#she smells vaguely like antique store

[ladybug-furby]

hello everyone!!! i got a juicy grape furby!! she came NIB, here are some pictures!!

the box was in really good condition, i’m wondering if i should put her back in there after i customize her or not…

she does not have a name yet!! if anyone has any ideas, let me know!

[twstbookclub]

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

[connortalbot]

Last night was a disaster. There was no other way to put it. He got drunk, he talked with an ex, and he ran across his pseudo uncle that he hadn’t spoken to since that entire branch of his family had died. Really, it couldn’t have gotten much worse.

Still, work is work and Connor actually loves his job. It isn’t Filthy Fenrir (which frustrates his parents to no end) but it’s something he actually likes. And it stimulates both his English and his Business degree. It’s a win-win for all parties involved. Except for the patrons of his family’s speakeasy who instead have to be amused by Clifford, a man who’s idea of a good time would probably be burning down the entire establishment thanks to a few misplaced fireworks.

He has his glasses on. They aren’t so much a necessity right now as a fashion choice but as a general people tend to trust the book store owner who looks smarter. Plus it helps with all the fine print on the spines he has to put back into place. Normally they would be scattered about with vague organization, but ever since Elias started working here things have seemed a little bit more put together.

It would probably be a little more if Connor didn’t come back from an antique show every week.

He’s putting away a clutter of new books in the fiction section when he notices a woman studying them. Almost all the ones she’s looking at right now have some sort of supernatural vibe to them. None of them are really that accurate but having them out is a good way to keep track of who might just be more Aware in this city than others.

Not that this girl smells human at all. He can’t quite catch the exactness of it, but it’s familiar enough that he is immediately intrigued.

“Can I help you find anything?” Connor asks with a smile. More flies with honey and all that. “If you’re looking for a specific kind of lore in particular I can help you find it.”

The implication is there and if she understands it, if she is Aware or something more, hopefully she’s able to understand him. If not then, well, no harm, no foul.

@noatwithstanding​

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Hart and Hunter - Chapter 3- Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Julian Hart

With my center restored, I tune my senses to ignore what doesn't interest me.

It's like being in a crowded room full of loud voices, which gradually goes quiet as people fall silent, until I can hear what interests me.

Turning my attention to the display case, I rest my hands on the glass.

Glass doesn't hold energy well... like light, things pass right through it... so I get almost nothing from the case.

There's a very slight impression around the lock... the sort of boring comfort of a daily routine, which probably comes from Stephanie.

Ignoring that, I let my senses open to their fullest, seeking anything that stands out as different, recent and fresh... a sense of excitement or triumph, a fear of being caught, the need to hurry or hide.

Things a thief might feel, in other words.

I get nothing and after a minute, I admit defeat.

I may have more control than I used to but I can still give myself a headache if I'm not careful.

Withdrawing my attention back into myself, I slowly dial my receptiveness down to a normal level, until I can sift through a box of antiques and pick up nothing but some dust and a musty smell... same as everyone else.

I open my eyes and find Dane watching me while pretending to investigate the carpet nearby.

"Get anything?" he asks.

I shake my head but smile.

Every time I use my abilities like this and maintain control, I count it as a win.

"Nope. Not for this case, anyway. Pretty sure there are at least three murder weapons in here somewhere, though."

His attention sharpens.

"Really?"

I laugh.

"No, not really. Maybe one. What about you? Anything?"

He gives me a look and shakes his head.

"Not a thing. It's like this guy's a ghost."

"Nah. I'd probably pick up more if he was."

I glance around.

Stephanie has yet to raise the blinds blocking the windows and knowing that espresso machine, she'll be gone another ten minutes, at least.

"You wanna Shift?" I ask.

"Sniff around as a Wolf? You might pick up more that way."

He shakes his head.

"Too risky. The last thing we need is a client walking in on me naked."

I snort.

"I'm sure we could explain it somehow."

"Uh-huh."

He rolls his eyes.

We spend the next quarter hour poking around, examining every nook and cranny and continuing to turn up heaps of nothing.

Finally, Stephanie reappears, bearing a tray of drinks and looking flustered.

"Sorry," she says, handing us our coffees.

"I think a bunch of snails could make a latte faster. What did you find?"

I leave the explanations and apologies to Dane and make one last circuit of the store, with a different eye this time.

There's some nice stuff in here. As I listen to Dane advising Stephanie to call the cops as soon as we leave, I stop to admire a small side-table with a drawer.

Then I check the price-tag and sigh, even thrift-shop furniture is out of our budget right now.

I'm about to turn away when something else catches my attention... a small symbol drawn on the wall.

It's the size of a quarter and about at chest height and appears to be drawn with green marker to blend with the paint.

My first thought is that it might have something to do with Feng Shui, which is Stephanie's other business but it looks more like a rune than a Chinese character.

There's something vaguely familiar about it, though I'm almost certain I've never seen it before.

Curious, I reach out and trace it with my fingertips.

I don't even have time to register my mistake.

Psychically speaking, it's like someone puts a gun to my head and pulls the trigger.

There's a brilliant flash of pain and then nothing.

[sincerely-sofie]

Hi Sofie, i-never-forgot here!😊This may be an odd sort of question and I can’t recall if you’ve either discussed it before or mentioned it in TPiaG or not, but how would you describe Darkrai and some of the others in a tactile sense? I’m a detailed writer myself so I dwell on stuff like this to make it seem as accurate as possible lol

Obviously more animal-adjacent Pokemon would more closely resemble their IRL counterparts (like my main pair of Leafeon and Lucario having fur, as well as Grovyle likely having scales and being cool-natured due to being cold-blooded like geckos) with some “fantastical” differences (like Twig also being scaled but perhaps warm to the touch due to being a fire type? I know she can’t regulate her temperature like normal ones would, but would she still run a higher than average temperature compared to other Pokemon?), but I struggle to describe some of the more vaguely inspired ones, if that makes sense.

Would Celebi be smooth like onion skin or would she have soft hairy scales/powdery like moths/butterflies since she’s technically like a fairy?

Would Dusknoir be more ghostly or tangible? I think he’d be cool to the touch and I know he can control whether he’s corporeal or not at will, but would he be just kind of fleshy or more “ectoplasmic” for lack of a better word?

And as for Darkrai, I just can’t get it out of my head that he’s feathery since Cresselia has them. Is he super soft with short down? I just can’t picture him having fur/hair for some reason.

I guess what this boils down to is that I’m asking for a bit of writing advice haha. I portray my characters as somewhat tactile in their affection but I’m running into this issue of not being sure how to describe some of the others’ physical characteristics😅sorry for the long ask, my friend!

No need to apologize— I love receiving long asks! :D

I’ve been puzzling this out in my head for a while now. I’m wanting to work on writing with more vivid sensory details, so I’ve been working on a bit of a cheat sheet to refer to when I’m describing the main cast of TPiaG. It’s still a work in progress, but here’s some of the notes I’ve got!

Celebi isn't visibly hairy, but she'd feel like a lamb’s ear plant’s leaf if you touched her— very much soft and fuzzy, but in a plant way instead of an animal way. I picture the green parts of her having a shimmery, powdery substance they give off when something touches them, but she usually keeps that substance from building up because it would overwhelm her natural beauty with sparkles if she didn't. She smells like crushed bay leaves.

I imagine Dusknoir would have more “give” to him than someone who is 100% corporeal 24/7, but he's still solid despite having an overstuffed-pillow quality to him. He is not going to beat the beanbag allegations on my watch. He'd feel a few degrees cooler than your average pokemon, but only a few— enough for someone to take note of it if they weren't expecting as much, but nothing comparable to some of the ice-types out there. His hands and head as well as the cuffs on his wrists and his collar / frill all feel completely solid, and are unyielding to the touch. He smells like an antique store— that sort of dusty, perfume-smelling kind specifically.

Grovyle is pretty much a typical lizard in terms of scaliness, though maybe snakes would be a better comparison? He doesn’t feel very rough, but he’s definitely got scales. His leaves are similar to those awful crab grasses that will kill you with paper cuts if you look at them the wrong way. He smells like cut grass.

Twig is entirely smooth, save for her “freckles”, which are actually scattered patches of raised scales that are somewhat rough. She radiates ambient heat that could be compared to a fireplace that's burning low after having maintained a roaring fire for a while— the kind of warmth that's not intense enough to burn your face but is still cozy and comforting. She smells like a campfire, but only a tiny bit— she smells more strongly of forests in the sun and the bark on trees.

Kip feels like a dolphin. I don't know how to describe him other than with this comparison. He’s kinda rubbery and very solid, and has a lot of muscle under his cute exterior. His head and tail fins feel kinda like silk, but with a lot more substance to them. He smells like freshwater and rain.

Darkrai has evaded my ability to describe for the longest time. I can't make up my mind. I love the idea of him being feathery, but it doesn't quite fit the image I have for him in my head. The best descriptor comparison I can summon is those satin fabrics you can find bolts of at fabric stores. He feels… sleek? I guess is a good word? Sleek but not slippery like some of the fancier satins out there. But yeah. He feels fabric-y in terms of texture, and like the cold side of a pillow in terms of temperature. His plume feels more like hair the closer to his head you get, and the further away you get the more intangible it becomes and feels like the air on really misty days where everything seems saturated with cold and dew. The puffy cloudy things on his shoulders share the same trait. He smells like nothing, at least from Twig's POV, but specifically the kind of nothing that you smell in your own home where everything is so familiar you just stop noticing the scents.

I struggle to be very sensory in my writing, so this cheat sheet is going to be a vital resource as I try and describe senses more— hope it’s able to help you a bit as well! :>

[headcanonthings]

DinLuke Flower/Tattoo Shop AU

Luke never thought he’d be the owner of a flower shop. He always thought he’d follow one of his many family members footsteps. 

He practically grew up in his father’s robotics company, he’d done a summer internship for his Senator mother, earned several belts at his Uncle Ben’s martial arts studio, did a very intensive year at his Aunt Beru’s farm, and even volunteered as an assistant teacher at the school his grandfather Yoda was principle of. 

While Leia seemed happy enough to follow their mother’s footsteps Luke never fully clicked with anything he tried and ultimately decided that he wanted to pursue something that didn’t have anything to do with his extended family

Luke finds the flower shop when wondering around a small plaza looking for a Mother’s Day gift; somewhere in the conversation he has with the owner of the shop he gets offered a job and because he’s not doing anything else at the moment he agrees

Luke ends up really liking it, more than he ever thought he would and before he knows it a few years have gone by the owner of the shop is retiring and signing the shop over to Luke

Luke loves the little shopping plaza where his store is located; there’s a nice antiques shop, a fun crafts store, an art studio that hosts different classes, and the main cornerstone of the center is the café owned by his Aunt Ashoka 

One day, Luke is a little bored as it’s been a slow day at his shop and is contemplating whether he wants to get a head start on his resupply forms or put it off by visiting his Aunt Ashoka’s café when he hears the little chime above his door go off

a small child, probably around 5 years old by Luke’s guess, walks into the shop and walks around smelling all the flowers that are at his height; Luke waits a little bit for the kid’s parent to come in but no one else enters the shop and a look out the wide display window doesn’t show any parent frantically looking for a missing kid

Luke approaches the child asking if he can help him, the Child turns immediately and signs a greeting at him (Luke is glad that he learned how to sign from his grandfather Yoda who was HOH); before Luke can really question anything the kid points to one of the flowers buckets hanging higher than he can reach

Luke grabs one of the blooms, a simply little daisy, and hands it to the child which gets him the widest smile he thinks he’s ever seen on someone so small; the kid digs into his pocket with one hand and pulls out a few crumpled dollar bills which he hands over to Luke; Luke feels his heart melt because that is too freaking precious

Luke tries to give the flower to the kid for free, it’s just a single bloom of a very common and popular flower, but the kid is very insistent on paying, so he carefully makes change for the little boy then watches as the kid walks out of the shop and across the plaza to the shop opposite of Luke’s

the shop that’s been empty for a few years; Luke heard it had been bought a couple months ago and had been vaguely aware of the workers going in and out as it was renovated. As he looks now, Luke see’s that there’s a fresh sign that labels the place as Dark Saber Tattoo & Piercing 

the kid walks right in and goes up to the one man in the shop; he’s dressed in motorcycle leathers and still wearing his helmet and hands the guy the flower

Luke watches through the large display window as the guy walks further back into the shop only to return a moment later with a tall glass of water, he crouches to let the kid place the flower in the glass then places the whole thing on the corner of the large desk Luke assumes will be where the customer will pay

Luke realizes that he’s staring like a creep and quickly goes back to his own business making a mental note to greet the new shop owner later expecting that will be his only experience with the kid

he is wrong

it quickly becomes a routine that the kid, who Luke eventually learns is named Grogu, comes in pretty much everyday around the same time to purchase a single flower which he then carries over to the tattoo parlor to add to the little glass on the desk

After a few weeks of this, Luke looks up to see Grogu dragging the leather clad man across the plaza and into the shop; this is how Luke finally meets the Tattoo shop owner and Grogu’s dad Din Djarin

Luke may or may not immediately fall in love with the man after watching him interact with his kid as Grogu pulls him all around the shop showing off his favorite flowers

It takes a couple months of them dancing around each other; creating a friendship and being teased mercilessly by their friends before Din (to everyone’s surprise) makes the first move and asks Luke out for a drink

Grogu is very happy when he gets to help pick out the flowers for his Dad and Luke’s wedding

BONUS HC’S

Din used to be a bounty hunter following in the steps of his adoptive parents

Din came across baby Grogu during one of his jobs and ended up taking care of him for a few days while he tried to find his bounty, he quickly got attached to the child and decided to adopt him (he may have used some of his connections to help speed up the process) 

Din knows the kind of anxiety that comes with a parent being a bounty hunter and doesn’t want to put Grogu through that so decides to give that up; he’d done a couple odd jobs between bounties and one that he really enjoyed was his small stint as a tattoo artist so after a few drinks and some encouraging words from his friends opens up his own parlor

He convinces Greef to come in and handle all the actual business stuff like getting approved for loans, the renovation, and all the different licenses

Din taps his friends to fill out the shop

Cara Dune who got tired of the police business agrees to be the shop’s piercer

 Cobb Vanth joins as another tattoo artist; Din has a small jealous episode when he learns that Cobb and Luke know each other, Aunt Beru’s farm is located outside the small town where Cobb grew up

He calms down once its clear that the two were just friendly acquaintances and nothing more

Boba Fett is a semi-retired tattoo artist, he closed his own shop across town a few years ago, but he’ll come in pretty much whenever Din (or Cobb) asks 

No one knows what Fennec does. Is she a bounty hunter? a government agent? an assassin? The only thing anyone’s been able to gather is that Din came across her during his bounty hunter days (which considering that’s how he’s met all his friends doesn’t actually say anything), Boba saved her life once, she’s like overly competent at everything, and everyone is scared of her

Grogu can hear but he isn’t a big talker, so Din has been teaching him sign language to help him communicate with others and all of his friends have picked it up as well to help Grogu feel more comfortable

[crouchingtiger28]

Illumination

“Welcome to Angel Antiques!” Angelina choruses as the door clinks open. Warm wind gusts through the open door, letting in the hodgepodge scent of sunshine, pavement, gasoline, steel, and a variety of pastries and foodstuffs.

