#no one point out one of her sleeve... triangles is the wrong direction... i realized as i saved the jpg...

[legayllyblonde]

yippee!! a faraday first day for @aainvestigationswomen: a fan week for the aai ladies :-D

I... didn't follow the prompts at all, just drew a different gal for each day lol. super excited to see what others make for this! i love investigations! i love women! wooooo!!!

[unholyhelbig]

How about part two to the workplace Au you just did? Loved the first one!

A/N: Sure thing! I’m glad you guys liked the first one so much (You can read it here)

Request more prompts here | Read on ao3! 

Chloe could read the discomfort on Beca Mitchell’s face as soon as she unzipped the bag that she had picked up from the dry cleaners. She was struck with the instant scent of lavender detergent, fanning her hand over the outfit like she was picking the next lucky number for the lottery.

Beca had her hand on her chin, a flash of red made her head spin. She was in sweatpants and a grease-stained shirt. She figured that if she had ignored the date on the bottom of the flyer long enough, maybe Chloe would just forget.

No such luck.

“How did you find my apartment?” She asked, clinging to the door.

“It was in your file.”

“I feel like this is slightly illegal.”

“Slightly,” Chloe pushed her way through the door and looked around the apartment. It was kept in a shockingly messy state. Beca presented herself as someone who dotted every ‘I’ and crossed every ‘T’. At least, that’s how she was at work. But there was a leaning tower of pizza boxes and a couple of record sleeves strewn across the room. “You’re not even close to ready.”

“I forgot,” She let the door swing closed “what if we just ignore this PR bullshit and watch a movie instead. Technically I’m still socializing.”

Chloe turned on her heel and scanned Beca up and down. She hugged the bag close to her. “It would look horrible for me to ditch a party I planned.”

“Then you go. I’ll keep watch here.”

“Beca,”

The coder flopped down onto the pile of blankets at the far end of the sofa. She crossed her socked feet and waved her hand in the air as if asking Chloe to continue. For the first time tonight, she noticed the makeup and the slim fitted dress that hugged every inch of the woman’s curves. The black material made the sharp disdain in her eyes glow even further.

But goddamn it, if she wasn’t absolutely captivating. And she smelled lie oranges. Beca had half the mind to stealthy survey her fingers for any trace of a ring. She hadn’t done so in the office, but there was no man to be seen in them. She had blown her chance, she figured, by being her authentic self.

“Red isn’t my color.” She stared at the dress. It had a plunging neckline and would make her look pale. She wasn’t working with much, Chloe was kidding herself. She was also here three full hours before the dreaded thing was supposed to start.

“Just give it a shot. You promised.”

“Wrong. I considered.”

Chloe tossed the bag at her. The fabric was nice, soft against her fingers. She stared at the slight bit of lace and the little bag of gold jewelry that the woman had attached. A few rings and a necklace tipped with a triangle that practically pointed at her cleavage.

“Alright, whatever. I’ll shower.”

She hoisted herself from the couch and tried not to stare too long at the look of triumph on Chloe’s face. It was equally as infuriating as it was attractive. She grabbed a towel from the pile of unfolded clothes on the other end of the sofa and vanished into the back hallway.

Chloe stood like a statue until she heard the water running. Then her curiosity got the better of her and she started to glace around the space; the walls were slathered in charcoal grey and a few album covers were framed and tacked up. Beca had a record player and an extensive library of music. It seemed to be the only tidy thing in here.

She walked over to the couch and picked up one of the blankets. It smelled like detergent and whatever musk Beca radiated herself. She started absently folding, chewing the inside of her lip, so deep in thought that she hadn’t even realized that the shower had shut off and Beca padded into the room in nothing but a towel, still soaked to the bone.

She cleared her throat “Did you clean up?”  

“It’s a nervous habit,” Chloe turned and tried not to let her breath catch. The employee usually stuck with baggy sweatpants and even baggier shirts. They didn’t’ have a dress code at work and she border-lined pajamas with her outfit choices. But Beca? Beca had a figure. “You ready?”

“I’m at your mercy.” She grumbled, “But no eyeliner.”

“oh, come on.”

“You’re not getting close to my eye with a pencil, forget it.” She crossed her arms over her chest, not letting the towel slip in the slightest “Fine. But I’m doing it. Stop pouting.”

Chloe begged to differ. She didn’t pout. She didn’t’ want to push it any further though, so she nodded and grasped the dress before letting Beca lead the way to her room.

           Beca tugged uncomfortably at the hem of her dress as they exited the car. It had hiked up as soon as she sat down, but at that point, she didn’t’ care. The weather had taken a turn to the colder side and she just wanted feeling in her legs. A light dusting of snow had forced their driver to flick on the wipers and move closer to the glass to see past the haze of headlights.

Chloe grasped at her wrist absently, forcing her to stop shifting the fabric. Her hand was warm enough to shock her into complying, but not without a glare. They looked like quite the pair; Beca was almost the same height as Chloe with the heels that were supplied, and she stood out horridly. Red like blood on the snow after a fresh hunt.

The company had spared no expense with the carpet, purple like their logo and leading into a lavish lobby in a hotel that Beca had never been in. She was sure they would throw her out if she walked in and asked to use the bathroom with fancy soap. But when Chloe was at her side, looping her arm through her own, she could pass instantly.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Chloe read the blush on the woman’s cheeks “I’m sure if I weren’t holding onto you, you’d be face down on the floor by now. Take it slow.”

“You sound like a stage mom.”

“In that case,” she frowned “You’re a horrible student.”

Beca scoffed but was secretly thankful for the human crutch. Chloe had an easy way of walking about her, she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin, and acted like she owned the whole building. It was one foot in front of the other, and Beca wobbled on the first few, but eventually evened out. Maybe the stance was a tactical thing- to keep the balance.

They walked through the doors and Beca instantly felt her legs wobble at the direct warmth. There was a clothed table by the entrance, lined with identical masks. Chloe plucked a red one off the table and passed Beca a black one, looking at her expectantly.

“The whole purpose of this is for you to get comfortable being around people. Maybe you can do that if they can’t see the top half of your face.” She spoke with ease as she knotted her own mask. And she had to admit, even though this was utterly stupid, she wouldn’t have recognized Chloe in a crowd. Not if she hadn’t spent the last four hours with her.

She fastened her own mask and took Chloe’s outstretched hand, begrudgingly but thankful at the same time; the ballroom was equally as impressive, violet lights on an installed dance floor and clothed tables with little favors and plates. It looked like a wedding for bank robbers, but Beca couldn’t help letting her mouth prop open.

“Shocked?” Chloe asked, scanning the décor “I do know how to throw a hell of a party.”

“The last party I went to was not this classy.” Beca breathed “We did have bongs made out of apples though, so I’m going to need you to step up your game.”

Chloe smiled, it looked brighter under her mask. She leads them towards a table in the corner and plucked two flutes of champagne from the passing waiter. Alcohol. That was something that Beca wasn’t opposed to. She finished it in two long gulps.

She hovered awkwardly by as the woman who had dragged her here in the first place spoke with a couple of people that she wouldn’t have recognized even if they were shrouded by masks. They shouted over the music; a man in a snazzy looking suit questioned her presence.

“This is one of the most talented coders we have!” Chloe shouted over the sound of the base “Almost single-handedly created the VPN.”

“You’re impressive!” He called out to her “Such a pretty date too!”

Chloe just laughed and Beca thanked him over the bass. He squeezed Chloe’s shoulder before vanishing into the crowd. She leaned close then, her breath hot against Beca’s collarbone, and that familiar floral scent clouded her lungs and judgment. “See, that wasn’t so hard. You’re a natural. Want to dance?”

She did not, in fact, want to dance. But Chloe pulled her onto the floor almost as smoothly as the champagne glasses. Beca was glad that she had swallowed it so quickly. It made the idea of dancing seem more appealing. And Chloe did have good taste in music.

They worked themselves into the crowd and Beca let the sound flow through her. She ignored all of the people, for the most part. Chloe was painfully obvious behind her, grinding close, running her hands across the dress that she had picked out. Beca felt like she was back in college- and she had to admit, she was having fun.

She lost track of how many songs they had danced to, but eventually, the DJ lowered the music and spoke into the microphone. “Alright folks, we having fun? I hope so! I want to interrupt your masquerade for just a moment.”  

There were a few groans from the crowd, but none of them sincere.

“Now, I know you’re all being secretive about your identities tonight. But I want to pull the one and only Chloe Beale onto the stage. Y’all okay with that?”

There were a few shouts from the people around her, followed by applause as Chloe gave Beca’s arm a squeeze and maneuvered her way through the crowd. A woman in an even tighter navy blue dress helped her up the stage and Beca clapped along, lilting her head as she watched, captivated like the rest of the room.

This didn’t’ feel customary, bringing the party planner up to say a few words. Not when it was essentially a giant PR event for a tech company. Beca crossed her arms over her chest as Chloe captivated an entire crowd.

“I’m glad you’re all having fun under the cover of the night,” She lowered her voice dramatically, flashing that brilliant smile. “And we’re so happy to unveil our new VPN, that everyone has been working so hard on.”

It had been months of coding, Beca having to fix so many bugs that the 0’s and 1’s ran circles around her head. Hearing praise from Chloe’s lips made her tingly- or maybe that was the buzzing of her skin after eating cold pizza for breakfast and drinking on a nearly empty stomach.

“We strive for innovation and protection, and our new product can give you just that.” She gripped the podium and waited for a few cheers to settle “When I first started this company in my parent's basement, which doubled as our laundry room, I never imagined this. Thank you, and enjoy the party!”

Beca’s heart had seized in her chest then, as the music started up and the people around her moved with the rhythm once more. She let them bump into her as she mindlessly walked to the edge of the lit-up floor, towards Chloe.

This made sense to her, finally, it made sense. The reason why she was pushing her so hard to interact with other people in the office, why she didn’t have a title on her door. Chloe was the boss. Chloe had seen her ratty apartment and, oh my god, Chloe knows she smokes weed.

The woman in the navy dress talked animatedly to the woman at the side of the stage, nodding and gesturing to the rest of the room. Chloe looked pensive, she mumbled something under her breath and immediately turned towards Beca.

“Dude, what the hell?” She asked, sounding less elegant than she’d hoped.

Chloe shrugged “Stacie from HR wanted to talk to you first but I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“This is literally your party.”

“Yes?”

“Like in your honor. Not something you planned.”

“Well, I did that too.” She shrugged nonchalantly as Beca gaped at her “Look, Beca. I like you, okay? You’re one stubborn girl. And I wanted to spend a night with you, is all. When the report about your lack of social skills happened across my desk, I took a chance.”

She felt her cheeks heat up “You could have just asked me, you know?”

“Would you have said yes?”

“Absolutely not,” She pointed her finger “But only because you’re making me wear a dress. Maybe next time, we could just settle for street tacos or something?”

Chloe laughed, and it was a beautiful sound that mixed so perfectly with the music. “Next time?”

[robbyrobinson]

OWL HOUSE X CTHULHU MYTHOS: GODS AWAKEN (Pt. XI)

It was an uneventful night for the Blight family. The Blight twins were already in their rooms, and Amity was still awake looking over her homework for the next day of school. As she was finishing up her homework, she decided to look on Penstagram for updates. It struck Amity as odd that her former friend Boscha hadn't posted onto the site for some time since her fight with Willow. It wasn't to say that she missed seeing whatever her ex-friend posted, because after all, she did cause her to be bedridden with a fractured leg for a few weeks. But given how obsessed Boscha was with the site, it was uncharacteristic of her to ignore it for days.

Instead, it mostly consisted of posts from her other classmates like Skara and the like. She was just about finished with her browsing when a news flare got her attention. Looking at it, her jaw nearly dropped on her desk. "Palisman tree has been killed?" she said to herself.

The revelation took the air out of Amity's lungs. It was every witch of the Boiling Isles' dream of having their own staff and palisman. Now, she, and every other witch-in-training, would be denied that chance. Her; her siblings; Willow; Gus; Luz...

Amity's heart skipped a beat at the slightest thought of that human girl. Ever since that dance they shared at Grom in order to defeat Grometheus, the witch girl had found herself falling hard for Luz. Just thinking about her for one moment was enough for Amity to completely forget what she was doing, a more unfortunate consequence of being bitten by the love bug (when those insects were not in season that year). And yet, the most sufferable thing about it was Luz's obliviousness to her growing feelings. Amity wanted to hate herself for feeling that she was speaking to a rock, but Luz's stupid tendencies were also endearing.

