’ll have both of us. What else is family for?”

“I don’t know,” Mithale said and chuckled as she hugged him back, and stood. “But I’m fairly sure most families don’t storm the Shadow Gates. Then again, what do I know? You’re the only family I have besides Aelric and I already stormed the Shadow Gates once with him. Maybe this is what families do.”

“I wouldn’t know either,” Seften joked, and stood. “Come on. The caravan’s leaving without us. You can tell me where we’re going as we walk, and tell me what spells I need to practice. If we’re storming Hell, I’m going to need a lot more firepower than I have right now.”

+++

Myth and Magic:

A Found Connection (Subscriber Only!)

Train to Spell (Subscriber Only!)

While We Walk

Night Burn

Storming Hell (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[diamondsableye]

Two page spread I made for my college final

This was a college final portfolio piece I presented just recently. The class itself was about character design and how to go from a character description, to 2D artwork, then finally a 3D model optimized for animation purposes. It was A LOT and this piece represents probably a minimum of 50 hours of work.

To provide some added context about the world (below the cut)

This is a world where the biblical creation story of genesis is in fact true, (though instead of 6000 years ago it’s an unspecified “somewhere in the distant past”) however, animals took of the fruit of knowledge instead of humans, who never came to be. (which means that fungi took the role of most animals, because it would be weird for me to include anthropomorphic sapient animals alongside non anthro, non sapient counterparts.)

I’m currently working on rewriting parts of the bible for fun, and have come to the conclusion that there should be an extra two books between genesis and exodus (iterations and emergence respectively), which describe in further detail how most “kinds” of animals came to be, (a kind is a group somewhere between species family and species order, so using the same terminology as a biblical kind, but with a different meaning since a biblical kind describes what a creature does not what a creature is which is why whales are classified as fish and bats and locusts are (depending on the translation and passage) “swarming kinds” or “flying kinds”, and sometimes also considered birds.)

If I were to magically get funding or a team behind me (which as awesome as that would be I’m not really in a position to manage for the foreseeable future), the plot of the RPG would go a little something like this: “you play as a barn owl catholic priest who has traveled to the American southwest during the 1880s, (well technically for me anything between the 1860s to the 1910s is fair game, since that’s usually considered the timespan of the “American wild west”), and you seek to seal the gates of hell which have opened up near the quiet town of Haven, which has brought forth many daemons and monsters from the other side. Through your travels you meet Rust, alongside a Jackalope named Cruz, and a Kestrel named Lucia. Throughout your journey you help townsfolk, freeing them from opportunistic bandits as well as all forms of supernatural terrors, while at the same time exploring how religion intersects with issues of race, gender, sexuality, and morality itself.”

I have a lot more in store planned for this project, and I’m happy to answer more questions, but that’s all I’m willing to divulge in a single comment for disclosure sake, since I’m cautious when it comes to potential IP theft. Thank you for understanding!

Edit to add: forgot to mention this, but obviously since all characters are animals, "race" and of course racism is handled a lot differently. I have this graph showing largely how society at large sees the different animal groups, and the closest parallel I can draw to this when it comes to religion is early Mormon views (Curse of Cain and Curse of Ham respectively, basically black people are just born morally and spiritually inferior.)

[wakandan-flowerz]

Meet Neoma

I’m posting a little bio for my Vox Machina OC Neoma below. I’m going to post the first thing I wrote for her after this so keep an eye out. I hope you all like it.

Neoma is a young traveler from the mystic Inyangi tribe who worships a moon deity with an ancient history. She’s very bubbly and helpful. She has a firm resolve and will through her faith. When she comes to the party, she is young and quite daring. She, herself, has mysterious and untapped powers.

Race: Human

Class: Sorcerer/Fighter

Appearance and Personality: Neoma stands at 5’9 which counts for short among her people, dark-skinned, thick, coily hair pulled back with three cornrows with gold cuffs with a tribal inscription from her fingernails to the nape of her neck on her left side. She has wide hips, an evident pudge to her, and a larger bust. During adventures, she wears a dark purple fitted shirt with only a right sleeve and a matching long skirt with side slits, black shorts underneath, and a belt over her waist with the seal of her religion to the right. Her civilian wear is a black cropped sleeveless tunic and her skirt, her waist beads on display.

