#rendering Ruby objects

[ziicherry]

flower rendering practice 🤑🤑

[scentedpepper]

Embered Metamorphisis

JASPER HALE X WEREWOLF!GN READER

● gif by @goodomcns

Summary: The aftermath of transfroming into a giant, raging wolf isn't kind to you --yet, your sworn enemy is.

Content Warnings: Uhhhh, descriptions of bones cracking, hair sprouting and such werewolf things.

Other Pairings: Sam Uley x GN Reader, Wolf Pack mentioned, Carlisle and Edward mentioned.

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Slowly slipping back into my twilight phase...

We didn't get enough struggles of being a quileute shapeshifter content so heres your stuggles of being a quileute shapeshifter content

Yeah I'm changing up my format but does that mean that I'm going back and re editing all 8 parts of leon kennedy series —lol

I have a marvel fic written and I literally have no excuse as to why its taking me so long to edit but yk

Heres twilight instead?

_________________________________________

You pulled your eyelids closer to your waterline, the splash of water against your searing hot face felt dull compared to the tear shaped lava dripping down the curve of your back, meeting at the waistband of your boxers and leaving a sour, pungent smell within the fabric. 

Your body shook with such agony, that had you been the fragile, human-esque being that you posed as, your bones would have liquified; bones that turned a delicate peach flower shade of cream.

If you looked up into the mirror in front of you, you were sure, at this rate, you'd see steam floating off the very skin that had stretched and molded itself and grew hair the length of a beanstalk all over your body. But this wasn't the pain that tore apart every neuron in your brain, and rendered you to nothing but a shivering, aching mess.

It was something else, and even with your mind so sluggish, so disoriented and tired that you could easily sleep for several days and your stomach, pouring out gurgling noises of bregrudement that you could barely hear over the own ringing in your ears, ached with its hunger.

You seemed to be grunting to yourself, atop the linoleum flooring of your bathroom that you felt as if your feet were burning holes into. You made your own noises out in passing, brief, in and out moments where your ears tuned back to your surroundings. Huffs. Whistling. There was faint cursing.

Stupid. Fuckin stupid. The voice ran through your foggy mind, an echo of rage.

Your entire body shook with such a powerful force, so dolorous in nature, that your eyes held heavy purple bags beneath them. You squinted them ever further closed, yet the light seeped out from the crevices like tears.

You didn't dare look to the light, it'd be like blinding yourself to the sun because everything now was 10 times brighter, clearer, intense. You heard each beat of your pulse right behind your ears, it wasn't as much 'thump, thump, thump' as a constant noise that felt more like you were vibrating.

It was all the more aggravating, all of it.

Your muscles were spasming beneath you and the longer you stood the more you couldn't feel your toes. The longer you locked yourself in your bathroom, huddled into the furthest corner, the closer you felt death crawling along your own skin.

What are you? That question held such power to pull the rug beneath your feet. Objectively, you knew. Sam had crossed borders to ensure you didn't break the treaty anymore than he already was. And your mind held such a haze that not even now you could clearly decipher what exactly had happened.

The haze acted as a wall between your mind and Sam's, even as he commanded you, tumbled with you through the woods, wrestled you to the forest floor, leaves and broken branches caught in your fur as he snapped and snarled above you; he couldn't see clearly what happened. Let alone explain to you the precise point that your wolfy instincts -because apparently that was a thing you held within your very being- reigned.

All you could recall was a few faces.

Jasper's visage, etched with both horror and regret, staring back at you with rubies -as if you were the monster and not him. 

At some point, you could faintly remember him speaking to you from below as his hands fiercely held your snout, telling you to transform back into your usual self. But his face...it spoke volumes at how ready he was to run if not needed, to flee. Like in that moment, the only difference between life and death were the few inches separating you both.

Then there was Carlisle. You don't remember what happened in between but you recall seeing the struggle in his and Edward's faces as they attempted to hold you down without hurting you and having themselves killed in the process.

With Sam, the memories were clearer, sharper. They kept surfacing like bubbles on a swirly tub.

He too spoke but the difference between him and Jasper was that his were demands, not pleas. 

Each plea was so faint against his normal voice -shockingly enough- and you could always recollect his words like a chanting, mantra of those just told a horrific, traumatizing tale.

 "Concentrate. " Was what he said.

Your name. Sometimes the shortened version with his southern drawl etched in at the edges.

But your bones didn't ease themselves in molding, twisting, grinding back into their shape until Sam got there. More importantly, that uncomfortable heated feeling of hair pushing itself out from your flesh faded to a shiver.

And your faint memories did not aid the man, who you'd previously held an unimaginable grudge against, in easing you into the subject. So, he stuck to what he knew, what he was sure made the most sense to any half-man, half-wolf in your situation. 

Quileute blood. This. That.

Each time you gritted your teeth, clacked them, your canines jarring against each other as he droned on about the treaty, about the vampires, about your time around all of them at once probably being the source of your trigger.

The magic in your blood lit ablaze like gasoline poured onto a pile of wood inside of you. And you didn't understand. Wouldn't for a while until you were coherent, not like this. But the idea of you simply being the one to blame had your mouth pursing shut, biting hard enough to draw that salty copper smell across your tongue.

Subjectively, as you stood in your bathroom, eyelids stapled shut, brain still muddled, body hotter than hot itself. Shaking. Teeth, sharper than usual, still dug painfully into the open wound in your mouth, pulling your lips back harshly.

You didn't know what to call yourself.

Werewolf.

Shapeshifter.

Monster.

They all seemed to mean the same thing.

Vampire.

Cold ones.

Blood sucker.

Those all meant the same too.

Enemy.

Your heart stung at that; painful. Sharp. There was something wet coming down your cheeks but you didn't acknowledge it. Barely registered the sound of your bones cracking from inside, the stretch and pull as tendons and ligaments reformed to shape your humanoid form.

Your teeth didn't let go of your lip as your body continued to reform itself in the correct places, your feet dirtied from the bottoms after you stalked through the woods behind your house, naked and scathed from your only 3rd transformation in counting.

You were not yet adjusted, that much was obvious as the rest of the wolves watched you stumble into your home before you were out of sight. Not because they could smell your shame or the pain you were in, not because your face was still smeared with mud and slobber. But because something struck their ears just then, the sound loud enough to echo from miles behind you and they recognized it for what it was.

A whimper. Pain, so visceral and agonizingly immense you almost keeled forward and gasped for air as soon as the shuddery whine passed.

You'd found your bedroom floor before you clung to the bathroom sink as you were now, the bite doing little but help rid the bitterness and tang on your tongue. The pit of your stomach tightened for a moment as your ears began picking up on your mother's soft shuffling noises and you could tell her exact location, how she fidgeted around on the couch.

But you were again drawn back into yourself and the memories seemed to flash once more as your body convulsed and twisted, feverously hot and unbearably sticky. But each pain felt like pure acid seared against a wound.

There were some parts that you noticed as things changed within your entire human psyche. For instance, the room, your room, smelled differently; it tasted differently. Your eyes, what were usually able to scatter quick glances about yourself yet it came off as completely relaxed and indifferent, your pupils darted as if you had a million things to look at.

This time, your lungs felt small, compressed and with that came each bit of scent the bathroom provided. All of it.

The hint of floral perfume that resided with your sister, most likely used the bathroom beforehand.

The watered-down aloe essence of a bottle of SPF that you guessed to be your brothers because it was strong, closer than the rest.

Then the sweetness of your mother's strawberry cream soap she splashed onto her hair in the morning and onto her skin not long before her eyes were drooping.

The musk of cologne, the sweatiness from the summer night. Some aftershave and others, toothpaste. The mint lingering from it assaulted your olfactories like the taste of charcoal briquettes did your dry throat.

It was everything all at once yet, each scent, noise, sight, touch was distinct. Picked out and pinpointed. You could hear your own heartbeat. You could hear how loudly the door caved a centimeter in its frame when the air from the fan swirled into the vent.

And when the sink began to crumble under your grip it was loud, deafening. A tidal wave and snap made entirely of your own anger. You couldn't bear to look in the mirror. You couldn't bear to lift your head and see a monster looking back at you.

You'd been in this state for hours, every minute, every single second, you could feel the warmth of the blood pumping through your veins, moving each muscle slowly, one by one. You knew the bone structure had settled as you curled in on yourself, facing the wall by the sink.

For the first half hour -though to you it felt like two- your mother had banged against the door, concerned by the slight creak and the heat you emitted through it. She cursed, cried. Stomped. After a while it became nothing but background noise to your ears, the vibrations going ignored against the center of your back, directly underneath her hand.

You heard her steps across the floor and the buzz of the phone line and then Sam but the searing hot pain encapsulating your muscles blocked you from hearing what he was saying; the only two words you picked up was 'let' and 'normal'. In short, he was barking reassuring sentences that were more mumbled than articulated in your ears.

More importantly, you could faintly sense just how long Sam had been on the line with your mother. Time kept going and the more it did, the clearer everything was from the white paint chipping off the door frames, to the noises in your own body.

But the heat never ceased, you couldn't find any salve that stenched and wouldn't flare your instincts even further, and any attempt to scratch yourself in frustration and ease the sting left a burning in your arm and no relief.

You were hot.

Hot.

Wet.

Hot and wet and burning.

You were burning, literally burning. Every nerve, every bit of skin was put on a sensitive scale against the brightest scalding iron fire and it fucking hurt. It fucking hurt so much, the longer it went on, and the longer it did go on, the quicker the seconds ticked by and you dripped and dripped in sweat and you couldn't seek any salvation of cold even as you continue to drown your face, your hair, your seething skin in cold water.

Your body reacted in the worst possible ways, taking every inch of your willpower to not lash out at your family members as they fussed over you in complete and utter worry, turning up the AC to arctic like degrees as they all bundled underneath quilts and heavy sweaters as the rain pattered harshly against the metal roofing.

It took an angry snarl, snapping from your teeth clacking together aggressively in the general direction of your family as their constant pacing, their buzzing over your conditions that they had finally settled. Tried to act like you weren't being tortured by your own cells, membranes, nerves and veins.

Your muscles cramped on multiple occasions in their adjustment and every time, Sam would be through the screen door, speaking loudly over the crashing of thunder and lightning, spouting off nonsense to assure you that, 'it gets better with time, it'll pass, focus on what it feels like to transform back faster'.

And you would cry out to him in rage, telling him to leave, go back home, to shut up, that this was his fault, his doing, and, for a moment, you seemed to scare yourself with just how animalistic your words were, sounding more like a literal wolf than actual human speech.

He was wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong. 

All wrong.

This shouldn't be happening.

With nothing to help ease the pain, you'd found yourself, wrenching the knob of the faucet off of the handle and it had shattered with a small zap that you felt against your searing hands.

Again, your body convulsed, your muscles twitched and you heard a shriek in your ears at the piercing stab, the fire that licked your insides in a vicious inferno.

You sat against the flooring of the tub, breathing quick and wheezy, knees bent upward as your arms wrapped around yourself.

Hot. Hot. Hot.

It was always hot.

It was so hot.

So fucking hot that you didn't hear the slight creak of the door opening. Or the light footsteps that moved behind you.

Burning, burning, burning. 

The freezing water felt like pebbles poking at your flesh until you could feel the fat beneath your skin being boiled.

You swallowed thickly, hard around the growl gathering in your throat.

Though you were drowning in what would normally feel comfortable and ease the fever swelling your skin, leaving it hot to the touch, instead it felt the same; you held no relief.

But this had worked before, or the pain eased enough that you were able to think without feeling your mind split.

On those occasions, you'd have a single moment of coherent thought before your body began trembling from an aching heat that came over you like a summer fog.

Last night had been the worst of it. Unbearable. Intense. It made your stomach do flips, threatening to spill out what little contents there were. Not even two hours ago you retched up a gallon of stomach acid, black tar-like muck. You shook through another shiver.

Ceramic shards clung to your nails like glue.

You had no care for them as you pressed your face into your knees, hoping, yearning that the water from the shower would return you back to how things were. How they should be. Normal. 

A body that wasn't sore, seething. Uncomfortable.

Normal skin. That didn't catch every hue of light in the bathroom or smelled like nothing but the strong detergent used to wash away the bloody pieces of bark from the night before.

You remained with your eyes screwed shut, but you felt how quickly they blinked with need for more water. A need for something below freezing. 

You waited.

Hoped.

Prayed.

You wished so hard on your breath that what was supposed to be a chilled drip instead fell like globs of goo, coating your head and shoulder blades.

You waited.

Waited.

Waited.

Each second ticked and like yesterday, everything was loud again. 

You heard the shower curtain crinkle slightly under the water falling freely atop you, it also made an abstract splattering sound as it hit the floor tiles but no longer fell in waves of droplets like it did before, no longer providing the soft chill to your inflamed skin.

Waited.

Waited.

Waited.

For your body to cooperate.

To fix itself.

You shouldn't have had to focus.

Focus.

Focus.

Focus.

That's the one thing that rattled your brain, pulled back and forth between each, as Sam continued with that word; he spat it out to you like it meant everything, like it should have you focusing. Yet.

Nothing.

Your muscles had ceased in the cramping but you assumed that was the first step in returning to normal.

It was still hot.

Furiously hot.

A raging wildfire.

Tears swam down your cheeks, across your lips, dipping in your mouth and clacking against your teeth and you remained as a lump of nothing in the dark room.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

It wasn't the water that did it for you.

It was the loud, bitterly cold, small and circular patch of coolness that soon turned to multiples that struck you. You didn't feel it at first, couldn't decipher what it was you felt, but all the same, you tensed up.

Focused.