The door thumps closed, muting most of the scents again, and footsteps make their way into the store. Three sets of footsteps, all of them heavy and sure. All adults or older teenagers, then.

Angelina leans against the counter and listens idly as they wind through the store, picking up items to make a remark or point something out before setting them down again. They bring the dozens of small scents that people don’t realize they have with them when they pass by the register, and Angelina absentmindedly sorts through them.

Dog, dirt, grass, oil, a bit of blood, the cinnamon-sugar from the churro cart on the corner, fancy soap, detergent, sawdust, nail polish, makeup, hair dye.

The scent of sunshine is still lingering in the shop over the background smells of dusty fabric and old wood, so Angelina can’t pick out some of the more subtle scents.

The man snaps his fingers and one of the women giggles. The other woman has wandered off to the other side of the store.

“Excuse me?” The man asks, voice directed towards Angelina.

“Yes sir?” Angelina tilts her head up so she’s vaguely facing him, automatically pushing her glasses up to make sure they’re covering her eyes.

“This doesn’t have a price tag on it, does that mean it’s free?” He waves something absently in the air – it smells like old paper and ink, so Angelina assumes it’s one of their books.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I have the prices of everything on record here if you can just tell me what the title is…” she trails off, standing to reach the records shelf. She runs her hand gently along the spines until she finds the one with ‘Books for Sale’ stamped along it. She slides it off the shelf while the man chuckles and the woman still standing next to him giggles.

“Sir?” She prompts, propping the book open.

“Can’t you see it?” He drawls, gesturing with the book, “Just look right here. It’s just about the size of your sun-touched head.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Angelina says, not a hint of bitterness in her voice despite the insult, “I’m blind, I can’t see it at all.”

The man goes quiet. The woman goes still. Across the store, Angelina can hear the other woman almost drop the item she’s holding.

“Ah…” The man trails off, seeming unsure how to respond to that. He defaults to pretending it didn’t happen. “It’s, er, it’s called ‘The Facts and Foci of the Fae’.”

“All right, let me look that up.” Angelina chirps, running her fingers down the page. It’s a book she recognizes as having come in not long ago, so it doesn’t take her long to find it.

“That would be eight hundred and fifty American dollars, sir.” Angelina tells him.

“That’s outrageous!” he exclaims, clearly gearing up for a rant on the price of books.

“Oh my goodness, that cheap!?” The woman across the store hurries up to the register, still absently carrying the item she was inspecting, “Adam if you don’t buy that I will!”

“But- it can’t be that expensive.” The man – Adam – protests, turning to her.

“It’s a college-level textbook,” The woman says, exasperated, “that they don’t make anymore, they don’t teach the classes for, and it’s illegal to practice what it teaches. Of course it’s valuable.”

Adam surely would have replied to that if the first women doesn’t finally overcome her shock enough to speak.

“You can’t be blind!” She blurts, shoving her friends out of the way, “Stop lying to us!”

“I assure you, ma’am, I’m not lying.” Angelina says, baffled, “I truly am blind.”

“That’s bull!” The woman snaps, “Blind people can’t run stores!”

“Kathy, leave it!” Adam hisses, a rustling of cloth and a sharp jerk from Kathy suggesting that he grabbed her arm and she pulled violently away.

“No!” Kathy screeches, “You’re lying, you aren’t blind you’re just faking it!”

Angelina’s temper is fraying dangerously fast, and her mind keeps straying to the small container of dried human blood stowed under the counter. She’s in her own place of business, so a transformation isn’t automatically illegal, but short of being actively assaulted she won’t be able to convince the Enforcers it was self-defense.

“I am not lying.” Angelina repeats, teeth gritted, “I’ve been blind since an accident when I was twenty-three.”

“Liar!” Kathy howls. Before Angelina can stop her she lunges across the counter, fingers scrabbling at Angelina’s glasses.

Angelina yelps and automatically tries to fend Kathy off. The woman is unmoved, clawing at Angelina’s face until she has one of the lenses clutched in her talon-like nails. Kathy retreats back to her side of the counter with a self-satisfied ‘humph’, Angelina’s sunglasses in hand.

Angelina has a hand up to cover her face in time to prevent… unfortunate revelations, and she reaches out with the other.

“Please give me my glasses.” She says, as calmly as she can manage. It isn’t very calmly. She can feel the hand over her eyes shaking with rage, and the roof of her mouth aches from holding her fangs up.

“No.” Kathy says smugly, “not until you admit that you aren’t blind.”

“Kathy,” The second woman starts, “I don’t think you should-”

“Nonsense.” Kathy interrupts her, “She shouldn’t be pretending to be blind if she doesn’t want to be called out on her lie, Sophie”

“I am blind!” Angelina protests, pulling her outstretched hand back to hide it as she clenches it into a fist.

“Then you shouldn’t mind showing us your eyes.” Kathy says, “Hiding them just makes you look guilty, you know.”

Something in Angelina snaps, and she retaliats the only way she legally can. She obeys.

Angelina knows – vaguely – what her eyes look like. She’s seen a few vampires that have been sunscarred, and she’s seen her own Transformation Lines on her hands and feet and even in the mirror on her eyes. Sunscarring is tragically beautiful. It’s perfect lines and precise angles frozen in a brand of pain and loss.

Angelina pulls her hands off her eyes and glares – as much as she can glare – through Kathy. She stops resisting her instinctual threat display and let sher mouth drop open and fangs fold down behind her human teeth. The whistling hiss that always accompanied the threat is actually breathing out through her fangs, narrow holes in the bone that allow her to suck blood or inject venom.

Kathy screams. Adam shouts and the book thumps to the ground. Sophie yelps, fumbling the item in her grip again and dropping it for real.

In moments, Kathy is out the door and down the street, letting the chaotic scents of the outside in yet again. The smell of sunlight has only gotten stronger as the sun rose, and it makes every already-tense nerve in Angelina’s body stand on end.

She can hear each person’s individual heartbeats, even her own thumping slower than a human’s in her chest. Adam’s breath comes in erratic stuttering gasps and Sophie is hardly breathing at all. Angelina can practically taste the sunshine in the traces of warmed stone, thriving plant life, and hot tar on the air.

Adam stammers something, tripping over his words, and Angelina automatically turns towards him, hissing erratically. His flow of half-syllables abruptly stops and he follows Kathy out the door.

Sophie is still in the store, and every one of Angelina’s senses is trained to the max. She can’t hardly smell anything, not under the overwhelming scent of sunshine that seems almost all-consuming in her panic. She can’t see, can’t smell, can barely think.

“Hey.” Sophie says, calm and collected, and it slices neatly through the building crescendo of panic crashing through Angelina.

“Hey,” Sophie says again, in the same level voice, “I don’t want to hurt you. I have your glasses if you want them.”

Yes. Angelina does want them. Despite herself, Angelina reaches a tentative hand out, expecting… she doesn’t know what. Instead of some unspecified terrible thing, Sophie deposits the sunglasses in Angelina’s hand. Angelina scrambles to put them on so fast she almost stabs herself in the eye.

“Thahnk yu.” She manages, fangs blundering her speech slightly.

“Of course.” Sophie says, and Angelina can hear the smile in her voice, “I’m sorry about them. I had no idea they would react so… brainlessly, I suppose.”

“I’s fin’e.” Angelina says, trying to muster a smile, “I’ used tu it.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have to be!” Sophie snaps, abruptly angry, “No fae should have to be constantly hated like that.”

“I’s fin’e.” Angelina says again, straightening the record book in front of her, “Du yu ‘an’t tu ‘uy that ‘ook?”

“Ah, yes, thank you.” Sophie says, though she doesn’t sound especially willing to let the matter go, “I’ll pay you nine hundred dollars for it.”

“It’s only priced for-” Angelina starts, finally managing to pull her fangs back up to stow along the roof of her mouth.

“I know.” Sophie says, “I figure you deserve it after what Adam and Kathy were up to, anyway. Plus, it’s still an absolute steal at that price.”

“Alright,” Angelina consents, ringing her up with the ease of much practice.

“Also, uh. I was wondering- well.” Sophie clears her throat, and Angelina can tell she looks away from the way her voice changes, “Well, do you know where I could get… more materials like this?”

And just like that it makes sense. The smell of sunshine that hung around the shop when it should have dissipated, Sophie’s strong interest in the book for training wizards, even the way the scent of sunlight surged so strong when Angelina was angry. Sophie is a wizard. She brought the sunlight to the shop, and it spiked when she was frustrated and scared.

“Yeah,” Angelina says instead of laying out her deduction and accusation, “Let me get you his number.”

[quillsareswords]

Smoke: VII | Stay Awhile

SUMMARY: After vanishing for four years, you return to the place you once called home, to the people you once called family. We all carry our baggage in different ways, using different techniques to hide it. You just happen to hide it in cigarette smoke.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: While the antique book shop on Fifth Avenue may have burned down long  before your return, the owner you never forgot is still making an  impact on your life, and she doesn’t even know it.

SERIES WARNINGS: cigarette smoking; underage drinking; gang activity; violence; swearing; blood; self-hate

MASTER LISTS in BIO

    The air is warmer now, than it was a few hours ago. Your windows are open, floors freshly swept, dishes freshly washed, bed freshly made. Outside is crisp and clean, and you've decided the inside should be too.

    Only a lamp illuminates the room, the setting sun does the rest, leaving the corners of the room bathed in comforting shadows.

   You’re in the middle of sorting out the good food in your refrigerator from the bad when he arrives.

   Three knocks exactly, no particular rhythm. You leave the decidedly shamefully rotted takeout in the trash and close the heavy white door before you answer the door. “Hey,” you greet fluidly, welcoming him inside without a second thought.

   “Hello,” he replies, stepping past you to escape the chill in your building’s halls, only to be sorely disappointed in your home. “Is your heating out?” he asks pointedly. You note his coat is buttoned, behind the stack of five books he holds in his arms.

   You stare blankly for a moment, before you shut and lock the door behind him. “No,” you answer slowly. “I thought it was pretty warm out, so I opened the windows. Are you cold?”

   He doesn’t answer verbally, just rolls his eyes. He makes his way to your ratty leather couch. “Anyway, I brought your books.” He sets the the stack of literature in the coffee table as he sits down.

   You nod. “Thanks. For driving all the way over, I mean.” You pick up an empty white mug from the end table by your recliner. “Can I get you anything? I can put the kettle on, if you want tea.”

   He declines, and watches you pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee. Then, you take your seat in the recliner.

   You pull the stack of books across the table, curiously skimming the titles on the spines. Griffin’s Castle, The Dragon Queen, Catcher in the Rye, Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. An odd group of books, you think. At the top, you open the cover of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

   “Where were you today?” Damian barked from the bottom the tree. You peered down at him from your claimed branch, marking your page with a finger. He looked angry, messenger bag still slung across his torso, glaring up at you with his hands on his hips.

   You rolled your eyes and stubbed out a cigarette, flick it away so he doesn’t catch it. “Jesus, you sound like Nick,” you gruffed. “I’ve been here, mostly. What’s it to you?”

   He threw you an incredulous look. “You were supposed to cover for me in Lit, remember?”

   You heaved a heavy breath. “No, actually, I forgot.” The edge of annoyance to your voice is gone. “Sorry.”

   You heard him grumble something about you never listening, as he started climbing up to his branch, next to yours. He situated himself there, and hung his bag on the chopped stub above him. “So, what? You spent your whole day up in this tree?”

   “Yeah, pretty much.”

   “What are you reading?” He reached over and pushes your book one way, to read the cover. “The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland?”

   You nodded, rough bark of the tree scraping against your scalp and probably knotting your hair. “Yeah, Granny Crockett loaned it to me. She said it’s a crime that I haven’t read it already.”

    “Sorry about the dust. They’ve been sitting in a box in my closet for some time.”

   You gaze shoots up to meet his. “The dust-? Oh, yeah. It’s fine.” You brush off the thin gray film from the title.

   “Alfred sent this, as well,” he adds, pulling a piece of paper from the inner pocket in his jacket. “He thought you’d want it, for whatever reason. Found it when he was dusting, apparently.”

   You accept the thin paper and turn it over. It isn’t a piece of paper at all, actually. It’s a photograph, of you, and Damian, and Nick, all dressed up and ready for the Freshman Dance.

   You smile down at it, shaking your head at the bright purple, sequin speckled dress your past self wears. “I can’t believe you let me go out in that thing.”

   “I did no such thing,” he argues. “I told you the sequins were too much, but you wouldn’t listen. You never did, anyway.”

   You laughed. “I’m the one who doesn’t listen? Which one of us took Rebecca Tacks?”

  He shook his head. “You encouraged the whole ordeal. I would have much preferred to stay home and beat you at checkers until you flipped the board,” he countered, leaning back against the cracked leather.

   “I told you to get a date, not ask out the rudest person you could find!” you defended. “I told you the night would end in tears, now didn’t I?”

   “Maybe you were in tears, but I sure wasn’t,” he chuckled.

   “Only because you didn’t think the junior class president dumping green punch all over the pageant girl was as funny as I did!”

   You left it at that. A long moment stretched on, both of you lost in quiet laughter and memories of screaming teenage girls and a howling student body.

   You stare fondly at the photo still pinched between your fingers. You wonder what prom was like. You wonder who he took.

   “On second thought,” Damian says suddenly, retaking your attention, “I’d appreciate a cup of tea.”

   You blink. You don’t just hear the request, but the ask lying between the lines.

   Can I stay awhile?

   “Really?”

   He nods. “If it isn’t a problem.”

   You smile. “Of course it isn’t.”

   The corners of his lips tilt. “Do you have any-?”

   “Earl Gray,” you say confidently, practically jumping out of your chair, “two scoops of sugar and fresh lemon.”

   When you look back at him from across your kitchen island, he’s staring at you like he’s seen a ghost.

   You grin teasingly. “Do you know how many times I had to make it for you when we were younger? It’s practically ingrained into my memory.” You turn away to get a mug down from the cabinet. You don’t dare mention the number of times you made an extra cup because the smell reminded you of home that first year you were gone.

   While you stand in the kitchen, your back to him, as you wait for the kettle to reheat, he steals the moment to look around your apartment. He hadn’t really gotten the chance last time.

   It isn’t a place he ever imagined you to live.

    It’s nothing like the place you dreamed about growing up. You always spoke of a big balcony, high ceilings. Big windows, but some that could be left open in the spring and the fall to flood the place with fresh air. You wanted large rooms, an open floor plan, and pictures of friends and family on every wall. You wanted a place that felt like home, with soft furniture and plenty of places for visitors to sit. Somewhere big, but not so big that it felt lonely when no one was there with you. Somewhere to go after a long day where you could relax. Somewhere warm, where your family would come to visit for the holidays, wasn’t so close to home that they’d visit too often.