Amity glanced at the papers on her desk realizing that she was writing something on one of the papers. She brought it up to her face seeing that it was addressed to Luz. Amity blushed a tomato red and promptly crumpled up the paper and through it in the garbage can.

"That was close," Amity thought to herself, "I don't know what I'd do if Luz read that."

A twinge of tiredness befell the young Blight. Yawning, she stretched her arms and was about to prepare for bed.

Knock, knock.

Amity turned towards her bedroom door. "Edric? Emira? What do you want now?" She crossed her arms and stomped her foot impatiently. "If it has to do with that bat that Edric wanted to keep, a frog ate it."

"It's me and your mother" the knocker replied.

Amity froze up at the realization of who it was. On the other side of the door were her domineering parents Odalia and Alador Blight. What possible reason did they have to knock at her door during that time of night? It'd better be urgent. Amity shook off her wondering thoughts and opened the door. Both of her parents were dressed in black, matching cloaks that covered their feet. Odalia looked like a spitting image of her young daughter; the only difference was the pure emerald green of her hair vs. Amity's brown spot that stuck out like a sore thumb. Her hair was tightly held back in a bow. The shoulders of Odalia's cloak arched in pointed triangles.

Alador had a noticeably grizzlier appearance. Short brown hair was on his head complimented by his goatee-styled beard. Thick, long eyebrows hung over as a canopy for his eyes but also contributed to his vaguely-goat attire. Like his wife, the sleeves of his cloak came together in arched shapes. There was a peculiar look coming from him one of contemplation. Amity couldn't help but notice that he gave passing glances to his wife then to the door. With the sporadic movement of his eyes, it gave off a sense that he truly did not want to be there or would frankly want to be anywhere but here.

"Yes?" Amity finally said, "what do you want?"

"Dear," Odalia said, "how did your week of school go?"

Amity raised an eyebrow at the sudden words. "Still at the top of my classes."

She was fully expecting some praise for her accomplishments, but her parents only responded with silence before turning their attention back to her.

"While at school, was there anything that you were trying to keep from us?" Odalia asked.

"No?"

"Oh, you don't?" Odalia said.

Amity shook her head.

"Let me rephrase the question then," Odalia announced, "was there anyone in particular that you were conversing with?"

Amity turned to look away at the judgmental eyes her parents were giving her. "No, of course not."

"Amity, don't try to assume that I am a hopeless imbecile." Odalia waved her finger in the air and withdrew a purple scroll. She took her finger and skimmed through her notifications. Amity and Alador looked at each with a shared look of curiosity until Odalia put her finger down. "What is this?"

She directed the scroll towards her daughter and pointed at something on it. Amity's heart sank from what she was seeing: a picture of her; Willow; and Gus. They were talking with each other in the school's library. Amity tapped her fingers in a nervous fidget to find an explanation.

"We had told you to stop associating with that half-witch," Odalia said strictly, "can't you see that you are squandering your status in the social order?"

Amity nodded. "Well, I can see why you think that."

Odalia crossed her arms. "Think? I know; you had kept that promise of yours for years now and yet you now decide to see Willow behind our backs?"

Amity clenched her fists. "Willow is special to me." She unclenched her fists with more conviction. "I told her that I would keep her safe."

"From who if you don't mind me asking?" Alador asked.

"Boscha," Amity responded with little hesitation.

Odalia's eyes widened. "We had struck up an agreement with her mother that you would befriend her, and yet, how long have you spoken to her?"

"I did not speak to her in weeks."

"I will have you know that Boscha had been missing for weeks," Odalia mentioned, "did she do something that caused Boscha to disappear without a trace?"

"Willow would never do that," Amity said with conviction.

"Whatever the case, we are concerned that you associating yourself with Non-Blights is affecting your mind," Alador said.

How offensive, Amity thought. Those were her friends they were criticizing and shamelessly belittling without their knowing.

"The last few days with all of them had been nothing short of amazing; I don't care if Willow is a half-witch or that Luz is a human. This is the first time in my life that I felt legitimately happy."

Odalia rolled her eyes. "That's great that you are happy, but do you know what bad precedent this would put on us?"

"No."

Odalia walked away from the room and disappeared. It was only Amity and her father in the room. He sat down by the side of his daughter's bed looking away. What he said next would surprise Amity.

"I'm actually kind of pleased with how you stood up for that half-witch."

"What?" Amity said.

"I was never fully on board with your mother's suggestion that you severe ties with Willow; I could see then – and now even – that you care deeply about her, and maybe forcing you to befriend Boscha was just our way of ensuring that you were strong."

He pat Amity's covered foot. "But look at you now; the top of your class; actually going against Boscha even though it would be foolish in the eyes of others; and your loyalty are all great attributes; if only there were a way to go back time where your mother and I chose to let you do what you want. Only then you would've become a witch more powerful and feared and it would be your success to reap."

Amity didn't know what to say. She always assumed that Alador would be against Willow because of her status and developing prematurely. But this was the same father who was now retconning everything her old dad had tried to establish. She was reminded of how she secretly wrote in her journal how she didn't want to be mean but only did so to not show weaknesses. This was likely the same tactic that her father does. At the same time, Amity couldn't shake off the notion that Alador still went along with her mother's demands was still a spineless blunder.

Odalia walked back into the room carrying a thick book. She held it up with her hands to show what she had. "It is a book of the history of the Blight family."

She opened it up and skimmed the pages until her finger landed on a picture. "Your great-grandmother Audrea was one of the most powerful witches of the family." She flipped to the next page of the yellowy-wrinkly book. "There's Ozpin demonstrating his first time using his Abomination."

She flipped through more pages whilst ignoring the dust kicking into the air. "Can't you see all these amazing people?"

"Well, I have read small parts of the book," Amity said, "but what are you trying to say?"

"I AM saying that you are besmirching the proud family name by continuing to squander your attention by continuing to see Willow against our back."

"Well, I don't even want to BE a Blight if it means that I will have to throw Willow and the others away like a griffin's hairball."

Odalia slammed the book shut and placed it on the floor.

"What of your dream of entering the Emperor's Coven?" she inquired.

"Lilith left it," Amity noted, "do you think that there was something horribly wrong enough to make her bail?"

Odalia scoffed at the point. "Lilith is a traitor; only a full would turn their backs on the privileges that Lord Belos would bestow to them." She placed the palm of her hand on the door frame. "Let only death be the harshest punishment that a traitor deserves."

Her mother was right about one thing: witches were forever indebted to Belos and to leave would be an act of treason fitting only those who practiced wild magic. Amity couldn't help but feel worried for her former idol, but she also felt a sense of karma for her due to her almost killing the love of her life.

"But dear," Alador said, "at the least Edric and Emira are approaching the age for the coven."

"I don't care if the twins are likely better qualified," Odalia said, "please reconsider everything you will be sacrificing and do the right thing."

Amity shook her head. "I am through with you controlling me."

Odalia's pointed ears perked up. "What was that?"

"You heard me loud and clear Mom: I am never going to leave Willow the way she was again."

Odalia turned around and pointed her finger at her daughter. "And I do not want you to associate with that human girl."

"Her name is Luz, Mom," Amity said.

"I don't care what this human girl's name is; if anything, she is some rat with a lot of gall to believe that she can be just like us."

Amity raised her finger. "She can perform magic; just...in a way that I have never seen it being done."

"That is not magic," Odalia insisted, "that is utter mockery of what the Titan blessed us with; I will not have it up to here with a talentless mongrel like that."

Amity passively shot a fireball at her mother in the heat of her anger. Odalia narrowly avoided the ball which immediately ran out of fuel. Odalia's eyes twitched.

"So, we have a failure to conform?"

Amity immediately clasped her hands together. "I'm sorry, Mom, I didn't mean to..."

"Enough!" Odalia raised her hand. "Maybe a trip to the Conformatorium would be beneficial for both of us."

Amity's eyes bulged at the announcement. "No, anything but that!"

Odalia bent down and collected the family album book. "I am giving you this one chance: either you do as we say and abandon Willow, or we would be forced to have you taken and you would be stripped of the Blight name."

Amity looked down to hide her hurt expression.

Odalia put her arms on her sides. "Understand?"

Amity nodded without another word.

With that, her parents left the room and quietly shut it to avoid the twins being woken up by their ramblings. They walked down the hall and entered their bedroom: there was a white sheet that split the room in middle on both sides being matching beds made with the same material. They both sprawled on the bed and said nothing for a few minutes.

"Odalia," Alador started in a hushed tone, "maybe you are being a little too...over-exerting?"

"No, that is foolish thinking," Odalia replied, "this is her future we are talking about."

"Maybe that's the problem?" he answered back "maybe you're projecting yourself onto our daughter?"

Odalia rolled over. "I tried my best to become a part of those elites, but my chances were always taken from me; I just want what is best for our daughter."

"But you also try to die her hair green when you know she's a natural-"

She hit her fist against the wooden bed post. "What was that?"

"Oh, uh, nothing, dear," he said. "Goodnight."

Both of them were still very much awake, but they opted to not speak of this any further. At least until the morning.

Amity was under her bed covers rolling around a few times. She could not believe her mother. After years of taking her abuse, she finally had her chance to tell her mother what she felt, but now she was weighing down harder for her. And Luz...she could not bear to listen to her mother speak of her shamelessly. Human or witch, it didn't matter: she felt at home with Luz and the other misfits. She took her pillow and pushed it over her head.

"UH! Why is life this complicated!?"

"I know, right? What a drag."

Amity bounced forward in her bed to scan her surroundings. "Who said that?"

"Up here!"

She looked up at the ceiling and, to her horror, she saw a black-eyed man staring down at her. She tinkered around with her desk and tossed a book towards the man. It squarely hit him in the face.

"Ugh! Hey, be careful with that!" he yelled back.

"Who are you?" Amity said. She was reaching for something else to grab.

"A friend of your human girl," he replied, "I am Hypnos."

Amity had grabbed a few scrolls and was positioning them in the direction of the man. "Did you do something to her!?"

Hypnos slid his arms through the ceiling in a defense stance. "Rest assured, she is fine; but she needs your help."

Amity dropped the scrolls to blush profusely. Luz needed her? Her little heart could barely take it. "Yes! Who do I have to kill?" she said absent-mindedly.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I'd like you to dial it back a couple knots."

Amity put her face in her hands. "Yes, yes; I apologize."

Hypnos appeared in front of her bed and held out his hand. "Well? Are you ready?"

"I don't know," Amity said, "what about my parents?"

"Oh, I just went into your siblings' minds to instill in them to keep your parents busy and away from the door at all times; no matter how ludicrous."

With that, Amity took his head and they were off.

Meanwhile at the Emperor's Coven, Belos was sitting at his throne his mind wondering. His spy had returned from spying on the residents of the Owl House and reported of some suspicious behavior. "So, Hypnos is assisting them?" he thought to himself.

He was alerted to a knock on his door and left the idea of an Elder God assisting the mortals on the backburner. "Yes, come in."

Kikimora poked her little demon head from the other side of the door. "My Lord, you have a visitor."

Belos flicked his fingers causing the metal to shake. "Send him in."

Belos was in the middle of opening up another palisman when he suddenly dropped it. The figure came in with an odd walk to him. He was a tall man who eclipsed Kikimora. A dark, swarthy man, his head was shaved bald yet no light gleamed off it. He resembled an Egyptian from the ancient times (some insisting that he had native blood flowing through his veins). The man possessed a lean appearance and well-built frame. Around his lower body, a skirt of misty colors manifested. Aside from hair, he had a long, pointed beard hidden behind a metal case.

Emperor Belos got out of his throne and bowed before the figure. "Master! It's been far, far too long!"

Nyarlathotep held up his hand. "No need for such fluffy worship; I see that you have kept the Isles in top-knotch shape for years now."

"Yes, and the Isles are flourishing as a result," Belos responded.

"If only you had little free will to do that," Nyarlathotep mumbled.

"As you can see, the portal is ready as we speak," Belos announced, as if expecting some praise from his master.

"Excellent work; once the book is found and I receive my powers, everything will be different."

Belos nodded. "And I can get some due vengeance...I have...misgivings with the Earth."

"I did not come here to observe your process," Nyarlathotep stated, "I have a demand."

Belos tilted his head. "What is it, Master?"

"In the festive village of Bonesborough, there is a particular family of talented witches. I am sure you know of them."

Belos answered quickly. "The Blight family?"

"Yes - I am glad that you are putting that brain of yours to good use – in the family, I want the matriarch to join your ranks."