Focused.

Focused.

In annoyance, your muscles rippled and it put a gasp in your chest as the ice chips -or so they felt like- clanked in onto your back.

Ice. 

Someone was putting ice on you.

Someone was touching you.

Someone who wasn't Sam.

It wasn't your mom.

And they were speaking. 

But you couldn't hear. 

Couldn't make your ears focus just on the voice.

Couldn't force your neck to twist and look as the muscles spasmed beneath the movement.

You couldn't find who spoke to you as they ran their fingers softly along your back.

From your neck and spine to the small of your being.

You couldn't make out a simple sentence either.

You couldn't make out what had happened moments before, only that the water was ceasing and your body was scorching again at the lack, only to abruptly lower to a simmer when you felt something enveloping you entirely. Something cold.

Something that must have smelled familiar yet, sickeningly sweet.

Softer than the air moving around, swishing and swaying as the curtain slid back further.

Something soft.

Something familiar but not quite within your reach yet.

You could almost remember it but in doing so your head began to pound.

Everything was loud; if it weren't you were almost certain that it would be deafening.

But then, with the last drag of each blink, you could feel the anger in you being gradually drowned out by something else, something unfamiliar. An intruder. It made your body jerk, jerk away from the cold source of salvation, jerk from the very thing that was keeping you grounded and your memory on track to forming; it made you feel weak in doing so and at the same time, scared, horrified, but calm. It put you at ease.

Almost.

And again you could smell a sweetness that flooded your nostrils and set the hairs inside teetering away from the rot, the decay. Your body jerked again. Instinctively. Out of your control.

But the cold, the cold that you slowly came to recognition with, held you firm. Limbs they were. Your vision was clouded in and out but they were limbs. Chiseled, scarred arms that felt like an ice statue come to life. Pressed so tightly against you that you began to slack. You began to hear.

"There we go... That's it..." A voice cooed softly, a dulcet soothing tone that rocked through the room and filled your ears; smooth, deep and enticing.

You swallowed harshly, a snarl stuck in the pit of your gut that stung and left you winded the moment your eyes were directed upwards. Your sight blurred instantly but the more you blinked they began to regain life. The wolf of you was being pushed further beneath the surface and the whine of protest inside went ignored for a few seconds.

"Breath and just relax. "

It was him.

Jasper.

It was Jasper.

And this time you could get a better look of him.

There were two, thick lines between his eyebrows that pushed and bulged the skin as he stared down at you in concentration, as if he were attempting to figure out the world's greatest puzzle.

His pupils were a hazy gold.

Almost a yellow.

A pale yellow, mixed with orange.

Red orange.

Almost sunset like.

"It's just me. " Jasper spoke quietly. So quiet, so gentle. Unlike his kind. Something stirred and growled inside you but in doing so Jasper's shoulders tensed and his eyes were narrowed just the slightest. "Just me. " His voice came and wafted.

You hadn't the strength to pick your limp body off of him, only to relish in the cool feeling of his skin against you and when he saw the dark pools of your black eyes clear from the threatening growl the lines above his eyebrows disappeared.

Some sort of moment had passed, a moment where he seemed to have returned to a child-like manner and focused in on you to the best of his capabilities.

"You're burning up. " A cold finger against the heat at your forehead and you jerked back but not roughly enough to leave his arms. Though the wince on your face did. 

For the first time since your eyes adjusted, you met his gaze.

Slightly crumbled, Jasper's face relaxed as he offered a slow nod. "Healin' nicely. "

That's right, healing. You hadn't noticed that they were sore until he mentioned it. Scars along your face were slowly going away. "It shouldn't leave a mark. "

But what concerned you was how rough your skin felt. There was a sharp stinging as you slowly relaxed against him, and it stung like needles, and prickled like spines and thorns, the feeling was still dulled despite his cold flesh and the layer of cloth between his and your nearly-bursting skin.The white button up shirt was completely drenched, droplets slid off of the stark creams like shimmering diamonds.

"It's hot. " Was all you could get out, voice hoarse, grating against your tender flesh, torn and pulled in dozens of different directions. You wondered if talking was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Your instincts bubbled to the surface but never quite breached to the point where you snapped and growled.

"I know. " You heard the drop in his throat, the way his breath rolled with his mouth and he bent forward, hand to your forehead, through your hair, pushing the wet strands away from your face.

He watched you intently, gaze scanning for signs that gave hint to your pain.

You closed your eyes tight but his hand slipped lower, down your cheek, and coming to just about your chin. His hand cradled you, making a cold burning under your bones, under your flushed flesh and a wave of want spilled over you that you couldn't wipe away.

"I didn't know it was like this. "  It was a whisper.

Your jaw hurt but you tilted to look at him more clearly. It was his touch. His hand.

"This wasn't what I felt from you when you first changed. "

"This is the aftermath. " Another voice. Booming. Louder than his. Slightly indifferent. And both your neck and head pounded painfully as you snapped to see the owner. It was Sam. Standing in the doorway.

Your mind cleared. "You shouldn't be here. " You choked on the second word. Heard a rumble in your head but it subsided when Jasper's large, cold hand pressed firmer to your cheek, bringing you back against him.

He was so soft to you. Too soft.

Sam addressed you. Tone even. "It's forgiven. " His eyes cross Jasper's. 

"Just make sure the boys don't find out. " He paused. Thinking. Then. "Be careful. " He repeated. Sam turned to take his leave. His tall frame filled the doorway almost entirely with his size but you thought nothing of him leaving, as there was yet another tremor in your stomach.

Pain, a horrible stabbing type of pain, began shooting from underneath your skin like needles and for a second you forgot of Jasper's existence, forgot of your situation, and curled into yourself in hopes the pain would go away.

It was then you felt his hands encase you, one of your shoulder blades, the other pressing to the small of your back. His fingers dug into the bare flesh and you held onto that as you shook. He felt how the veins rippled the flesh around them and an ache came to him as he reached and tugged you up, the material of his clothes catching against the shower curtain when you finally, after several minutes, allowed Jasper to pick you up, your body pressed entirely to his, and he whispered to you with his usual calmness, brushing away your hair that dripped, and gently told you to breathe.

"In and out. "

If it weren't for the fog swarming your better judgment, you might have found your resolve, snapped and jumped at the sweet gesture. But nothing was going to fight through the high fever, and aching, pungent sting from the very needle pricking every inch of your skin at once.

Jasper tried again.

"Just breathe. "

You sucked air, a short gasp and it was like broken glass sliding down your throat. Painful and nauseating but the moment Jasper's skin dug deeper into your body, holding you tighter than before, easing his embrace by stroking a cold hand along the length of your arm and slipping further downward.

"In and out... Slowly. "

The burn on your skin stopped abruptly and you heard him say "there" but it felt weird.

At ease, the moment you began breathing slowly, his cold digits like magic against your arm, traveling gradually, in circles, all the way up to the bend of your neck and just the very corner of your jaw, and then falling to your thigh and repeating the same motion. It was soothing. Like your muscles didn't know what to do with themselves.

"Are you better? " The voice bounced against his chest and you weren't quite sure how, but you managed to nod, the action causing the world to spin. Jasper nodded back at you, gaze in that constant look of concern, as if he'd never been worried a day in his life. "Do you want to stay here or do you want me to take you somewhere else?"

A low and rather aggressive growl surfaced in the back of your throat and you felt your limbs all come to a standstill and tremble. Jasper's body tensed as he looked to you. All the muscles that were massaging the sting in your body hardened, no longer soft as you wanted.

"Alright, " his eyes didn't waver from you and the golden depths had you staring, he swallowed and sighed out a heavy breath, "it's just me again. Remember that. Okay? Only me. " His voice rumbled his chest and made you feel comfortable again, easy, the boiling in your bones all began to settle.

Still, that anger you felt inside continued with that growl that made him ever so tense, ever so weary. You could feel his body lean back, situating into the curve of the tub. "I'm alone. " Jasper whispered now, lowering his head to yours, cheek to your forehead and your eyelids slid half-way down, pupils dilating just the slightest, "Breathe. " He said. "Deeply. " The tip of his cold nose brushed along the space of your skull and for a moment it appeared as if he contemplated his actions but continued on.

There you could smell the strength of his scent with an underlying sweetness to his dead flesh, the scent of a vampire; still, you didn't jump or shove him off. And he exhaled the biggest breath you had ever seen a vampire take.

He did this several times, took several deep, calming breaths. As if it were to sedate your beast within, that monstrous, ravenous hunger that lay buried beneath the confines of your now flesh and bones, but far beyond control of your own.

Eventually you caught the air without it stabbing into your lungs like those needles and his arm moved to become wrapped, almost entirely, completely around your chest, and pulling you firmer to him, moving from the crook of the bath to the center of the room, sliding in a motion so inhuman and smooth, past the wash rack and the closet, to the wall, leaning your sore back against the plaster. You leaned. Not just leaned, but collapsed against him as your body relaxed.

So strange, so inhumane and entirely disgusting at the fact that a vampire, an immortal, the vilest, putrid stench to nature, could make you feel so comforted, so tranquil, and ease all the pains you had felt.

As if the moon had begun shifting its cycle of phases while in his arms, you found yourself staring into his eyes, watching the shadows of darkness become your savior.

The pressure in your head was gone, the aching and pinching in your bones were coming to a comfortable stand still, leaving you numb in parts, and full of an incredible urge to drift off into the darkness, where you felt more... At ease.

Jasper's gaze swept over your flushed features and he slowly reached to push the loose strands of hair from your face, fingers caressing your cheek bone and over the prickled skin on your neck and slowly, down to your left shoulder.

Your collar bone.

"Is it any better?" A whisper to your ears. Rough, jagged along his cold tongue and you fought the urge to show your teeth back.

"Yeah. " It was the first word that came to you, coherent, but the word itself sent a sharp pain up the muscle and you winced visibly. Jasper's eyes searched your face once more but never directly met yours. 

When your heart began spazzing for his affection, you bit your tongue.

"Don't try to talk anymore. Rest. " His voice was soft and the muscles below your flesh rippled as he acted as a crutch on the way to your bedroom. It was at the end of the hall and to the right.

At the door his nose wrinkled, as did the skin along his upper lip, but he said nothing of the burning smell of wet dog.

His steps were swift as he carefully positioned himself through the threshold.

You stumbled to your mattress and fell weakly at the foot of it, Jasper's grip loosening and fingers unfurling from your flesh.

You settled into the cooled sheets and watched him intently as he carefully closed the door behind him. You only lifted your torso and crawled on your knees up to the pillows and got lost in there. They hid your flushed, irritated body against the rough surface.

Jasper stood for what felt like a long time near the door, standing by your closet and watched. You were too exhausted to think, it was nearing the start of daylight outside, and your eyes shut involuntarily, each blink longer than the last.

You were so tired but the anger persisted even when sleep took you. You dreamt not.

Unintentionally, you fell asleep.

For Jasper, however, he stood for several minutes just staring at your still body.

All was quiet and peaceful, the world outside was just wakening with the sounds of the birds, and the leaves were still, unmoving, but the air was dry. Just a couple of hours ago and this same place was like a cave. Smelling of beasts, of fur and musk, the woods themselves had a strong scent in this area, yet it changed suddenly.

To normalcy. And he wasn't quite sure how he felt, what the rest of the family, of his brothers and sisters, his mother and father would say when he returned smelling of dog.

The type of dog that sought to cease their existence. 

Their natural doom.

The very dog that'd nearly tore their heads from their bodies days prior. 

However, being this close to you and noticing the increase in hormones among all other smells, though, for the most part, the odor was horrendous, more specifically, that you were feeling better, not dying or in any more pain, was enough for Jasper to ignore anything else.

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

Glass & Gold

Rating: G

Words: 2885

Tags: Picking Up From Canon Ending and Doing Whatever I Want, Space Pirates, Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Grief, Introspection

Summary: As the New Republic drives the pirates off At Attin, Jod flees 

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

Author’s Notes: Of course, if you’ve seen the finale, you’ll know no one died (well, no one we knew), but certain characters didn’t see that, so while I’m not warning for character death (because, again, there wasn’t one), I will let you know that said certain character is gonna go through some mourning.

Also: it was a little hard to keep track of every person and every object there in the ending (and I’ve only managed to watch it twice), so if I get anything majorly wrong, just call it canon divergence and enjoy the ride. Please? For me? 🥹

. . . . .

X-Wings darted across the now open skies above the city and urban sprawl, ruby-red bolts stark against the deep blue with its dusting of heaven clouds and stars.

The frigate, striped black and white as all respectable pirate vessels were, blazed with golden fire as it crashed, scraping up roads and demolishing houses as it plunged headlong into a manicured lake. Life-pods filled to the brim with would-be plunderers shot out like parasites abandoning a dying host.

Here and there, smoke billowed up from things ruined in the fray—first by the pirates, then by the drastic measures taken to drive the pirates away.

The supervisor’s tower offered a grand if not detached viewing station of the entire calamitous scene.

All that fire didn’t burn.

All that noise didn’t sound.

All that loss didn’t take anything.

It was difficult—impossible, really—to sift through the chaos and find anything, but one little plume of smoke drew and clutched Jod’s attention.

He didn’t know what the building was exactly but it looked like and resided in the same vicinity as the school on At Achran. He didn’t really care to know what the building was, because, whatever it was, it was destroyed now: it had been evacuated and thus lay empty when the ship crashed into it.

Only one person got hurt.

A little girl.

KB.

He wanted to look away but he couldn’t bring himself to. Something he had no control over tied his gaze to that one slice of wreckage and disregarded the rest of the carnage.

A building could be rebuilt. 