   This is not that place. This place is dark, the wallpaper is peeling in patches, the ceiling is cracked in sport. It smells vaguely of must, beneath the air freshener. Your furniture, while sentimental, is old and warn and falling apart. There’s no room for entertainment, the ceilings are low, the windows are small, the kitchen is dingy. Worst of all, it doesn’t feel like a home.

   With a quick glance, yes, the place has a specific feel that he can only attribute to you, but upon further inspection, it tells an entirely different story. It reminds him more of a safehouse than a home. Somewhere Jason would store space weaponry in a neighboring city. He can count the number of personally decorations on one hand. The more he looks around, the deeper dread burrows beneath his skin. Anything sentimental could be cleared out and packed up in less than an hour.

   Your words from the cafe echo in his mind. When you said you were thinking about leaving, he didn’t think you meant at the drop of a hat.

   Thick glass hitting wood jerks him from his thoughts. Your warm smile is familiar in a way he can’t ignore.

   “It’s hot, so give it a minute,“ you warn. “I know my interior design skills aren’t the greatest, but I didn’t think it looked that bad, all things considered,” you try sparking a conversation, but you look a little nervous. You must have caught him staring.

   He shakes his head. “It looks fine.” He feels as though he’s about to choke on words he isn’t ready for you to hear, so he looks around in a tempered frenzy for something to divert your attention. A framed picture on the wall between your windows is just what he needs. “Who is that?”

   You don’t have to look at the picture to know which one it is. You’d debated on hanging that one. You smile sadly, eyeing it anyway. You swallow thickly, and to stall for a little time, you get up to get it.

   You take the flimsy wooden frame down, gently, as if your afraid it will break under your gaze. You hold out the 7x10 photograph to him.

   He takes it, gingerly staring it down while you find your seat again. It’s an image of you and a man, standing together in front of a grand fountain. His arm is hooked around your shoulders, both of you grinning happily. Something stirs in his chest- he doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen you smile like that. The man his tall, dark skin, black hair, kind eyes. A tattoo is peeking out beneath the sleeve of a denim jacket.

   “His name was Kennedy,” you finally relay. “Kennedy Walter. I always called him Kenny.” You sniffle, and decide to stall a little longer. “I was living in Detroit when we met. I was working as a bouncer at a club. Had a nice little apartment with massive windows on one wall and a loft bedroom on the other. There was this nice little theater down the street from me. They had a theme for every night of the week, and sometimes they’d run these marathons of classics where you could buy one ticket and sit for the whole day.”

   You’re rambling, and he knows it. It’s something you used to do when you were upset: talk about the good things before the bad. He glaces at you. Your voice sounds strained. You’re staring at the coffee table, but he knows you aren’t really looking at the wood. “Were you and he . . ?”

   “Engaged,” you smile. “We were engaged. But, um, a little over a year ago, I was, uh- I got a call while I was at work.” Your voice breaks, eyes dropping to your lap. You pick up your tea and take a few gulps to relieve he tension of grief. “There had been a car accident.”

   He nods morosely, staring down at the man in the image. He must have been something, to have caught your eye. You barely dated through high school. “I’m sure he was a good man.”

   You nod. “He was. I had to leave all my furniture when I moved, because of him,” you laugh, and it doesn’t sound forced, but it’s dying. “I had this ugly orange couch, you see. God, it was such an ugly color. It was only thirty dollars at Goodwill, which is why I got it. It didn’t match anything else in the house, literally. But it grew on me, so I never replaced it. It was like that, um- what was it? That stupid stuffed cat I got from Amusement Mile, remember? On Spring Break?”

   He nods. You’d enlisted him to help you get it. It was quite possibly the ugliest toy he’d ever seen in his life, but it had a place on your bed for the following two years.

   “Yeah, it was like that. He always teased me about it, but after awhile it grew on him too. We named it Fungus, because it grew on people.” You laugh again, a little looser this time. “God that couch was hideous.”

   He smiles. It falters though, because he understands now that you weren’t just gone. You weren’t away from Gotham. All this time, you’d been building a new life. You’d been living, not running. But none of it had anything to do with him.

   “If you don’t mind,” he starts, quietly, “why did you leave Detroit? You talk about living there as if it were a fairy tale.”

   You take another gulp of tea. “Because that’s what it was,” you answer hoarsely. “It was too perfect. And then Kenny was gone. And my apartment was too big for me.” You stare down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. “And I missed home.”

   His chest feels tight. He doesn’t really know why. Or maybe it’s more than he isn’t willing to admit how much it hurts to see you so pained over this. He swallows it. “Home?”

   You nod hesitantly. “Gotham. I grew up here, ya know? You and I owned these streets back in the day,” you chuckle. You steal a look at his face, but he isn’t smiling. “I missed you. I don’t think I ever told you that.”

   When you look again, he looks somewhere between stricken and conflicted.  His face is pinched as he stared through your picture. “No. You didn’t.”

   “Well, I did. I missed you a lot. And your family. And mine. I didn’t want to leave you, Damian. You have to know that.”

   His body tenses, and you feel his energy shift. “No, I don’t. You left me in a burning building-”

   “I know,” you interrupt quietly. “And I shouldn’t have. I should have kept a better hold of your hand, I should have drove you home, I should have told you everything that night. I should have done a lot of things. But I didn’t, and I’m trying to apologize for them before I lose the chance.”

   That stops him. He relaxes into your couch again. “Before what?”

   You blink slowly, turning your gaze toward the window across from you, which connects to the fire escape. “There’s a reason I had to leave, Damian. Shit happens.”

   His eyes soften. His mind races, realizations dawning. He opens his mouth to reply, but the sharp beeping of his phone cuts him off.

   He answers it without moving from the couch. “Hello?”

   Your apartment is so quiet that you hear Bruce on the other end. “We have an emergency. We need you home. Now.”

   His eyes meet yours. He seems remorseful. “I’m on my way.”

   You divert your attention, excusing yourself to the kitchen with your half empty mug. You hear him pocket his phone and the remaining leather of your couch groan as he stands.

   “I’m sorry,” he says. “If I could-”

   “I know,” you assure. “Probably best anyway,” you brush off, “I'd probably be a blubbering mess of runny mascara and tears if we kept talking about this any longer.” You’re only partly joking.

   He looks at you for a few moments. Standing in your ratty apartment, between your living room and your front door, staring. His eyebrows are slouched together as he works his jaw.

   You turn around at the sound of approaching footsteps, but you’re just a hair too late. You collide with a broad chest, long, warm arms wrapping around you tightly. You’re overhwelmed by he wonderful smell of leathery cologne and bourbon shampoo. Your brain short circuits and crashes like a 2007 laptop trying to run The Sims.

   “I’m glad you’re home,” he says slowly, genuinely, surely.

   He’s gone before you can react. By the time you’re ready to hug him back, your front door is already clapping shut.

   With your apartment once again left in silence and you to your own devices, you brace yourself against the counter, mind whirling thoughts a million miles a minute and heart hammering so hard that you can hear the blood rushing in your ears.

TAGS: @howcanibreathewithnozaire @avis-writeshq @mello-10 @ukuleleatnight @chikorita-stuff @idkmanicantenglish

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 38- Potions

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Redland, the capitol city of magic, where the hermits hope to gather the supplies they need if they hope to survive the Hangman’s Playground. While Etho and Stress are gathering potions, they meet unlikely allies- with closer ties than they expect.

______________________________

Redland stretches to the sky, the quirky nature of magic on full show even in the architecture of the city. Towers peaked with rotund pinnacles, painted bright and distinctive colors. All levels of the city are full of the bright, baubled roofs. The main street and busy sections of the city are perfectly manicured, hedges with vibrant flowers and verdant greens, but when the hermits look down calm alleys and quiet streets, nature has settled against the brickwork and grown between the cobble, nature filling in with it’s own eccentric accents. 

The hermits wander through the city, an eclectic town full of wandering walkways, silent speakeasies, and unique universities. The schools of magic sit across from each other, students of offensive magic having lunch with students studying performance arcana. Bright banners wave in the breeze. Shops are full of any and every kind of item, a bazaar of the magic and mundane. Some shops boast large inventories, enchantments made enmasse and sold to large crowds- glamors were a favorite. Others host the antique and unique. No rhyme or reason what they hold, useless lamps next to powerful staffs.

TFC turns to Xisuma. “Can you divvy up the gold? We can cover more ground finding supplies for our mission if we separate.” 

“What I wouldn’t give for that sky kid’s magic right now.” Xisuma sighs, digging out the gold and handing it off to various groups of hermits. 

Stress and Etho glance at one another. “I think we’re gonna look for some potions firstly. If we go to the alchemy academy, I’m absolutely positive we’ll find somethin’.” 

“And if not, we can… convince a student to help us get what we want.” Etho pats his back, feeling his kusarigama tucked in his light, silent material. 

“Don’t forget to ask about the ingredients!” BDubs shouts as the two walk away, towards the bright green and yellow tower that holds the school of potion brewing. “Silvershade is not the same as Shadesilver!” 

Stress shakes her head, and challenges Etho to a footrace through the city. He accepts with a grin, and they take off down the main avenue. She laughs, feeling a sense of freedom in how strong the magic is in the city. Redland embodies everything magic is. It’s natural, it's eclectic, it’s bright, it’s unique. And every flower blooming in between the cobblestones, every shop full of mysterious wares and magical amulets, is full of that spirit. 

She turns her head, calling back to Etho from over her shoulder. “I’m gonna win, try an’ catch me!” 

From beneath the midnight blue mask that covers Etho’s nose and lips, a coy grin appears. He’s given Stress the lead, only to shock his friend when he wins. His mismatched eyes glimmer with mischief, and he turns. Running straight into a tree. 

Straight into a tree’s shadow. He leaves the plane of existence, and skids on his feet as he enters the shadow realm. Grey, calming mist dances through shadows, and his feet tapping through puddles of water across the floor. In all the time he’s spent in this realm, he can never truly understand it. He doesn’t know why it’s so misty, impossible to see more than a few meters in front of him. Or where the mist comes from, dancing in the darkness. Why it’s damp, like a rain had just occurred. He’s never seen it rain here. He also has no clue why it smells funky in here. Like a wayward explosion matched with rotten fish. Is there even anything more than a puddle around here? 

No matter. Etho’s winning this race. He takes off in the direction he and Stress were running, feeling himself pass through buildings, hedges, even people in the other realm. It’s a tingly feeling in his belly. Once he’s sure he’s made it to the alchemy school, he casts his magic, tossing it in front of him to reenter the mortal realm. 

He passes right through it. He stumbles and crashes to the floor, not so ninja-like. “Dammit, no not now!” 

There’s no discernable shadows for him to jump through. The sun must be tucked behind a cloud. Too big a swath of darkness for him to use, too general. He paces, tossing a circle with every turn of his heels, running through each time. He did this to beat Stress, being a badass and a bastard. He specializes in that delicate balance of the two.  But instead, he’s stuck in the stinky shadow realm, and worse he lost the footrace. 

His spell casts again, but when he walks through this time, he’s met by the blinding bright light of the sun. And Stress’s gleeful cackle. “You cheated! None of that magical stuff!” 

“What does it matter, it didn’t work.” He states, but he’s smiling all the same. Etho runs his hand over his white hair, tugging it away from his face so he can see the alchemy tower in full. “Should we check the shops first? What are we even looking for?” 

“Queen Erlea said we’re gonna need some healing potions and deterrents for the forest. I can assume mental and emotional potions are in that category.” Stress counts along the street full of potion shops, before spinning around and letting fate decide where they search first. A bright green shop, the window filled with potted plants and chaotic cats. Stress squeals at the sight of the kittens and bolts to the shop. Etho follows behind, grabbing the door before it can slam back to it’s jamb, without disturbing the sunbathing felines. 

They peruse this store. And the next. And the next. Finding healing potions was easy, and with Etho’s aggressive bartering they’re even discounted. Bottles of bright pink liquid, bundles of travel sized form- gummy chews easy to pop into one’s mouth-, and tiny tinctures full of potent life saving potions. 

But no matter what store they enter, how many times they ask or persuade, no one sells mental potions. Some say they’re pseudomagic, others that they’re too hard to create. And after being kicked out of another alchemy shop, Stress and Etho are sitting on the sidewalk, bouncing ideas across each other. 

“Maybe we don’t need them? Maybe the others will find supplies that can do the job?” Etho offers. 

“Or perhaps we can search Joe’s library to find something else.” Stress flops back, ignoring how she blocks the sidewalk as she stares up at the sky. “Where can we get mental barrier potions but Redland?” 

“Why not try making them ourselves?” Etho looks over, gazing at the Alchemy tower. “I bet that school has every book, ingredient, and setup ever invented. We’re clever and smart, we’re hermits after all. If no one makes them, we’ll make them ourselves.” 

Stress reclines up to her elbows, squinting her eyes. “Yer right, Etho. Think you can get us into one of them potion rooms of the school?” 

“Do I think I can? I know I can.” Etho snickers. They walk through the open doors of the school, bustling past students young and old, human or kipling or insectia or even bacca, boy or girl or otherwise. Etho pulls down his mask to fit in with the crowd, though his hair always sticks out. Stress keeps close to him, glancing around the halls. For a second, she swears she sees someone looking at her, but she ducks her head and keeps moving. They turn a cornerl, following the signs for potion labs. Listening for one room to be empty. Etho stops at the doorway of one. Closes his eyes, and walks through a shadow. 

But he returns from where he entered. “No, no it’s all dark in there! Why don’t they have anything boiling, any lamps or anything! What kind of lab is this?” 

“My lab, and what do you plan to do with my laboratory?” A strong, clear voice cuts through both hermits like a knife, and they both freeze. Maybe if they don’t move, the voice will move on. But instead, another voice rises up. 

“You’re hermits, are you not?” A younger, sharp voice drawls. “I was told about you. Didn’t expect two of you bitches to be sneakin’ into my professor’s lab.” 

Etho makes a bolt for the nearest shadow, but he passes right through the shadow and back into light. Stumbling down the hall, he’s dragged back to the professor and student combo, while Stress is turned around to face them. Etho taps his fingers. “We were just… looking around! Trying to find the bathrooms.” 

The student looks up at the professor, eyebrows rising from a serious face. He nods, clasping his hands behind his back. The student grins, tucks a lock of black hair behind an elongated ear, and snaps her fingers. 

“We’re sneakin’ inta the lab to make potions!” Stress claps her hand over her mouth. She didn’t mean to say that. Why did she say that? “No one makes what we need to enter the Forest of Memories!” 

“The Forest of Memories? Red said you were batshit crazy, but that…” Etho picks up his head, vaguely recognizing the name. 

“Well, you could have just asked for my keys.” Sylaeus shrugs, producing a ring full of mismatched keys and dangling chains. “Selene, be a dear and get these two my Encyclopedia of Potions. I’ll start up the burners.” 

Shock registers on both hermits faces, but Selene dutifully saunters down the hall, turning and entering a large door in the passage. Stress walks into the lab, admiring the collection of jars, half finished potions, and ingredients kept in the room. But Etho no longer has the inclination to enter. “Why are you helping us? We just tried to break into your lab.” 