Despite her bubbly nature, Neoma is known to be a very tough and formidable fighter, having trained with the military forces of her people. She often refers to her Moon Goddess and offers praises at moments of luck. She can be found to uplift her friends and those close to her. She can be quite loving and caring to others. Neoma is known to be quite bold and is known to be forward with her words. Though, she can be very intense and serious during dark times. She’s mild tempered, however, her rage can be destructive, especially depending on her powers.

Powers and Weapons: Neoma draws from the powers of her Goddess and the moon to fuel her magic. Her power and strength can depend on the phases of the moon, the full moon offering the purest of energy thus making her magic the strongest. Neoma, however, must charge at night in the moonlight, regardless of any phase. As long as she does not drain her magic, Neoma is usually fully charged. However, under the new moon and eclipses, she has access to different energy and abilities. With Neoma leaving her home during her training, her arsenal of spells is limited. Her powers can manifest as either telekinesis or spells. A common move is that she will enchant her sword or spear or the weapons of other adventures for an added boost.

She does have a natural healing factor but heals significantly faster during nighttime.  Her tattoos and eyes glow white when she uses her powers and the color can vary based on the phase of the moon. Her powers also have an effect on her emotions. When she’s fully powered, she can be upbeat, when drained or not fully charged, she can be quiet and somber.

Neoma's other ability is to sense emotions, something only a few of the Inyangis can do. Her ability allows her to distinguish those who are pure and truthful. However, someone skilled in lying and deception can prove difficult to decipher.

Neoma carries a long, rounded sword with jagged edges and a black shiny handle and a collapsible double-sided spear with a gold ribbed grip, both weapons common to her people. Both weapons are made from the metal, Atrenium, which her people harvest and use. During combat with multiple assailants, Neoma can dual-wield weapons. She keeps a lasso attached to her hip for hunting or capturing people.

History: Neoma’s family are believed to be direct descendants of their Moon Goddess, Inyanga, and her warrior lover. Her parents were the high priest and prime sorceress of her tribe before going on a pilgrimage and not returning. For the rest of her youth, Neoma was raised by her older sisters and was primed to become a leader of her tribe. Neoma chose to leave her home to adventure after feeling like her tribe tried to shelter her from the outside world. She had hoped to find her parents and do a pilgrimage of her own before she commits to her life with her people. However, she happened across a group called Vox Machina one night and joined them on their adventures

[quietchap]

Might as well start here- A brief introduction to my rp multiverse

Throughout each of my roleplays and short stories, I like to look at each of them as a different universe. There are infinite universes, with infinite numbers of differences ranging from the miniscule to earth-shattering. However, I have begun to weave specific "canon" narratives within a few key universes. These specific realities often focus on specific characters in each, but EVERY character (outside of fandom OCs) exist in each universe to some capacity, though their differences are often dramatic.

Some characters, like deities, powerful sorcerers, and void creatures are aware of the multiverse and can travel to different universes at will.

The trickster demon, Azrael, was powerful enough to create a pocket dimension bar that can be accessed from any universe- so long as you know the ritual to do so. He also is able to travel from universe to universe, but mainly relegates himself to two key ones.

Two versions of a character CAN meet one another, though that's never been recorded as of this point.

Time works oddly in the multiverse, as some universes will be eternally stuck in time periods that suit their "genre" while others will progress with our own.

The key universes of note are

- New Brookhaven, a Gotham City sort of town where the film noire style is key, but technology has progressed significantly. Monsters and humans have tension with one another and gangs struggle for control over the city. On the outskirts, the Shady Pines Sanitarium holds some of the most dangerous and unhinged individuals from the city, both in cells and on the staff. It's haunted halls are urban myth for those in the city who don't dare go near it.

- Vernia, A fantasy world with a rich history of magic and warfare. The kingdom itself is a beautiful seaside location, bustling with life of all sorts of species. Outside the gates, the enchanted forest leads to a myriad of other kingdoms inhabited by various creatures. This is the universe where the goddesses of the seasons reside the most.