"But Master, Odalia Blight had already tried to enlist the ranking years ago and lost her chance; I cannot allow her to join."

Nyarlathotep walked over to the Emperor, fire dancing in his eyes. "Is that a sign of disobedience?"

Emperor Belos quickly clammed up. "No, sir."

"Good. You will have Odalia join the Emperor's Coven, and she will be my pawn...at least until she bores me and wears out her use. I will send my protégé to the school of Hexside; there is a certain man there who does know the whereabouts of the book's copy on the Earth. If push comes to shove...well...think of any unpleasant fate that could befall him and his students."

Belos understood the veiled threat. "Very well; I feel that I should also inform you that the human girl is likely planning something to jeopardize our plan."

Nyarlathotep laughed. "Ah, Luz? She's a lovely girl and has become a favorite chew toy of mine."

Nyarlathotep turned to walk out of the throne room. "Please also allow Odalia to gain access to your weapons."

"Bu-but..."

Nyarlathotep clenched his fist causing the Titan's heart to beat rapidly. Belos plopped on the ground to grasp at his chest. His breathing was becoming slanted; with little push, Nyarlathotep could crush the heart with whatever unholy power he had at the moment and that would be the end of Lord Belos. Nyarlathotep released his grip on the heart and exited the throne room.

"The Day of Unity is upon us," Nyarlathotep announced.

Alone in his throne room, Belos' regular breathing returned. He clutched weakly at one of the arms of his throne and picked himself from the ground. He looked over his shoulder to see if Nyarlathotep was truly gone. After giving it a few minutes, Belos went behind his throne and knelt down. There was a secret compartment behind it. He steadied his breathing and opened the compartment. Inside of it was a spear that housed a crazily angled rock. He clasped it in his hands and studied it carefully.

"It'll soon be time."

[amatchforyourmadness]

the way down the mountain

part of the Ladyhawke!Geraskier AU, being a work set before the main story the day the falcon dies.

words: 1884

it’s on the way down that it strikes for the first time. and, Melitele, of course that had to be day when the curse was set. of course he has to break his bones while nursing a broken heart.

( or the first time Jaskier turns into a falcon also happens to be the same afternoon his world fell apart around him; part of Geraskier! Ladyhawke AU )

Of all the people to fall in the arms of, it’s Yennefer that catches him when he falls to the ground, screaming in pain.

Geralt had made his feelings known, made his thoughts known, made his wish plenty well known and so Jaskier had given him the one thing he could: he had granted his wish and took himself away from his hands.

Of course, it was not a matter that had been gone over without tears, those bastard children of the ocean that every human had packed inside them to shed their sorrows with. The ocean. He should head to the coast, he should sing his songs, he should live a life worth of tales Geralt would dream to tell him.

He should have said ‘you are what pleases me ’.

He didn’t do it, though, because no part of it was what Geralt had asked for and, therefore, it wasn’t something he would give him.

It was only one wish.

Let him be in peace now Jaskier has taken the mess he is out of his life.

“Well, fuck.“ A familiar voice says ahead of him. “What did he do to you?”

And of course that he turns to find the sorceress to blame for this whole mess herself, leaning miserably against a tree: Yennefer of bloody Vengerberg,  glorious even in the what should be the scrambles of her presumptious, reckless, greedy, nonsensical aftermath with the Djinn. He scoffs at his luck, looking around as if he could mock destiny as it mocks him, before he looks back at the violet eyes still inspecting him, a perfect brow arched at his direction. He merely laughs again before he raises his arm, every inch of him made of drama and theatrics.

“Easier to ask what didn’t he do. In fact, I’m just on my way to make do with his one wish.”

“Oh, my…” Her eyes steel themselves and her expression turns impossibly sour at that, standing a little bit straighter as if a change of posture could hide the effects of Geralt’s intervention in her matters. “We all know how good he is with those. What did he ask for this time?”

“Blessed silence.” Jaskier announces in a thunderous voice, shaking his hands on the air for added affect, and ignoring how his arms’ bones have started to ache, pulling them closer to cradle against his chest as he spits out the next words. “For me to be taken off his hand. I have decided to comply, I have put down my shovel, so my deepest congratulations, he’s all yours.”

He bows at his last words, exaggeratedly so, and stands ready to walk past her, saltwater in his eyes, but he rises to see she is now in the middle of his path, blocking it, brows furrowed in disbelief.

“Whatever would I want to have him for?” She asks, her nose twitching away in disgust, like he had just said a pile of rotting meat or a dying stallion or a state that’s crumbling is hers to have and to be glad for it.

His skin is suddenly on fire from the inside out, and he can’t help but scratch his palms, the back of his hands. He mus have brushed some plant he shouldn’t have touched if the itching  is as hellish and sudden as it is.

“I’m sure you don’t need me to sing the wonders of carnal pleasure, you’ve enjoyed it plenty of times with him.” He hisses, and iif he coul dpour venom, that’d be the time. yet the buring itch has travelled up his wrists, under his sleeves, and he can’t helpp but to try to scratch it awar, forcing his hands up his doublet’s sleeve and dragging his nails so furiously over the reachable patch of arm that his nails have skin he’s peeling from himself under them and it keeps burning and his back, his neck, his legs, everything itches and burns. “Or does the mighty sorceress need me to drop the ‘L’ word that regards feelings?” He’s no longer even bothering to look at her, instead reaching under his jacket to scratch at his nape and his neck and his shoulders until he can see spots of blood against the calloused pads of his fingers and be has to keep his hands balled at his sides and even that does not help, because he’s carving his nails on his pants in hopes he can claw at the skin underneath instead. Melitele, did he poison himself? Is he going to die? “You don’t have the Witcher excuse going for you, I’m afraid, Madam Witch, so don’t expect me to take you to be as emotionally constipatedd as him, even if you can be as much of a life wrecker!”

“Love him? I didn’t love him.” She scoffs and he can only muse bitterly at the comedic tragedy he’s part of; loving a man that doesn’t love him but is instead in love with a woman that does not love him. It’s almost enough to distract him from the burning, but not quite. His hands are on his knees now, and he looks up at her if only to take in the whole mockery of a love triangle they form in it’s fullness. “A bit of Djinn magic, that was all there was to it. I hardly wanted to keep him before, much less now. Speaking of which…” She approaches him, brows furrowed, taking in intently the rabid-dog like scratching and the way he draws in his breath with more difficulty by the minute until she’s standing barely a hair away from him, and holds his face to better inspect it right when he was about to double over in pain. “Geralt’s incredibly clever wish explains the Djinn magic surrounding you, but what else has he done? Or what have you done?”

Jaskier opens his mouth to protest something laong the lines of hi not taking kindly to that acusing tone she has to her words, bit all that comes from him is a raspy breathless voice he just can’t stand to pronounce more than a word with, so he shuts his mouth in shock. He blinks; once, twice, thrice. There are black spots to his vision and it doesn’t make sense. Why is Yennefer getting blurry? Oh, he feels lightheaded. There are stabs of sharp pain all over his body but nothing makes sense. He hitches a breath when he feels such a pain to his lungs.

“What?” He slurs slightly, and his voice is slightly better if not a little hitchy. He feels more and more disconnected to his body as a burning sensation starts to creep up his spine. “Why?”

His skin is on fire. He can barely keep himself from scratching his whole body but he’s barely holding himself as it is, and it’s mostly due to her hand on his chin than anything else.

“I feel on you a curse of Aretuza.” She says, mysterious and full of finality to her words as if she’s telling him he’s been sentenced to death.

His lute falls from his grip and he cannot apologize mentally enough for that as he doubles over himself in pain and agony that comes from inside him. Now, he’s known for being dramatic and he knows he can feels intensely, with all his heart and probably still some more from all the other organs. He tries to hold it back as it comes from the depths of his being, but it’s no help: he screams.

Yennefer’s eyes shine with realization and recognition. He doesn’t need words to understand what she has figured out: he has been cursed. She had said he had reeked of magic, and given the growing distress to her features and her body language, she is not unfamiliar to this particular stench. Probably knows the mage. Probably knows whatever Jaskier is about to go though. It doesn’t make him feel any better.

‘What’s wrong with me?’ Four words. That’s all he means to ask her. ‘What’s wrong with me?’, simple, easy to do.

Yet he can’t.

Because the pain is no longer dull or the occasional pointed sharp stab, it’s expanding and taking over his throat and lungs and stomachs and he fights all of himself to keep standing, to keep looking at her.

This feels worse than the djinn and that cannot be a good sign. He clings to Yennefer’s arms and throws back his head in a scream as his legs break and he can no longer support his own weight. Still, the pain has not stopped. It feels like someone is pulling the bones of his his toes to stretch impossibly long and thin while shoving his other toes back into his legs.

He looks up to the witch’s face — and, Melitele, could it be possible that in the heights of his misery she could not look just a little bit disheveled in her horrified concern?! At least she looks tired, at the very least that. — as she holds him, cradling him on her lap, glancing over him in a panic and laying her hands over his legs as she whispers words in the acient tongue and seeps violet magic onto him to no avail. She’s weak from the mountain, and even though he knows shit all about magic outside his songs and what Geralt has grunted his way, but this one here is strong. Too strong for a weakened Yennefer. Too strong for—

— Geralt.

His arms breaks next and he sobs out screams of pain as his shoulder shift painfully backwards until his arm start where his backblades used to be, and his fingers stretch as his arms are pulled into his body. His skin itches all over, there’s something being pushed out of it, thousands of somethings. He wants to roll through the ground, scratch himself to the bone, jump in a bath of boiling water, but all he does is scream as his ribcage expands and expands and his broken legs are pulled into him and his jaw pushes up while his nose sinks into his face, teeth merging together and eyes growing and this is worse this is worse than the djinn it’s worse than anything and Yennefer holds his hand and she looks exhausted, the mountain wasn’t kind to her yet she holds him and tries to sooth him.

He should have told Geralt. He should have told him that he loved him. He should have thought to stay.

But the pain doesn’t fade. Nothing fades.

But then it would be Geralt, and not his lover (ex-lover? witch fling? lady love? does he really have it in him to care right now?) holding him through this last torture to an early grave.

Is he dying?

The pain doesn’t fade.

Oh, he hopes he’s far enough that his Witcher can’t hear his wailing.

He keeps thinking about Geralt and his heart breaks and there are feathers growing from under his skin, his bones are broken and his body is rearranging itself in the most painful of manners and the pain doesn’t fade.

So Jaskier just keeps screaming and screaming and screaming, until a falcon’s call cuts the air where his voice had been.

He screams every sunrise and sunset that follows.

—

understand the AU / check out the series on ao3 / buy me a coffe?

[ddaenghoney]

Series: of Silver

Part 19

Attending a performing arts university, you’ve been managing just fine until the fall semester of your third year starts off by making out at a party only to realize the random guy was actually transfer Jeon Jeongguk, whom you had previously agreed to help get used to the city.

Pairing(s):

Jeon Jeongguk x Y/N

Below the cut is a written scene from the story, but you don’t need to read it to follow the plot for the fake texts portions!

masterlist link is in blog description

disclaimer: any character depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Warning(s)/genre(s): College!au, fluff, developing relationship, love triangle(s)??, some angst/drama here and there– Jeongguk has a dog this series isn’t allowed to be too tragic.

Tag(s): @butterflylion @rjsmochii @mahakookie @dammit-jjk @joanc24 @detectivebts @insaisissables @fuzzyballoontrash @sweet-unicorn-world (if you would like to be tagged send me an ask to let me know!)

If you enjoy, let me know!! : )

set after the events of this chapter.

wc: 945

warning(s): none

Jeongguk’s smile spread across his face as you opened the door, only peeking enough for him to see a smile of giddy anticipation forcing itself in your expression. “I’m really nervous all of the sudden,” You admitted to him softly, fingertips tapping on the door’s perimeter as you opened it wider, “Like, good nervous, but...” Your voice trailed reaching to tug on his sleeve and bring him in.

���Am I that great of a catch?” You rolled your eyes, immediately shaking your head even if your thoughts said the opposite. He watched you fiddle with his sleeve. Following the creases around his wrist, your thumbs remained restless, a visual representation of your head, 

“I can’t believe I told you that over text.” You released his sleeve, glancing up to him with a frown now, “Like I should’ve got a band to perform-”

“Baby.” He chuckled, taking back your hand when it fell to your side, “We both wanted to say it all in person, huh?” You shrugged, forgetting for that moment that he’d spilled his feelings about you over text when all you paid associated with that fact was him being sweet and sincere. “Make sure you tell me if I ever do something wrong, okay?” 