“If you need a potion that badly that you would try to break into my office, you must need it for good reason. Adventuring into the Forest of Memories is one hell of a reason at that.” Sylaeus ignites a flame beneath a long, complicated series of funnels, tubes, and flasks. He tempers the flame, fire glimmering of his intense gaze. “Besides, it means I get to teach more about potions.” 

Selene returns with the book, hefting a tome as large as her torso and twice as thick. “So what the hell kind of potions are you guys going to make?” 

“Potions that will negate our fears and dampen the effects of the forest?” Stress tries her best to repeat what Queen Erlea suggested. “Maybe some repel potions as well?” 

The long eared mage hauls open the book, flipping through the pages with intense, glaring eyes. She stops, turning it around for Etho and Stress to see. “You had to request the most difficult potions to fucking make. It’s a damn good thing I spent the past month gathering more than enough supplies for you to use.” 

And with the guidance of Sylaeus and his student, Etho and Stress get to work. The careful art of alchemy came naturally to both hermits- Stress’s attention to detail let her see exactly when the right shade of amber for the potion appeared, while Etho’s perceptive training and patience guide him through finding just the right mixture of Silvershade and shadesilver. Even Sylaeus complimented his new students on their fine work. 

“While we’re waiting for the mixture to cool, would either of you like a drink?” She waves her hand, and four cups appear before them. The professor grins, swiping a drink and guzzling the never ending cup down. 

“My student’s finest mixture.” Sylaeus grins, patting his apprentice on the top of her fluffy, long mane of hair. 

“Is it a healing potion?” Etho questions. “Or maybe a stamina potion?” 

“Lemonade. Sip sip bitch.” Selene retorts, deadpanned. 

“Miss Selene, are you a multi-mage? You used telekinesis to drag Etho back before, but now you used summoning magic.” Stress takes a drink, shocked to watch that her cup is never ending. “A-and some kind of spatial magic?” 

“Selene here is my best student for more reasons than one. Not only can she brew better potions than even master alchemists, but she also spent years studying magic until she gained power of her own.” Sylaeus sees the confusion on the two’s face, and lets Selene fill them in. 

“I was born without magic.” She states. “It’s rare, but it happens. I wasn’t ready to give up on myself yet. I spent days and nights, studying every book I could get my hands on, watching the other kids use their magic. With enough time and dedication, I found the power within myself. Whatever magic I study, I can create.” 

Stress has tears welling in her eyes by the time the story is over. “What a lovely tale, an’ look at you now! All that persistence and never givin’ up paid off!” 

“I’m sure Selene could have lived her life without magic, or have chosen a darker route to gain power. But it’s her own magic, and she’s a proud S-Class wizard!” Sylaeus beams like a father, a teacher proud of his student.

The potion behind them starts to rapidly shift colors, and all four descend upon it to add the last ingredient- prismarine shards shed from a guardian. Etho wonders where Selene got such a prized ingredient, something most kiplings aren’t willing to part with.

 In a puff of smoke, the potion stabilizes. Selene corks the bottle, writing in scrawling handwriting of it’s intention, and hands it off to Stress. She also guides them out, an orb of soft white light guiding them down the halls of the academy. 

Etho’s reminded of one other person who had seemingly unlimited types of magic. “You know… Magistrate Dolios claims to be a multi-mage, but his magic is a lot like yours.” 

“Watch it, asshole.” Selene growls, opening the door and letting them out of the Alchemy tower. “I think we both know that the magistrate lies about everything. Perhaps that includes how he got his magic.”

[pickalilywrites]

Please Wait for Me (I Miss You) 

Rivetra. Modern AU. 

Can You Please Stay With Me series | i 

2860 words

Buy me a ko-fi or read this on ao3!

Levi should be accustomed to sleeping alone. Back in his and Petra’s old apartment, the gray couch in the living room had practically become his bed during their last month together. He doesn’t know how he managed to sleep alone for so long. He had fooled himself into believing that being away from Petra was less painful than being with her, but he now realizes that the reality is far worse than he could have ever imagined. Every night he lies awake, smothering himself in Mike’s pillows and blankets in the hopes that it will help him forget Petra’s scent. It’s useless, of course, and he finds himself missing her familiar aroma of peaches and magnolia flowers. After tossing and turning for nearly an hour, Levi gives up. Nobody gets hurt if he remembers, he thinks. Only he does.

He’s always lonely now. He’s been lonely ever since Petra left, but there’s something about being awake at 2 a.m. that makes him feel even lonelier. It’s the darkness, he thinks, that reminds him of her. There was something about early morning hours that made him love Petra the most. No … it’s not that he loved her the most during those times, but it would be at those hours where he would realize just how much he loved her. Right now, the quiet reminds him of how much he still loves her. Even though she’s gone, he can still imagine her expression as she sleeps, her brow relaxed after having it furrowed for most of the day at work. He still remembers the shape of her, the curve of her waist as she lays on her side with the blanket draped loosely over her. He can even recall her breathing, shallow and slow, as she dreams of things she’ll share with him in the morning. Levi misses her warmth, the feeling of her soft skin as he reaches out to stroke her cheek with his thumb, so he turns around. He reaches out for her, to find her hidden underneath the blankets, and hold her closely against him. It’s only when he finds himself falling, hitting the ground with a loud thud, that he awakens and finds himself alone once more.

Levi doesn’t get it up, instead choosing to lie there with his cheek pressed against the carpet. His head is throbbing from the fall, but somehow it doesn’t hurt as much as it should. He only looks up when he sees a pair of feet in front of him, and he finds his friend Mike looking down at him.

“I’m fine,” Levi mumbles, clutching onto the edge of the sofa and pulling himself up before Mike can offer him a hand. He flops down onto the couch, not even bothering to sit up straight. He knows exactly what expression Mike is making right now. He closes his eyes, not caring to see it.

“Are you sure?” The sofa sinks more as Mike takes a seat beside Levi. “Because it sounded like you hit your head pretty hard.”

“Can barely even feel it,” Levi replies. He opens his eyes, realizing just how bright it is in the apartment that Mike shares with Nanaba. He searches for his phone, spying it on the coffee table in front of him, but he finds he has no energy to reach for it. He feels like it’s only been a few hours since he was last awake, but it looks as though more have passed. Tiredly, he looks over at Mike and asks, “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” Mike replies.

Jesus, Levi thinks, but he doesn’t say anything. He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment, and then stands up. He’s already rifling through his backpack, looking for a change of clothes so that he can leave the apartment.

“Are you leaving already?” Mike asks, an eyebrow raised. He gets up from the couch, standing behind Levi. He towers over him, that damn giant. “You don’t want to eat breakfast or anything? I could whip something up for you really quick.”

“I’ll find something to eat outside.” Levi grabs a ragged pair of jeans and a faded gray t-shirt. He’s about to head into the bathroom and change, but Mike’s hand stops the door from shutting.

“Levi, don’t you think you should talk to Petra at least once?” Mike asks. He sticks his foot in the door to prevent Levi from closing it, wincing when Levi tries to slam the door shut anyway. With a grunt, he opens the door wider. “You could call her. Ask her how she’s doing.”

“No,” Levi replies. He tries to shut the door on Mike once more, but it doesn’t budge. He glares at Mike, but the bearded giant shows no signs of moving. He’s beginning to regret telling Mike everything that happened that night, but it’s his fault for drinking too much. “We broke up. It’s done.” He kicks Mike and it’s hard enough for Mike to stumble backward, allowing Levi to finally slam the door shut. He can hear Mike cursing him behind the door and he smirks. He listens for a moment. It’s so quiet that he thinks Mike has already left. Levi is halfway stripped of his shirt when he hears Mike speak again.

“You know, just because people leave doesn’t mean they’re gone forever.” There’s a pause. “I know you’ve lost a lot of people in your life, Levi, but … those people didn’t have a choice. And this time … you were the one who left. You chose to leave.”

There is one thing that Levi never mentioned to Mike. He had seen Petra one last time before she boarded the airplane. He hadn’t planned on seeing her off. It was only a mixture of madness and longing that forced him to run to the airport at the very last minute, hoping that he would be able to chase her down and beg her to stay. He hadn’t anticipated the crowds, cursing when the cab he took was stuck in traffic at least a mile from the airport where Petra was departing from. Tossing all the money in his wallet at the cab driver, Levi had jumped out, sprinting as quickly as his legs would carry him towards the security checkpoint. Other people stared at him while some cursed at him as he pushed past them. He didn’t give them half a second of his attention, his focus on someone else entirely. He finally made it into the building, breathing heavily. Glancing at his watch, he was worried that he was far too late when he spied a familiar shade of ginger at the top of the escalator. His legs ached, but he found the strength to follow her, practically running up the steps. When he reached the top, he could feel himself on the verge of collapse, but he was too far to give up now. Seeing her in the distance, he called out her name and he felt his heart beat violently against his chest as she turned to find him. Mustering up the last of his energy, he began to walk towards her. He was sure he saw her face, almost certain she did, but she turned around just as he was about to shout her name again. As Levi’s steps slowed to a stop, he watched her leave him once more.

“You don’t know anything,” Levi mutters. He strips off his shirt and discards it on the floor, shrugging on the faded tee in its place. His pants also fall to the floor and Levi shuffles on his jeans. When he opens the door, he’s not surprised to see Mike still there. Not wanting to listen to any more unwanted advice, Levi pushes past his friend, shoving his dirty laundry into his backpack and fishing out his wallet. He can hear Mike try to talk to him again, but he filters out everything Mike says and walks toward the door, mumbling about how he’ll be back later this evening. Fingers brush against Levi’s elbow, grabbing for him, but he pulls away from them and slips out the door.

He’s not sure where he’s going. Just somewhere where he can find time to think. Time to forget. Levi finds he can’t stand to listen to the sound of his steps, feeling as if the rhythm is off without Petra beside him to match his tempo. He slows down as he walks, thinking that this new cadence will help keep his mind off his ex. Eventually, he settles on a stilted pace, his feet dragging against the sidewalk. It’s awkward and odd, but it no longer has him thinking about how Petra’s footsteps should be here to accompany his. In spite of this, he still finds his thoughts returning to her.

As he wanders around the city, Levi wonders where he should go. He can’t keep going down this current street. If he does, he’ll bump into their favorite cafe, the one they used to frequent on Saturday mornings. Even now he can smell the croissants from down the streets. Vaguely, he wonders whether or not they’ve run out the danishes Petra always ordered. She always liked the strawberry ones best.

Quickly, Levi goes around the corner, almost bumping into somebody else because of his sharp turn. He hastily mumbles a half-assed apology, not bothering to stop and check to see if the person is alright. As he walks down the streets, he curses himself. There isn’t any space in this city where he can’t find a trace of Petra. He can see the ghost of her in the corner bookstore, the only one they ever bothered to visit because it didn’t reek of Starbucks and suburban mothers wearing too much perfume. Beyond that is a pet store, one that Petra would always drag Levi into even though he never wanted to have pets. She always looked so giddy petting the kittens, letting them climb all over her lap, that Levi almost changed his mind over half a dozen times. Levi walks faster, trying to get far enough away from the memory of her, but there’s always something - a restaurant, a quaint antique store, a grocery store - that brings his thoughts back to her.

It doesn’t surprise Levi, then, when he emerges from a flower shop he had absentmindedly stumbled into. In his hand, he clutches a bouquet of flowers. Magnolias. He has half a mind to run back in the store to return them, but he can’t bear the thought of explaining himself. He finds himself wandering the streets with the bouquet in hand, the water dripping from the bouquet onto the street where it leaves a trail of where he’s been.

Levi thought he would be used to people leaving. It feels as though that’s all anyone ever does anymore. They might stay for a little while, some longer than others, but they all leave in the end. Isn’t that why he’s alone now? First, his mother. Some would say it was his father that left first, a deadbeat dad who left before Levi was even born, but his mother was the first one who mattered. Then it was Farlan and Isabel. Next, it was Erwin. Then it was Hanji. Some of them left because they had no other choice. Others left for better opportunities. And now it’s Petra who’s gone just when Levi had started to believe that she would be the one who would stay behind.

You were the one that left. You chose to leave .

Levi stubbornly refuses to believe the words that Mike had said earlier this morning. True. he had been the one to pack his bags and leave first, but Petra was going to leave him anyway. It’s not as if he had a choice. She would have said goodbye to him eventually.

We’ll make it work. It’ll all work out, Levi .

He remembers her invitation to join her across the ocean, one that he had ignored. Why couldn’t he take her hand that time and agree to come with her? It’s not as if she had been adamant about going alone. It’s not as if she had wanted to leave him behind. He had somehow convinced himself this was the case, but now he realizes it was because he had wanted to stay behind. Why, though?

Levi stops in his tracks, looking to his left. He sighs when he sees the gates to the cemetery. Of course, he thinks. Of course, I couldn’t leave. I could never leave.  

He doesn’t have to search for his mother’s grave. He knows the path to it by heart. Even as he walks there, his head is filled with thoughts of Petra, her broken expression when he walked through the door. He was cruel enough not to even give her a final glance as he left even though he so desperately wanted not to. He can’t blame her for not looking back at him when he had called her name through the airport.

His mother’s grave sits on the top of a small hill, one that gives him a half-decent view of the city. Farlan’s and Isabel’s headstones are nearby. Levi can find theirs almost as easily as his mother's. He’s been here far too often.

With a sign, Levi lays the flowers on top of his mother’s grave. The words are so faded that they’re getting difficult to read. Kuchel Ackerman. Loving mother. He reaches out to trace them, the letters rough underneath his finger. He looks at his finger when he pulls it away, grimacing at the dirt on his skin.

Levi takes a tissue from his pocket and wipes away the grime, his mind drifting towards Petra once more. He wonders if she likes it in Manchester, if it’s cold there, if she misses him. He wonders if she’s changed in the few days since she’s left, if she’s still wearing her favorite coat to keep warm, if she’s cut her hair yet. He wonders if she’s found a favorite restaurant already, if she misses the food here, if she misses eating with someone.

He finds himself with his phone pressed against his ear, the dull beep bleating as he waits for someone to pick up. He doesn’t have to check his screen to know he’s calling Petra. He should probably hang up now and make her believe it was just a mistake, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He’d rather have her ignore his call. It would make him feel more justified in staying behind. After a while, he’s convinced that Petra has chosen to ignore his call and is letting it go to voicemail, but he’s surprised when she picks up.

“Levi?” Her voice sounds so close that Levi can almost imagine her next to him. He closes his eyes when he listens to her speak, wishing that she were here. “Levi, are you alright?”

No. I’m empty without you, Levi wants to reply. He wants to explain himself, wants to tell her everything that has happened since she’s left, wants to ask her to wait for him, but he knows it’s selfish. It’s cruel after everything he’s already done. So he stays there a moment, letting the silence linger between them, before finally hanging up. There are things that Levi still wants to say to her, things he needs to say, but they aren’t things that can be said over the phone.

Levi pockets the phone and turns back towards his mother’s grave. The corner of his mouth quirks upward. His breath is shaky, but he’s never been one to cry. “Hey, mom,” Levi says, voice trembling. His hand rests gently on his mother’s headstone. “I have to leave. But you understand why, right?”