-Cutopia, a dystopian future where the citizens are bound to embrace the "kawaii" culture. What began as a way to distract from the horrors of the outside has turned into a demented toybox for the rulers to play with as they see fit, with the citizens as their toys. Those not complying are hunted down by genetically modified secret police and sent to "cutification" centers, where through several processes, they're brainwashed into the happy masses. Secretly, a rebellion is brewing to usurp the leaders and bring free will back to the people.

- Universe Prime is a Slice of Life universe, where every character lives pretty normal lives. Even monster characters are pretty accepted here, like other races of humans. This universe is mostly used for romance roleplays, and often has very little magic.

Sometimes, event roleplays will shake up the multiverse and make things cross over. For instance, Lady Eleanor, a knight from Vernia, could end up waking up in a universe that is very much like our own, and completely out of place as she looks to get back home. Or, perhaps your character will be whisked across the multiverse to find true love thanks to a helpful deity (or demon). The possibilities for crossovers are endless, and are usually due to meddling from Azrael or another "multiversal being"

Some of the universes I talked about have data entries of their own to be posted at a later date, as well as original character info on those that inhabit these worlds.

Hope to see you in some corner of this vast expanse sometime soon!

-Quiet Chap

[mrwho444]

Well, about him.

Nickname: Perrault Sans.

Name: ???

Birthday: 28 March.

Height: like a classic Sans.

Personality:

★ Smart but quiet. Very careful in his actions. Thinks through every detail. Overly dreamy. Sometimes he can get lost in space, thinking. it's not because he has a bad memory, he just gets distracted a lot. Knows psychology. Studies the behavior of monsters during battles and identifies strengths and weaknesses, writing everything down in a notebook. He's neutral. He believes that balance is needed in everything. He knows how to keep himself under control, but there are shifts. Despite the fact that he seems to be overly kind, he is serious and can even attack.

He considers himself an observer. He likes to follow all the monsters and learn something new. With the help of his notepad, he writes down new information about the creatures. He is knowledgeable and knows a lot of AU. However, few people know about its existence. All this is because he is quite quiet, although he likes to have fun and meet new characters. But he himself has few friends, because he is on his own. He has a certain distrust and it is difficult for him to get attached to anyone.

History:

His universe was destroyed a long time ago. He doesn't know who could have done it, as the memory has blocked this information due to injury. However, the only thing he remembers is how Gaster, before AU was destroyed, gave him a certain notebook with weapons and told him that he needed to find his brother, and that he was still alive. After it was over, Sans woke up in the middle of a huge oak tree. His size was shocked. Perrault tried to recover for a long time, but soon he learned how to use portals and walk through universes. The tree turned out to be a power source for energy, and the feather as a kind of switch, and just with the help of all this, Sans could travel.

However, every time he traveled through the worlds, he returned to this magical tree, because it was the only place where he could feel safe. And he was waiting for his brother. After all, they promised each other that if anything, they would meet just in this place. And Perrault just waited.

Abilities:

Usually he doesn't like to fight, because he doesn't see the point in it, but if he needs to, he will, of course, protect himself.

★ Basically attacks like classic Sans. However, with the exception of this, new attacks appear:

— Feather-sword his almost the main attack. This unusual weapon comes exclusively with a set of notebooks. This sword can be transformed and even improved at the request of the owner. However, with the latter, Perrault does not know how.

— The gaster blasters are exactly the same as the classic one, one is modified by design: The pupils are completely different: blue on the left eye, and yellow on the right. It releases light with a blue-yellow hue.

— Normal dice are yellow during an attack.

About Feather-sword:

This weapon can transform from a huge sword into a small writing pen. The sharp sword itself is made of hard metal, however it can change the property of the material.

Interesting facts:

★ He hides his notebook in the fur.

★ The first person he met after the first exit to other universes was Froggit. Then he started writing everything down in a notebook.

★ He has a lot of fears, such as the fear of losing his mind.

★ Sometimes he forgets his birthday. It seems to him that there is no point in celebrating it.

★The only one he knows personally and can consider comrades: scientific Sans and Geno Sans.