Your eyebrows shifted into an inquisitive furrow, wondering shortly before your mouth opened in realization, “Oh, the moving slow.” You nodded, listening to him laugh gently, giving your hand a secure squeeze for his own benefit. “I like how we’ve been. I don’t know what I even mean when I say that, I guess,” You sighed, biting your lip as you considered your words, “I like holding hands, hugging you...” The pause you made again was for more thoughts to arrange themselves, a bit of worry stirred as it lengthened, but then settled,

“It’s okay, babe.” You looked back up at Jeongguk. His thumb ran back and forth across your knuckle as his timbre continued melodic and low, “I know you’re just trying to be cautious. You don’t need to explain yourself, but just know if I ever do something you don’t like to tell me.” You nodded, catching the sight of fluorescence sprinkle in his irises when he continued a bit louder as a way to get the point across, “Like the party thing the other day; you shouldn’t feel like you can’t ask me to not go to things like that. I care more about you being secure, okay?”

“Okay,” The smile you gave him made Jeongguk’s hand tighten, as well as his lips to hold back the compliments he felt wanting to spout out, “Did you eat dinner yet, Guk?” A small head shake, trying to remember in that moment what he’d had for lunch. “It’s not a luxurious first date, but I hear the cafeteria’s new macaroni recipe puts the last one to shame.” 

“That’s high praise,” He resisted laughing, instead dangling your arms between you both, “Should we try?”

“I want to.” You nodded, excitement in your voice causing Jeongguk to nod,

“Macaroni and soft-serve for the first date it is.” 

At that point of the night most of the dinner rush was gone, dish-ware getting cleaned in the kitchen, and an odd but usual occurrence of students going to the cereal corner. Easier to get the famous macaroni, though perhaps not at its best appearance given the time of the evening. “It’s better than box macaroni.” 

“But not my mom’s.” 

“Nothing is better than a mom’s.” You stated, stabbing the elbow pasta with a fork, “Especially mine; if you had her cheese sticks last weekend, you would know what I mean.”

“I believe you, but,” You peered at him with a feigning distrust, like he was about to test your facts. “This place I know in the park I take Gold to has great cheese sticks.” Your mouth opened disgusted that he actually went and questioned your knowledge of deep-fried mozzarella,

“I won’t believe it until I try it.” Said like it was supposed to be a jab, but Jeongguk just laughed at your passion for your mom’s signature snack. “Oh-” You ducked your head closer to the table. Jeongguk looked in confusion, beginning to turn in the direction that you had been looking in before pausing as you reached across to grab his arm, “No, no. It’s Jimin and Hoseok; I’m not in the mood to get the first date crashed- Don’t look at me like that.” 

Jeongguk’s amusement spread across his face as your eyes narrowed at him. He used his free hand to pull his hood over his head, while you dragged your inner cheek between your teeth in subtle embarrassment.  “Jimin would serenade us.”

“Exactly.” You nodded, using your fork to point at Jeongguk in agreement. “Strong pass, sorry, Jeonggukie, I know that’s your dream, but-”

“You’re a dream-”

“You can’t say that with that sarcastic voice and your giant grin.” He laughed, adjusting your hand on his arm to confine it in his grip, “I just want to enjoy macaroni and-” You paused, already knowing the next word would make him awe in theatrics and probably be referenced for years to come, but you gave it to him despite the blush on your face, “My boyfriend.” 

“Oh-” His lips pressed together, clearly ecstatic, but still surprised. “I thought you were going to say “you” and was going to awe, but,” He swallowed, glancing down to the remnants of his mac and cheese, while the smile remained. “I like that better.” 

You squeezed his hand, knowing there was a flush in your face when he looked back at you. You didn’t mind then, just smiled, “I like it too.” 

[lvllabiies]

Dark.

      It’s dark , it’s cold , and it’s rainy - in the dead of the night , she stands , feet planted on the ground with a flashlight shining into the source of all of her curiosities these past few months.

             Sarah-Anne’s Wood.

                    A simple name for such an ominous place , hm ??

   No matter , it’s not that as if Zelda cares. She takes a deep breath in , and then another out , sticking the flashlight upright in the wet dirt before reaching to pull off her boots & socks. They’re discarded , tossed to the side , and despite the way the winter air nips at her skin , it feels better to stand barefoot out in the open.

   Because the thing is , there’s a connection that Zelda has to this forest. She doesn’t know what , nor does she know why , but she isn’t about to pass it up for her own basic needs. Hell , these may as well be her own basic needs.

  The jacket & sweater she wears is soon to follow , tossed to the ground like it’s nothing. Now she only stands in a band tee & long-sleeved undershirt with her sweatpants , and she undoes the bun in her hair , dark locks already soaked.

   And now . . . there is only one more thing she must do. 

   She arrived here with a sword. And she picks up that sword , dragging it out with her , it feeling heavy in her hand but somehow , not foreign , and she reaches back to pick up the flashlight.

   And she shuts it off.

   She will only be able to get her answers if she submits herself to what she can’t see. Some may call it stupid , but she knows - if anything - she must go with her gut. There is nothing she can trust other than her subconscious at this point , and her subconscious tells her to surrender. So of course , she must.

   And then she takes the first step , shivering at the cold and maybe a bit fearful of what lies before her. Her heartbeat quickens with every movement , thoughts racing through her head as she remembers a few things - one , she didn’t tell Link that she was leaving and where she was going. They’d probably be worried sick. Two , she cancelled band practice over this , or at least let Finn , Aroma , & Myde know that she wasn’t going to make it.

   And three . . . if this is all for nothing , this will probably be the biggest mistake in Zelda’s entire LIFE. And she already feels like a whole of a failure , like she isn’t doing enough. But is this the answer ?? 

   Her brow furrows at the thought , and her hands hug her body as they continue to step through the woods. And then this is where that fear begins to settle in - most of the people who disappear in the forest like this don’t come out at all , or not after a few days , and that’s when they’re in broad daylight , instead of the wee hours of the morning like she. Is that the fate she’ll meet , for being so stupid ??

   She has people that would be devastated . . .

   . . . And where is she even going , anyway ??

   Maybe it’s the underlying fear. Maybe it’s her nerves. But after what feels like thirty minutes of walking , it’s a small clearing she strolls into , the wet moss soft under her feet. And then she begins to sob , taking the sword in its scabbard and hugging it close to her body.

   ❝ Who am I even kidding . . . ❞ Her voice is in nothing but a whisper , and she knows nobody can hear her but herself. Nothing is happening - NOTHING is happening , and if this is how the night will go , then she’s done nothing but show how much of a complete and utter fool she is.

   And then she draws her attention to the back of her right hand , holding it with her left and growing frustrated. ❝ Come on , come ON ! You want to work any other time !! Why not now ?! ❞ Because normally , in instances like these , there’s BURNING - a burning that she doesn’t find painful , but sears into her skin with the triple triangle pattern under her knuckles. She holds her hand tightly , as if that’ll do anything , but it’s in that moment when she breaks , and she tosses the sword to the ground and collapses.

   Shakes of sobs echo from her lips as all emotions of fear , apprehension , frustration , and anger unleash - Zelda’s shoulders shake , and her face falls into her hands as she screams out in the open , ❝ You have been giving me signs !! Signs that I have paid attention to and tried to decipher - and - and - and now NOTHING ?! I’m now to believe it’s NOTHING ?! ❞

   And then , her head falls in between her knees as she stares into the green & brown of the earth beneath. Maybe it’s me , she thinks to herself. Maybe I was looking for something that wasn’t there. And I’m only disappointing myself. 

   It’s defeat.

   But she doesn’t think she has any choice but to accept it.

   She shivers & freezes in the cold , and she knows maybe it’s best to head back to her car , but she’s too tired. Too angry at herself. Too exhausted. She instead grabs the sword and holds it close , like a safety blanket , and finds herself laying on the ground. The rain hits her hard , pounding onto her skin , and there’s a final whisper of , ❝ There must be something wrong with me. ❞ 

   Bottom lip bitten down , she huddles up into a fetal position and closes her eyes , maybe wondering if the earth will claw up and pull her in with it. 

    Silence . . .

          Silence . . .

                 Silence . . .

    And there’s a sudden wisp of a noise , and her eyes shoot open , sitting up straight as sudden , a pink , winged ball of light floats in front of her face.

    Zelda’s brow furrows ; that . . . wasn’t here before , was it ?? Or is she dreaming ?? Lips pressed together , she extends her hand forward slowly near the creature ( ? )

    ❝ Hello - ❞

   And of course , just like that , suddenly the creature is darting off , flying to the west. And Zelda finds herself standing up , not bothering to take the sword with her as she calls out , ❝ Hey - Hey , wait ! ❞

   Her pace quickens and she prays that she doesn’t lose sight of the little pink . . . fairy , yes , FAIRY sounds right , and she continues to call out to it with , ❝ I promise - I won’t hurt you ; maybe you can slow down ?? Please ! ❞ But then she feels stupid , wondering if fairies can even understand her words. 

    And the fairy’s quick , too ; it makes short & sharp turns that Zelda has to keep up with , and the intern-turned-guitarist finds herself even navigating the forest’s many obstacles as she continues running. It’s like a labyrinth , she thinks to herself , but it’s not long after such a thought that she notices the rain has stopped , the air has grown . . . warmer , but the forest has grown thicker & brighter & fireflies surround her every move. 

   She stops at a clearing , surrounded by nothing but small trees and open , large & hollowed out wooden logs that an entire human being can walk through - but there’s no fairy in sight. And suddenly , as she looks around , her shoulders slump in defeat. ❝ I . . . I lost her , didn’t I ?? ❞ Zelda asks herself , and a hand runs through her wet hair as she closes her eyes & furrows her brow in frustration.

   But in that moment in yet ANOTHER accepted defeat , she hears another noise. A continues noise . . .

   . . . Music . . . but a melody that she’s heard before , somewhere , and her eyes open as she turns in the sound’s direction. 

   She takes a step closer , and then another follows , and then another follows , and she steps towards one of the logs on the far left before realizing the music has grown quieter. Two more remain , so she walks slowly towards the one directly next to it , and once again , it grows quieter. Bottom lip bitten & Zelda’s curiosity leads her to walk towards the third , far right log . . . and there’s the music , growing LOUDER , and Zelda’s pace quickens as she takes a few steps through -

   Only . . . to be met with another clearing. But the music is still playing , and of course , now she has no choice but to follow it. She repeats the same pattern , walking through the next hollowed out log ( this time towards the north , in the far left log ) , and then finding another ( and in that one , she exits towards the far right again. ) She continues to go straight towards the next two clears , and then one far left turn and one more far right , and then . . . it’s clear.

   A meadow stands in front of her , the sun shining through the beautiful canopies in the trees , and the music pleasantly reaches Zelda’s ears to the point where success in her navigation brings a SMILE to her face. But then there’s a howling noise , and she suddenly finds two grey wolves popping up from the thick brush , a scream leaving her throat before she darts into the only possible exit , now finding herself in a hedge maze. 

   She turns right , turning the only possible corner afterwards before finding herself falling into a pool of water ; and once she tries to swim and crawl up the other side , there’s suddenly another scream & snort and a pig-like monster charges towards her , and Zelda only does what she can do : submerge herself under the water until his back is turned , and then quickly crawl up and dart in the opposite direction.

    . . . But that alerts another pig monster , and he chases after her , and she finds another in a long , hallway like clearing that she sprints to avoid before bare feet run up moss-covered stairs , and she nearly collapses , out of breath in another clearing. 

   . . . And there are people.

   Two people - one a man clad in the green of the forest , playing a blue instrument upon his lips , and then another in blue & grey & . . .

   ❝ Sheik . . . ❞ She whispers , and she looks down at the grass. That’s Sheik. That’s Sheik. That - That must be her , and then the one clad in green . . . THE MUSIC THEY PLAY , Zelda finds it familiar yet again , and they fall to their knees , squinting as their head begins to pound before they suddenly look back up , and not only are they gone , but the scenery has changed.

   Two people , again , but children . . . again , one clad in green , and another in silks of magenta & white , standing in front of a window. It’s different than the other time ; the marble & stone walls of a castle surround her , and she watches from again , soft grass & a viewer’s perspective.

   But tears are brought to her eyes , and as the girl speaks . . .

            ❛ Oh, I'm sorry! I got carried away with my story and I didn't even properly introduce myself! 

                 I am Zelda, Princess of Hyrule. ❜

   Her bloods runs cold.