A gentle breeze brushes past him just then, caressing his face tenderly, and Levi takes this as a sign. It’s a sign for him to move on.

------

He doesn’t know exactly where he’s going. He has a vague idea. He knows he probably should have planned for this better. Only someone crazy would fly across the ocean in search of someone, someone that might not want to see him at all, but it will be fine. It’ll all work out in the end, Levi thinks.

He sits back in his chair, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible. The seat is cramped and small, and it seems Levi will be unable to extend his legs completely despite not being a large man to begin with. As he’s busy adjusting his seat, a flight attendant walks by, checking on all the passengers.

“Are you alright, sir?” the flight attendant asks. He gestures towards the cart he’s pushing around filled with snacks and refreshments. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“No, don’t worry,” Levi says with a shake of his head. The flight attendant is already nodding and walking away, getting ready to help any other passengers that might require his assistance. Still, Levi speaks anyway, the words needing to be said as he sinks down into his seat. “I’m fine.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Olly Olly Oxenfree (part one)

An fic based on the indie horror game, OXENFREE!

or: Joan and Cathy are step-sisters and fuck shit up for everyone, the AU

Also it’s super dialogue heavy I’m so sorry-

also also- Cathy has a beanie

TW: Underage drinking and one (1) weed brownie that’s vaguely mentioned

———————

Ask A Man About A Dog

“It used to be a military base! Well...it used to be a ranching thing, then it turned into a military thing, then it became a bird thing and museum and- whatever! Henry Fonda found a station here for a bit. Unless that’s wrong...”

“Who’s Henry Fonda?”

“And around Christmas time, this little breakfast place used to sell these AMAZING polar bear sugar cookies! MAN, those were good! But then they had to go and change the recipe and ruin it.... Joan, hey? Still with us?”

Joan blinked and looked up from the wine-dark waves lapping at the side of the ferry. She turned, feeling the sensation of pins and needles spreading up her arm thanks to how long she had been leaning against the guard rail, and faced the two girls standing a few feet away from her.

The first was familiar- she was around her height, pale, and had her hair done up in magnificent spacebuns that just screamed that her personality was eccentric. She was grinning like a mischievous gremlin- or maybe a raccoon, to be more realistic, however “monkey” jumped out at Joan, too.

The second was less familiar- very tall, dark skin, and her hair done in a way that would make Joan’s head hurt if she attempted it with her own. At first glances, this girl gave off a bookish appearance, but she seems more extroverted than Joan had been expecting, probably because of the beanie she was wearing (it was most likely just there because of the cold). Still, the image of an owl still remained.

“Yeah, sorry,” She finally said, learning how to speak and enunciate again. She pulled her grey coat closer around her. “My mind drifted for a second.”

Anne scanned her for a moment. Despite being outlandish and wild, she still worried over her friends when she thought something was wrong. That’s one of the many things Joan liked about her.

After the frisk with her eyes, she nodded, then wheeled around on her heels so she would be facing the other two.

“So, you’re all moved in?” She asked.

“Uh— not- not really.” The second girl answered. “I just got in this morning.”

“And how did her mum meet your mum again?” Anne continued with the questioning.

The girl laughed slightly. “They met on vacation in Scotland. She got lost in a— actually, I’m not even gonna tell this story.”

“Uhh, yes, please don’t,” Joan jumped back in. “We don’t need to relive their meet-cute anymore than we have to.”

The waves of the ocean jars the boat slightly. Joan doesn’t miss the way the dark-skinned girl clenches one hand on the guard rail. Anne, however, doesn’t even stumble as she makes her way to the deck to look out on the nearby island.

“And you guys just met tonight?” She asked.

“Yeah,” The girl swiveled around to keep Anne in her sights. “I was, umm... Out of school and the time just had never worked out, so...”

“And what does that make you, then?”

Joan and the girl exchange looks, blinking. They both turn back to Anne, whose eyebrows are raised in interest. That gremlin side of her was coming out strong.

“A, uh...” The girl uses her free hand to scratch her head. “A second cousin?”

“She’s my step-sister.” Joan said cooly. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the girl smile at her slightly.

“Oh yeah,” Anne laughed. “I forgot that was even a thing!”

Once again Joan and the girl give each other glances. Joan notes how she seems more relaxed after her step-sister statement, which makes her oddly happy.

“Well, you seem cool!” Anne began again, “Cool girl, cool hat...you get a cool new sibling living right in your house!” She smirks, “Sharing your toothbrush...wearing your clothes...”

“No, that’s-” Joan’s voice falters. She hears the girl snort into her hand. “That’s the weird part. Don’t make it weird, Anne! Getting a new sister isn’t like- like getting a puppy or something.”

“No, yeah, it’s been totally bizarre.” The girl said. “But, for the record,” She looks at Joan, “I don’t consider you to be a pet.”

Those words are left awkwardly hanging in the air before the waves seem to wash them away with another bob to the boat. The girl clenches her hand on the railing again, and uses the other to straighten her beanie, which the wind had been trying to rip right off of her head.

“So...” She started. “How did you two meet?”

“Oh, from way back when! Like, Paleozoic! Grade school era!” Anne said enthusiastically. “Young enough that I’ve seen her naked in a bathtub and it wasn’t sexual at all. I mean, we both looked like little skinned potato blobs-”

“Ahhh, Anne!!” Joan squealed. She could feel her ears flaming red. The girl at her side gave a laugh. “Why are you even talking about that?!”

“It’s humorous!” Anne giggled. Before she could go on and possibly embarrass Joan again, a voice on the ferry’s loudspeaker speaks up.

“PASSENGERS, WE WILL BE ARRIVING SOON. CHECK UNDER YOUR SEAT TO MAKE SURE YOU HAVEN’T LEFT ANY OF YOUR PERSONAL BELONGINGS.”

And, as it did so, Anne repeated the speech in a bored, stoic voice.

“How do you-?” Joan tilted her head.

“It’s a recording. They always play it.” Anne tells her before she could even finish. “Oh!” A new idea has already popped into her head. “We should get a picture! All of us!”

“Sure, why not.” Joan shrugged. “Come on, Cath.”

The girl nodded and finally pried her hand loose from the guard rail. They both walked over to Anne, who held up her phone and snapped a photo of all of them.

“There, great!” Anne beamed. “Also...it’s Catherine, right?”

“Yeah,” The girl nodded. “But just call me Cathy.”

“Cool! Oh, hey, Joan! You brought the radio, right?”

“Of course,” Joan said, then pulled a small, portable radio out of her pocket. “What’s it for, exactly?” She craned her head around to look at Cathy, “She sent me around twenty messages in all caps to bring this thing.”

Cathy laughed.

“You’ll see,” Anne said. “Trust me, it’ll be cool!”

A horn blares as the mist rolling over the ocean in its own waves of white parted so they could see an island coming up. The ferry begins to slow before coming to a halt at the docks. Anne eagerly bounced off, followed by Joan and Cathy.

“Smell the clean air, boys and girls! Err- Girls! This ain’t city livin’.” Anne said, “So, the others should be up and around the bend and...”

“Actually-” Cathy started abruptly. “I don’t mean to break us up already but- Anne, can I have a moment with Joan?”

“Uhh-” Anne blinked. “Really? I-”

“Is something wrong?” Joan looked up at Cathy- it was only then that she realized how tall the older girl really was. “What is it?”

“Nothing’s wrong, nothing’s wrong,” Cathy said, sensing her worry. “It’ll take, like, two minutes. Super fast.”

“I really don’t want to go up by myself-”

“No, I need to hear this, Anne. We’ll meet you up ahead, okay?” Joan said.

Anne’s mouth hung half open for a moment before she blinked and scratched her head.

“Umm- Alright. This is a weird way to start out...splitting up...” She said as she began walking away. Soon, she was out of sight, shrouded by the dark fog, and only the sound of the waves lapping the rocky shore was left behind.

But only for a moment.

“Listen,” Cathy started. She looked sheepish. “I just wanted to catch you ahead of time and say you’ve been...cool...about everything. And I guess just for me I’ve- you know, I’ve never moved around anywhere, and getting a new family during it all feels like I’m skipping the training wheels.” She pauses, then hurried to continue, thinking that that was a bad place to stop. “Not that it’s bad it anything! You and your mum have been great.”

“Eh, we’ll make do.” Joan said, shrugging her shoulders to try and mask her own anxiety with the whole thing. “Lemons, lemonade- however that goes.”

“An optimist.” Cathy said bitterly. “Oh, Christ.” She laughed. Joan laughs, too.

It feels nice to laugh with a sister.

“Oh, and thanks for setting up the attic for me. It’s cool how it’s like a little bedroom!”

(It feels nice to laugh with a sister again)

“That was, uhh-”

A pang of pain stabs right into Joan’s heart, wrenching it until it was mush in her chest. She glances wryly at the dark ocean water nearby and then can’t pry her eyes away. If she squints, she swore she could see a flailing figure...

“Joan?”

Cathy’s voice cut through the roaring waves in her ears.

“That was Maria’s room.” Joan whispered.

Breathe. She told herself, Like mum taught you. In five, hold three, out five... Breathe.

“There, uh-” She found her voice again. “There wasn’t that much to set up.”

Cathy’s hands, which had been on Joan’s shoulders to steady her, pulled back. They clench as she seemed to internally cringe for what she had accidentally made her new step-sister say.

“Oh. Oh, man. I’m so sorry.” She said. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s okay,” Joan said quickly, “You didn’t know.”

An awkward silence came between them. Instead of looking at the other, they both were scanning the island.

The only thing on the “bottom level” of the island was the docks, some cars, a bookstore, and a large tunnel that was closed off. Once the sisters decided to head back to Anne, they walked up some stone steps planted into the earth and onto the “second level”, where a stone statue of a wave and bird, an antique store, and a café stood. They passed these buildings and met up with Anne after a short hike up a small hill.

“Hello, kids!” Anne chirped, seemingly over her temporary exile. “Listen, the others should be close, so let’s hurry it up. And, as we hightail it, I’ll give you a speed-read of Edward’s Island!” She pauses, then leaned in, whispering, “That’s where we’re at.”

“I know.”

“We got that.”

“Good! Good!” Anne trotted the rest of the way up the hill. “This is a tourist trap with shops and a beach! Nobody lives here except for some geriatric named Mrs. Lee. But, with God as my witness, I will never mention her or any other old person tonight ever again! We are here to drink and be stupid.”

It seemed that their first “stupid act” was using a dumpster to jump a fence because Anne went on to tell them they were not allowed there after dark.

The three of them made their way down a mountainside path, chatting idly and getting to know each other better on Cathy’s part, before a slick, honey-laced voice chimed through the air.

“Reginald! I hear you over there!”

“H-hey, guys!” Anne smiles sheepishly, hopping down from a ledge to get down.

Two more girls now stood before them. One was significantly older than all of them. She had dark skin and curly brown hair that framed her unblemished face perfectly. The other girl was younger than Joan, with brown hair dyed pink at the tips and eyes like a kitten.

“Hey,” Joan waved slightly.

“We started a fire down at the beach.” Said the older girl. “But Kitty here wanted to play beach nanny.”

“I just wanted to make sure they got here before it was completely dark.” The younger girl said.

The older chuckled then looked over at the stranger in the group of three. “Who are you?”

“I’m Cathy.”

“That’s Cathy.” Anne said helpfully. “She’s Joan’s new, fresh-as-a-daisy step-sister! Cathy, that’s Katherine and Catherine. Confusing, right? Three girls with the same name! Except this little one goes by Kitty- she’s my cousin, actually- and the tall one goes by Catalina. Because she’s Spanish...or something.”

“Wait wait wait- Step-sister?” Catalina said. Joan just barely managed to bite back a groan of annoyance at her upcoming attitude. “How does that even work?”

“Her mum married my mum, so...law.” Joan said.

“Well, this is happening, now. This is a thing that is happening.” Catalina said, exasperated. She began walking down the path that led to the beach. “Where’s everybody else?”

“Maud had that thing and then Jane Parker-”

“We’re it.” Joan said for Anne.

“What.” Catalina momentarily swiveled her head around to analyze the whole group. Then, she gave a biting laugh. “Oh my god! It’s just Anne, Joan, and the new step-sister!”

“Yeah, we took the last ferry.” Anne said.

“Aren’t you guys friends?”

Everyone looked at Cathy. Then they exchanged scattered glances.

Catalina began leading again, marching her way down to the beach.

“I’m friends with Kitty,” She said. The younger girl gave a gleeful smile at that. “And I’m downgrading Anne to a creepy neighbor.”

“I’ll take it!” Anne said.

“And I just met you.”

“Hey!” Joan barked, “What about me?”

“What about you?”

Joan clenched her jaw, then sighed. She feels Cathy gently nudge her in a friendly way and give her a warm smile as if to say, “I’m your friend.”

Joan smiles back.

The five teenagers get down to the beach, where there was, in fact, a bonfire set up, along with some towels and a cooler. Joan hopes nobody saw the way she nervously glanced at the water.

“So... what’s the thing to do here?” Cathy asked, scanning the area.

“Whatever,” Kitty shrugged. She plops herself down by the fire and smiled at Catalina when she joined her.

“Hey, where does that old woman live?” Cathy asked another question.

“You mean Maggie Lee? She’s dead.” Catalina answered.

“What?” Anne snapped her head over to her.

“Yup. Keeled over three days ago. It was all over the news.” Catalina said. “And to answer your previous question, Cathy, the ‘thing to do’ is lay on the beach and drink until you can’t remember where your are.”

“And,” Kitty piped up, steering the topic away from very illegal underage drinking. “Sometimes play Truth or Slap!”

“Yeah!” Anne perked up. “Let’s play that! We can inaugurate Cathy. Ease her into the festivities.”

“Truth or Slap?” Joan asked stupidly, which prompts Anne to began to explain how it was like Truth or Dare except you just ask questions and get slapped if you’re lying about your answer.

“It’s a good getting to know each other game!” Anne concluded. “I’ll go first!” She turns to Joan with a smirk, “Joan!”

“Uh oh,” Cathy laughed.

“Lay it on me.” Joan smirked back.

“Okay. Kiss, Screw, Kill: Me, Kitty, and Catalina!”

“What?!” Kitty yelped.

“No!” Catalina barked.

“Calm down! Besides, I can’t include Cathy! They’re siblings!”

“Okay, okay... I’d probably marry you, Anne. I’ve known you the longest. Not a lot of surprises!” Joan said.

“Ha! Stay-at-home-wife!”

“Then I’d screw Catalina. Obviously.”

Anne laughed loudly. “‘Obviously’! Not gonna call her out on that?”

“No, I believe her.” Catalina said. “Look at me.”

“And that means you would smother poor little Kitty with a pillow,” Anne said, clutching her heart with one hand and wiping away an imaginary tear with the other.

“Oh shit- Sorry, Kit! It just worked out that way, I swear!” Joan said.

“It’s fine,” Kitty shrugged before snuggling up closer to Catalina’s side.

“So, Joan’s turn now?” Cathy asked.

“Right,” Anne nodded.