A ship could be repaired. 

But that child…

Their last interaction replayed in his mind.

He had been blinded by greed, like some simple beast locked in a feeding frenzy, he couldn’t recall what exactly he had said but it had been horrible, he knew, because he meant to scare them. He was banking on them being such fragile, inexperienced things that a bigger person raising their voice and spewing nightmarish threats would be enough to stop them from stopping him.

In the end, it didn’t really work because they stood up to him anyway, calling his bluff, backing him into the very corner he had tried to put them in, but in that one moment, they saw, not a man, but a monster. 

And, really, was there any disillusion in that?

Did a peaceful world not now lay bereft of its protective storm clouds, rendered exposed and vulnerable like a soft creature denuded of its shell because of him?

This world lost its innocence, a pirate crew lost their ship, and a little girl lost her life all because of him: his choices, his actions, his greed.

There were hundreds—thousands—of vaults right under his feet, their reinforced walls bulging with neatly, precisely packed, never-been-touched credits, all glowing and glittering, and yet not even the grand total sum of them could bring that child back to life, put breath back in her lungs, put the light back in her eyes.

Cold, hard credits could fuel and save life—they could feed and clothe and shelter, they could acquire medicine and care, and with enough, you could cheat death a hundred times over—but they couldn’t bring life back once it was lost.

Jod stood there, just looking on as the world burned, feeling for once not the hunger or the pain or the need, the drive, the desire for things that could maybe warm and fill him; he stood there and just felt numb and hollow and cold.

So, so cold…

The boy child, Wim, had called out to him, actually pausing his mad dash to escape to turn around and ask him, implore him to come with them, extending forgiveness when there was no reasonable justification for it. 

Such a small, ignorant thing, yet, in the culmination of this damned journey, he proved himself more of a Jedi than Jod would ever be…

That, at last, tore his gaze off the window and its live reports of devastation.

Jod scanned the ground, not knowing what he was searching for until he saw it: a gold and silver cylinder, lying inert and forgotten on the ground, discarded at some point in the commotion. The fires and blast bolts painted flickering red flashes on the hilt, making it look like a live wire coursing with strange energy.

He walked over, bent down and picked it up, turning it over in his hand, some part of him disappointed that it had not electrocuted him.

Elegant, she had called it and he had laughed. How could something capable of severing limbs from a body like butter ever be described as “elegant?”

Because it has the power to do horrible things, but a true Jedi will rein it in, harness it, restrain and channel it, be the master rather than the slave, and use it for good—only for good.

He wasn’t a Jedi.

He hadn’t used it for good.

He had used it to scare children and destroy the things keeping their wonderful little utopia alive and well. He had taken no life with it, yet the blood staining it gushed all around him.

He could hear the echoes of it all.

Fern’s anguished scream, Wim’s cascading tears, the complicated look on their parents’ faces, because they were just as shocked and grief-stricken, but, in the back of their minds, they realized it could’ve easily been their own child in that doomed ship…

He stood and spun away as if he could turn his back on it all but all he saw were the crumbled, inert bodies of the security droids and the still smoking hole in the supervisor droid. 

Lights washed through the windows, sweeping over the abandoned cavern that was this tower, reflecting off the dust he had disturbed, like bits of crystal floating in the air. The engines of the X-Wings seemed to roar like beasts on the hunt.

The hunt for him.

Fleeing was not a conscious decision.

The creature of instinct drove him to enter the lift, press the button for the ground floor. That creature recoiled at the prospect of another cage, of more nights plagued with cold and hunger, rotting in his own filth to the point he couldn’t even smell it but he could always feel it, like his body was trying to decay but his heart just kept beating—a wretched, stubborn thing it was.

He came upon the ground too soon. This lift was not like its decrepit twin on At Achran, it didn’t judder, didn’t scrape, didn’t lag, didn’t have the courtesy of at least threatening to stall and trap him for eternity. The doors opened without hesitation or grating.

The air outside reeked.

Smoke, burning materials, churned up dirt: for as clear as the sky appeared, the air close to the ground was thick with the aftermath. There was something else in the air he couldn’t quite describe, couldn’t even identify with which sense he detected it but it was cloying, whatever it was: thick, cloying and oh so bitter.

The X-Wings were still shooting across the sky, breaking their formation to widen their search, chasing the pirate dregs like hounds snapping at the heels of foxes. There were more than just the flimsy, single-pilot crafts: as Jod weaved his way through the town’s empty veins, he caught glimpses of a Corvette and a pair of strange fighters he had never seen before: bright red and shaped like the four-point glint of a star.

In the distance, he heard cheers and excited exclamations. He could sense a flood of bright emotion but it didn’t sweep him up and carry him along.

He was one of the foxes.

He reached the school and there was no one there, just broken glass, twisted desks, and a carpet of debris. Amongst the rubble lay glittering rectangles, their soft golden glows catching his eye, slowing his pace.

Credits.

They lay, scattered and unattended, unclaimed. Anyone could just… bend down, scoop them up like grain, fill their pockets until the seams strained, become instantaneously wealthy.

Jod’s fingers twitched.

But his stomach roiled.

For the first time ever, the glittering sight of riches disgusted him and he had to shut his eyes against the treasure trove literally laying at his feet.

It was for this he had schemed and fought and killed. 

It was for this he had toiled away years of his life. 

It was for this he had hungered.

And it was for this KB had died.

The ship had crashed through the ceiling of the auditorium. It rested now, half on the ground, half leaning on the jagged edge of the broken roof, the stern hatch open, piles of gleaming credits spilled out like pennies from a jar.

There was no one about.

Jod held his breath and focussed but could not sense another soul. He caught the impression of ones having passed through here recently—a vague notion of disturbed air—but there was no living thing present now.

With dread wrapping around him like rough ropes, he forged ahead. The glass and gold crunched under his boots, though only the former could break. It wasn’t easy, climbing the mound of credits: the little dataries acted like sand and water, giving him no footholds, just tumbling and flowing down, trickling. But he managed to reach the ship and, grabbing onto the side of the hatch, he hauled himself inside.

The ship tilted and he froze, metal groaning like a disgruntled beast. His grip on the side of the hatch tightened and he waited, his heart pounding, but the ship didn’t fall any further.

With light steps, as if by sheer willpower he could make himself weigh nothing more than a breath and a feather, he pressed further, grabbing anything sticking out from the hull as he went, more pulling himself up than walking as the cockpit lay like a prize perched on the crest of a hill.

The ship was vastly intact but that didn’t mean the occupants wouldn’t have suffered damage on descent and final impact: this wouldn’t be the first time he had walked through a crashed ship; he knew a shell could weather a storm while the creatures within took every hit.

He did not find what was left of the child but that was of no surprise: her friends and family had come straight here, they would’ve already taken her away. 

Would they bury her? Would they stand over her grave and reminisce about her tragically short life? Would they call her death a sacrifice?

Jod recalled the caves under Skull Ridge Mountain—specifically that rotten acid chamber. KB was the one to find the riddle and she, along with her young, naïve companions, all tumbled to the conclusion that the key was life—to clear the obstacle, one had to surrender their life. In stark contrast, Jod immediately knew the mad old captain meant treasure—if the life of another had held any kind of value to Tak Rennod, he would not have designed and installed that maze of gruesome tricks and traps to secure his trove.

No.

Pirates like him, they only cared about one life: their own.

In a poetic flourish of fate, Tak Rennod killed for the treasure of At Attin and his storied plundering of this world, in turn, killed him.

It was a perpetual cycle, apparently…

His bones were still on this ship (tucked away in a chest by SM33 because the mere sight of the dust-coated remains kept unsettling young Neel).

As Jod climbed and crawled his way to the cockpit, fighting gravity and time, he realized he had unwittingly, unjustly cheated the cycle.

Because it should have been him.

He should’ve been aboard this ship when it crashed, his body should lie now deprived of its spirit, not KB’s.

It was not for the want to live that he forged on; that stubborn old thing inside him that refused to die pushed him forward every gruelling, stumbling step. He had to pull himself up into the captain’s chair, the ship’s nose angled nearly vertically, star-flecked sky filling the viewport, furnishing the cockpit with a faint, bluish glow.

He could fly a ship in his sleep, and the few short weeks he had travelled aboard this particular ship had taught him all her tricks. She was a battered beast but nothing critical was so broken that she couldn’t pull herself together and rise again.

He should’ve felt some triumph at the steady thrum of the engines and that creature bent on survival within him tried to feel it, tried to remember the high of beating the odds, but it was like trying to warm oneself at a fire with hands caked in callouses and dried dirt: he knew what he should feel but it lay just outside of his perception.

In prying herself out of the cracked and broken building, the Onyx Cinder juddered and moaned and, at one point, lurched so harshly to the side, Jod scrambled to secure the seatbelt to keep himself in place. One of the thrusters were damaged, causing her to rise lopsidedly, but still she rose.

The scanners weren’t damaged. Jod brought up the readouts, determined where the New Republic ships were and duly plotted a course to evade them. To his luck, they were concentrating on rounding up his old crew near the lake; they weren’t watching this section of town.

Climbing through the sky, stars growing to greet him, he felt… not quite peaceful, not quite victorious, but he was aware he had just escaped a prison sentence (or, perhaps as would be more fitting, all things considered: a death sentence).

He broke free of At Attin’s atmosphere and there, with it all behind him and out of his field of vision, he could, for one moment, believe it had all been a strange, vivid but intangible and inconsequential nightmare.

Automatically, he set the ship to take a short leap through hyperspace: not enough to get him anywhere, just a little trick to disappear off the radar. He did it without thinking, without planning.

The deep black-blue washed away to the crystal like void of hyperspace.

And there he was.

Alone.

Untethered.

He could go anywhere. If he utilized enough tricks, he could go everywhere. But the paradox was that he had nowhere to go.

He was one of those things that never had a home. The place he was born was just that: a first chapter, a strike of the match; it was not something of any significance. The At Attin children had such a yearning to return to their cradle but such a concept was utterly foreign to Jod. He could probably remember the name of his birth planet if he tried, but he had no memory of who he came from. So why return? There were no arms waiting to wrap around him, no lips desperate to kiss his forehead, no hearts left incomplete with his absence; if he were to return, it would only be for the world itself. If the world had any beauty, it never showed it to him; if it were rich in any resource, it never shared it with him. If the people had had any kind of culture, they withheld it from him; even their language he learned but crudely and only by necessity—he could not read it, he could not write it, he could no longer reproduce it.

Leaving his homeworld was only difficult in practicality, it was not difficult in any emotional or sentimental capacity.

He knew, even at that young, young age, that there were two options for creatures like him: find a new home or belong to nowhere. He couldn’t say he made a choice but any fool could see he wound up on the latter road.

He had nowhere to return. He had nowhere he yearned to go. He had nowhere calling him.

What was more, he had, through all fault of his own, a very short list of places he could go… and keep his head attached to the rest of him for longer than a day.

Staring out into the perpetual, horizon-less blur of hyperspace, names of ports and planets rushed through his mind but he could circle none.

The bounty Brutus commissioned would dissolve now that the mutineer was dead. Unless another in the crew took responsibility for payment, no hunter with any shred of savvy would bother taking the job, and Jod knew his crew—they’d be delighted with some revenge, especially after all the turmoil he brought upon them, but their minds would, like his, be on their own immediate survival. The only reason they wouldn’t come after him straight away was because they lacked the resources to do so.

Nevertheless, Brutus’ bounty was not the only one Jod had on him. Technically, it was the only one Silvo had on him, but Crimson Jack had a standing arrest warrant too, as did ol’ Jodwick and Dash, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the good Professor had some charges to press.

He could not return to his old haunts. 

He could not traverse his well-trodden paths.

What was left but to carve something new?

[1puppy23]

"Recent Horizon, I couldn’t see you yet. You were right next to me, so close, eye-atom, unfathomably close, but I couldn’t tell. Pin-prick portal to yourself, you could be seen only through you... So when you appeared, (terrified of losing u that moment) I looked as hard as I could, nailing you with my gaze; arrow, I fell, exhausted in the wound of your being. Coreoplastic magnet, I looked even closer and noticed you weren't you: zooidic kisses sticking flesh to ribcages, and floating in nothing! But you were always more than you: a teardrop that was a rose that was a blade, a body, a city... your reality was ours, mineral, emerald, "diamond- rose-mine." So faithfully I carried you that you didn’t seem like what you were, shrinking always from yourself, burning space-time worm. Eyelet opening into new day, waterfall falling on yourself, smiling-dummy-child-running-fire, shining like a whale turning in an immense ocean of night. And my gaze would go plunging down, drowning in days permeated by your absence. How many days spent thinking you'd gone for good? Gray dragons limbed, withdrawn bodies I'd traced. And then the sound of armor falling from your body. Sleak silver dog-shield that is the weight/parade of everything that isn't you, falling from you: curvature of your zero-face: a wing (your living wing): falling toward orion's fire, sheer pull of the future (you are your own futurity, grace nested in yourself, curled up in your "own foolhardiness").. machine of your dying away, always child of something, child of your own withdrawnness. And how many times I became confused by a new voice that sounded like hail, feculent, meat, gravity, kisses, nothing. "How could I paint you without the colors you'd given me?" I thought. But you were the stuff that all your non-stuff was floating in (the husk I once called u): diagenetic blood mineral running through objects negated with names (u always survive your name). And the silvered afternoons, the light of hands and forehead, your weight cementing my consciousness like massive pillars holding up highways to you: pastel in the dusk-light, rendered in your own distance from yourself, behind your bridges, aggregate horizon, clear ruby vitamin of my own becoming, glimmering in the gray ash of event/ throes of our impact, and still even further, again I can hear: the sound of armor falling from your body, so far away from yourself this time, so clear..." – Elysia Crampton

Timur Si-Qin

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Semper Eadem (iv, ao3)

Chapter four: In the aftermath of the jousting match, Elizabeth and her court go hunting, where Cassian has conspired to get Nesta alone.