★ Occasionally he gets melancholy.

★He is associated with the holiday of April 6.

That's it! I hope someone will appreciate it. It wasn't easy for me to create it....

★ Perrault is his made—up name. In fact, he does not remember what his real name is, as well as his brother.

★His hobby: writing. Therefore, sometimes he likes to write down descriptions of monsters in a notebook in verse.

★ Periodically, past events come to him in a dream, but he forgets everything.

_________________________________________

Псевдоним: Перраульт (Перро).

Настоящее имя: ???

День рождения: 28 Марта.

Рост: как и у классического Санса.

Личность:

★Умный, но тихий. Очень осторожен в своих действиях. Продумывает каждую деталь. Чересчур мечтательный. Иногда он может заблудиться в пространстве, размышляя. это не потому, что у него плохая память, просто он часто отвлекается. Разбирается в психологии. Изучает поведение монстров во время сражений и выявляет сильные и слабые стороны, записывая все в блокнот. Он нейтрален. Он считает, что баланс необходим во всем.Умеет держать себя под контролем, однако бывают сдвиги. Несмотря на то что он кажется, что он чрезмерно добрый, он серьезен и может даже атаковать.

Он считает себя наблюдателем. Ему нравится следить за всеми монстрами и узнавать что-то новое. С помощью своего блокнота он записывает новую информацию об этих существах. Он хорошо осведомлен и знает много нового. Однако мало кто знает о его существовании. Все это потому, что он довольно тихий, хотя ему нравится веселиться и знакомиться с новыми персонажами. Но у него самого мало друзей, потому что он сам по себе. У него есть определенное недоверие, и ему трудно к кому-либо привязаться.

История:

Его вселенная была разрушена давным-давно. Он не знает, кто мог это сделать, так как память заблокировала эту информацию из-за травмы. Однако единственное, что он помнит, это то, как Гастер, прежде чем АС был уничтожен, дал ему некую записную книжку с оружием и сказал ему, что ему нужно найти своего брата, и что он все еще жив. После того, как все закончилось, Санс проснулся посреди огромного дуба. Его размер был шокирован. Перро долго пытался прийти в себя, но вскоре научился пользоваться порталами и перемещаться по вселенным. Дерево оказалось источником энергии, а перо - своеобразным переключателем, и только с помощью всего этого Санс мог путешествовать.

Однако каждый раз, путешествуя по мирам, он возвращался к этому волшебному дереву, потому что это было единственное место, где он мог чувствовать себя в безопасности. И он ждал своего брата. В конце концов, они обещали друг другу, что в случае чего встретятся именно в этом месте. А Перро просто ждал.

Особенности:

Обычно он не любит драться, потому что не видит в этом смысла, но если ему нужно, он, конечно, защитит себя

★ Обычно у него атаки теже самые, что и у классика, однако появляются и новые:

— Перо-меч его чуть ли не главная атака. Это необычное оружие поставляется исключительно с набором записных книжек. Этот меч может быть трансформирован и даже улучшен по желанию владельца. Однако с последним Перро пока не умеет.

— Гастер блистеры такие же,но у них иной дизайн: на левом глазу голубой зрачок, а на правом — золотой.

— Кости в атаках золотого цвета.

О перо-мече:

Это оружие может превратиться из огромного меча в маленькую ручку для письма. Сам острый меч сделан из твердого металла, однако он может изменять свойства материала.

Интересные факты:

★ Свою тетрадь он прячет в меху, так как ему удобнее.

★ Первый персонаж после разрушения его вселенной с кем он познакомился был Фроггит. После этого он начал исследовать других монстров.

★ У него много страхов, как например, страх потерять рассудок.

★ Персонажи с кем он лично повстречался и имеет более-менее нормальные взаимоотношения: Научный Санс и Гено Санс.

★ Он связан с 6 апрелем.

★ Перраульт — это его выдуманное имя. На самом деле, он не помнит как его на самом деле зовут, так же как и самого его брата.

★ Его увлечение: писательство. Поэтому иногда он любит писать стихами описания про того или иного монстра.

★ Переодически во сне он вспоминает о прошлом, но под утром совершенно не помнит.