“Okay...Uhh...Kitty! Have you ever...peed in a swimming pool?”

Both Anne and Cathy erupt into laughter. Catalina snorts and shook her head, clearly not surprised. Kitty wrinkled her nose.

“Ugh, no!”

“Nice question,” Catalina snickered. “I wanna go now. Joan. You got a new sister. Pretty exciting. I’m sure Cathy is pretty excited, too. Or maybe ‘excited’ isn’t the word. Maybe a little unsure...overwhelmed...”

“No, I’m- I’m fine. I’m fine.” Cathy said.

“Yeah, see, she’s-” Joan shook her head. “What’s the question?”

Catalina took a sip of the beer she’s holding, then looked Joan directly into the eye and asked, “Why’d your mum finally decide to get married?”

Joan’s heart twisted.

“Just so Cathy can hear it from you.”

Kitty and Anne immediately began giving each other anxious looks. Cathy appears to be a little shocked until she calms her expression.

“Catalina, I don’t care why her mum-”

“You know why.” Joan said. Her eyes are dark, just like the nearby water. Just like the water on that- “Maria- died and it broke everything and she just needed someone there to try and pick up the pieces. The end.”

(Water roars in her ears- water rushes down her throat- water chokes her and holds her and consumes her until- until- until-)

(She’s screaming so loud SO LOUD WHY WON’T ANYONE HELP WHY IS SHE SLIPPING AWAY SOMEBODY HELP-)

“Well, now you know, Cathy. Don’t die and everything will be fine.” Catalina said.

Once again, there was a tense silence. Anne breaks it by saying she wanted to go check out the nearby caves, which Cathy and Joan agree to.

One quick hop over a fence (and a weed brownie eaten by Anne) later, the three of them find themselves inside of a large cave with three small rock piles set up.

“So, what you gotta do is stand right here and tune your radio until you find a ‘signal’.” Anne explained. “That’s why we brought it.”

Joan nodded and took the radio out. She began to rotate the little dial around, mainly getting plain static for a few minutes before a strange sound cut through the white noise.

Well, there was that and an ominous blue flickering from a crevice in the cave wall.

“Holy crap!” Cathy yelped.

“It worked!” Anne cried. “That was so cool! Do it again!”

Joan nodded and walked over to the next pile, tuning in her radio. Once again, the thing sputters loudly and the nearby light flashes.

“This is so cool!” Cathy exclaimed.

“I know!” Joan beamed excitedly at her.

“Do the last one, Jo!”

“I will! I will!”

And she does.

And, like the last two times, the sound returns, but this time more garbled and grating.

“Agh-” Cathy winced. She sees Joan press a hand to her ear. “It sounds so...”

“It sounds, agh-” Joan’s temples pulsate. She pulls her hand back, surprised to see no blood because she swore her eardrums ruptured. “It sounds, like...painful.”

A sound returns- however, this one was different, like a staticky moaning noise. Almost...human.

“There’s something in there.” Cathy said, walking over to the crack in the cave wall.

“Yeah, I see it, too.” Joan agreed.

“I’m gonna go check it out.” Cathy suddenly said. A moment later, she’s gone.

“Wh- That’s such a bad idea!” Anne cried.

“Cathy! Wait up!”

“WAIT UP?!” Anne looked at Joan like she was insane.

“I’ll be fine,” Joan assured her friend. “Wait here.”

With that, she slips in through the crack.

Immediately, the feeling of claustrophobia embraces her as the passageway was a lot longer than she had been expecting. She shuffles awkwardly through the tight space, feeling the cold, biting stone chafe into either sides of her. She could barely even breathe completely because the rock pressed against her chest, almost like it was trying to suffocate and trap her.

Right as she was about to panic, or maybe turn back, Joan pops out and into a large tunnel. It’s lit up by bioluminescent moss, but it’s far too bright, even with the glowing plants...

“Cathy?” She called out as she began to walk down the passageway. “Cathy, where are you?!”

No answer.

Not even an echo.

Chills ran up and down Joan’s spine. The feeling of eyes bearing down on her followed her through every twist and turn she took in that cave, but whenever she turned around, there was nobody there.

“Cathy?” Joan said again, this time more frantic. “Cathy, are you okay? Can you, like, scream or something?”

Nothing.

“Cathy?”

A shadow stretches across the jagged, rocky ground.

“Cathy!”

“AH!!”

Cathy leapt backwards as Joan just about charged her like an angry (but fuzzy) little lamb. She put a hand on her chest, reintroducing her lungs to oxygen as Joan tears strips off of her.

“What were you thinking?!” Joan barked. “I was so worried! I thought you, like- like died or something! Do you know what that would have done to me? How would I explain that to mum? Your mum- my mum- both!!”

“Okay, okay, I get it! You’re mad!” Cathy held her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I just- I thought I heard something down here. A voice.”

Like that, Joan’s rage vanishes. Cathy wished she had led in with the whole voice thing.

“A voice?” Joan tilted her head like a confused puppy (or a lamb).

“Yeah.” Cathy turned and began walking further into the cave. “It was so...weird...”

Cathy’s voice trailed and died off as she and her sister ducked under an overhand and passed into a large cavern filled with huge crystals. An underground lake day in the middle, glistening in an unknown light source. The only ruddy-looking thing in that beautiful space was a rusty locker on the opposite of the shore.

“Oh my god,” Joan whispered.

“Holy- Joan,” Cathy grabbed and shook Joan’s elbow frantically. “Do you see that?!”

Joan blinked and looked up. It didn’t take long for her to realize what ‘that’ was.

A floating triangle.

A fucking floating, spinning triangle in the middle of the air.

“It- it must be some kind of...reflection...a rainbow...” Cathy was at a loss for words. “Those-those are things, right? Cave...triangle rainbows.”

“Sure,” Joan said slowly. “Let’s go with that.”

“I think this may be caused by when you ‘tuned in’ back at the beach.” Cathy said. “Maybe try it again?”

Joan glanced up at her, then nodded and took out her radio. She began to twist the dial until the triangle in the air shuddered and started to pulsate. A small, iridescent line stretched out from one of the tips.

“Oh- my god.” Cathy whispered. “Is this— are you— is this— YOU? Are you doing this?”

“Uhh- I-I think?” Joan stammered before tuning in again.

The line grew longer until it formed a second triangle. Joan felt a beating against her brain, almost like a second pulse that wasn’t hers and, by the way Cathy winced at her side, her sister felt it, too.

“I can’t even, like— what is— what?!”

“I-I know! I know!” Joan cried. She tuned in one last time and-

-and the triangle was complete.

Within the glowing shape, all there was was murky green. It was shuddering in the air, pulsating visible red vibrations.

“What the...”

“...hell...” Cathy finished for her sister.

̵̥͍̮̯̙́̈́́͆͋ ̵̧̬͓̆̈́̒͋“̶̼̈́̎̏H̵͖̓̒̅ͅę̴̥̥͇̌͊̏l̴̲̟̼̜̭͝l̸̛̜̩̖͚̜͝ő̷̞̎̓.̶̪̭͕̊̔̒ ̶̡̧̮̿D̸͓̍ȩ̵̻̰̖̲͐͋̄̈́͝å̴̲̽͝͝ͅṟ̵̟̐̀͗̽̕.̸̢̘͕͔̲̄͂͛ ̶͚̥͉̤̊̎̌͑͠T̶̪̏ê̶̢̯̩̻l̶̛̉̎͜ĺ̶͈̻̯̱̓̈́̕̚ ̴͎͍̆̀̐̍̀è̸̛̥̀̈́̈́v̶̩̯̯͠e̷̮͌̕͜r̷̤̍̉͝y̵̠̰̙͔̏ọ̵̠̠͗ͅn̶̢̯̥̎͜e̶̻̘̰̯̳̾̌́͝ ̸̛̘̪̬̤ȟ̴̨̢͎̺͆e̸̢̺̹͆̎ͅl̷̢̜͝ĺ̵̞͖̬͙̃͆̋͜͝ö̸̬́̊̄.̴͓̱̝͚̗̔̀”̶̰̝̠͓͋̂̐ Spoke an unknown garbled voice. It sounded as if snippets from radio programs were ripped out of their channels and used to form the words. There were tons of people talking at once, tons of voices. And, when it- they- speak, the pounding in Joan’s brain beat in time with each word.

“H-hello?” Joan said. She glances anxiously at Cathy, who is stunned into silence.

̵̨̠͍̄͛ ̶̱͆̀̾͂̂“̵͕̃͝S̴̟̰̊͌̕͜l̶̥̬̃̿ë̷͇́̏̈́̇́e̷͍͎͚̎p̷͕̼̠͂̾̀̑ȳ̸̦́ ̶̩̔͋̃t̵̬̞͉͍͆̐̓͘ĭ̶̢͓͇̇̉̎͝ṃ̴̡͕̔̏̎̑͜͝ḛ̵̙͉̘̿̃̀͊̓ ̴̢̫͈̟̓̒͠ͅg̵̣͂̿ͅą̵̞̙̺̈́̇̿l̴̥̰͇̠̇̃.̸͔̏ ̸̟̗̺̋͛́̑̕E̶͙̙̫̠̮̾̄v̷̗̯̯͙́͒͛͛̑ē̵̢̧͉̻͌͝ȑ̸̨̖͜ỵ̷͕̳̮͒́͊̑̔t̵̬̩̭̤͖̓̍̍͋h̷̙̤̼͑̾͜ï̸̻͇͊͜n̵͎̈́g̸̢̤̻̝̕͜ ̵̡̛̼͉̒͝f̶̙̌͠i̷̯͂n̷̗̪͆e̷̩̪̫̺̒̿̔ͅ.̴̗͒́͜ ̵̨̛̟̻̄̓͝͠H̷̢̳̪̣̓̋ő̷̧p̴̧͕͕̗̯̂e̷̘̬̯̿̀͗ ̸̲͍̟̞̱̈́̌͊͝t̷̫͆̈́͆̓̆h̶̩͎̠̜̎̐͝i̶̠̳͒͗̔̽ǹ̸̹̻̣͍̀̽̚g̵̯͇̗̋s̷̢̡̞̖̾̀̕ ̴̳̲̾͋̏a̸̡̼͍̓̑r̶̫̪̮͖̾̍͋̂̇e̶͖̯͖̹̓̌́ͅ ̵̭̪͔̬̟͐͌̒̈̕s̶̭͇̞̬͐͑͂a̶̖͎̣̓̆͆̽͠m̸̫̙̺̈́ḙ̵̢̥͖̓͂͐̀̚͜.̸̢͓̖̓̋͊ ̴̭̞͓̺̱̔̾͒̾D̴̳͚̅͊́͒ŏ̵͖̫̥͚́̐͆n̵̢͔̭̬̂’̴͇̼̔͑t̶̫͑ ̴̛̹̹ḱ̵̡͎̄n̴͖̓̔͝ő̷̺͓̬̺͌̍w̸̡̥̖̼͋̽̌ ̸̱͓̞̀̈́͌͗̚ḯ̵̫̫̘f̸̡̫̝̖͊̈ ̸̗̠͉̖̹͊̎͝ļ̵̱͗̃͐͆͘e̴̡̡̲̬̙̓̄̑͝ȃ̷͓̜̈ͅv̷̡̠͇̠̀e̴̯̯̞̜̖̕ ̴̢̬̮͂̐̈́͘̚i̷̩̰͇̐̌͒s̴̬̥̫̤̒ ̸̘̝̬͑͜p̸̦̺̕ọ̶̟͕̞̱̈͠s̵̢͙̩͈̩͒̕s̵̼̍̈́̑͘i̴͚̠̖̯͗̓͝b̵͔̰̆͝l̷̨͍̝̻̍́͑̊͗ȩ̶̞̻͗́͋͘.̶̡͕͚̱̭̌͝”̷̩̳̼͍̓̀͠͠ Said the voices.

“This...is insane.” Cathy breathed out. Her hand takes Joan’s and squeezes it tightly, reassuringly.

̴̫̲̦̬̐̓̍̕ ̴͎̓̏̀̄͝“̵̝̬̝͖̩͊̂L̴̠͚̐̑̅̿͝ī̶͇̦͌͑s̷̤͈̩̈́͗̇̇̽t̷̨̺̰̄̌̇͘ͅe̵͙͊̃n̶̟̝͙̎̋̒̾̈́.̴̯̝̋̈̍͝ ̸̨̦͍̰͇̅̽B̵̗͙̝͋̍͜ò̶̙̺͙b̴͚̯̻̄͊̔͠ ̷̙̫̲̣̙̈́̑͊̚͝t̸̞̬̜̰̉̐͝ä̴̝̥̗́̎i̸̡̔̎l̷̝͇̳̩̮̓.̶͙̭͓̏́ ̷̻̣͓̽̓̋͒S̶̖͂̄h̵͕̘͗ă̴̗̱̤͙͙̆̒͝v̴͙͓͉̗̎͊ͅė̷̟̪̦ ̵̻̙̱̠̿̈́̈́ṯ̵̥͗́́͘͜ã̴̼̰͚̞̕͝ȋ̴̲̝̘͖̟̉͌̀ľ̷̪̜͕̜͍̈́̐͋͠.̴̢͎̼͛̓͠�� ̵̛̘̉̅͠Ṩ̷̝̉̍l̵̝̘̞̼͛͌̈́͊ẹ̵̐̂̍͆͗e̵̥̔̅̏̓́͜p̶͈̜͈͍̂̌͜y̸̟̖͔̣̕ ̸͎͙̖̞͗̈̍̚t̸̗̤̻̏ỉ̴͔̅̇m̷̨͖̠̍ͅḛ̵̛ͅ ̸̡̱̰̲͕̋̉̾̾g̷͈̀͠a̴̛̛̠̒l̵͖̹̅̌͝.̴͉̥̫͖͆͑̅͜”̷͉͑̉͆͠ ̵̞̦̥̄̓͂̀ Said the voices. “̴̢̰̗̯̎́̀̔͒͜Ỉ̶͙͔̖̃ś̶̖̫̣̥̿̔̎.̵̲͊̽͝ ̷̻̭̯̬͍͐̕͘L̷̮̜͖̯̀é̸̬̬̓͗ͅå̶̖͔̈v̷̳̖͖̈́e̸̖̪̿̏͝.̴͎͍̫̪̿ͅ ̵̢͔̥̗̥̀̀̊̽͝P̷̖̞͐ọ̶̏̾̕s̶̖͒͒̍̆š̵̝̭͓̌̏i̵̖͂b̴̛̜͂̀͝l̸̖̑͑͋͛e̵͓͓͑͑̐.̶̥̟̦̳̆̓͠”̶̱̇͊̍

Joan swallowed thickly. She could taste blood on her tongue. Her brain is being turned to mush inside of her head.

“Umm...” She looks at Cathy unsurely. Her sister is pale and visibly in pain. There’s a thin line of blood trickling out of her right ear. “M-maybe?”