   Princess . . . Princess . . .

   Why does that sound so . . . right ??

   And Hyrule sounds so . . . it sounds like home . . .

                              ❛  What is your name?

                                       ..... Link... Strange...it sounds somehow... familiar. ❜

   Her heartbeat POUNDS at record speeds in her chest & she processes the name Link over and over again , thinking of her best friend back in Castle Town and how the young child before the one named Zelda ( that has to be her ; there can be no other way ) must be them. They look exactly like them , only smaller - and - and yet , Zelda feels as if this is something she can’t afford to forget ; can’t afford to not know.

   And she remembers . . . so many years ago , making a pact. And that was the pact that began the legend . . . the legend of . . . the Hero of . . . 

   She takes a deep breath and stands , and she walks away from the children and onto the path of stone in the castle before it leads to another area indoors - the walls stretch and grow higher and she’s met with a long red carpet after a large , three-triangle symbol in the middle of the floor , and when she turns around , LINK - now an adult again - stands in front of her , and then . . .

    There’s Sheik. 

                  ❛ And the other, who holds the Triforce of Wisdom... is the seventh Sage, who is destined to be the leader of them all... ❜

    She takes in a breath , watching as the Sheikah makes motions with their hands and a BLINDING LIGHT , given off by a glowing three-triangle marking , fills the rest of the room. And then when it fades . . .

     ❝ It is I, the Princess of Hyrule, Zelda.❞       ❛  It is I, the Princess of Hyrule, Zelda.❜

   She speaks the words in unison to when the other Zelda does , knowing them by memory , and her stomach twists as her eyes stare the floor.

                     ❛ I apologize for meeting you in disguise, but it was necessary to - ❜

   And it doesn’t impact the scene , no , it keeps rolling , like a movie that hasn’t been paused , but Zelda bites to herself bitterly , ❝ You lied to them . . . ❞ She lied to them. She met them in disguise , SHE deceived them so they believed they were someone else - and it’s now different from now , history repeats itself.

   She takes another breath , voice elevating , ❝ You are LUCKY they even forgave you after that !! You deceived them , you pulled them in every single direction , and they believed you , because you’re YOU , and you threw them into this and they didn’t . . . ❞ A sob escapes her throat as she doubles over , holding her head. ❝ And they didn’t even complain . . . They didn’t even blame you . . . and you lied to them . . . ❞

   Zelda feels sick , sick so much that she sit on the floor and shake her head. ❝ And you STILL allowed yourself to mess things up again - you didn’t wait until it was over , you THREW yourself into danger and then  . . . ❞

   A sniffle , but in that anguish & regret does realization come over her form. ❝ You did . . . what you had to do. To save Hyrule . . . and to save yourself . . . and to help & save them . . . even though you knew you had to lie . . . ❞

   She sits there , lost in her own thoughts as suddenly , as the scene continues , torrents of water begin to pour from the ceiling - and she only realize it when the water levels begin to rise at a faster and faster rate , and Zelda mutters , ❝ N-No , no no no . please , it’s not over - it’s not over - ❞

    And then she’s submerged , the remnants of the Temple of Time gone as she’s surrounded by the waters of the ocean , and the sun shines above her until a shadow - like a ship of sorts - slowly passes above them. And Zelda only has the option to swim to the top , the thoughts of the scene she just witnessed still fresh in her head before she emerges on the surface , and now . . . 

    She’s somewhere different. Somewhere much different. A smaller boat than the one she swore she could’ve seen before - before , it seemed like a pirate ship - floats along the water , and in front of her there are stairs leading into what looks like the ruins of a submerged palace. And despite the fact that she had to swim up onto the surface in order to get here , in now the waters she can stand , and she trudges up the stone staircase and turns the corner to go inside. Because she hears voices & footsteps - someone else is here.

   Inside basically confirms her theory - a BEAUTIFUL yet old interior of a palace stands before her , and her wet , bare feet walk across the old , red velvet rug and lead to a statue. The statue’s moved , revealing a hidden staircase , and Zelda finds herself creeping down that staircase instead of anything else in the castle before a door sits , and when she opens the door . . .

   It’s an old man - in that same , regal red , and then herself & Link once more - only she is caught in a trance , and a piece of a necklace she bears floats into a triangle that misses one. It’s another BLINDING LIGHT like from before , and the pirate captain in front of her , once it fades , is transformed into . . .

    A princess. A princess who that same mark Zelda had witnessed on her own hand , appears on the back of hers.

    And this princess turns , a feeling of confused hopelessness in her eyes as her lips part.

                ❛  My . . . fate . . . ❜ 

   Zelda’s brows once again knit in frustrating once the old man starts to speak again.

                                ❛  You are the true hero of the royal family of Hyrule... the last link in the bloodline. You are Princess Zelda. ❜

   He begins to prattle on about destiny - and all of this SHIT that Zelda remembers being equally as confused as she is angry about - that she is now a servant to this stupid destiny that was long decided for years and years ago. And now , she - a girl who was content being a pirate on the seas like her mother - is subjected to a life she never even wanted or never asked for , and that is a life where evil preys on her to the point where she is coddled and restricted to the sidelines.

   ❝ It’s all bullshit , ❞ she whispers to herself , and she turns her back and moves to walk back up the stairs. ❝ All of it - it’s all bullshit , and it’s all because of this stupid fucking - ❞

   She’s only cut off when she opens the door , and it’s a headache once she realizes it’s grown dark again , and now she’s in a different room. 

         ❛  Accept this now , Midna. I pass it to you . . . ❜

   She hates that she knows this scene - a wounded imp on the ground , a beast that looks too much like Link beside her . . . and then . . . her. 

   She doesn’t want to listen to it - doesn’t want to hear it as the imp begins to float from the ground with herself holding her hand , shouting cries of Link , stop her ! and more as she protest’s to the princess’ actions. And Zelda’s eyes glue shut as she watches herself let go , fading into pieces of light and disappearing out of thin air. 

   And that where she has to turn her back , heading straight for the door - she only stops when she hears Midna speak once more.

                         ❛  Zelda . . . I've taken all that you had to give . . . though I did not want it. ❜

    That voice - it hits a nerve in Zelda like a melancholic CATHARSIS , and the feeling of loneliness & pain & grief that comes with missing someone. She remembers her leaving - leaving after everything is fine - and that anguish turns to energy as she runs down the spiral staircase of the tower , opening the doors and finding herself back in the throne room of the castle.

    But the ruins of the castle surround her , and it’s all gone to shit.

   Things change on a rapid level - first , it’s her form : possessed and grotesque , dueling Link in the openness of the throne room. But Hyrule Castle , overtaken by Ganondorf’s blight , crumbles before her , and Midna fades away into dust. She’s left in an open field , and is nearly run over by Link & herself from this time charging Ganondorf on horseback , her own self holding a bow & arrows of light in her hands.

   She tries to stand , tries to get out of the way , but she hears the ground rumble beneath her , and as she looks up in fear , she sees a train darting in her direction , and she screams in horror before it passes right through her , as if she were a ghost or spirit . . .

   And Link was the conductor - or rather , the engineer. She knows that.

   She doesn’t even have time to collect her breath before the ground caves in underneath , and the yellowed skies & barren lands of Hyrule suddenly change to the bright blue sky with no sight down below , and as she falls , she witnesses beautiful , brightly-colored birds flying throughout the sky , and a blue one catches her , following after a crimson one on which Link rides.

   Maybe she smiles - maybe she gets caught in the moment before she’s knocked off of the bird , and Link reaches for her as she reaches to their form before she’s once again tumbling to the ground. 

                ❛  Oh youth , guided by the servant of the goddess . . . 

                           Unite earth and sky . . .

                                     Bring light to the land . . . ❜

   The song plays in her mind , & she recognizes the voice because she knows it’s hers. And once more does she close her eyes , and surrender herself to her surroundings. She hears the sound of Link’s shouting , an older woman - Impa - whistling a song she’d hear to fall asleep as a child. She remembers the look of herself in a painting , and revealing to Link that she was the incarnation of the goddess Hylia - locking herself away into a century’s slumber and asking them to wake her up as she used to do the same.

   And she doesn’t realize she’s on the ground again until she opens her eyes.

   It’s muddy , it’s open , it’s raining , and the only sounds she hears are the same sounds she heard in the mansion - the crawling in the mud & the sound of lasers and suddenly her heart thumps in her chest once more as she remembers the fear of that moment. 

   She’s frozen in fear before she forces herself to get up , to navigate the dark of the night before she notices she stands in a muddy , white silken dress , golden bracelets , and sandals and she looks in front of her , and suddenly there’s Link , and they’re running through the area as Link fells another guardian and staggers to their feet.

    ❝ Link , save yourself !! Go !! ❞ She calls out to them , the words almost mechanical. ❝ I’ll be fine , don’t worry about me !! ❞

   But they don’t move , even though Zelda shouts , ❝ Run !! ❞ and a guardian stands , that evil blue eye staring at the both of them and threatening to strike them both down. And as the clock ticks faster towars impending doom and that warning sound quickens , Zelda can’t take it anymore.

   She shoves herself in front of Link , and with a scream of desperation , ❝ NO !! ❞ . . .

   Light. Light , showcases by the glowing mark of the Triforce on the back of Zelda’s hand , that cursed power she’d kept trying do desperately over and over again to awaken despite her efforts being for naught.

   The power that she knew she had in her yet struggled to release - and in turn , grew disgusted with it. That power that slumbered in her for all of this time in Castle Town , and she convinced herself she was a failure for failing to unlock it again - just like she did those many years ago. History repeats itself.

    A wave of light overtakes the area , and all guardians are rendered useless.

   Zelda lowers her hand to take a look at the mark , confused. ❝ Was . . . Was that . . . ❞ But then she hears Link collapse behind her , and then she realizes that she’s watching them die all over again. And she rushes to them , cradling their body in her arms as she remembers being in this position , watching as the only person they’ve ever had in this goddess damned lifetime fades away before their eyes , a victim to the cruel fate they were both subjected to.

   ❝ No - No , no , no - not again. No , Link , you’re going to be just fine - this can’t happen again , this is all my fault - this can’t happen again - ❞ And she buries her face into their form , knowing again that they have been here all before. They are witnessing the horrors of the calamity all before. And it will be okay in the end and Link will get up and they hear the sound of the spirit in the sword and the VOICE in side of the sword before they -

   She sits up and open their eyes , and she realizes she’s back in the cold rain in Sarah-Anne’s Wood , and the sword is right by her side. Was that a dream ?? It didn’t feel . . . like a dream . . . But she can only assume.

   It takes a few seconds of thought , before she looks and sees that the dormant mark of the Triforce of Wisdom sits on the back of her right hand. She did it. She got what she wanted. She went into the forest and the forest gave her answers . . .

   And as she got those answers , she realized.

   So now why is she angry ??

   She stands shakily on her two feet , and unexpectedly echoes a scream throughout the forest as she looks up at the sky. A scream that could probably be heard throughout Castle Town , a scream that resonates with the holy power of the Goddess - as the blood of the Goddess runs through her veins.

   ❝ I don’t know who you you are , or who a wretched soul like yours believes yourself to be . . . ❞ The princess seethes , as she stares into the sky. 

   ❝ But I am the PRINCESS ZELDA OF HYRULE , and how dare does the likes of you make me forget that !! How DARE does the likes of you make me forget the truth to who I am !! How DARE does the likes of you pull me from those in which I an INTERTWINED !! ❞

   And she looks down , taking a breath and brushing the wet locks of hair out of her eyes. She takes the sword , beginning to walk back through the forest as the Triforce symbol glows like a beacon on the back of her hand.

   ❝ I . . . am Zelda , Princess of Hyrule. I am Zelda , Princess of Hyrule. I am Zelda , Princess of Hyrule. I am Zelda , Princess of Hyrule. I am - ❞

   Her repetition of the words are like a mantra , to reassure herself that she is who she remembers to be and that she now knows what she must do. 

   She’ll have to get to her car as fast as she can - and then go back home. And then she’ll have to talk to Link , to see if they realize where they truly came from and if they remember everything that Zelda now does.

    The princess is awake. 

[winxwannabe]

Second Star

Word Count: 2952 Pairing: Bloom/Jim Rating: T Saying Jim was here to keep an eye on Annabelle was safe; it was something that made sense.  Him being here for her was not. Also available on FFN and Ao3 (will be added in the next few hours)

*rolls up to the party 2 hours late with half a bag of chips and cold queso* HEY KIDS HAPPY 500 FOLLOWERS HERE’S THAT FIC I PROMISED

It was Tecna that asked Bloom to check the roof of the coffee shop on Alton.  Her scanners had picked up a figure an hour or so after closing, and upon reexamination found they were still there.