(chapter one // chapter two // chapter three)

Nesta wasn’t thinking of the joust. 

As the morning after dawned bright and clear, full of promise and expectation, she swore to God and all the old saints above that her mind would not stray to yesterday. She willed resolution in her chest, begged for strength, and as the sky lightened beyond the lead-paned windows of the Queen’s chamber, she focused instead on dressing her mistress. She refused to remember the tiltyard beyond those stone walls— kept her thoughts far from that bastard-born son of a nobleman who had so decidedly won command of her heart, like it were just another treasure he had plundered. 

Obstinate, she clenched her jaw.

No.

By almighty God, she was not thinking about it.

Around her, the ladies of the royal household tittered and laughed, the soft sounds of shifting fabric filling the chamber as Nesta tied the ribbons on the Queen’s kirtle. A steady thrum of excitement hung heavy in the air, so thick it was palpable, and beyond the glass, not a single cloud marred the blue of the August sky.

There was to be a hunt, today.

A column of bright golden sunlight blazed through the chamber as the Queen angled a small Venetian mirror, its gilded frame heavy in one lithe hand as she tilted the glass to better glimpse her reflection. Her Tudor-red hair was afire in the morning light, her painted skin as pale as chalk, and glimmering she stood in the centre of her rooms, bedecked in so much wealth it was nigh on incalculable. Assessing, the sovereign let out a single contented hum.

What she saw pleased her.

And Nesta did not disagree— the dress alone could rival the work of the great Italian masters. 

The fabric was light in colour, a pale cream with embroidered roses and vines picked out in such detail it was almost enough to stun. A threaded thistle sat above the Queen’s ribs, and on her left sleeve a large needlework snake was coiled, studded with pearls and gems, and from its mouth dangled a small ruby charm— heart shaped, and surrounded by golden thread, silver cloth, and shining, opalescent pearls. 

The snake was Nesta’s favourite part of this particular dress. 

An emerald no bigger than a fingernail served as the serpent’s eye, and its tongue was rendered in a line of golden thread darting from between embroidered silver teeth to hold that small ruby heart. A symbol of wisdom and cunning, the snake was everything that Elizabeth represented, everything she valued, and the message wasn’t lost on Nesta as she circled the Queen and brushed a hand over the jewels that made up the serpent’s curled and curving tail.

Her sovereign was as slippery and as dangerous as an adder, one that had used the sharp edges of her diamonds to carve a space of her own in a world shaped for the pleasures of men. 

And that ought to have been distraction enough, but no matter how many times Nesta hauled herself back to the present…

Her dastardly eyes wandered to the window, and despite the promises she’d made to the Lord above, she damned her soul when she caught sight of the tiltyard beyond the glass, where a privateer had competed for her honourand— 

“Are you looking forward to the hunt, your majesty?”

Nesta tried to not startle as Blanche, the Keeper of Her Majesty’s Jewels, stepped forward and voiced her question, bearing in her hands an oak jewellery box with the lid lifted open. Inside, nestled in velvet, lay a staggering number of pearls and jewels and gems, shining in every colour.

Elizabeth was silent a moment, handing off her mirror to another of her ladies as her fingers trailed idle over the priceless objects before her, hovering above diamonds and sapphires and emeralds and rubies. Before she answered, she plucked up a ring set with a large ruby and extended it out, holding it towards Nesta in one smooth movement.

“Ah,” she said breezily, waving her hand, and as the sunlight refracted off the myriad jewels scattered across the fabric of her dress, shards of red and silver light danced across the floorboards, “you know that I do so love to hunt.”

The Queen extended a hand as she spoke, and Nesta slid the ring the sovereign had chosen onto her waiting finger. Another of her ladies draped a necklace of pearls around her neck, and if for one brief moment they reminded Nesta of the pearl that hung customarily from Cassian’s ear… 

She forced the thought away, and focused on straightening the Queen’s sleeve, her eyes returning to the snake.

But it’s spine was a line of more pearls— to symbolise wealth and purity, virginity, and it shouldn’t have reminded her of Cassian, of the one set in gold that shone amidst his dark curls. After all, Cassian could lay claim to neither wealth nor virginity, and yet the one he wore was a symbol nonetheless. Nesta brushed her hand over the Queen’s sleeve, and thought that perhaps his pearl was instead a symbol of something precious, something rare. Something plucked from the ocean and brought home to treasure.

Oh, the joust had softened her.

That was for certain.

Her conviction had already been wavering when she’d read Cassian’s letters, and seeing him race down the tiltyard yesterday had all but secured his forgiveness. The flames of her anger had burned away to nothing, and now when she thought of him—

She heard his laugh, saw his rakish smile, and felt her heart beat a little faster inside her chest. Like she were a witless maiden, borne of nothing but dreams and naïveté; like she hadn’t spent years at the royal court, growing as used to politicking as she was breathing. Cassian had made her yearn for real romance again, the way she had once as a girl, when her father had told her of Arthur and Guinevere, of Tristan and Isolde, and all those famous tales that made her heart swell.  Oh, after years of ruthless pragmatism and the endless facade of courtly love, she thought her desire for the real thing had been stifled, strangled, but it had resurfaced now, more fervent than ever before. And when he’d bowed before her in the tiltyard, his helm cast aside and his face aglow with triumph… 

Her hand fell away from the serpent on the Queen’s arm.

God— she needed to focus.

She pulled her awareness back in time to hear Blanche ask of Elizabeth,

“Will the Earl of Leicester be your hunting partner?”

Nesta paused.

It was a bold question— so bold that if anybody but the most favoured of her ladies had asked it, the Queen might have found reason to divorce a head from some shoulders. After all, they had all of them heard the rumours. Leicester and the Queen had been close friends since childhood— and there were whispers that perhaps it was once more than friendship, and might someday be something more again, if Leicester got his way. He had organised this entire pageant in the Queen’s honour, a gesture far grander than any he could reasonably have been expected to lay at his Queen’s feet. But as Nesta looked up, half expecting to find fury in the lines of the Queen’s face, instead she found her monarch’s mouth pulling into a coy smile, one that said Elizabeth would allow the question. 

“I think perhaps he shall,” she answered.

Nesta remained silent, only rounded the Queen to stand before her. She assessed the dress, the jewels, straightening the pearl necklace that twice circled her throat before hanging down to her navel. Elizabeth merely tilted her head in the wake of Nesta’s ministrations, causing the lace of her ruff to tremble. 

“And what of you, Mistress Archeron?” she asked. “Who shall be your partner?”

Nesta did not blink, did not pause, did not hesitate.

“Who should you like it to be, your majesty?” she asked, tilting her head in an echo of the monarch’s stance. Approval glimmered in Elizabeth’s eyes, a rare jewel of its own.

“Northumberland, perhaps?” the Queen ventured. “Master Vanserra seemed most determined to compete for your honour yesterday.”

Nesta’s mind flicked back once more to the joust - her soul be damned - and to the way Cassian had almost killed Eris in the tiltyard. As if the Queen could read her mind, Elizabeth snorted and said, smoothly,

“Or Master Cassian?” She tapped Nesta on the wrist with one long, thin finger. “My handsome Bat seems to have an eye on you, dove.”

Nesta forced herself to shrug. 

“Perhaps he does, majesty.”

She fought a smile, and Elizabeth hummed. Mirth danced at the corners of her lips, and even though she didn’t approve of her ladies marrying, something about the joust yesterday had humoured her. Perhaps it was the way Cassian had bowed to his Queen, or the way he had cast off his helm and looked up to the stands in such a perfect display of chivalry that Nesta half thought he might have plucked it from the pages of some Arthurian romance. Either way, something had snared the Queen’s attention, but Nesta was not fool enough to say anything more. She merely took a single step back and bowed her head as the Queen smoothed a hand down her skirts one final time.

“Well,” she said, her tone one of musing. “Perhaps we shall see.” 

A moment later the Queen clapped her hands, the sound sharp and cutting in the silence of her chambers. As the rest of her ladies waited for instruction, Elizabeth looked the window and allowed another serpentine smile to grace her lips. Her eyes were lit with purpose as she lifted her chin and said, with all the authority and determination only a monarch could muster,

“Let us hunt.”

***

It seemed, Nesta thought from atop her horse a half hour later, that all of England had descended upon Warwickshire to bask in the majesty of the Queen.

Riding two or three abreast in a great train behind Elizabeth, the hunting party stretched across the grounds all the way back towards the castle— all noblemen and horses, ladies and squires and hunting dogs. Trumpeters and drummers followed too, and a host of staff from the kitchens carried the baskets containing the food they would lay out at noon for dinner. Sheaths of arrows were slung across backs, crossbows stowed in saddlebags, and the drumming mirrored the footfalls of the horses as beyond the castle walls, Kenilworth’s expansive lawns began to slope before eventually giving way to lush woodland.

Grand— it was all so immeasurably grand.

Ahead, the Queen’s standard fluttered in the breeze, held aloft by a standard bearer, the embroidered lion shining golden beneath the morning sun. All the trappings of royalty gleamed— the richness of the Queen’s dress, the pearls that had been threaded through her hair; a glimmering vanguard as the trees of the forest grew closer. And at Elizabeth’s right, just as Blanche had suspected, rode the earl of Leicester. 

As casually and as easily as if it were the only place in the world that suited him, Robert Dudley filled the space at the sovereign’s side, and their heads were inclined towards one another as they spoke, their horses so close their flanks almost touched. The breeze carried behind them the sound of Elizabeth’s laughter, and as Leicester glanced sideways at his Queen, Nesta saw a flash of teeth, a wide smile beneath the brim of his hat, and she knew with unerring certainty that the earl was in love— so desperately and madly in love that it warranted all of this display, all of this pageantry. 

And the reminder that all of this grandeur was on the behalf of a man simply trying to turn a woman’s head… 

Well, it was foolish perhaps, and more than a touch sentimental, but… charming, too. 

And after all, hadn’t Cassian done something similar yesterday— something just as foolish? When he’d all but declared war on Eris, one of the richest dukes in England, because he had dared to ask her for her favour?

She shook her head, pushed the thought away, and kept her gaze straight ahead.

On the Queen’s left was Rhysand, riding silent and all but ignored. His heavy chain of office was draped over his shoulders, and the gold was bright against the deep black of his doublet. He wore a cap with a raven feather at the top too, and though from her position behind him she could not see his face, she could see his hands gripping the reins of his horse— could see, too, his velvet gloves, and the three rings he wore atop his gloves on each hand. His shoulders were stiff, and Nesta smirked.

If there was one thing Lord Rhysand did not appreciate, it was being overlooked, and with Leicester by her side, the Queen had no attention to spare for her dark-haired councillor. 

The sight should not have made Nesta as smug as it did.

On Nesta’s own left rode Madge, another of the Queen’s ladies. At their backs was the Duke of Northumberland and one of his many brothers, and Nesta did not think it a coincidence that he had managed to secure such a spot in the procession trailing behind the Queen. Indeed, as she had stood in the courtyard and mounted her horse, Eris had offered her his hand, and though Nesta had not accepted his assistance, he had bowed his head anyway, before taking her own hand and placing a fleeting kiss to the back of her fingers. 

She had never been so thankful to have been wearing riding gloves.

Beside her Madge was silent, as if she could tell that her riding partner was entirely preoccupied with her own thoughts. A frown almost creased Nesta’s brow, and she almost considered striking up conversation, but then her eyes fell to her gloved hands tight on her reins, and all she could think was—

I hope Cassian did not bear witness to that ridiculous kiss.

It was a thought as ridiculous in itself as the kiss Eris that had dropped on her hand, but one that persisted nonetheless. So consumed was she by it that the world and all its noise seemed to fade away, until—

“Mistress Radcliffe,” a smooth and all too familiar voice said easily from the empty space at Nesta’s right. Her heart kicked in answer as Madge turned her head, eyebrows rising as she beheld who addressed her. “My lord Azriel asks for you. He wishes to give you news of your brother in Ireland before the hunt begins.”

Cassian did not let his eyes stray to Nesta as he bowed his head; a vision of courtesy.

Madge smiled wide. It was no secret that she missed her brother, sent over to Ireland on the Queen’s orders. A lady from the north, she missed her family greatly, and it was no surprise to Nesta when she nodded her head and gave her thanks before turning around and leading her horse back along the procession that trailed them, to the space about four riders back, where the Queen’s spy had been riding beside the privateer and now sat alone.

Nesta looked behind as Cassian’s horse fell into step behind her. Quietly, she thought she heard Northumberland curse.

“Lady Nesta,” Cassian said in greeting, his voice light and airy as if this were the most ordinary of meetings.

But— merciful God, have pity on her soul.

Would she ever tire of the way her name sounded on his lips? Or the way he imbued it with something that felt like intimacy somehow? Lady Nesta, not Mistress Archeron. She thought back to his letters, how he’d penned her name with such an elaborate flourish. Even on a rocking ship, when ink and time were short for him, he’d written her name like it meant something. She glanced sidelong at him, trying to focus on the rhythm of the horse beneath her, the gentle trot of the hooves. But one look and she was at sea all over again, her sentimentality like a storm that threatened to send her under.

His doublet was the deep red of Burgundian wine, shot through with silver buttons in the centre of his broad chest, and for one foolish and ill-advised moment Nesta let her eyes wander, following that path of silver to where his doublet met his breeches.