̶̳̠̮̦͈̏̃͝ ̵̧̤̠̥̳̽̾̇̚“̴̘̽̏̆B̶̧̗̹̤̻̏̕o̶͖͈̟͗̊̂͐b̵͉̙̝̯̜̾͆̈́ ̶̢̈́͊͘ẗ̸͚́a̶̮͋i̸̥͐͒̅̀̈l̵̞̓̄̕ͅ.̴̟̻̯̤̘́̌ ̸̥̱̉L̶̨̻̗͐͒e̷̜͔̎͒̂̅́á̵̩̤v̸͎͍̮̟͍̒̄̓è̷̼̜̓͐ ̵̡͆́͝c̸̻̹̺̬͐̀̑͋̓h̶̟̤̊̋i̸͙̲͎̞͒̈́̈́l̴͕̞̗̦̍d̴͓̹̿̽̑̕͠r̸̦̍͠ȇ̷͇ṉ̵̨̬͇̽͆͝.̴̣̩̯͇̦̏̔̅ ̴̪̖͓̖̿͊̚M̸̱͛͐͘ý̶̢̛̙̳͍̑̍͘ ̴̯̣̄͌m̷̖̟̜̬̺͌̄͆͌͘õ̴̰̜̹͌̈́͜t̷͎̾͊̇h̶̗̗̬̅̿̉͗͐ę̸̳̤̞͎͝r̶̞̝̲̩̤̽ŝ̸̞.̷̨̩̻͇̤̌ ̸̨̣͔͕͙̂̒W̸̱̤̮̹̜̉̈́̃͝ȋ̵̺̪̽l̶͔̞͈̺̐̐̉̿l̴̤̭̈́̒͐͌͝ ̸̡̤̉̿s̷̹̘͆̈́́̂͝e̴̢͇̹̭̭͑e̷̘͓͛̑͝ ̶̀́̚͜t̷̗͔̔͛̂̈́̚h̶̼̖͌̍è̵̲̲̞̼͖̀̓͝m̴̗̣͗́̄̕͜ͅ ̸̣̞͎̑̏s̷̻͐̈́̕ỏ̴̜͚͔o̸̪̜̓͋͋̕n̸̢̲̖͙͚̊̿͝.̷̮̈͂”̵͙̘̝͎̤̉̿͐͝ ̶̪͙̟͖͐̋̉̆̆

The ground began to shake. The triangle shudders harder. Cracks shoot through all the crystals and they crack and break into razor sharp shards. The pulse in Joan’s head turned into roaring, painful white noise.

“JOAN!!” Cathy shrieks.

A force seems to be ripping them apart.

“CATHY!!”

Her vision distorts. The feeling of phantom water rushes down through her eye sockets- she’s underwater.

Joan is underwater.

And down with her is debris.

Debris falling at an agonizingly slow rate.

She screams.

Bubbles explode from her lips.

A chunk of metal falls down, down, down.

The spray of bubbles turn red.

As Joan is cut in two by the debris.

She just barely feels it slice into her belly when-

“̷̝̋̈́Ḃ̷̩̒͋̍ō̵̱̖͔͙̄̓̊̅b̸̡̤̀̈́ ̵̪͕̮̌̏̈́͛̃t̵̰̪̬͕̹̕ȁ̷̘̌͆į̴͚̹̿̕l̵̡̗̬͈̗̎͑̿͐̚.̶̧̉͗̅̏ ̷̠̋͝S̸̢̗͙̞̔̈́h̴̙͉̥͚̑̊̾͝a̵̺̖̼̲̲͊̀̈́v̷̫̲̖͙̓e̸̼͑͂͐̑͌ ̵͔̬̑ť̵̛̖͘a̶̡̫̭͌͋̿͐͘ḭ̶͕̀̔͒l̴̡̩̮̲̩̑.̴̨̛͍͙́̀”̵̭̤͍̠̄́̐

-all goes black.

[merrysithmas]

some POPPER-centric hcs:

I.

Boris and Theo celebrating Popper's birthday together for two years, waking up at two in the afternoon, blinds drawn tight - but not tight enough to banish the bright gleam of treasure chest gold that flares through the slits between them, 777 Vegas coin yellow, graffitiing malleable stripes of desert sun across the walls and crumpled sheets. Theo peeking a tired eye over the coverlet from under Boris' arm, little Popper’s big cookie-round ink eyes already awake and staring at him, tail wagging bashfully against the sheets in the silence.

Boris, who was snoring just a moment ago, starts up, suddenly, electrified, hollering a gasping realization that sounds something like, “Moy malchik!” The sound pops a breaker in Theo’s brain, letting loose a migraine from last night's bender, which is evidenced by the toppled pill bottles (Xandra's), the semi-collapsed beer cans and the vague memory of Boris' stoned over-confidence ("Potter! Look - against my head - watch - I bet I can - like the movies!"), and the ultimately ignorable ache of his hamstrings.

At Boris' startling exclamation Popper lets loose an exuberant tirade of ungodly shrieking, like set off by the crack of a gun at race he was raring for, immediately licking Boris' morning-slick skin, teenaged greasy and gross, and Boris is laughing so loud that the walls almost shake, as they are so regularly starved and thin of joy. And Theo sits up, wincing (that phantom ache again, inadmissible memories) and leans on his elbow, reaching out to pat the wild little thing who quickly turns on him, "Ok - Happy birthday! Happy birthday!"

II.

Boris and Theo washing Popper in the sink - he reeks. Sickly sweet rotten fruit-smell compounded with the wet mildewy stench of old laundry, distinctly intermixed with the odor of shit. Popper’s yelping echoes through the kitchen like an antique car horn, petrified, claws rigid on the edge of the sink, braced for continued frantic attempts to flee his sudsy prison and energized with bouts of fervor not entirely unlike a demonic possession. The one overhead light fixed accusatorily above the kitchen sink makes the whole set up look like an interrogation room - worlds away from the girly relaxing grooming videos they found on Youtube.

“Potter! Not this way!" Boris screeches - voice cracking like it has been lately - exacerbated in its rawness by the cheap, caustic brand of cigarettes he smokes. Lately they’ve been meeting the parched maw of his chapped lips like a consecutive line of ants, one after the other, his fingernails yellowing. Popper shakes violently, way before Theo is ready and can throw the ratty towel across his drenched body, whirling like a windmill, fur centripetal and spiralling, soaking their filthy t-shirts flat onto their bony bruised limbs.

“Oh, Popper," Boris outright coos, followed by a placating barrage of what is unmistakably a grandmotherly coddle of (likely) Polish. "You look just like Potter!" he declares, finally discarding his ciagrette, which dims in the puddle on the counter as it sucks up water. Theo grabs it as it does, revives it, takes a long, charring drag of nicotine and tar. His eyes narrow behind his glasses, observing the drowned-rat Maltese, frigid and shaking to its bones, and completely hates how Popper's forlorn appearance quite accurately recalls his own reflecton, just in from the pool, hair flat to his head, eyes big and, somehow always, helpless.

III.

Boris and Theo say goodbye to Popper when he is fifteen. Congestive heart failure - a diagnosis so deleterious and uncomfortably human Theo finds it hard to believe when the middle-aged vet ("Dr Janet", purple earrings, thick rectangular glasses - incense burning, loose leaf tea drinking, National Park lover) breaks it to him. She seems to understand the frozen bones in his shoulders and his unexpected quietness better than he does, leaving the room before he notices she’s gone.

Even in the darkest edges of his flayed existentialisms Theo never found room for dogs. Dogs, he supposes for the first time, in an achingly unfair realization, with their bright renewable resource of happiness (which they often give freely even to the undesevering, or unknowning, or unappreciative) are immune to such nihilistic musings. Popper stares at him from the table, ragged and old, too heavy in the middle and too thin on the edges, breathing all wrong. How did - all that time pass?

Boris, on video-chat in Kyyiv, up to no nefarious deed (he insists) is the one, for once, startled by Theo’s harsh red eyes, like he's been doping too much again, but there’s no dope - just a clinical setting and a hard shuddering breathing, from somewhere offscreen, quiet like it’s coming from a baby in crib.

Boris, like a knitted sweater, so often and inevitably pulled in many different directions until he disappears, seems to swat away half a dozen Non-English speaking acquaintances before the line goes quiet on his end and Theo can actually explain what is going on. The way he touches the screen on the video chat with his fingertips when Theo presents it to Popper (“Let me see him please,” Boris had asked, with no hidden heartbreak) makes Theo’s chest crush inward like the emotional equivalent of the impact of a car accident.

Boris says no at first, when Theo makes the suggestion, no let him go when he's supposed to, not yet, then: let me see him first, and makes it all the way to JFK before his phone rings. He doesn't answer, won't, but when he walks in the jingling door from the merciless city rain, the black tails of his coat dragging water, all sharp angles and dark shadows, he already knows.

“He couldn’t wait anymore,” Theo says. And when he meets Theo’s cherry red eyes, Boris doesn’t yell, or get angry - he cries. Right there in the lobby - he cries. Hands shielding his eyes, like a boy cowering beneath the shade of an umbrella.

IV.

Later they bump coke in the bathroom of Gramercy Tavern, shitfaced at the table, “Remember when he ate Xandra’s G-string?” Theo says so loudly it rings across the room like a papal blessing.

“Aha! Yes! So sneaky. Little pervert! Gets that from you! And the time he shit in the grocery store? Aisle 12?”

The memories pour out: “His fucking pink collar with the bell on it.” “How he howl like - ooo ooo oooo! So annoying! Always in the morning! Yes, Popchyk! I’m coming!” “Oh when we caught him fucking The Playa’s chihuahua?” “да, I told him he could do better! He was nice boy she was not so nice. Still, he got more ass than either one of us,” Boris says fondly, proudly, and clinks his shotglass to Theo for what seems like the hundreth time.

“Something deeply not right about catching a Maltese in the throes of passion,” Theo says, blinking long-disturbed eyes behind the dewy lenses of his glasses. Boris seems to agree, with a noncomittal grunt, and puts a heavy, vice-like grip onto Theo’s shoulder, shaking him until he looks up.

“Like a teddy bear getting a blowjob,” he says, and Theo laughs a half-choked laugh. They’re both crying. They’re both fucking crying.

“To Popchyk née Popper, G-string sniffer, pillow hat, accomplished singer,” Theo sniffs, sitting up straightly from his messy, hunched position over the table, head back against the booth. Boris meets his eyes, they’re both such a fucking mess. “And friend.”

“Vichnaya pamyat,” Boris says formally, in response. Theo smashes his glass, agreeing.

“Eternal memory.”

V.

“Open any one! Any one you want!” Boris crows happily, the tip of his nose red like he’s been outside in the cold but he hasn’t, not for hours, and the sloshing bottle of Christmas cheer which is sitting (carelessly, without a coaster, Theo notices with disdain) on the mahogany side table is nearly empty at only half past noon. “Oh! My big mistake!” Boris makes a big show of putting his hand to his chest in guilt, elevating the bottle and placing it on top of a book instead. “блядь,” he scoffs.

“I know what ‘bitch’ in Russian is,” Theo answers, wrapped warmly in a woolen Burberry pullover, burgundy, with the festive forest green cuffs of his starched button up curling around the ends of his sleeves. Snow is falling outside like white wafting butterflies, the stone Antwerp architecture nestled under frost, Tchaikovsky on the speakers hooked up to Boris’ sentimental iPhone.

“I know!” Boris says cheerily, gesturing towards the presents beneath the tree with a sweeping, encouraging hand. “Any one!”

Theo rolls his eyes, but as they land on the smattering of gifts wrapped festively on the dark hardwood floor his mood lifts. Picking up a small one, dark matte navy blue with a silver ribbon Boris exclaims offendedly -

“No! Any one!” he repeats, taking the blue one out of Theo’s hands and replacing it with a rather less elegant medium-sized red box, bundled together with a haphazard green string. “This one!”

The oddly-weighted box quivers in his grip, a strange feeling which sends an unexpected thrill of fear through Theo, “What is this.”

“Open!” Boris goads. “Just look!” he seems pleased with himself, taking another long hit off the joint that is smoking in the ash tray and then rubbing his palms together and leaning forward over his knees, eagerly like a kid.

The box is easy to open, just a cover over a base, which Theo lifts to reveal the small fuzzy face of a tiny, tiny round dog, so extremely gay, circular in the face like a teddy bear, pawing at the side of the box.

“You like her?” Boris asks with the trepidation of new fallen snow, peering over Theo’s shoulder.

The puppy stares at him, unblinking and cherubic, and softly licks Theo’s nose. It happily lets out the shrillest bark from its tiny lungs, a sound so high-pitched it makes the bells on the tree tingle in the vaguest memory of tinnitus.

“Ah, бубенчик Popchykova!” Boris laughs.

Theo hoists the little thing up, blinking tree lights ensconsing the ball of its fuzz, an ornament-shape itself - the puppy wriggles disorganized limbs in midair, pawing innocently for warmth and closeness. Somehow smaller, more effeminate, and more annoying than his last dog. He loves her already. Round cookie-shaped eyes and a bark that splits his skull. And the name?

It fits.

[sleepnginstardust]

Werewolf boyfriend and girlfriend (part 1/??)

I really enjoy the short stories by @momolady @monsterywriting and @monstersandmaw. So I wanted to write something that hopefully would live up to some of their amazing writing. Fair warning I don’t have anyone who’s able to proof read for me so I’ve as best as I can to make sure that everythings okay. Let me know if y’all find anything! This 

Castle Hill,  the sign was almost too perfect. When I was first looking at places to move this place hadn’t even occurred to me than someone I know of brought a listing to my attention.

“I know you’re thinking of moving to a less populated place, wouldn’t want anyone to bother your writing now would you!” The little jab at my writing career was annoying, but kind of spot on? I had been stuck in a rut for my second novel in my series for a while and while I don’t mind living in a densely populated area. The noise and just all of the people get to me after a while. It takes more energy for me to head to the corner bodega than it should. So I had been looking for a house in a small town that was within at the most a three-hour drive from the city. 

The listing my acquaintance had posted on my facebook was for a house in the small town of Castle Hill. Bigger than what I needed but still cheaper than owning an apartment in the city. So I booked a viewing.

The realtor I talked with was surprised when I contacted them, he said something about not a lot of newcomers to the town. Never a good thing to hear if I ever wanted to sell the house again. I vaguely remember asking a few more questions.  Something about the community college that was in the town and I asked about a motel or an AirB&B in the area.

The realtor laughed, he said that there was a small Bed and Breakfast in the area and that he could give me the number if I was serious about wanting to see the house. It was odd when he asked me again if I was serious about seeing the house. When I said I would be up at the end of the week to see the house, he hesitated and said that he looked forward to someone so obstinate.

So I drove the three-ish hours, it took to get to Castle Hill, the drive was gorgeous. The busy city by the bay slowly gave way to winding roads through farmland. Slowly the farmland gave way to rolling hills and soon the hills became forests. The trees were small at first then slowly growing larger the farther I drove. 

By the time I reached the town sign, I was truly in a  forest. There were small clearings here and there, in fact, the town was built in one such clearing. The town sign showed the edge and while it was a large clearing tree still peppered the area causing a rustic feel that I remember from my childhood spent in the mountains.