That's it! I've been working on this description for a long time. I hope someone will appreciate it. Good luck. :)

На этом всё! Я долго старался над этим описание. Надеюсь, что кто-то оценит. Удачи. : )

[ruvviks]

8, 15, 25, 31, 35 and 43 for artyom and sascha!

YIPPIEEEEE thank you so much for these AUAUAU i've missed talking about them ;w;

for housekeeping reasons: this pairing is romantic!

8) what do the like best about their partner?

artyom loves how considerate and kind sascha is :) sascha has been through a lot and is still going through a lot but despite all of it he's still so gentle. very tired, sure, and he can definitely be a little distant and VERY quiet, but he's just. a sweetheart and i am holding him in my arms

sascha loves how enthusiastic and energetic artyom is! artyom is very passionate about science and magic and loves to ramble and infodump, and it's so endearing to sascha; he loves to just sit around and listen to artyom for hours and hours on end :) <3

this is also why they just. they work so well together idk!!! sascha is more quiet and reserved though still passionate about the things he likes, while artyom is more extraverted and shares the same interests as sascha so they always have something to talk about and they just. complement each other very well. i'm having so many emotions about them oh my god

15) how adventurous are they?

VERY adventurous >:) they're essentially traveling the world with their adventuring party right now! they both love seeing other places and meeting people from different countries and cultures, and they also don't shy away from an adventure in a deep forest or a cave system or a dungeon or something like that

when it comes to their relationship specifically, they're a bit less adventurous (except when it comes to the bedroom but i'm not gonna talk about that right now LMFAO). throughout their entire lives, they've actually always been each other's constant so to say, and they like the predictability and reliability that comes with that! so they're not quick to try and change things about their relationship in an adventurous way, they prefer to just go with the flow and see where they end up together :)

25) how much time do they spend together? do they share their feelings, or hold things in?

artyom and sascha essentially spend every breathing moment together. they're both however not that great at talking about their feelings! haha! it's mostly been fine because they're so tuned in to one another they Rarely need to talk about stuff, they just follow their intuition and all is well. however, especially later in their story and after they officially become a Thing, they learn they Do kinda need to talk about things and that's when they start doing it more. it's a messy journey because they both haven't really been taught how to communicate properly (artyom was mostly left to his own devices back when he still lived at home and sascha was a gifted kid so everyone assumed he just Knew how to do Everything) but hey they're learning together and that's what it's all about <3

31) do they finish each other’s sentences? pick up any phrases or habits from each other? know when the other is hiding something?

artyom finishes sascha's sentences all the time but that's also mostly because sascha speaks very slowly and artyom talks so so fast LMFAO he generally knows exactly what sascha is thinking of so that's why he can do that

the other way round, sascha cannot finish artyom's sentences because artyom speaks and thinks very fast whereas sascha. well. he's hard of hearing with pretty bad auditory processing issues so his brain just kind of lags behind, it's already a miracle he can follow artyom's rambling in the first place LOL

sascha has picked up a lot of habits from artyom. artyom is very expressive with his hands and also stims a lot, and it's become so normal to sascha he's kind of doing things like that too nowadays <3 artyom has picked up less habits from sascha because of his um. pretty static composure most of the time. and also when we're talking about routine habits, artyom doesn't easily create new habits for himself so he wouldn't "just" pick something like that up from sascha

they're both terrible liars as well, so it's pretty easy to tell when they're hiding something. however, they're both also pretty oblivious so there's still a big chance they get away with it LMFAO

35) do they bring out the best in each other, or the worst? do they have a fatal flaw?

generally speaking, they bring out the best in each other. their brains are so tuned in to each other and they're both so smart, they can come up with the best and most creative and brightest ideas together (which they do!!! a lot!!!!!) and they clearly love each other so much and let that love for each other fuel them and motivate them in everything they do

however, they are definitely also a little bit too dependent on each other. it's something they're working on, and while they don't mind being apart and actually Can be apart from each other, it becomes very clear in their behavior that they still rely a LOT on each other

a good example of this would be the fact that artyom mostly makes decisions with his heart, whereas sascha mostly makes decisions with his head. it would be best to have a good mix of the two available at your disposal, but because they've become so comfortable relying on the other doing what they do best, whenever they're not together they're just. kind of missing that part of their judgement. and that prevents artyom from thinking rationally about things when he's alone, and it prevents sascha from understanding others' perspectives better when he's alone