“It’s probably just some employee, but make sure,” her voice had echoed through the wrist communicator.  “We’ve had enough excitement for the near future.”

Bloom had to laugh at that.  “No kidding.  I’ll keep you updated.”

It had seemed simple enough.

She landed silent as a mouse on the rooftop, expecting to face an adversary if necessary.  At least expecting to give someone a stern talking to for being out so late at night in such a strange place.

What she didn’t expect was the slouched figure, hair tied back in a small ponytail, wearing a jacket that - though she hadn’t really thought about because there were more pressing matters at the time - she secretly hated.  A hook weapon of some kind was on the ground next to him, beside that what looked like a spyglass.

She obviously hadn’t been silent enough.  The figure turned its head just enough to see her, and then back across the street without acknowledgement.

Bloom stepped forward, doing her best her sound stern.  “Were you waiting for me up here or something?”

“I’m here to ask for accompaniment to the frigid Swiss Alps.”

“Jim.”

He rolled his eyes, jutting his chin towards the building across the street.  “Keeping an eye out.  Don’t get your wings in a twist.”

Curious, Bloom stepped closer to the ledge.  The building across the street was full of apartments, some with their lights still on and others with curtains drawn.  One in particular was illuminated among dark windows, and Bloom focused in on it. Inside at a desk was a brunette girl scribbling away at something unable to be seen at such a distance.  But it wasn’t so far away that Bloom didn’t recognize her.

“Annabelle?”

“The Queen’s servants haven’t been around much, but there’s no harm in taking precaution.  Not when it comes to her.”  The last sentence was muttered under his breath.  “We wouldn’t want her gaining the upper hand behind our backs again.”

“True enough.”  Bloom glanced over at Jim, taking in his features.  He looked tired.  “What about The Queen herself?  Has anyone seen her?”

He gave something between a snort and a laugh.  “No.  Not since our final stance of sorts.”

She shivered at the memory; being enclosed in a dark magic bubble, her magic siphoned off until all she felt was cold and fatigue.  Her friends seemingly miles below her, forced to fight against her own powers.

And that being the case until a certain someone cut her free.

“Penny for ‘em,” Jim’s voice brought her out of the memory and back to the roof.  Somewhere below tires screeched and someone laid on their horn for several seconds.

Bloom sighed, finally taking a seat next to him on the ledge.  “Just...Annabelle, Sophie, everyone - they didn’t deserve to be brought into this mess.  We were searching for the talents to protect them, but we ended up bringing trouble with us.”

Jim nodded slightly.  “But it’s also worth considering how much more trouble they would’ve been in without your help.”

“Hmm,” she acknowledged, “but what came first: us, or the trouble?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.  My knowledge is limited to the World of Dreams and the stars.”

Bloom blinked at him.  “Stars?”

“Stars,” Jim agreed, his gaze going up to the night sky.  It was unusually clear; even the smog that usually hung around Gardenia seemed to have faded away.  “I was a ship captain before all this nonsense with the queen started.  And no captain would last a fortnight at sea without knowing how to navigate the stars.”

He trailed off, and raised an eyebrow when Bloom caught his gaze.  “You look surprised.”

“I guess I am a little.”  Bloom shifted so she was laying down on the roof, looking up at the sky, her legs still leaning over the edge of the building.  “Not about the captain thing; that’s...somehow not surprising.”

Bloom heard Jim laugh, and Bloom waited for it to die down before continuing.  “But...the World of Dreams is a place with magic and evil shaman and dark queens fighting for control in dense forests.  It’s the complete opposite of life on Earth and yet...we’re under the same sky.  The same stars.  Doesn’t that just seem strange to you?”

There was rustling next to Bloom that told her Jim had leaned back on the roof as well.  She felt his arm touch hers, and even though they both had sleeves, a shiver went down her back.  “We may be different worlds,” Jim said, his voice much quieter than it had been before, “but that doesn’t change that we’re all under the same sky.  The World of Dreams is practically a straight line from Earth; we see the same things you do, just reversed.

“And from what I’ve gathered during my time here...corrupt rulers, strangers in tune with the supernatural - we have more in common than you think.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“...That may be the first time you’ve ever said that to me.”

She laughed at that.  “Don’t get used to it.”

They trailed off, and for a while the only sound around them was their own breathing and the city below.  There was something tranquil about it, which proved to be a striking distinction from what their lives had been a few short days ago; climbing frigid mountains, battling monsters, and facing off against the forces of evil in a fight for the fate of both their worlds.

“Hey Jim?”

“Hmm?”

“How do you keep the stars straight to navigate a ship?  Don’t you get them mixed up?”

There was a pause.  “If you were to focus on them individually, I suppose.  But you don’t; you focus on the constellations.”

She chuckled at that.  “I could never get those right when I was little.  Trying to see imaginary shapes between bright and less bright balls of light.  My Dad tried to teach me once, but I was labelled a lost cause.”

There was a chuckle.  “Perhaps it’s time for a re-introductory lesson, then.”

Much to Bloom’s shock, she felt his hand slip around her wrist and pull her arm up.  She tensed at first, but then realized he was pointing her hand towards a series of stars in the left of her vision.  “Now, see this group of stars here?”  He guided her hand in a circle around a group of twinkling lights.

“Yeah, but there are dozens in there!”

“Don’t focus on the ones further back; if you have to strain your eyes to see them, they don’t count.  I’m talking about the group at the forefront.  How many do you see?”

She paused for a minute.  “I see...eight?”

“Exactly.  Now,” he maneuvered her hand again to trace between the brightest ones, “see how if you wanted, you could draw a triangle with them?  That one there at the top, those two at the bottom…”

“Well...yeah.  Yeah, I see it.”

“Then you’ve seen a constellation.”

Bloom laughed and turned her head to look at him.  “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he agreed, not moving his gaze from the sky.  For some reason it gave Bloom the smallest twinge of sadness.  “Honestly, it’s easier with this.”

Jim let go of her wrist, and reached over for the spyglass that was lying next to him.  He passed it over to Bloom.  “Look through there.  It’s much easier to see them.”

She obliged, and pointed it in the direction he’d guided her hand.  “So what’s this one called?”

“Andromeda.”

“Why Andromeda?”

“Truly interested?”

Bloom smirked, and handed the spyglass back.  “You know I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

He smiled at that; a genuine smile that Bloom so rarely saw on his face.  “All right...back in the days of the gods, Andromeda’s mother proclaimed herself to be the most beautiful woman in the world.  Others demanded she take it back, and when she refused it was decided Andromeda would be sacrificed to pay for her insolence.

Andromeda's mother took her to the sea and chained her to a rock to be sacrificed to a sea monster.  But as it approached, the hero Perseus appeared.  He was so enamored with her beauty he killed the sea monster, and took Andromeda home to rule as his queen.  And, as a result, their subjects dedicated the stars in her honor.”

“Wow.  And I thought my family had issues.”

Jim laughed.  “Her mother’s there too.”  Again, Jim took Bloom’s hand and circled another cluster of stars.  “Cassiopeia, imprisoned by Zeus in the stars.”

“Deservedly, I guess.”

“Perhaps.  I’m sure someone would disagree.”

Bloom lowered her arm again, and noticed there were several beats before Jim took his hand away.  She looked over again, but he still didn’t meet her gaze.

“So which star is the World of Dreams?”

Jim finally looked over at her, surprised.  “What?”

“I mean, you can see other worlds from here.”  Bloom pointed to a small star in the sky with a purplish hue.  “See that one?  Tecna’s from there.  It’s called Zenith.”

Jim didn’t respond, but raised his eyebrows like he was impressed.  “Are there other planets you know?”

“Uh-uh, I asked you first.”

He gave her a sly grin and propped his head up on his hand so he was looking down at Bloom.  “You’ve been listening to me drone on about Andromeda and Cassiopeia.  Don’t I get to hear your lovely voice go on about nothing for a while?”

Bloom swallowed.  Was it just her imagination, or had his tone gone lower?  “How about this,” said said, and mirrored his pose so they were again eye level.  “You tell me which star is the World of Dreams, and then I’ll name off every single planet I currently know.”

His facial expression didn’t change, but after a moment Bloom felt a hand go around her waist.  It dragged her close, and Bloom had to grab onto his jacket to keep herself up.  She looked at his face, and there was something dancing behind his dark eyes.

“You, love,” Jim said quietly, “have to be one of the most stubborn girls I’ve ever met.”

She shivered again.  “Jim...did you really come here to check on Annabelle?”

He blinked at her.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean...that’s why you’re here right?  The only reason?”

He said nothing.

Bloom’s eyes went wide, because a lack of admission was an admission in and of itself.  Jim saying he was here to keep an eye on Annabelle was safe; it was something that made sense, that could be explained.  Him being here for any other reason -

Him being there for her -

She met his gaze again, and after a moment sighed.  “Jim, we can’t -”

He pressed a finger to her lips - one from his non-gloved hand.  The skin was weathered, but warmer than she expected.  “Give me one reason why.”

Bloom stared at him, at the desire lurking in his eyes, at the way the wind was blowing his bangs across his forehead, at his lips…  

She felt her resolve flow out of her like a river, and the only think Bloom could think to say was:   “Because both our legs are dangling off the side of a building, and with our luck one of us will fall five-stories to the ground.”

That earned her a genuine laugh, and Jim slid himself along the roof until his feet made contact with the concrete.  Then he reached down and pulled Bloom up after him.  She was about to give him a sarcastic ‘thank you’ for his efforts -

But then Jim pulled her against him - much closer than they had been previously - and pressed his lips against hers.

Bloom’s eyes went wide, and for a moment she felt frozen her brain tried to work out whether this was a good thing, or the start of a path that would inevitably lead to more trouble than it was worth.  And then, as quickly as those fears had bubbled up in her chest, they faded away, leaving a warmth that spread down her appendages and made her toes curl.  Her eyes slid shut, and she somehow managed to wrap her arms around his neck.

Jim kissed her with as much confidence as he spoke, and at times Bloom could feel him smirk.  But she took it as a challenge, matching his intensity as their lips slid together and his hands roamed her back.  The intensity slowly morphs into passion, and Jim finally pulls away from her lips, only to start trailing hot, open-mouthed kissed along her throat.

He hit a particularly sensitive spot, and Bloom can’t help the moan that escapes her mouth .  “Oh god…”

“Just your regular semi-immortal man, but I’m flattered nonetheless.”

She heaved, trying desperately to regain her breath.  “S...Shut up, Jim.”

His lips halted, and a second later Bloom was looking him in the eyes.  The intensity there was gone, replaced with something hypnotic and much more lustful.  “Make me.”

Her chest exploded with fire, and she fisted her hands in his jacket as she crashed her lips against his again.  Jim took her in stride, and Bloom felt his gloved hand reach up and take hold of the zipper on the front of her jumpsuit.  “You know,” he breathed between kisses, “You look awfully hot in that.”

“Oh?” she asked, beginning to peel his jacket back from one shoulder.  “Maybe you could help me with that.”

His lips pressed against hers in short, wet kisses, and Bloom heard the metallic clink of him starting to pull it down.  “Well, if you’re so instant - ”

“Bloom?”

They jumped apart from each other, the lustful haze around them shattering.  Bloom’s eyes went to door leading inside the building, but no one was there.  She looked back at Jim, who appeared just as startled as she was.

“Bloom?  Come in Bloom!”

The voice sounded again.  From Bloom’s wrist.

She looked down at the watch, shining faintly compared to the lights of the city and stars around them.  Embarrassment washed over her, and Bloom sat up on the roof, taking a second to regain her breathing. She pressed the butterfly-shaped watchface.  “I’m here Tecna, do you copy?”

“There you are!  We hadn’t heard anything from you in a while.  Is everything okay up there?”

Bloom looked over at Jim, his expression now unreadable.  “U-Uh, yeah.  Everything’s fine.  No problem at all.”

“Great.  If you don’t mind then, I could use your help back here analyzing some of the data I took on the World of Dreams.”

Her heart sank lower.  “...Of course.  I’ll be right there.”

The watch beeped, and the light on its face blinked off.  As soon as it did Bloom exhaled, putting a hand to her head.  She felt exhausted all of a sudden.

There was a sound of scraping shoes, and Bloom looked up to see Jim standing and shrugging back into his jacket.  “It seems you have some more pressing matters to attend to.”