God have pity, indeed.

Seated atop his horse, the privateer beside her cleared his throat and Nesta hauled her gaze back up— to a level far more befitting a lady of the Queen’s household. She took in, instead, the slashed sleeves of his doublet that split to reveal a crisp white shirt sitting beneath, and the dark cloak draped effortlessly over his shoulders. A delicate ruff rose from his collar and just barely grazed the edge of his jaw, and oh, lord— this man was beautiful. A velvet bonnet was balanced at a damn near rakish angle atop his curls, and as he brought his stallion into a trot beside her, the feather adorning it shivered in the breeze.

Beneath his unflinching gaze, and despite the heat, Nesta felt herself shiver too.

“Feeling cold, my lady?”

Damn him.

She cleared her throat, and refused to take note of the way several of those curls escaped his bonnet and lay tangled above his ruff, right against the bare skin of his neck.

“Master Cassian,” she said mildly, looking decidedly straight ahead to where the Queen and Leicester still spoke together in low murmurs. “Can I help you?”

He grinned. “Back to Master, are we?”

“Would you have me call you something else?”

“Oh sweetheart,” he said, dropping his voice so low it was almost sinful, “I’d have you call me several things.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and tried to force down the blood that rose to her cheeks.

“You are incorrigible.”

“Indeed,” he said brightly, tipping his head back and inhaling deeply, drawing the summer air deep into his lungs. He tightened his grip on the reins, his gloved hands pulling as the riders ahead of them began to slow— as the line of trees at the forest edge grew nearer still.

And Nesta thought she must have lost her mind, because when she looked at those gloves, for a moment she found herself mourning the fact that she could not see the bare skin of his hands as his fist tightened.

“Tell me— did my lord Azriel really wish to speak with Madge?”

Sidelong, Cassian smirked. 

“In truth, no,” he said with an easy shrug. “But it is no lie that he received reports from Ireland this morning. It is entirely possible there was something about Mistress Radcliffe’s brother in there.” He shot her a grin, before adding brightly, “I merely thought to join your hunting party, if you’ll have me.”

“I fear I am not much of a hunter,” Nesta answered with a shrug of her own, a slow lift of one shoulder. “My sister was always far better at it than I.”

He shot her a dazzling smile, one edged with mischief. “And yet I am certain we can find some creature for you to bring down.” He glanced behind him, to Eris and his brother. “A fox, perhaps.”

“Perhaps the fox was brought low enough already after yesterday’s joust.”

“The fox remains presumptuous,” Cassian shrugged. His gaze dropped, eyes turning flat as they alighted briefly on her hand, and Nesta’s heart sank a little as she realised that yes, Cassian had indeed witnessed that ridiculous little kiss. “He still thinks to take what is mine.”

“Yours?” Nesta asked incredulously, glancing once over her shoulder, ensuring Eris was still too lost in his own conversation to overhear. Looking ahead, she saw with thanks that the Queen was still too preoccupied to take note, too. “After such a long time away?”

Cassian lifted one hand from the reins and waved it. Like Rhysand, he too had rings decorating his fingers above the velvet, and they gleamed now, the gold bright.

“I thought we’d been over this, sweetheart?”

She blinked, imperious. “You’ve been over this, sir. As far as I recall, I said little on the matter.”

He snorted. “You said much,” he countered simply. “You’ve had me grovelling for days.”

“Grovelling?” she raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t mask the smile that began to spread across her face. “I haven’t seen you on your knees once.”

His eyes darkened. “And is that what it will take, my lady?” He tilted his head, the pearl in his ear brushing the lace of the ruff that peeked from the neck of his doublet. “For my forgiveness, you would have me on my knees?”

She was silent for a moment, and a wicked smirk curved his lips.

“Trust me, love, I am more than willing.”

Her breath caught, her blood raced. His meaning was obvious, and with the way that smirk turned almost devilish, she knew that the blush that rose to her cheeks had amused him— pleased him. Her treacherous heart beat a little faster - a lot faster - and she was about to reproach him for daring to speak so boldly in the presence of a lady of the royal household, but—

The horns sounded, and the dogs began to bark, and the party at last reached the tree line. With a wave of the Queen’s hand, lifted into the air, every one of them fell silent. 

Cassian pressed a gloved finger to his lips and winked, and Nesta was so momentarily undone by the gesture that she almost set her horse into a straight gallop. She pulled hard on the reins, knuckles straining above the leather, and when she turned, she saw laughter dancing in those damned eyes. 

She tore her gaze away, focusing forwards— on Rhysand and the Queen and Leicester. 

Slowly they made their way beneath the cover of the trees, delving farther and father into the woodland. The sound grew muffled, the heavy canopy above cloaking the rest of the world from view, and all around them was birdsong and the snap of breaking branches as the great trail of courtiers and servants began to split into smaller groups.

It would have been impossible for the entire party to have remained unnoticed by their quarry, and so— in groups no larger than a dozen, the entire court slipped away, and as Nesta looked over her shoulder when the initial flurry of activity died down, she found nobody behind them now, only the greenery of the forest and the birds in the trees above.

The Queen’s personal hunting party had narrowed, leaving only Elizabeth and Leicester, flanked by Rhysand and two more ladies-in-waiting. Madge and Azriel had joined them too, along with one more member of the Queen’s council. Nesta and Cassian brought the total to ten. 

Leicester retrieved a crossbow from his saddlebag, and handed it across the distance to his Queen. Elizabeth grinned.

A hush had fallen, and ahead Rhysand looked over his shoulder and scanned the members of the small group. Catching Cassian’s eye, he seemed to give an exasperated sigh before rolling his eyes and giving the privateer one brief, sharp, nod. Nesta did not much understand the silent and secret language Cassian seemed to share with his brother in arms, but it did not take a master codebreaker to decipher that particular message.

Alright, that nod seemed to say. I’ll do as you ask.

In answer, Cassian grinned.

And as Azriel manoeuvred his horse around them, leaving Nesta and Cassian at the back of the assembly, Rhysand pointed between the dense copse of trees ahead, where the light above was dim and the forest pressed in on all sides. 

“There!” he said loudly, his voice startling the birds nesting in the nearest tree. “Over there, your majesty!”

Elizabeth whipped her head to the side, sharp eyes assessing the direction Rhysand’s finger still pointed. Before Nesta could blink, the Queen’s smile had widened, the hunt upon her, and she kicked in her heels and sent her horse barrelling through the trees— at a speed so reckless her other councillor cursed soundly before setting his horse to follow.

Rhysand’s black stallion charged ahead, but before Nesta could urge her own mare forwards, another hand gripped her reins.

Cassian held tight, and as the rest of the hunting party darted quickly between the trees, Cassian inclined his head to the side, nodding in the other direction. His smile grew as the sound of the racing horses faded, and when he let go of the reins at last, he did not retract his hand. Instead, he extended it further, turned his palm to the sky. A silent offer, unspoken question. 

Come with me, that hand said.

And Nesta knew it was a bad idea to follow him through the wood.

Knew it was reckless, to go off with him alone.

Her reputation could end up in tatters. She could lose her position in the Queen’s household. 

And yet…

His smile was somehow sweet and devilish at the same time, simultaneously the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and the harbinger of her own ruin. 

She should have said no.

But God save her…

She didn’t. 

Instead, she placed her hand in his, feeling her heart kick as his fingers folded over her own. He drew her closer, until he could lift her hand to his mouth, and without looking away, he kissed the glove above her knuckles. She fought a shiver, and though earlier when Eris had kissed her hand she had thanked the Lord for riding gloves, now she cursed them— abhorred them. 

She felt the warmth of his hand sinking through her gloves, and oh, she only wished she could feel his touch against her bare skin, feel the smoothness of his kiss as the trees hid them from view.

At last he blinked, breaking his gaze and flicking his eyes down to the fingers he still had pressed against his lips.

A moment, an age, or a heartbeat later, he let her hand drop. And before Nesta had time to collect herself, Cassian dug in his heels and sent his horse through the trees, looking back over his shoulder, as if unwilling to draw his eyes away.

And when they were alone, with only the two of them riding almost silently, slowly, through the density of the trees, she dared to look at him again as he adjusted the crossbow that now sat across his lap, though neither of them seemed really intent on hunting anything at all. 

For a long time, there was silence— as if they were both of them afraid of being overheard. The air between them shifted, growing softer, as if the quiet gave rise to vulnerability. Suddenly, there were a thousand things Nesta wanted to say, a thousand words drifting to her lips, but in truth, she had no real idea of where or how to begin. Instead she watched the forest ahead of her, studied the way the leaves above swallowed the light, and let the silence stretch. And stretch, and stretch, and stretch, until—

At last, the privateer broke it. 

“You said you wanted me on my knees,” he began softly. “But what else do I need do to prove myself to you?”

He looked at her imploringly, the rogue cast aside, and Nesta’s heart suddenly began to strain, each beat laboured. Nothing— she knew she ought to tell him nothing, because no matter how much she wanted it, how much desire she carried, how could this ever end well between them?

Cassian studied her face.

“Do I need to sail to a distant land and claim it in your honour? Name a settlement after you? Bring you back a ream of treasure?”

She was silent, and his eyes were lined with a wealth of desperation that gave the lie to his bravado.

“Or shall I cast off my cloak before you and lay it over puddles, so your silk slippers may never touch the ground? Or—“

Nesta shook her head, and when she opened her mouth, his voice died to make way for hers. But her words grew tangled in her throat, and she hesitated— even though she never hesitated. She closed her mouth and sighed once more, and atop his horse Cassian smiled a little sadly, with so much longing her own heart ached, and when she looked at him…

Oh, he was the road her heart begged her to travel, even though it was one she knew in all good sense she wouldn’t be able to see through to its end. What was the point in letting herself fall, only to be hurt again when he left? Or when her father succeeded in tying her to some wealthy duke— if not Northumberland, then some other who came along? What was the point in any of it?

Love, a small and starving part of her whispered. The love the poets write about, the kind the troubadours sing about. The kind that makes you feel the way you do now, ready to cast off the world and find home in the arms of this one man.

As if he could see her battling with herself, Cassian drew his horse closer to hers— so close she could almost feel his warmth.

“You should know,” he said quietly, and whether the whisper in his voice was because of the need to stay hidden or the vulnerability of his words, she wasn’t sure, “that your letters were a greater treasure to me than anything I could take or steal from any ship on the high seas. Greater to me than any ransom any king could demand.”

A heartbeat passed, one where her heart seemed to thud so loudly in her chest that she feared the flock of deer they were pretending to hunt might hear it and flee.

Charming— did he always have to be so damned charming?

And God— would it be so bad, to tell him that he already had her forgiveness? Would it be so terrible, to tell him that despite it all she was his, if not in body but in mind and soul at least?

She was speechless for a moment, and he managed a weak sort of grin at her evident surprise.

And then—

The trees thinned, and a clearing lay spread before them, golden sunlight pooling in the centre like a small slice of Arcadia. Cassian sniffed a little, like the long grass and the wildflowers had irritated his nose, but still— there was beauty in that clearing, unspoiled and harmonious. 

And— a doe.

A doe stood frozen in the middle, her ears pinned back as she caught sight of the approaching horses. The sunlight dappled across her white-spotted back, and as she slowly lifted one slim leg, ready to bolt, Nesta’s eyes drifted to the crossbow in Cassian’s lap. 

She prayed he wouldn’t shoot.

But Cassian’s hand didn’t so much as twitch towards the weapon, as if he couldn’t find it in himself to hunt the creature either.

Yet on the other side of the clearing— there was the flash of auburn, the glint of an arrow.

Nesta’s heart lurched, and whether by design or divine intervention, beneath the hooves of Cassian’s horse a branch cleaved with a crack.

Readily, the deer bolted.

A curse sounded from the trees, where only a moment ago an arrow had been knocked and drawn, ready to be loosed. 

“Privateer.” A snarling voice drifted from the tree line, sharp and cutting, and Nesta recognised it immediately— saw the auburn hair like burnished bronze as Eris came into view. “You just cost me my prize.”

The duke pointed to where the deer had escaped between the trees, and though the rest of his companions remained in the shadow of the forest, she thought she could make out a handful of their faces, two of them bearing that same auburn hair. His brothers. Eris’ sneer grew wider, more vicious, and as he turned his head to fix Nesta with a stare across the distance, she wondered if his prize hadn’t only been the doe, but her, too. 

He brought his horse forwards into the clearing, further into the light, giving her an unrivalled view of the shining bruise that marred his temple. 

He hadn’t taken his loss at the joust yesterday well, it seemed, and though he cast his eyes over Nesta once more, it was to Cassian that he returned his gaze, letting out a single, dissatisfied huff. The bruise stretched up to his hairline, a livid purple stark against his pale skin, and in everything else but that, he appeared every inch the nobleman. A ring sat on every finger, and his doublet was unbroken black. Like Rhysand, he too wore a livery collar draped across his chest and shoulders, but where the Queen’s councillor had a Tudor rose dangling from his chain of office, Eris had instead the badge of a dog, its head back, lifted as if howling at the sky. 

He had a dagger out, too, presumably for slaying the deer, but the glint of the blade in the sunlight still promised bloodshed, and the way his hand flexed around the hilt said that it didn’t matter the doe had fled.

That dagger was to taste blood today, one way or another. 

“Piss off, Northumberland,” Cassian said easily— but his own hand had strayed from his bow to the sword hanging at his hip, his wrist resting purposefully on the pommel. 

Eris’ eyes flashed, quietly furious as his lip curled. “I will not stand to be insulted by one of such low standing.”