43) do they talk often? what about?

they talk. all the fucking time oh my god they never fucking shut up LMFAO they were put next to each other in fantasy secondary school because their teachers hoped it would make artyom more quiet when he's forced to sit with the quiet kid (sascha) but no. it only made him louder. and it made sascha loud as well. bless

they mostly talk about science, magic and history a lot because that's their specialties and their fields of study :) artyom also reads and learns a lot about random things (whatever his brain is zoomed in on at that moment) which he will occasionally infodump about as well! sascha is less of a talker but he's a good listener, and he absolutely also has his infodump moments <3

pairing asks!

[the-faultofdaedalus]

I had a dream that the king and the queen of a small country had a daughter. They needed a son, a first-born son, so in secret, without telling anyone of their child’s gender, they travelled to the nearby woods that were rumoured to house a witch.

They made a deal with that witch. They wanted a son, and they got one. A son, one made out of clay and wood, flexible enough to grow but sturdy enough to withstand its destined path, enchanted to look like a human child. The witch asked for only one thing, and that was for their daughter.

They left the girl readily.

The witch raised her as her own, and called her Thyme. The princess grew up unknowing of her heritage, grew up calling the witch Mama, and the witch did her very best to earn that title.

She was taught magic, and how to forage in the woods, how to build sturdy wooden structures and how to make the most delicious stews. The girl had a good life, and the witch was pleased.

The girl grew into a woman, and learned more and more powerful magics, grew stronger from hauling wood and stones and animals to cook, grew smarter as the witch taught her more.

She learned to deal with the people in the villages nearby, learned how to brew remedies and medicines and how to treat illness and injury, and learned how to tell when someone was lying. 

Every time the pair went into town, the people would remark at just how similar Thyme was to her mother. 

(Thyme does not know who and what she is. She does not know that she was born a princess, that she was sold. She only knows that one night after her mother read her a story about princesses and dragons, her mother had asked her if she ever wanted to be a princess.)

((Thyme only knows that she very quickly answered no. She likes being a witch, thank you very much, she likes the power that comes with it and the way that she can look at things and know their true nature.))

The witch starts preparing the ritual early, starts collecting the necessities in the winter so they can be ready by the fall equinox. Her daughter helps, and does not ask what this is for, just knows that it is important.

The witch looks at Thyme, both their hands raised into the air over a complicated array of plants, tended carefully to grow into a circle, and says, sorry.

Thyme wakes up in a clearing she recognizes well. Her mother is not there. 

The house she had grown up in is a pile of logs on the ground, destroyed and broken and in disarray, and Thyme is afraid. She calls for her mother, once, twice, and then rolls up her sleeves and begins the trek towards town. 

Her home is not here, she has neither her bow nor her knife, and if she means to figure out what happened she needs supplies. People are always in need of a witch, she knows, and her mother taught her long ago the value of a silver tongue. 

Except.

She walks out of the woods, and the town is... different. Smaller. The mill she knew so fondly, that she used to climb in with the other children of the village, isn’t there. 

There’s no indication it was ever there, and all at once, Thyme realizes what the ritual was for. 

It was a time-spell, and now she is in the past. The house is in ruins because her mother has not repaired it yet, the mill is gone because it has not been built yet. 

She is here, because...

She does not know. 

And now, it is up to her to take care of herself.

She learns the date from the villagers, gets herself a room at the inn and a good hot meal in exchange for looking at the innkeeper’s son, who has been wracked with cough for weeks now, apparently. 

His face is one Thyme knows, one that in her days were covered in wrinkles and laugh-lines, and as she goes back out into the woods to collect the herbs she needs to cure the boy, she thinks.

The boy will take the inn over from his father, and he will always welcome Thyme’s mother in with open arms for saving him when he was a child. Either the story had been wrong, or Thyme has already broken things. 