Bloom bit her lip.  “It looks like it.”

He offered a hand, and Bloom took it, standing and brushing some dust off her legs.  “I...think we got a little carried away.”

“It seems we did.”  He smiled slightly, another genuine one, and reached out to her.  Bloom was confused for a minute before she heard the sound of a zipper, sliding back up to the top of her suit.  She felt her cheeks redden.  “You better go before someone comes looking for you.”

“Yeah...I guess so.  And you better get back to guard duty.”

“I suppose I better.”

Bloom nodded, and finally took a step back.  She was about to turn away when a thought came to her.  “You never answered my question.”

“What question?”

“Which star is the World of Dreams?”

Jim stared at her for a minute, then burst out laughing.  Bloom half expected a fight, but he turned and pointed at the sky.  “It’s in the bottom of Andromeda.  Those two stars in the bottom left of the triangle: the one on the right.”

She followed his finger.  “Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning.”

His head snapped back to her.  “...I wasn’t aware that was a phrase used here.”

“It’s old; from a fairytale…” she trailed off, purposely averting her gaze.  “Maybe I could show it to you sometime.”

There wasn’t a response, and when Bloom looked back that smirk was right back on Jim’s face as if it’d never left.  “I think I’d like that.”

Bloom smiled back, and with that finally turned and walked to the other side of the roof, picking up the pace the closer she got.  She jumped off the edge and landed on the building at the other side, and kept running back towards the van.

Bloom didn’t bother asking if Jim would be back.  She had a feeling she knew the answer.

[classywastelandbread-blog]

Things Soothed By Tea

All the pretty girls said “pick me up at 8” All the pretty girls said “I’m headed to LA” All the pretty girls said “I hate my hair” Talking to the mirror in their underwear

~All The Pretty Girls by Kenny Chesney

Li Xuan-Feng’s hands shook.

They ran their fingers over the bare flesh of their ribs, feeling the natural divots of bone and the unnatural curve where a broken rib had healed badly. The soft morning light did them better justice than the harsh fluorescent bulbs in the lamp beside the mirror, which would more highlight the play of light and shadow on their pale golden skin. On a good day they would appreciate the sharp lines they cut against their thin body, how the bright glow turned their skin shades lighter than it really was.

…but this was not a good day.

Today they wanted the soft natural light of the sun to cast charcoal fingers, try to hide the visible curve of their ribs and diaphragm, the hollows of their collarbones. One sat strangely, not quite symmetrical with the other and the pale pink scar along their shoulder seemed like the leering grin of a hungry demon.

So reminded of scars, their eyes caught the signs of the others, some healed and nearly-invisible, others more obvious than the others. They all seemed grouped, clustered, drawn to their ribs like a magnet. On a good day they would find this amusing but again, this wasn’t a good day.

Their fingers, still shaking, left the unnatural curl of their ribs to trace one such scar: a knife wound from a misspent youth or perhaps one could say it was simply from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They had dodged the initial lunge for the most part, but the knife had sunk an inch into the skin and muscle. The worst of the damage had been done when their assailant had pulled the knife out – the serrated blade had scored a deep line in their ribs.

There was another one: a whip weal of all things from a child who thought they were cool than they truly were for having one and cooler for using it to strike a freak of nature like Li Xuan-Feng.

Their hands were shaking, their fingertips becoming cold – colder because they always seemed to be somewhat chilled. Turning from the mirror, they got dressed.

Today it was in an old English style like their foster-mum had worn on such days: thick leggings, a long wool skirt, and a long-sleeved button-up. Makeup as well – just enough to cover their pallor, the shadows beneath their eyes; red lipstick to give the impression of more confidence than what they felt.

The phone rang (big surprise there) as they were locking the door behind them. “Hai, moshi-moshi,” they said absently as they wrestled the key from the lock.

“Good morning!” Aimi-sama said in rough Mandarin. It had been her goal to learn their native tongue but it was difficult going since she had half-learned Cantonese from someone named Herbalist Tang – she kept confusing her words in either language which to her sounded more or less the same.

“Good morning, Aimi-sama,” they replied, glad to hear that their voice didn’t waver. The hand not holding the phone still shook and they clenched their fist in the silk-lined pocket of their pea coat and ordered it – as if it would listen – to stop. “How may I help you this morning?”

Not ready, the small, childish voice buried deep at their center said. Not ready, not ready, not ready. It was a voice that they were fairly certain would stay with them forever; they simply learned to ignore it because the Shimadas were more important, more interesting than the doubt-ridden voice.

“I was hoping that you would join us for tea this morning,” Aimi-sama said, switching back to Japanese. “How would I say that?”

The enormous torii gates rose in the distance, the start of the grounds of the Ueoka-Shimada shrine. Lao Fugui, the owner of a small teashop nearby, waved as he caught sight of them down the hill. Absently, Li Xuan-Feng repeated the phrase for her in Mandarin, and then again, slower, so she could hear the accents better.

Lao Fugui, hearing them as they approached, rolled his eyes. With their free hand, they held up a fist with their thumb and little finger extended; Lao Fugui prepared the requested amount and traded it for the bills Li Xuan-Feng held out.

“I’ll need to work on that,” Aimi-sama said.

In the background of the call, Li Xuan-Feng could hear Jesse say, “Is that Li?” but with the cowboy’s accent, it sounded more like Lĭì which made them, seemingly against all odds, smile. “Annyeonghaseyo!”

Li Xuan-Feng smiled so widely that Lao Fugui looked suspiciously at them. Still, he waved politely and then made a rude gesture as if to shoo them away. Ignoring him, they continued down the path toward the shrine gate.

“He’s very proud of himself,” Aimi-sama said in Japanese, most likely to spare Jesse the embarrassment of knowing they were gossiping about the accent that pervaded all of his words.

Li Xuan-Feng chuckled and even the doubtful voice was mollified a bit. “Baby steps. I just bought some tea from Lao Fugui,” they added. “Enough for all of us.”

“Lovely!” Aimi-sama said, switching to English, most likely for Jesse. “Hanzo is making breakfast. Have you eaten yet?”

Not ready, not ready, not ready, the voice inside them moaned.

“What about me?” they heard Jesse ask in the background.

Distantly, they heard Hana-chan say, “You’re eating all of the fixin’s!”

“Am not!” they heard Jesse argue. Then, “You’re eating jus’ as much as me!”

Talking over them, Aimi-sama said, “About how far away are you?”

“I’m just exiting the first courtyard,” Li Xuan-Feng told her, their pace subtly quickening. They stopped beside one of the many stone gardens, startling the miko tending to it. Such a novel experience, to be so excited for something so simple, they mused to themselves, giving a short bow to the miko in apology. Chihiro-san rolled her eyes but returned the bow with a sly smile and returned to her work. “I will be there in a few moments.”

The water was already boiling in the old-fashioned kettle on the stove, which they could faintly hear whistling, when they took off their boots at the door, and Hana-chan was there at the shoji door to greet them excitedly. Proudly she showed off her makeup – she kept the two triangles on her face like down-turned whiskers, colored in with the bright pink pencil they had both gotten at the store. They were more or less symmetrical, but her eyeliner almost wasn’t, one eye being slightly darker than the other and one upturned point slightly longer than the other side.

Smiling, they gently wiped the longer side to make it more even and cupped her cheeks in their hands.

They realized that they were still shaking minutely when she covered their hands with her own and squeezed them gently. There was a sad kind of understanding they didn’t expect to see in an eleven year-old but then, Hana-chan was far from your typical child. “Come on!” she said excitedly in English. “Hanzo’s almost done! He made enchiladas!”

Still holding their hands, she tugged them into the main part of the house where Jesse, under Aimi-sama’s direction, was just pouring boiling water from the kettle into the teapot to serve. He nearly spilled it when he looked up and tried to wave but caught himself at just the last minute. Aimi-sama slapped his shoulder for his inattention when he put the heavy kettle down but the cowboy only laughed, carrying on as if it were a mortal wound.

Hana-chan tugged them toward the table with the tea. “Will you show me how to make tea correctly?” she asked but despite the phrase and inflection it was very much a demand. They handed over the tea they had bought and Hana-chan let them hide their shaking hands under the table as they instructed her.

Not ready, not ready, not ready.

They watched Hanzo emerge from the kitchen, a steaming dish in their hands. As he passed Jesse he paused for a kiss and Aimi­-sama rolled her eyes fondly at them. Jesse set out plates and utensils while Hanzo carefully placed the hot dish on a metal cooling rack; Aimi-sama brought out small dishes of onions, more cheese, refried beans, olives, shredded lettuce, and diced tomatoes. No one let them get up to help and Hana-chan claimed that she needed them next to her to make sure she didn’t ruin good tea.

As the youngest she poured first for Aimi-sama, then for Li Xuan-Feng – as the guest of honor, she explained – then Hanzo, Jesse, and finally herself. She leaned rudely over them too, to make them a plate – before Jesse eats it all! She had explained as the cowboy protested – but they couldn’t find it in themselves to mind even a little.

The family’s chatter washed over them as they curled their chilled fingers around the heavy ceramic mug painted with a smug cat’s smile. The childish, doubtful voice still whispered, not ready, not ready, not ready, but it was easy to drown it out with Jesse’s booming laughter and hooked syllables, with Hanzo’s dry humor, and Hana-chan’s childish glee.

Aimi-sama smiled at them across the table and toasted them quietly with her own mug. Smiling, they returned the gesture, their shakes more under control, and sipped their tea.

I’d been struggling to find a way for Li Xuan-Feng enjoy their tea and isn’t that the saddest thing? But on the way in to work this morning I heard this on my usual country station and realized that despite how confident, personable, and competent they seem, they are still plagued with the usual insecurities - more so in some ways. 

[shiparmada]

Sweet with a Little Heat Chapter 2

Here’s the second chapter of Sweet with a Little Heat! Enjoy!

Bakery AU

Click here for AO3

Chapter One

Baze’s hands were wrist deep in bread when his mama walked back into the kitchen. Her apron was covered in flour, and despite that she was still trying to wipe her hands on them. “Your boyfriend is here,” Baze’s mama said, wearing a wicked grin that made Baze blush. “He’s asking for you. I told him you were busy kneading the buns and he asked if you would be able to help him knead his. I like him.”

Baze let out a hot breath, gripped the dough in his hands, little pieces of dough coming out from between his fingers. “He’s not my boyfriend, Mama. He’s a fool.” He pushed down on the dough, the heels of his palms sliding deep enough to feel the rough texture of the board beneath them. “And of course you like him,” Baze muttered, pulling his hands back to fold the bread, going for another round of kneading.

His mama moved up next to him, leaning over to kiss his cheek and pat his shoulder. “Go out there and help him. I can handle the rolls.”

Baze let out a groan but he pulled his hands out of the thick dough, stomping towards the sink. “Mama, why can’t you handle it?” Baze asked, even as he was washing the stickiness from his hands. “I don’t even like him.” It was true, he did not. Chirrut was loud and obnoxious, had a way of taking over the entire shop no matter how many people were in it. It was infuriating. It was only made worse by the fact that Chirrut had been there every day that week, asking after Baze, finding out what days he was not working. Yes, Chirrut îmwe was infuriating.

“If it’s not you then he will not buy anything,” his mama answered, crossing her thick arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him. “Do you want your mothers to go out of business?”

Baze let out a huff, taking off his own apron and hanging it on the wall hook. “Mama, if losing Chirrut îmwe’s business is enough to bankrupt us, then we are off a lot worse than I thought.” He let out a breath and moved to the swinging door separating the kitchen from the front. He ignored his mama’s laughter as he pushed on through.

Chirrut was standing out the counter next to the case. His letterman jacket was gone, which Baze could almost be grateful for except now there was nothing to hide the garish shirt he was wearing. It was a teal button-up, covered in pink hibiscus and flamingos. The only thing that saved it was the fact that the short sleeves showed off his muscular arms. Not that Baze was thinking about Chirrut’s arms. Chirrut’s fingers were sliding over the patterns on the counter, dipping and lifting over the tile and grout. Once the door closed behind Baze, Chirrut’s head sprang up, and that easy bright smile spread over his face, showing too much of his upper gums. “Baze Malbus!” Chirrut called, not lifting his head or turn it to Baze. “I heard that you were hiding from me!” His tone was light with no heat in it.

“I was not hiding,” Baze muttered, walking over to the counter and putting his hands on the counter. Chirrut smile only grew and he pushed himself off the counter, hands sliding back to his cane. “What can I get you, Chirrut?” Baze asked. “Something with cinnamon again?”