Cassian barked a laugh, but it was low and rough and dangerous. “You won’t stand for anything, sir, if I knock you from your horse as easily as I did yesterday.” He paused, and then added, “Shall I give you another bruise to decorate the other side of that pretty face?”

The duke sneered, but before he could let loose the insults that Nesta could see were rising to his tongue, there was a cacophony in the distance, and a hundred horns suddenly flaring loud enough to be heard all the way back at the castle. 

It was a summoning— a call to arms, to usher Elizabeth’s court back to her as the sun reached its highest point in the sky and dinner was served in the great tents at the edge of the forest. 

For the moment, at least, the hunt was at an end.

Eris twisted his head, looking behind him to the direction the horns had sounded. His brothers did not wait for him to make up his mind before they disappeared, following the call for food that was, apparently, of far greater worth to them than any loyalty they had for their brother. 

Cassian bowed mockingly in the saddle, but his hand did not stray from easy reach of his blade, and when Eris turned back to them, his lips were a thin line.

“These woods are treacherous,” he said flatly. “It commands great skill as a rider to avoid the pitfalls that litter these grounds. You might have won the match yesterday, sir,” - the duke’s lips pulled back over his teeth - “but how about another match? Here and now?”

Nesta watched as Cassian grinned, almost feral.

“First to the Queen wins,” he said as he moved his horse forwards, drawing level with Eris’.

The duke’s face darkened, and the nod he gave was sharp before flicking his eyes to Nesta once more. As if this were another attempt at winning her, at securing her favour for a second time. Cassian’s smile fell away, leaving behind the same murderous expression that had fuelled him at the joust yesterday.

“For the lady’s honour, then,” Eris declared, every word imbued with venom.

And when Cassian nodded, looking behind him over his shoulder to give Nesta one final wink, Eris clenched his jaw before slamming his heels into his horse’s flank, sending the beast galloping through the trees.

Cassian swore, a curse so filthy she was sure he could only have picked it up at sea, and surged forwards, letting the forest swallow him. 

But as Nesta followed, dipping beneath the cover of the trees, she saw that only the thinnest shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy of leaves above, leaving the forest floor just as treacherous as Eris had described. The ground was slick with mud, and even though the August heat ought to have dried it out, the summer sun had never made it to the ground here. Petrichor was thick in the air, and the long limbs of the trees snatched at the skirts of Nesta’s dress as she rode by them, wild and overgrown. Treacherous— this part of the forest was most definitely treacherous.

Indeed, Cassian could not ride as fast as he had yesterday, and neither could Eris, and it allowed Nesta to keep both the duke and the privateer in her sights as she followed behind, watching them weave through the trees in search of stable ground. 

As her horse almost stumbled over the gnarled roots of a tree half concealed by fallen leaves, she wondered if stable ground even existed this far into the woodland, and as the wind brushed against her cheeks and another branch snagged on her cloak, she almost called out to stop the madness that had Cassian spurring his horse onwards, regardless of the danger.

The ground began to slope— sharp and steep, and it was madness, utter madness to continue— 

Eris noted the slope, and Nesta watched as the duke swiftly studied the way the ground all but dropped away to reveal a small dell below, home to wide a stream that ran slow and idle through the undergrowth. Its banks were coated with mud, turning it slick and dangerous. 

Wisely, he veered to the side, directing his horse around— to where the ground sloped more evenly. A longer path, but a safer one, and he looked back only once before disappearing into the trees, avoiding danger altogether. 

But Cassian—

Irreverent, he glanced once over his shoulder. Manic, he grinned as he barrelled ahead, shooting Nesta a wink as he urged his horse faster still in Eris’ absence. The creature’s hooves slid in the mud, and Nesta called out his name, but Cassian had turned his face away, and if he heard her, he gave no indication.

Idiot.

She had no choice but to follow, and when he reached the banks of the stream, he did not stop. Instead he pressed in his heels, riding even faster, compelling the stallion to jump— 

And Nesta watched as the horse made the jump, but its hooves slipped on the bank on the other side, its landing far from smooth.

And just as Eris had been thrown from his horse yesterday, now Cassian was thrown from his— but it was a fall that was far more treacherous, far more dangerous, and Nesta swore her heart stopped dead as she watched him land roughly, heard the muffled groan as the ground came up to meet him. Forgetting all notions of her own safety, she urged her horse faster, willing it to cross the stream his stallion had just jumped. 

“You fool,” she hissed, feeling her horse whicker beneath her as she pushed the mare onwards. Cassian was lying on his back, a hand cast over his ribs as he looked up at the sky. “You could have broken your damned neck.”

Cassian twisted his head to look up at her as she pulled her horse to a halt.

“Got your attention though,” he muttered. “So I’d say it was worth it.”

“This was a bid for my attention?” Nesta echoed, dismounting roughly as he continued to lie there in the earth churned by his horse’s hooves. The mud was seeping through his breeches already, and the white sleeves of his fine cambric shirt were, she feared, irreparably stained. 

“Well,” Cassian said lightly, as though he hadn’t just been thrown from a stallion. “You started it, sweetheart.”

“Started what?”

He looked up at her again, turning his head in the dirt. “You gave Eris your favour.”

Nesta blinked. “You had your horse make a jump like that, risking your own bloody neck, because I gave the duke of Northumberland my ribbon? Have you lost your mind?”

“No,” he countered evenly. “My heart, perhaps. But my mind is still wonderfully intact.”

“Up,” Nesta said sharply. “Let me look at you.”

He grinned, as though vindicated, but as he made to raise himself, he hissed sharply, sucking in a breath as he pressed a hand to his ribs. His brow furrowed with pain, eyes darkening, and Nesta sighed heavily as she pulled off her gloves, held out her hand, and helped him to his feet.

“Take off your doublet,” she said flatly, looking at the expanse of muddied velvet. 

Cassian’s brow quirked. “Well, that’s not how I imagined you asking me to undress but—“

“How else can I check to see if you’ve shattered your ribcage?” she interrupted, but Cassian only grinned again and began loosening his ties. Soon enough his doublet was parted entirely, and as he slipped it from his shoulders, he winced. He let it fall to the floor, and Nesta was about to chide him for dirtying it so, but then she caught sight of his sculpted chest showing through the thin fabric of his cambric shirt. She swallowed, letting her gaze wander across his collarbone, at the tanned skin there that had been masked by his doublet’s high neck.

“And this?” Cassian said lowly, nodding to his undershirt. “Does this need to go too?”

“I… suppose it does,” Nesta said with a sniff, trying to affect nonchalance when all she could focus on was the curve of his shoulder, the muscles lining every inch of him. “How else can I check that no ribs are broken?”

“How else indeed,” Cassian hummed, and wasted no time in pulling the shirt over his head.

And good Lord have mercy, Nesta knew that Cassian was sculpted like Italian marble but nothing could have prepared her for the bare skin of his chest, hardened with muscle. Those months on a ship definitely suited him, and as she looked, she forced herself to focus on his ribs, on the task at hand. 

Innocent, she thought as she tentatively traced a finger across his ribcage, where a thin scar marred his skin. It’s all entirely proper, completely innocent. Just a lady checking a friend for injury.

He was warm beneath her, so warm, his skin softer than it had any right to be. He’d spent eight months in the sun and salt air, and he’d come back looking finer than ever. Hers— this man could be hers, and as her fingers splayed across his chest, Cassian reached up with one hand and caged her touch right above his heart. 

She felt it beat— sure and steadfast. 

“Will I live?” he asked softly. “Or am I doomed?”

Nesta swallowed, unable to tear her eyes away from his hazel ones, boring down into her with an intensity that had her feeling slightly stunned. Her lips parted, she tried to speak, but all she could feel was his heart beating beneath her fingers, his smooth skin and the warm heat of him that had her feeling breathless. 

“You’ll live,” she said at last.

He nodded, his hair falling idly over his forehead. In the sunlight, the pearl that dangled from his ear winked, the gold setting glimmering. 

Nesta blinked, and somehow found the strength to drag her eyes away, dropping her gaze to the floor. Where his shirt lay in a crumpled pile next to his doublet, there was a hint of pale-blue, a small flash of colour against the white. She frowned, tilting her head, unable to understand even as she knew what it was, what it must be.

“Is that— my ribbon?”

Cassian pulled back, a somewhat sheepish smile on his face as he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“Perhaps.”

“How did you even get it?” she asked, bending to retrieve it from the pile of his clothes. 

He shrugged. “I wasn’t about to let Eris have it.”

Silence settled between them for a moment, broken only by the noise of the forest and the sounds of the horns, distant. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” he asked quietly. “About the betrothal.”

Nesta shrugged. “Because I’m trying to get out of it,” she said easily. “It was foolish of you to think I’d still be here, unwed, when you got back. You know my father—“

“Fuck your father,” he muttered. And then he softened, his eyes turning wide with something akin to pleading. “I’m here now, sweetheart. And I’m not going away again.”

“But you will,” she countered, turning her face away. He always would— he could not be tied to the court as she was, had too restless a spirit to spend his life idling away on an estate somewhere. “And I’ll be left behind, waiting for you, again.”

“You could come with me,” he offered instead, even though the both of them knew it was madness.

Elain had moved to Spain with Lucien— but that was because his place was in the Spanish court, somewhere settled. It was bad luck to have a woman aboard a ship, everyone knew that. No, Cassian could not take her with him, but she adored him a little for even offering in the first place.

“Or you could promise not to stay away so long,” she said instead, her voice quiet. “Come home, Cassian, as often as you are able. Don’t sail so far away from me.”

“Never again,” he said, holding a hand over his heart. “How could I ever stray so far, when I love you too much to stand the distance?”

Her breath caught.

I love you.

Oh, the words were said so often at court. She’d had countless dukes and earls call her their dearest love during dances and revels, and she couldn’t even begin to fathom how many had written her poems or bowed deep and told her she held their hearts in her hands. It was part of the game they played at Elizabeth’s court— part of the realpolitik that made up their world. 

But it was different when he said it.

So different Nesta might have sworn the earth beneath her shifted, that standing beneath that canopy of trees, all the riches in the world lost their value.

She blinked, and he waited— waited for her to say something, to acknowledge his declaration.

And in the end, Nesta found the strength to dip her head, to smile a little demurely before stepping forward and pressing the softest, the chastest, of kisses to his cheek. Then, she turned back to her horse and mounted, leaving him standing there, looking up at her, one hand pressed to the cheek she had just kissed.

“I suppose, then,” she said, “that you can be forgiven for ignoring my letters.”

And as she began to ride off into the forest, she looked back once— and waited for him to follow.

Taglist: @c-e-d-dreamer @andrigyn @beansidhebumbling @burningsnowleopard @asnowfern @xstarlightsupremex

[arisenreborn]

5 Character Associations - Rann

EMOTIONS/FEELINGS:

a warm swell of pride in the chest

curiosity and wonder, an appetite to learn

the dull ache of worry and concern

caring and protective, eager to offer aid

a blade-sharp, ice-cold vengeful malice

COLOURS:

ash grey

ruby red

raven black

steel blue

dusky silver

SCENTS:

old books + parchment & ink

whatever fruits and flowers he's using for his latest tea blend

a hint of rosewater, particularly on his hands

smoky incense

a faint scent of tree tea oil - cool, soothing, minty and pine-like

OBJECTS:

Eternal Bond - a gift from Reverie

A second-hand violin Keltse kindly gave him

A collection of books on the study of magic and magical applications taking up a shelf in their house

Feathered Shawl - matches with Reverie

Anathema - a gift from another Arisen...

BODY LANGUAGE:

Arms loosely folded, not exactly closed off but patiently guarded and watchful.

Alert and discerning gaze, taking in all of the details, movements, and going-on's around him. Though relaxed it serves a purpose, but he also seems to simply enjoy 'people watching' and taking note of such things. He's attentive and absorbs information easily.

A subtle but gentle smile, peaceful and friendly - calm, collected, and confident, but not lacking a sincere warmth, it offers reassurance.

A smile that looks very similar but is frightfully cold and seems to take almost callous delight in rendering massive damage to the enemy.

A slight lack of the awareness of personal space, he's not afraid to reach out and touch, grab, or move someone if necessary - especially to assist them (or what he perceives as assisting).

AESTHETICS:

crows and ravens

tomes and scrolls

warm steam curling off of pots and cups of tea

kintsugi - mending, fixing what seems unfixable

blood and bandages

SONGS:

Hozier - Francesca

The Oh Hellos - Like the Dawn

Cody Fry - I Hear A Symphony

Syml - Body

Crywolf feat. Emalyn - Tenebrescence

Tagging: @godwoken, @bearlytolerant, @fizzyghosts, @tautline-hitch, @pawnguild,

@riftstone-of-the-calm, @wraithwars, @hit-tab, @ritens, @elluvians,

@themanwhomadeamonster, @rosenfey, @pitiable-arisen, @soloavengers, @scorbutic-properties

This is one of my favorite character prompts to do, can be as brief or detailed as you want and just a nice way to grasp some character basics. So I'll definitely be doing it for all of my characters, but def won't be spam-tagging everyone every time 😂 But!! feel free to do it for as many or few characters as you want! (and tag me if you like I'd love to see them but you don't have to <3<3<3)

[deadsquidstudios]

5 questions from @psychicbirdtaco

1. Bubble’s object-type had a peculiar advantage that made up for their fragility: whenever a new child of her object-type was delivered by the stork, that child was accompanied by a bubble wand that could be used to revive them if they were accidentally popped. Bubble gave her revival wand to Pencil, and it was passed around between the members of Freesmart.