Thyme does not know which one she fears more.

She waits in the village for a full turn of the moon for her mother to come. She knows that this is when she should have come in to town. She knows that she should show up here, any day. 

The boy’s cough gets better and when it’s gone completely Thyme buys herself a knife at the blacksmith’s and returns to the woods, to the clearing she calls home. Hands on her hips, she surveys the once-cottage, and makes a plan. 

The house takes a long time to build. She buys an axe, makes a bow, and sleeps under the stars while the house is very slowly built back up. Walls, roof, floors, and then a fireplace, big and wide enough to fit a cauldron, built from special bluestone she hauls from a nearby hill one lump at a time, all the better to brew inside. 

Mama, she thinks wryly, you better be grateful for this. 

She hunts for herself, mostly, snares rabbits and shoots down deer, strips them of their skin, treats it and leaves the fur out to dry. They’ll be good blankets, a good winter cloak, someday. She knows what plants she can eat, what plants will be good, and she survives. She builds. 

She does not tell the villagers her name, and they know her only as “the witch.” 

Thyme eventually stops waiting for her mother. She watches herself in the mirror, and aches at how much they look the same. How much she’s turning out like her mother. 

She helps the villagers, occasionally travels further to heal illnesses in other villages, but mostly stays to herself, in the woods, collecting books and herbs and the house grows more and more as she remembers it. Her hair, that used to be so dark, raven’s hair, her mother would say, braiding it back for her before she learned to do it herself, gets shot through with white and goes grey. 

There’s wrinkles on her face that didn’t used to be there. 

Thyme stops waiting, and becomes the witch of the these woods.

And then. 

The King and Queen of these lands show up at her door, and they are holding a baby girl. 

Please, they say, We need a son. Give us a son. 

And Thyme, who now has a scar on her cheek from a branch whipping at her too fast to avoid, who knows that her mother had had the same scar, looks at the baby, meets her eyes, and knows that they are her eyes. 

I’ll give you a son, Thyme tells them, as if through a trance, but the cost will be your daughter.

They agree, as she knew they would, and she makes a boy out of clay and wood and she remembers learning how to make constructs like these with her mother, she breaths life into it and sends it off with the King and Queen and she holds their baby in her arms. 

Black hair. Dark eyes. A quiet baby, who looks up at her with a solemness that Thyme’s not entirely sure babies are supposed to have. 

Hello, little one, Thyme says, holds out her finger for the baby to grasp, feels her voice crack down the centre like a burnt-out log when the infant holds her finger in her chubby little hand. 

She’s a princess. This baby is a princess, and this baby is her, and her mother has never existed. She knows all these things now, but the thing that she knows most strongly is that she will protect this child, and not only because this child is her. 

(It is alright to be selfish, Thyme, she remembers her mother telling her, it is alright to take things for yourself. You do not need to give yourself away, remember that.)

She has to build a crib and cradle for the baby, and until it’s finished, until she knows that the birchwood and blanket is as comfortable as it can be, she sleeps with the baby -- with Thyme, her name will be Thyme, and she smiles as she thinks it -- on her chest. 

She goes into the village, walking through the woods as baby Thyme looks at the trees and the plants with wide eyes, brings her to a farmer who has raised three girls, knocks at her door, and says, help me. 

The witch doesn’t know how to care for a child, and she is going to learn. She must learn. 

The farmer helps her gladly, something in her eyes that tells the witch that she misses having children, that however much she loves her girls, grown and adventurous, sun-browned and strong from working the fields with her mother, she misses caring for an infant. 

She learns how to make formula out of goat’s milk, how to burp the baby, how to change and wash her. She learns how to tell why the baby might be crying -- even though baby Thyme rarely cries, prefers to watch the world with her big, dark eyes -- and how to fix what might be wrong. 

She sits with the farmer as Thyme plays with a doll carved from a cow’s bone, and learns how to thresh wheat. 

The farmer never asks where the baby came from, but does remark how alike they look, that Thyme looks just like her mother, and the witch smiles at that. 