“Mm…” Chirrut hummed, tilting his head a bit. “No, not today. Do you have things besides baked goods? Coffee? Tea maybe?”

“Yes, we have tea” Baze said instantly, turning and grabbing one of the mugs from behind him. Baze then paused. The one he had grabbed was smooth and white, perfectly plain and easy to get anywhere, easy to replace if one broke. Sitting next to it though was his mom’s favorite mug. His mama had picked it up for her on a whim, covered in polka dots that popped out from the body of the mug, each polka dot surrounded by words of love in different languages, and the handle was ridged. It must have found its way down from the apartment somehow. Baze set down the plain mug and picked up the textured mug, setting it on the counter. Chirrut did not need to know about the words surrounding the dots.

“What kind?” Chirrut asked, his seeking hands reaching out and touching the mug. His smile turned into delight when fingers found it, sliding over the differing textures of the mug.

Baze turned and he grabbed the tea stand, pulling it over and looking over the different teas. “Most every kind… my mom likes to collect tea… there’s mint, green, English breakfast…” he started reading, his voice trailing off a bit, feeling self-conscious under the weight of Chirrut’s bright and happy smile.

“I think I’ll have mint tea today,” Chirrut said brightly. “I will have to try all of the teas before the summer is over. Do you think I could get through your mother’s entire collection by then?”

Baze let out an affirmative grunt and then reached to take the mug from Chirrut’s hand, his fingers brushing against Chirrut’s. The smile on Chirrut’s face changed, the warmness of it turning into more of a heat. It made Baze’s blush return and he was ever glad Chirrut could not see it. He turned and poured in hot water and slid in the triangle tea bag from the box. He cleared his throat and set it in front of Chirrut’s hand, sliding it over until it tapped his hand. “Here… One fifty.”

“Aww, I don’t get it for free today?” Chirrut teased, but his hand pulled out a wallet and he flicked it open, pulling out two dollars and handing them both in Baze’s direction. “Is there a tip jar?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Baze answered, finishing the transaction through the cash register and pulling out the fifty cents in change. “Do you want me to put it in the tip jar for you?”

Chirrut scoffed at that, holding out his hand. “No! Of course not,” Chirrut’s words snapped in a way that Baze had not heard before, and it stunned Baze enough that he did not think before handing over the coins. Chirrut took them in hand and then felt out with his other. When his hand hit the tip jar, he grinned triumphantly and dropped the coins inside.

“I could have done that,” Baze said before he had a chance to think about it or stop himself.

“I know,” Chirrut said, and his hand found the hot mug of tea again, lifting it and sipping it gently. “But I did not want you to. It’s the principle of the thing.” He sipped his tea and let out a long breath, his triumphant grin softening on the corners. “Will you join me, Baze?”

“Join you?” No one had ever asked a question like that, Baze wondered for a moment what the joke was.

“For tea,” Chirrut said, as if it was perfectly normal for him to ask employees to sit and chat with him in dining establishments. After a moment Baze decided that it might be perfectly normal in Chirrut’s world.

Baze cleared his throat and shook his head before he remembered that Chirrut could not see it. “No, I um… I’m working.”

“It’s dead in here,” Chirrut pointed out, moving away from the counter and towards his usual table, cane sliding back and forth over the floor. “Come on, if someone comes in you can leave me for a customer!” Chirrut called over his shoulder before he sank into one of the chairs, folding up his cane and hanging it from the corner of the chair.

Baze let out a breath, reminding himself again that he did not even like Chirrut îmwe, but it was tempting. He had been awake since sunrise again thanks to his mom and it would be nice to finally have a break. He said nothing to give his assent though, going over and pulling the chair back, watching Chirrut as his grin grew again, and then he sat in the chair with a small huff. Baze leaned back in the chair, throwing an arm over the back of it, and looking over at Chirrut. He said nothing. His mama would smack him for being rude if she saw.

If Baze’s silence bothered Chirrut, he did not show it. His smile softened into a polite close-mouthed smile, but that was the only shift in his demeanor. “So,” he said, “what are you studying at college?”

“Philosophy,” Baze said, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. A lot of people in the past had given him a lot of crap for his decision, many jokes about there being no jobs for a philosopher, many people quoting ‘I think therefore I am’. It was tiring, and Baze felt justified in his defensiveness.

Chirrut’s reaction he did not predict though. “Oh wow,” Chirrut said, suddenly grinning again, unable to control himself. “I was thinking about being a philosophy major too! I’ve taken two philosophy classes now, and I’ve been enjoying them. My grandparents want me to take up a major like biology or chemistry, but then I ask them who’s going to hire a blind doctor!” Chirrut let out a laugh. “Not that I wouldn’t be an amazing doctor,” Chirrut said with that cheeky grin, “but I’m honestly not that interested in medicine. I’ve really enjoyed my philosophy classes though.”

Baze blinked under the onslaught of words, trying to follow the thread and his eyebrows came together when it came back to where it had started. “Oh… um… yeah. I really enjoyed them too.” Baze stopped there for a moment, thinking through his words before he said, “I really enjoyed that my professors wanted me to debate with them… that nothing was concrete, so many different philosophies meant that none of them was necessarily right or wrong, it depended on how you saw it.” Baze cleared his throat, cheeks flushing when he realized how much he had spoken. He shifted in the chair, listening to the legs scrape against the floor again.

Chirrut was still smiling though, leaning on his elbows on the table, waiting for Baze to continue. When Baze did not, Chirrut filled the silence effortlessly, “Well, then I do believe that philosophy was the right choice for me. I hope that we have more classes together, I would love to listen to you debate with more professors.” Chirrut’s thumb slid over the ridged handle of the mug before lifting it to his lips again. “What do you think you’ll do after school?”

“This,” Baze answered instantly. He cleared his throat. “I don’t… I don’t know why I’m at school sometimes, since I know I’ll just end up here. My moms are just so proud of me for going to school…” Baze swallowed down the sudden swell of emotions, the anxiety and pressure Baze put on himself. It was too much to handle. Chirrut seemed to sense this and he did not push the subject. “Why did you take Art History?” Baze asked when the silence stretched too far.

“You think blind people can’t enjoy art?” Chirrut asked, and before Baze could bluster out an apology, Chirrut laughed. “No no, you’re fine, I’m just messing with you.” Chirrut smiled brightly, and his hand reached out, patting Baze’s elbow. “Huh, you’re farther away than I thought,” Chirrut said, before getting back on subject, “I wasn’t planning on taking it, but I needed the units, and my friend was taking it. She was great, but she was too clinical.”

Baze’s eyebrows came together again, watching the man across from him as he withdrew his hand to take another sip of tea. “What do you mean by clinical?”

“Well,” Chirrut started, and then set the mug back down on the table. “Let’s do a test. Describe the bakery to me.”

“What?”

“Just humor me.”

Baze hummed and he looked around, thinking for a long moment, before he said, “It’s warm. It feels like home… it… has a lot of windows, so it’s bright… I don’t really know what you’re looking for here.”

“No, that was perfect,” Chirrut said, thumbs sliding over the handle of the mug again. “No, that’s the kind of description I like… It gives me a feeling for what a place looks like, not necessarily the room’s specs, you know? I can find out myself that the space is thirty feet by forty feet, I can read in a book that a painting has four dogs and is eighteen feet tall… but that doesn’t tell me what that painting is. Sometimes, even, the feeling from looking at a room is different than the feeling I get from a room. I like to know these things. So her descriptions often painted a picture for me, if you’ll excuse the pun, but a lot of it is useless to me if I don’t know what kind of meaning the painting gives.” Chirrut shrugged. “She is a good friend, I hate to criticize her like that, but I got more out of what a painting meant when you were debating with the professor than I got from her descriptions.”

Baze’s heart fluttered in his chest for a moment and he cleared his throat. “Well… I’m glad I could do that for you.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but the door opened and another customer came in. “I have to help this customer,” he said, not seeing Chirrut’s flash of disappointment or his nod as Baze went back to the counter to help the customer.

When the customer left, Baze did not go back to the table. A second customer was quick on the heels of the first one, and Baze helped the man pick out a nice cake for his anniversary. Baze’s eyes kept wandering back to Chirrut, watching as the man sat, listening to everything, sipping his tea. At one point Baze heard Chirrut pull out his phone and listen to a mechanical voice speak far too quickly for Baze’s ears to follow. Baze was getting ready to join Chirrut when another customer came in. Baze had to swallow the swear that wanted to escape his lips, and did his best to help the next customer. It was during that customer that Chirrut picked up his phone and left, calling a goodbye to Baze that Baze could not return because of the other customer.

Three or four more customers came in, and Baze was lost in the rush of work, finally moving to the table he and Chirrut had shared once everyone was gone. The textured mug sat on the table, now empty and cold, and it made a small part of Baze’s heart ache. He lifted the cup, brought it through the kitchen, washed it, and then returned it back to the rest of the bakery’s mugs.

[spezria-cobra-awesomeness]

Till Death Do Us Part, Fandom

Questions taken from here! 

1. Who are your biggest suspects going into the finale?  (add motive if you want to!) 

I just keep wanting to say Wren because that’s who I thought it was in 6A and I will continue to believe that until I am proven wrong. 

2. What are some things you really hope to see in the finale? (non mystery related)

I want to see the story wrap up happily because these girls have been tortured for so long, I think they deserve to live a normal life after all of this. 

3. What are some things you really hope to see in the finale? (mystery related)

It’s unrealistic to expect at this point, but honestly, a tie up of some unanswered questions that really bother me, mostly pertaining to Melissa, Wilden, Bethany, and even Alison. (4x24 just didn’t do enough for me.)

4. What do you not want to see happen?

Though my thoughts and opinions of Ezria have evolved throughout the years, I still don’t want to see Ezra dead. I also don’t want to see Mona dead.

5. What are you going to miss the most about PLL Tuesday’s?

Hanging out with my friends and watching the show live while I eat pizza. Followed by some theorizing and reading funny Tumblr posts. 

6. What won’t you miss about PLL Tuesday’s?

Having my brain in such hyper mode after the episode that it would distract me from sleep (even though I had school/work early the next day). 

7. What’s been your favourite theory over the years? 

Though I never really believed it, the Aria is A theories got so detailed and picky, I could have believed it and I still wonder about some of those theories sometimes. 

8. What’s the *one* thing that could happen in the finale that would ruin the series for you?

If the writers do everything they did in 7x10, because that episode is honestly the only episode I really hated from the entire show. 

9. What’s been your favourite thing about all 7 seasons?

The positive, honest portrayal of female friendship. It was such an uncommon representation before PLL, really. Female friendships weren’t there to cause drama or argue over boys... They truly loved each other, and that’s how I feel about my female friends.

10. What’s been your least favourite thing about all 7 seasons?

All of the love triangles. Does anyone even like those? And, of course, some of the teeth-grinding unanswered plot holes. 

11. What’s your favourite episode and why? (Pick up to three!)

I love most of the episodes, but... 4x12: I just remember being SO EXCITED and charged by it! 4x19: I actually really loved the artsiness and intrigue of this episode. 5x25 and 6x01: THE DOLLHOUSE WAS JUST SUCH A SHOCK AND I CAN’T BELIEVE THE WRITERS HID THAT UNDER THEIR SLEEVES UNTIL IT HAPPENED. 5x01-5x08: I was really hooked into the mystery during these episodes, and I still remember specifically watching these to this day. 

12. Has this show taught you anything? Has it changed you in any way?

I will direct this question to the “goodbye letter” I wrote on my blog yesterday. 

13. Who has been your favourite guest star (recurring guest stars are allowed)?

Holden, apparently. I found that out when he appeared in season 7 and I was literally screaming.  

14. Who has been your least favourite guest star (recurring guest stars are allowed)?

The awkwardly forced Adam Lambert and that one Olympic swimmer, Missy something. 

15. Favourite storyline?

JUST ALL OF 4B AND 5A, AND THE DOLLHOUSE AND POST-DOLLHOUSE. 

16. Least favourite storyline?

Anything involving a love triangle.

17. Favourite liar? (Mona and Alison INCLUDED)

I have to choose #Sparia.

18. Least favourite liar?

I used to love Hanna, but lately I feel like her character has fallen flat. 

19. Character (any character) you’ll miss the most?

Sparia, and also Mona and Ezra. 

20. Character (any character) you won’t miss at all?

All of this Emison stuff has made me realize that even though individually I love Alison and Emily for their complexity, I don’t want them together and I will just easily bid them goodbye after tonight.