2. Put simply, he did. This just happened off-screen since Battle For Fries’s Sanity focuses on Fries. Ruby ended up threatening Firey with a water gun in order to get him into the cage.

3. Evil Leafy was drawn to Leafy because of her negativity and anger at the end of BFDI. She preys on outcasts and loners as they tend to have the most emotional baggage she can use to manipulate them into further negativity. Her true form is a shapeless blob of red fog. As for Pan Flute, he was only able to temporarily restrain her because the concert hall he was in was a pre-Great Yoyle War structure that had been sanctified against evil spirits due to its proximity to the Evil Forest. This rendered her weaker than normal while inside it, until Leafy was recovered and EL was able to leech off of her again.

4. She was going to check her for signs of Evil Leafy returning, out of precaution.

5. Four was still stunned, yes, and there wasn’t much he could do. Attacking Two would cause…family issues.

[nether-twins]

@teenagedkraken continued from x

Orvus, that syringe was sharp and hurt like hell. Almost felt like someone stabbed him in the back with a sharp object! But it was better for it to hit him rather than Ruby. At least he knew - or hoped - whatever was in it wouldn't have any effect on him. Who were the guys that shot him with the damn thing anyway? They definitely weren't normal people by any means. Most would have run away at the mere sight of him, or been too afraid to approach him, but not these guys. They just came out of nowhere and tried to go after his friend with the syringe.

And it had been tempting to go after them after the pain eventually faded away but, much to his own utter shock, someone beat him to it. The person he tried to protect: Ruby. He wasn't sure what had caused it, or why it happened, but apparently the young kraken had gotten so angry by the attack that she decided to fight back after growing just a bit taller than him and yelling something out.

"Ruby...?" Neftin could hardly believe what he saw. It almost felt like he was in a dream, but not a very long lasting one.

Suddenly, without any warning being given, the giant finds himself being pulled away from the strangers after watching the young kraken use her laser vision to send dirt and dust everywhere. Basically rendering the other guys blind and leaving them a chance to flee while they still could. And once enough distance had been created between them he and Ruby could finally stop, sit and relax, after what was probably one of his craziest days so far in life.

"Well, if it was me they were after, then they didn't use the right dose for that syringe. I can't get sedated unless whatever is used is really strong - and then I mean strong." Neftin began carefully after hissing softly through gritted teeth, once again feeling hot pain shoot through his back when he felt the cursed syringe being pulled out. That thing had, quite literally, been a pain in his back so it was a huge relief for him to finally get it removed. So much in fact that he didn't even flinch when Ruby hugged, which didn't happen often. "But I'm fine. It just hurt when that damn syringe hit me. Who were those guys who tried to use it anyway? No one in town has ever tried to do what they did, so they're obviously not from around here."

[purrgiri]

Referencing this poll i made i came up with ideas as to what abilities team RWBY would receive from the mark

Blake powers:

Black fang-a shadowy tentacle quite similar to far reach but instead of a hand capable of grabbing objects or enemies it's a tentacle with a black fang like sharp tip allowing blake to anchor as she swings with it or stab enemies can also be used as an improvised dagger by casting it without lunching it

Shadow cat-by tapping into her faunus heritage and the magic of the void blake can assume the form of a large cat like void spirit in a manner similar to emily shadow walk

But blake works differently due to her size she can't squeeze into tight spaces like rat tunnels like emily and is also far more visible but instead has supreme climbing abilities allowing her to rapidly scale structures and the ability to jump along with gaining a far greater boost to her physical might then emily does being nearly twice as strong as her faunus body

But blake is also incapable of utilizing her aura due to forsaking her normal body for a spirit one rendering her far more varnuable to damage in this state

Facade-blake is able to copy the appearance of other people allowing her to slip past enemies unnoticed

But the longer she wears someone else face the more blakeified it becomes gaining more and more traits of her true appearance till the facade fails and people see who she really is

Dark eye-highlights objects and people of interest in white but everything else including the environment is pitch black rendering her effectively blind to anything else

Runaway-basiclly pablo "escape" once a day if blake dies her body will disintegrate and reform somewhere she believes to be safe fully healed from whatever killed her only instead of her dead body turning into rats it turns into hostile black cats that will attack whoever killed her

Yang powers:

Flashbang-a version of blink allowing Yang to teleport to another position similar to the original but with a bright fiery effect that stuns foes and the sound of an exploding fire cracker

Yang can also much like granny rags blink chose to emit an omnidirectional blast of fire akin to a small bomb going off that also blinds anyone who wasn't caught up in the blast temporarily can be amplified further by mixing her semblance in

Void dragon-allows yang to summon a void spirit resembling a dragon of old but about the size of a big dog capable of attacking foes flying short distances and breathing some fire

If killed it will reform within the void till yang summons it again

Sun gaze-similer to dark vision but tracks people via their heat signatures

Combustion-yang can summon fire for different purposes placing fire mines shooting fire balls or streams of flame conjuring walls of fire etc

Family bonds-allows yang to share some of her power with those she considers family with how much power they get depending on how close they are to her heart (ruby gets the most power blake comes second and weiss while still getting a significant amount doesn't receive as much as the other two)

Ruby powers:

scatter-blink but with a rose petel effect also leaves a intense smell of roses behind which disortinates whoever smells it due to being so intense (think basically ruby justice league crossover powers)

Hope-ruby gains the ability to stockpile "hope" and other positive emotions as energy bolstering her fighting spirit and allowing her to use it to increase her physical strength

She can also share this energy with others allowing them to benefit from it

Time burst-allows ruby to speed up time for a chosen object be it herself or others for a few seconds

Huntress-allows ruby to summon the spirit of the dead summer rose to fight at ruby side however due to being dead she's rather fragile and lacks aura and would burst into silver light and white flower petels if hit

Silver sight-dark vision but with a gray filter effect

Void eyes-mixing the magic of the outsider with the divine magic of the god of light ruby gains a version of the silver eyes that are have some bits of black in them that emit a mix of silver and black light that works on humans and faunus like they are grimm turning them to stone for a while and blinding anyone fortunate enough to not get turned to stone temporarily

Weiss powers:

Glyph gate-allows her to conjure a version of her glyphs that she can pass through like a portal to appear outside another glyph positioned prior deployed by lunching a blast of white light that travels till it hits a solid surface

Bonded summons-allows her to summon duplicates of people she's close keeping all their original skills and abilities but are more fragile then the originals

The closer someone is to her the stronger and more durable the summon would be but always far weaker then the original

Dark melody-allows her to summon a void spirit that emits a hunting melody that attracts people attention

Mirror mirror-this ability allows weiss to bring somebody reflection to life as a hostile but fragile entity as long as they are standing near a reflective surface

Reflective sight-allows weiss to see from the perspective of reflective objects allowing her to see at angles she normally wouldn't be able to

Dust queen- by tapping into weiss experience with dust this ability allows weiss to morph her body into a dust like substance Granting herself elemental abilities also allows her to regenerate should piece's of her body be destroyed but fatal injuries would not heal if she's out of mana or her head is destroyed

By using her natural summoning abilities while utilising dust queen her summons also gain dust based physiology and elemental powers also giving them a very explosive effect when destroyed

[will-the-ghosts-go-away]

2x04 Interstice: Eglee

Below is an excerpt from the initial fanfic I intended to write about Eglee and Santiago. Since watching the finale, my headcanons on her personality/backstory have significantly changed, rendering the below story incompatible with this new profile. But I still like it enough not to want to just scrap it without posting the remains, so here they are.

As flowers have no choice but to gaze upon the sun which scorches their petals and withers their gentle stems, so too is she rooted in agonizing wilt behind the curtain, unable to tear her gaze from the brightest star gleaming across their hallowed stage, even as the very sight of him crushes her heart in its brawny grip and devours the scraps with relish. 

A heavy hand, not of fate but of discipline, clasps gently her trembling shoulder. She swallows the gasp which threatens to interrupt the sacred performance, to earn his ire, and tilts her head back to meet the sternness of Romaine’s glowing gaze.

‘Eglee, focus.’

—————————

At the bottom of the backstage stairs, it is Celeste’s arms which wrap around his neck, Celeste’s lips which bestow sultry praise and receive deep kisses in glad return, while she scurries past like a rat on its way to the body box, chin tucked down to evade seeing the object of her desires in the arms of another. 

Unfortunately, their entwined thoughts are not so easily avoided—strolling in hot and heavy through her white picket mind, trampling her orchid thoughts and wildflower dreams with malicious abandon. 

She slumps down before her vanity, leaving the lights off to let the shadows ease her throbbing forehead and conceal her ruby tears, as the rest of the coven’s jubilations drown out her raging sobs. 

—————————

Santiago is the most breathtaking of anyone she has ever loved, but in equal measure also one of the most cruel, second only to her maker, he who had abandoned his precious fledgling in the mountains and left her to fend for herself, when he had not raised her to be capable of such survival, deliberately dampening her most natural vampiric instincts to keep her in a perpetual state of dependence, a pretty little whore in a golden tomb of his own creation. 

And yet, has Santiago not treated her worse? 

Her maker, wherever he may be, at least was never so cruel as to return to her embrace, only to then parade any new lovers right in front of her. She has already experienced this exact situation several times in Santiago’s two decades in the coven—always with Celeste as l’autre femme.

And always, Eglee takes him back. 

[apompkwrites]

October 18, 2022

Heartbeat Anon here! Okay, listen. I have about the attention span of a walnut. I swear I meant to actually send the writing thing I did of Lilia, I just. My brain wandered off. And didn’t come back until like a month later. BUT STILL! Also, I’m lowkey internally crying cause the Shroud update was released on my probably birthday!! (It’s complicated why it’s ‘probably’) Anyways! Here the Older!Vanrouge!Y/N ! I wrote the original mid October of last year, I need to blow off the dust this is copy pasted straight not straight gay haha from my notes so there’s also a tiny bit of me talking at the beginning.

I looooooove the ideas for Vanrogue!Name. While I do like them being a traveler from the get go, I also like them being the more sickly sibling growing up and seeing their brother do so much, maybe sacrificing so much of his future to help take care of them.

Vanrogue!Name seeing their brother do such amazing things for the fae, but also seeing him turn away opportunities to do even greater in order to stay near them at least some of the time and take care of them. They feel bad cause they’re the older sibling, but their little brother is the one taking care of them and not the other way around.

Growing up, they’d always been frail and sickly, always having to have someone watch them and be near them incase something happened. Constant checkups and doctors appointments were normal for them. They never could go outside and run around and play like all the other young fae children. They were stuck inside the walls of wherever their treatment was being held. Even then, it wasn’t the same, having to often move around to this or that doctor. The scenery changed. The people changed. The places changed. It felt like only they and their brother were the same. Only they, their brother, and the stories that they read while they lie in bed.

When both they and Lilia were still youth in fae time, they would read to Lilia and even make up some stories to tell him. He was always so cute listening intently to them spin tales like the great Thorn Fairy spun from the spinning wheel. His Ruby red eyes would sparkle with excitement, so much excitement that he accidentally made some objects in the room float a bit. They didn’t mind though. They just loved to spend time with their brother.

Lilia was at first hesitant to leave his siblings side by order of the Queen for all able bodied fae to gather and train to prepare for a war they seemed to be on the losing side of. Vanrogue!Name encouraged him. Even told him to become like the great fae heroes in the stories they used to read. Lilia promised to come back a hero for them to make them proud. Vanrogue!Name just smiled and told him he already was one in their eyes.

While Lilia was away, something seemed to change with Vanrogue!Name. At first, the doctors panicked, thinking it to be something bad and were preparing for the worst, to send a letter to the steadily rising star trainee telling of his siblings passing. It wasn’t bad though. The very opposite of bad in fact. It was incredible. It seems their body had been for some reason fighting against their magick. They don’t know exactly what changed or what triggered it, they not their doctors, but after one last very bad plunge, they seemed to soar higher than the clouds could ever go.

Their health improved, they could walk without losing their breath, they could perform magick that would render them unconscious when they were younger, they could even cast spells that some of the most advanced fae found difficult. It was odd, but also… freeing. Suddenly a whole new word opened up to them.

The doctors say that their body may’ve been afraid of the powerful magick and that both were at war with each other, causing their poor health and weak magick. Something happened or something triggered for the two to conjoin and now they work so beautifully in harmony. The doctors say that they’re one of the most powerful fae in many millennia, especially at their age.

Of course, the doctors feared that this would be temporary and that the body and magick would war against each other again. Checkups became a bit more frequent before slowly dwindling down.

In their letters to and from their brother, they told him of the entire experience and journey, from the near death(to which he was tempted to abandon his post to check on his sibling, but Vanrogue!Name sternly told him not to and even threatened him with a few childhood secrets, to which he, albeit reluctantly, backed down), to their steadily growing health, to their surge in magickal prowess.

This is where I left it in my notes and past this is where I’m picking it back up

Both Vanrouge siblings grew in status and power, soaring up the ranks in multiple aspects. It was a change for both of them. And after the war ended, even more opportunities opened up, it was wonderful! Or… at least it should’ve been.

Vanrouge!Name was aware of how many opportunities in the past their brother passed up to be with them, to stay by their side, to take care of them. It wasn’t fair to him. And they know he’s going to go and do that again once they reunite. They won’t let him pass up these these chances of greatness, of wealth, of fame, of power, of happiness… even if they’re not with him.

They didn’t really have a choice before, their body being so weak and sickly, they couldn’t look out for or take care of themself, no matter how much they wanted. So Lilia did it for them.