Thyme seems to grow quickly, learning to crawl, and then to toddle around while hanging off the furniture, and the witch cries at Thyme’s first, unsteady and unsupported steps, even as she builds high shelves into the rafters of her home so that Thyme won’t end up eating things she shouldn’t.

The witch takes Thyme into the village more and more, first in a bag tucked up close against her chest, and when Thyme grows more, holding her hand as she runs through the woods as fast as her little legs will carry her. Every time Thyme runs off to bring back a flower, the witch feels a surge of fondness she refuses to suppress. 

The mill is built, and the witch watches as Thyme runs off to play with the other village kids, brave and fearless and so, so curious. 

She teaches Thyme her first charm when the girl is eight, and Thyme takes to the craft like she takes to memorizing the names and uses of plants, like she takes to a bow and knife, like she takes to books, exactly as the witch knew she would. 

Sometimes, the witch hates the lie she’s made Thyme into. She agonizes over it, over she should tell the girl her true parentage, should spill this secret like a cut bag of wheat, but--

She does not want Thyme to know that she was traded away so easily. She does not want Thyme to know that to her birth parents, she was worthless. 

She asks, though. Asks, do you want to be like the girls in the books? a princess? and is warmed to the core when Thyme answers no. 

Yes, the witch had known what she had answered. Yes, the witch knows that Thyme loves her life, her studies, the woods, her home. 

(Yes, the witch knows that Thyme loves her mother, because the witch loved her mother. She knows this, and still, she asks.)

The witch teaches Thyme how to make constructs, how to animate them, is proud beyond words when on her fifth try, casting over a wood skeleton covered in clay, the shape of a rabbit, the thing shivers to life, and hops over to push it’s nose into Thyme’s outstreached hands, the girl beaming so brightly that the witch thinks the woods might be glowing with it. The rabbit-construct is lumpy, and uneven, it’s movements slow and unnatural, and she has not yet taught Thyme how to cast the illusion spell onto it that will make it look real, and alive, but Thyme looks so happy that the witch nearly, nearly, forgets her guilt at the purpose of this spell.

Thyme grows, first into a teen, skinny and narrow from how she had shot taller like a willow tree, bony and sharp and lean, and into a woman, growing broad from good food and hard work, takes to hiking into the woods for days at a time with only her knife and her bow and a pouch of herbs, returns home with wild hair the witch combs out for her as Thyme tells her of her adventures.

It matters not that the witch knows all of these stories, knows them because she lived them herself, when she was a girl. She listens to her daughter, dragging the comb through her tangled hair, asks about the falls she found, the cliffs, the animals, the herbs, makes sure that Thyme knows that she will be listened to, that she deserves to be listened to. She listens, because she knows that no matter how much Thyme loves going on these adventures, she also loves coming home, and sharing in these simple, cozy moments.

Winter comes. With the cold comes a grief, a guilt, that weighs heavy on the witch’s heart. She begins preparing for the ritual, for the time-spell that will send her daughter backwards and into loneliness and into the position to save herself from what her true parents would force her to become, backwards to learn the truth, backwards to become her.

She knows why she must do this. She has scryed on her construct, the prince, the soon-to-be-king, every moon since she sent him away and took herself in his place. She sees what he has grown into, she sees what the power has done to him, she sees and she knows that she and her daughter would have suffered greatly in that role. She sees him make hard choices.

She sees him go to war.

She sees the illusion she cast over branch and clay bleed. She sees him, bandages around his torso, arm hanging awkwardly by his side, leave the castle, and wade into the lake outside of it’s walls. She sees the clay in the lakebed melt towards him, heal the wounds, make him fit to wield a sword the very next day.

She does not want that. She does not want that for her daughter.

It is alright to be selfish, Thyme, she remembers her mother saying to her, remembers saying to her Thyme, bleeding for others is a gift. It is valued, but it is up to you to give it.

Spring comes. Reedy plants are tended into a circle. Summer comes. Fires are burned over the dirt, ash mixed with soil. Fall comes. The heart of a boar is buried under the circle, placed to rest with gentle words. The witch and her daughter, Thyme and Thyme, stand together, hands raised, looking at each other.

The witch whispers, I’m sorry.

And her daughter disappears.