But now they do. They have a choice. Their body is stronger than ever, healthier than ever, better than ever. And now they can look after Lilia, their younger brother who grew up looking after them. So they’ll do it. Even if it hurts deep inside, they want what’s best for their younger brother who threw away so many years taking care of the one fae who was supposed to take care of him. So they’ll do it for him. They’ll make their choice. And leave.

By that time, they were discharged for the hospital, but still had some light surveillance just incase of a relapse, so it was easy to disappear. Especially with their powerful magick that now worked with their body instead of against it. So they left. Packed up a few belongings and a treasured storybook that they and Lilia made when they both were younglings and disappeared into the night. The only thing signifying that it was they who left on their own volition, was a note to Lilia. Telling him to live a long happy life. To take life by the reigns for the first time and do what he wanted to do. That they’ve decided to travel the world and all the realms since their body is now good enough to do so.

When Lilia arrived at their shared home, when he saw that the house was empty, when he searched high and low for his sibling, when what he found instead was a note, he did not cry. He did not weep. No tears left his eyes. A pained mournful wail broke from his throat instead. No tears would fall, but his sorrowful cry broke the hearts of all those who heard.

Many years have passed. Lilia now has a son. He has a ward in an old battle compatriot’s grandson. He now watches over the Briar Valley heir apparent. He also now goes to a school called Night Raven College.

Many years have passed and many new tales are being played and have ended and have begun.

There are rumors of a mysterious traveling storyteller. Their appearance is unknown, all information regarding it is contradictory. So is their origin and even their species. The only thing known about them for a fact is that they can spin magnificent tales like the great Thorn Fairy spun from the spinning wheel. That and that they always carry an old book. When asked what the book is, they reply that it is a book of stories they and someone else made before they began traveling.

When asked what they did before they began their endless journey or who the author was, they’d just redirect the conversation with a story.

Many years have passed. Vanrouge!Name is now little more than a storyteller for all who wish to listen or will give a lending ear. They’ve been to many places. They’ve come up with more stories inspired by those places. They’ve basically become a legend in their own right.

They haven’t seen their brother in centuries. They tried to discreetly keep up with him, but that proved too difficult. They hope he’s happy wherever he is. They hope he took the chances he got since they weren’t in the way anymore.

They’ve been invited to visit a school as a sort of guest speaker. A strange bird like fae asked them while they were in the land of the Scalding Sands to come to the school he is the Headmage at. They don’t really know why the strange fae would want them as a speaker for… something, but hey, it’s a new opportunity. Maybe they can make a new story with their experience at the school. And so they make their way to be a guest speaker at Night Raven College.

————————-

Okay! That’s that! Wooo! Have that lil bit of angst type stuff! Hopefully my walnut attention span will let me come back sooner than a month later! Uh. I hope this was okay? It turned out longer than I expected…oh! Fun fact! I had planned from the very beginning way back months ago for the sibling to leave so Lilia could be “free” of them, and I somehow remembered that detail! I hope you like this writing, uh, blurb? This writing thing I sent. Feel free ofc to share your thoughts and opinions and even add stuff onto it if you wish! Hopefully tumblr doesn’t freak out from the long ask…

- Heartbeat Anon

hi omg it's been so long almost a year D:

absolutely obsessed with the idea that sickly vanrouge, after getting better, wandered the entirety of twisted wonderland and they collected their stories to tell people.

but their favorite story to tell is that of the fearsome briar valley general

[ziicherry]

ruby rendering practice yayayay

[inhexe]

on magic regalia.

these ancient objects are the "crown jewels" of each cardinal region of oz, and the inheritance that proves the current ruler's ancestral tie to the original ruling witch. they are as follows:

the ruby slippers of the east

the crystal ball of the west

the magic wand of the south

the jet ring of the north

for some their function is obvious--a wand is a wand, a crystal ball is a crystal ball. for the other items, they're more than just accessories. each of these objects is a powerful magical prism for its owner, focusing and intensifying her magic. the witches rarely travel without their regalia either physically on their person or nearby. (when letheia needs to take extended trips to the emerald city, she has the crystal ball--which is not pocket-size--transported with her.) they are subconsciously connected to the regalia and can sense when they are being touched by unfamiliar hands. over time, a rw's magic becomes tightly bound in the regalia, such that to lose it, while it wouldn't totally disempower her, would seriously cripple her abilities. this is why, in turn, it's so powerful: it holds some portion of the magic of all her ancestor witches, which joins with hers when she calls on it.

the regalia are bound by the pastorius knot, an ancient spell whose origins are purportedly described in the myth of the royal family. in fact, it was not pastorius who wove the knot, but many covens of ordinary witches, working alongside each other in the rebellion. this has been erased from history, on the royal family's side in order to prop up pastorius the lawgiver as an all-encompassing and skillful hero, on the ruling witches' side in order to hide from the general witch population that they could, potentially, be overthrown by a large enough collective.

the knot's ties are thus: ruling witches are incapable of bringing harm to each other. if any ruling witch tries to enact bodily harm on another, all four sets of regalia will be destroyed, devastating the powers of all four ruling witches and rendering them vulnerable and helpless as rulers. this put an effective end to the wars between the cardinal quadrants, and made it so that no witch could entertain the thought of invading another witch's region.

this is why all four witches are tense, hostile, but unable to act directly to attack each other.

[thatonesalmonlingnamedspike]

tpot 14 recap from what I sent to my friend while watching it

//TPOT 14 spoilers under cut

watching TPOT 14 and pencil's "now JOIN. MY. ALLIANCE." girl Is CRASHING OUT.

pda: "for today's cake--" eraser: "WITCH IS?!?!?!?!?" pda and cammy: >:( eraser: <:(

AND BOOM MIC SOUNDS SO SILLY

I NEED TO HUG HIM

scizzory is so hair pick core. literally her.

tapey's so silly.....................

9 ball............. erm................ pretty/silly

TAX.

RETURN.

DOCUMENT.

I AM STRANGLING YOU TRD

HE SAID WOMP WOMP TO gARY,,,,,,,,

GATY.

NOT GARY.

THEYRE DROPPING LIKE FLIES

MY SILLY KINS

SOB

CRYING

SNOWBALL SAID BROTHER TO ERASER?????????/

THEYRE BROTHERS????????

TWO SO SAD...... CRYING.

THE TRANS BESTIES.........

SOBBBBBBBBBBBBBB

OMG WGAIT

REMOTE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NAILY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so many emotions at once

RB DREW A :[ ON HER FACE

CRYING.

two yo sass fanny boutta actually kill you

she pulled out the fucked up whip,,,,,,,

OKAY TWO DIED. OKAY.

UM.

SORRY TREE

I MEAN. TREE NOT TWO.

price tag is so theyboss with their >:3

their whip exploded/silly

OMG. WINTER TREE.

if only he was bald...........

FIREY JR-----

was that the fl studio logo.

tree you STUPID. those are DANGER SIGNS. you FOOL.

what kind of super Mario maker 2 level

WINNER IS LAVA PROOF??????????

he looks like something from FNAF 3 help. me

LAVA YOSHI...

oh okay then. I wonder how winner tastes

we're all stuck here!! the obvious solution is we DIE. *cemetarybell.mp4*

OOP.

they fell Undertale style

HE EXPLODED UM

OKAY

PENCIL IS HAVING A MOMENT

silly pirannah,,,,,,,,,,

welp. RB died.

also the angry death pact is so bugs when I left up a rock core

the great divide object edition

w grassy

toasty winner

Gary bein' gaty

NO..

ONE.

NO.

STOP.

ONE.

NO.

GET AWAY.

NO.

thank God.

PRICEY NO

winner is dancing out in the lava,,,,,,,

adhdcore/silly/vpos

planty...........

rip bottle

???? - 2024

toasty winner 2

WINNER SURVIVES

joy

crying. that was. an episode.

post credits I swear I will STRANGLE you if one gets gaty.

awesome 3d render...

"yucksicles" -mach beefydie November 9th 2024

BUBBLE

RUBY

SOBBING

RUNNING AROUND

THEYRE ALIVE

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY

[souhaillaghchimdev]

Interactive Web Application Development

Web development is no longer about just static pages. Users now expect responsive, real-time, and engaging experiences. In this post, we’ll explore how to develop interactive web applications that provide dynamic content and respond to user input instantly.

What is an Interactive Web Application?

An interactive web app is a website that responds to user actions in real time without needing to reload the entire page. Examples include:

Live chats

Form validations

Dynamic dashboards

Online games and quizzes

Social media feeds and comment systems

Key Technologies for Interactivity

HTML & CSS: Structure and style your app.

JavaScript: The core language for interactivity.

Frontend Frameworks: React, Vue.js, or Angular for building dynamic UIs.

AJAX & Fetch API: Load data without page reloads.

WebSockets: Real-time communication (e.g., chat apps, live notifications).

Backend Technologies: Node.js, Python, Ruby, or PHP for handling logic and databases.

Databases: MySQL, MongoDB, Firebase for storing and retrieving data.

1. Plan Your Application

Start by mapping out user flows and interactions. Identify:

What actions users will take (e.g., login, click, scroll)

How the app should respond (e.g., show a modal, fetch data)

What data is needed and where it comes from

2. Build a Responsive UI

Use CSS Flexbox or Grid for layout

Make it mobile-friendly with media queries

Add transitions and animations for smoother interactions

3. Add Dynamic Behavior with JavaScript

Use JavaScript or a frontend framework to:

Handle user events like clicks, inputs, and scrolls

Update content without reloading the page

Manipulate the DOM (Document Object Model)

4. Connect to a Backend

Use APIs to send and receive data from the server:

Use fetch() or axios to make HTTP requests

Implement RESTful APIs or GraphQL

Secure endpoints and handle authentication

5. Real-Time Features

For real-time functionality, use:

WebSockets: For bi-directional communication

Firebase Realtime Database or Firestore: For instant data syncing

Pusher or Socket.io: Libraries that simplify real-time integration

6. Test and Optimize

Test responsiveness on different screen sizes

Use tools like Lighthouse or WebPageTest for performance analysis

Minify and bundle JavaScript and CSS for faster loading

7. Deploy Your App

Use services like:

Vercel or Netlify for frontend hosting

Render, Heroku, or Railway for full-stack apps

GitHub Actions for CI/CD automation

Popular Use Cases of Interactive Web Apps

Interactive data dashboards

E-commerce platforms with live product updates

Educational platforms with quizzes and code editors

Project management tools like Trello or Notion

Conclusion

Interactive web applications create engaging and efficient user experiences. With a solid understanding of JavaScript, a powerful frontend framework, and modern backend tools, you can build apps that users love to interact with. Start simple, focus on clean UX, and keep improving your skills!

[antonymarshall]

AI Training Institute in Coimbatore - Skyappz Academy

Introduction:

In today's rapidly evolving tech landscape, full-stack development has emerged as a crucial skill set for building robust and scalable web applications. Mastering full-stack development involves proficiency in both frontend and backend technologies, along with a deep understanding of databases, servers, and deployment strategies. This comprehensive guide aims to provide aspiring developers with the knowledge and resources needed to become proficient full-stack engineers.

Understanding Full-Stack Development:

Definition and Scope: What is full-stack development, and why is it important? Frontend Technologies: HTML, CSS, JavaScript, and modern frameworks like React, Angular, or Vue.js. Backend Technologies: Server-side languages (e.g., Node.js, Python, Ruby), frameworks (e.g., Express, Django, Flask), and APIs. Databases and Data Modeling: Relational (e.g., MySQL, PostgreSQL) vs. NoSQL (e.g., MongoDB) databases, ORM (Object-Relational Mapping), and data schema design.

Learning Path:

Building a Foundation: Mastering HTML, CSS, and JavaScript fundamentals. Frontend Development: Dive into frontend frameworks and libraries, and learn how to build responsive and interactive user interfaces. Backend Development: Explore server-side programming, API development, authentication, and authorization. Database Management: Gain proficiency in database design, querying, and optimization techniques. Full-Stack Projects: Undertake hands-on projects to integrate frontend and backend technologies, working with real-world scenarios.

Essential Tools and Technologies:

Version Control: Git and GitHub for collaborative development and code management. Development Environments: IDEs (Integrated Development Environments) like Visual Studio Code, Atom, or Sublime Text. DevOps Practices: Continuous Integration (CI) and Continuous Deployment (CD) pipelines for automated testing and deployment. Containerization: Docker for creating portable and scalable development environments. Cloud Services: Deployment on platforms like AWS, Azure, or Google Cloud for scalability and reliability.

Best Practices and Patterns:

Code Organization: Maintainable code structure and modular design principles. Security Considerations: Implementing secure authentication, data validation, and protection against common web vulnerabilities (e.g., XSS, CSRF). Performance Optimization: Techniques for improving frontend rendering speed, backend response times, and database efficiency. Testing Strategies: Unit testing, integration testing, and end-to-end testing for ensuring application reliability. Documentation: Writing clear and comprehensive documentation for code, APIs, and project architecture.

Continuous Learning and Growth:

Keeping Up with Technology: Stay updated with the latest trends, frameworks, and best practices in full-stack development. Community Engagement: Participate in online forums, meetups, and conferences to learn from peers and industry experts. Personal Projects and Contributions: Contribute to open-source projects, build side projects, and showcase your skills through portfolios and GitHub repositories. Mentorship and Collaboration: Seek mentorship from experienced developers and collaborate on projects to gain practical experience and insights.

Conclusion:

Mastering full-stack development is a continuous journey that requires dedication, practice, and a thirst for learning. By following the guidance outlined in this comprehensive guide and staying committed to honing your skills, you can become a proficient full-stack engineer capable of building complex and innovative web applications. Embrace challenges, stay curious, and never stop evolving as a developer.