Quaint wooden walkways were in place of the concrete sidewalks I was used too. It made me feel like I had moved back in time. The Old Fashion buildings made everything, even the modern day coffee shop seem like it had all been there for years. As I drove past I saw, a butchers place, a florist's and a small hardware store. 

The small crafts store was something that drew my eyes, it's bright exterior showed only a small portion of what was inside. As I made my way through the more suburban portion of the town I started to notice all the families. Naga men and women with their clutch of young, I saw a small satyr with a stunning woman and three children jumping up and down. I saw a beautiful Centaur woman with an equally stunning woman and a small centaur girl jumping around them. 

As I pulled up to the Victorian house a woman not much older came out to greet me. She stood tall and proud which honestly made me feel a bit like a slob. especially after driving the three and a half hours it took me to get here.

"You must be Abigail, I'm Kara. It's so nice you are able to join us. I'll show you the room." As she took me through the house I looked at all the old photos slowly morph into newer ones. I felt like I was walking through a carefully preserved museum.

"Okay, is this a family home? I'm seeing photos from the 1880's 1870's at the earliest." Kara paused for a moment and looked back at me while giving a small smile.

"I'm surprised you noticed, most people just assume that I find old photos in antique stores or something like that." I looked down with a small blush on my face. History was one of the few things I enjoyed. Feeling a little embarrassed I muttered something I don't remember. 

"My family has been in this area since the early 1860's. This house itself was built around 1904 right after the large earthquake that struck San Francisco." Kara  showed me the house along with many more photos of the town from the early days. 

The house itself was beautiful. Old but wonderfully kept wooden floors and antique looking wallpaper throughout. Each room was its own separate room. The furniture in each room seemed like it had been made especially for each room. The dining room had a large table with what seemed like 14 chairs.

She showed me the kitchen with its cozy dining nook where Kara explained that she served both breakfast and dinner there if I would want to join her. I couldn’t turn down such a wonderful woman so I readily found myself agreeing. 

Finally she led me up the stairs and to the upper story where opened the door to a decent sized bedroom with an ensuite bathroom. The entire room smelled lightly of lilacs, which normally would bother me but with how light the sent was it didn’t bother me.

She carefully bowed out and put a key with rose shaped key fob attached on the nightstand. Slowly I dragged my battered carry on bag onto the almost pristine white luggage stand. I carefully pulled out my small makeup bag and a small toiletries bag. I put away the small amount of clothes I brought with me and debated whether to keep the sweater in the bag or with me. I pulled it out just in case.

After that I freshened up in the bathroom. I reapplied bits of my foundation and added a translucent setting powder over the top to cover my greaseball forehead. I pulled out my favorite lipstick and put that on instead of the tinted lip balm I had been wearing most of the day. I looked at myself in the mirror and realized that this was going to be the best I was going to look for the day.

Grabbing my laptop bag I made my way down the stairs. As I hit the downstairs landing I heard Kara talking with another person. I slowly made my way into the sitting room where I had heard the conversation coming from.  I pulled short before the doorway and knocked like the sheepish person I am. I looked and saw Kara sitting down with two people both in firefighters uniforms. Not the heavy kind but the lighter kind that they wear while on duty. 

“Look I know I’ve been here for” I checked my phone. “An hour, but I promise I haven’t set anything on fire. That I know of.” The Female firefighter snorted, and the male one had this stupid grin. One I kind of wanted to punch off of his face. Sort of.

“Oh Abigail This Anita Galassia the Chief Firefighter for the town.” The man made a disgruntled noise and Kara made soothing motions. “And this is Anita’s Second in command Nathan Fraye. They were checking in on me, one of my neighbors had a bad fall (she’s pregnant with her first child) and they wanted to assure me that if anything happened they would be here lickty split.” 

“Wait, firefighters still do that? Sorry my local firefighters live an hour outside of the city and hardly know anyone.” Anita and Nathan hadn’t stopped looking at me even while Kara had been talking and I started to feel the anxiety creep into my brain. I felt like I had been cornered by two wolves, and my flight or fight feelings started to kick in. “Oh I forgot, I’m heading down to that coffee shop. You didn’t say anything about wifi and I have a few things I need to send in to my editor.”

“Oh my gosh Abigail I am so sorry! I do have wifi. I know I have the information around here somewhere. If you still want to go to the cafe I can have the password for wifi when you get back.” I nodded, feeling my anxiety kick it up a notch and my heart rate go up. I gave a small wave and started to turn around.

“Abigail right? Did you want us to take you down there? The fire house is close by and it wouldn’t be out of our way.” I turned back around looking at Anita’s earnest smiling face.

“Ahh no thanks I drove like three and a half hours to get here and a short walk would help get the cobwebs out of my brain before I have to edit like six chapters.” Anita’s face fell a little and she nodded.

“Understandable, maybe we’ll see you there. They have some good pastries.” I was still feeling like a cornered deer. So I put on my most brilliant smile and nodded. Waved again and made my way out of the room. On my way out I heard one of them mutter to Kara “She’s cute.”

“Don’t get any fucking ideas horn dog” was all I heard as I  quickly made my way out of the house and onto the small sidewalk through the neighborhood. Walking past the houses on my way towards the town center made me realize how many families were here. Like I had seen kids playing before but I only saw three or four of them. Now I was seeing whole groups of them.

In the 15 minutes I had been walking towards the coffee shop I started feeling invigorated and almost inspired. I say almost because as I was passing the local park, I noticed a small group of kids playing. I stopped for a moment and stared. As I watched the children playing I felt a small pang in my stomach. I wanted children but with my busy schedule I couldn’t even fathom having children. I quickly shook my head and started walking again.

Or well I would have if I hadn’t have run into something. Thankfully I didn’t fall over, I just happened to bump into them. I muttered sorry and started walking away. 

“Are you okay?” I looked up and realized that the person that I bumped into was someone who could probably bench press me. Again my flight or fight response kicked in.

“Oh I’m fine, sorry for bumping into you.” I gave a small wave to the person and thankfully he took that to mean that I was fine and he thankfully left it at that.

“I’m pretty sure your new in town, if you need anything stop by the local newspaper, I’m Fred, I run it and can help you if you need anything.” Still feeling a little nervous. I nodded and started walking away. I could swear I could feel him watching me as I got farther away.

I started loosening up the farther I got away from the park. I kept my head down and I started counting the squares in the sidewalk. I started looking up when my anxiety started slowly going away. It was another ten minutes to the coffee shop and I was thankful when I noticed that it quiet. I made my way up to the counter and placed an order for just a pot of black tea and a plain scones.

“So are you just visiting or maybe just passing through?” I looked up at the orc girl behind the counter, and tried to figure out why she was asking.

“I’ve got an appointment to see a house tomorrow.” I said in a slightly dead tone. I had hoped the orc girl would take a hint and just leave it. But she was young and wanted to be nice. I think.

“Oh that’s awesome, we don’t really get a lot of new people who’d want to move into a town out in the middle of nowhere. Do you have some sort of business you’re opening up?” She started finally gathering my things as she had been talking and I tried to repress the urge to snap. I know I should watch my temper but damn I was really not in the mood to talk

“I’m a novelist. I need a more quiet area so I can focus a little better on my novel.” At that the girl looked up from filling the small pot of tea. “Hey watch out or yo-”

“Fuck!” my warning came a little too late as she poured boiling hot water over her hand. I put my laptop down on the counter.

“Are you going to need burn gel? Use room temperature water by the way.” The Girl looked at me, I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. She switched over the water temperature and pulled a red bag from under the register. 

“Sorry I just realized where I had seen you before. I’ve seen your instagram, you have like a million subscribers.” I had the decency to be embarrassed. I knew I had a few subscribers here and there but I didn’t realize that people would actually recognize me.

“Yeah that’s me I guess.” The girl had remade the teapot and started heating up the scone. I grabbed my bag and saw a table in a corner that faced the street. I pulled out my laptop and looked around the table for a place to plug in. I found one a smalle ways away but still close enough to plug in my laptop.

The girl brought me the scone and the teapot with a murmured sorry. I nodded and took the pot and the scone laying them down on the table. I poured the tea and started nibbling on the scone putting some lemon curd on. As I settled down I opened the email from my editor with the edits he’d like to see and I sat down and started to write.

Writing had always come easy to me, easier than dealing with people at least. With writing I had control over everything, what people said, how people reacted, and honestly it was way easier to deal with things that I put onto paper. My first novel happened that way.

It had started as a way to deal with the fact that I wasn't what people wanted me to be. So I wrote a story about it. Fiction of course, because who would want to read an autobiography about a no one. And it sold, stupidly well. Then I was told they wanted a second book, and a third. So I rolled with it.

Now that I was working on the second book in the series I realized I really enjoyed writing. So here I was 200 miles away from my apartment and my editor trying to finish the last bit of editing before the book went to publication. Listening to the barista girl talk animated with someone. 

I heard the clink of someone setting a ceramic cup down on a wooden table. Looking up with a scowl on my face I recognized the two firefighters from Kara’s place. My scowl deepened making me look like I was going to punch someone. Trying my best to ignore them, I went back to work.

”Wow and I thought I was scary when I'm mad.” I ignored the voice of Nathan as put in some rework to some dialogue. ”hello did you hear me?”

”yes i heard you, yes I am ignoring you. I have a few things to finish before my book goes to printing next month.`` I looked up to stare at Nathan who had this bewildered smile on his face. Anita sat down next to Nathan and punched his arm.

“I told you not to bother her, yet here we are. With her about to rip your throat out.” Anita gave a small snort.

“I wouldn’t rip his throat out, that’s too messy. I’d poison him, less blood that way.” I said not even missing a keystroke. I heard someone choke a little, and the sounds of someone thumping on someone’s back. The more I got into writing the less I noticed. I was almost finished with the final couple of revisions when I saw a hand in front of my computer screen. Blinking a bit I looked up.

“Sorry to bother you but you haven’t looked up in two hours and we were starting to worry.” I looked at the clock on my screen and realized I had been at the coffee shop for three hours. It was closing in on Six O’clock and I needed to get back to Kara’s. I looked back up to Nathan.

“Aw crap, I’ve got to get going, thanks for checking in.” I saved what I was doing and closed my laptop. I unplugged the charger from the wall and started shoving it and my laptop in my bag. I shut my bag and stood forgetting I had been sitting for a long period of time. Of course I would get dizzy after having nothing but scones and tea since last night.

As I steadied myself I felt a hand on my shoulder and stiffened. Looking back I saw Anita and Nathan both looking concerned? I didn’t know anything about these people and still they had concern for me. I had no idea why people like them would be concerned but here they were showing concern anyway.

“I’m fine, just haven’t had decent food since yesterday. I’m heading back to Kara’s where she promised a good home cooked meal. I think.” I raised my hands in defeat and walked over the counter. The Barista was looking between myself and the two behind me. “Can I just get a cup of water, need to stay hydrated you know.”

She handed me the cup and I waved to Anita and Nathan and left. As I popped outside I realized how cold it had gotten in the three hours I was there. I shivered a bit realizing that not everywhere was in the 80’s during September. I started walking back the way I came as the street lamps came on. I looked up and noticed that the street lamps were some old time looking ones with the fake flicker light bulbs.

I walked quietly by the stores with bright interiors. As the stores gave way to houses I started feeling like something was watching me and I started getting nervous.  I started walking faster and as I was walking past the park I looked over. Two sets of glowing eyes stared back at me and I nearly screamed.

Needless to say, I walked faster back to Kara’s house and as I saw the lights on I quickly made my way inside. Not running mind you, but close. As I opened the door and slammed it shut my heart was racing. Kara came through the door to the kitchen and looked at me up and down.

“Abigail you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I nodded, not paying attention to what she was saying as she led me into the kitchen. The smell of what seemed to be chicken and something else came to my nose. She took my bag and put it on a hook next to the door over some aprons. “Okay, tell me what happened”

“I- I  don’t know, I was walking back from the coffee shop and I started feeling like I was being watched. Which by the way is terrifying because the last time that happened I was nearly killed. Well I started walking faster, not running because then that lets them know you know they’re watching and when I passed the park I look up and somewhere past the park there where these eyes. Two sets of them, and well I started panicking and now my anxiety is throu-” She didn’t let me finish my sentence as she engulfed me in a hug. I tensed up waiting for the whole “You shouldn’t be so cautise” talk I’ve heard from many different people. Instead she just rubbed my back in soothing circular motions.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I’ll talk to a few people to see what we can do. Now we need some food if you can stomach it. I know sometimes anxiety can be a real monster.” As she said this my anxiety dropped a little enough where I wasn’t hyperventilating. I was still having issues seeing, and I knew from experience that tunnel vision took a while to go away. I started to tremble so much so that my knees finally gave out. Kara grabbed me before I could hit the floor thankfully. She manhandled me into a chair at the table and gave me a glass of water.

 “Maybe I should call the fire department for you.” Hearing that all I could think about was the look of pity from Anita and Nathan I would get and my stomach dropped. I grabbed her wrist and shook my head no.

“P-p-please don’t I have medicine in m-my b-bag.” I pointed to my laptop bag, and she hurried over and searched the front bag finding the small bottle of anti anxiety medicine. She brought over the bottle and handed it to me. I opened the bottle and took out a pill and put it in my mouth and drank the glass of water. I put the glass of water on the table and put my head between my legs.

“Do these attacks happen often?” I turned my head to look at her and nodded slowly.

“They were manageable most of the time, but there was this incident about five months ago? I don’t know. Anyway they become worse almost to the point where I couldn’t leave my apartment.”  Kara nodded her head and started making a plate of food. I watched her bring a chicken thigh onto a plate before I spoke up. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to eat that, I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize. Besides I can make you something easier on the stomach. How about some soup and maybe a grilled cheese?” I looked at her perplexed, this woman had known me four maybe five hours and she had treated me better than my own mother. The tears came faster than I realized and when Kara looked back at me from the freezer where she was pulling out what looked like homemade soup, she gasped. 

“Hey, what’s wrong, do you not like chicken noodle, I think I have some leftover Minestrone from last week still,” I started crying harder, trying to make sure the sound wasn’t loud so the neighbors didn’t hear. “Oh dear, what’s wrong, you can talk to me.”

“N-n-n-not e-even m-m-m-my own m-m-mother cared, she just cared that I wasn’t making money for her anymore.” At this Kara stopped put the soup down on the counter and walked over to me.

“Abigail I’m going to tell you one thing about this town. If you do end up taking buying a house here know one thing. We look after our people no matter what. You’ll never have to worry about walking home alone. If you’re ever sick we’ll look after you. If for whatever reason you’re gone for long periods of time we’ll look after your yard and feed your cat if you have one. We care for our people, you won’t be alone unless you want it.” As she said this I started crying even harder this time not caring who heard. Kara just kneeled down and rubbed circles in my back. After a couple of minutes my tears started winding down and the fuzzy feeling of just having a long cry started creeping in.”

“Now Abigail let’s get you some soup, a nice grilled cheese and some more water okay?”  I nodded and watched her refill the glass I had from earlier. She gently placed the water in front of me and I hesitantly picked it up.

“I’m sorry for the breakdown there, It had been a while since I had one and I never expected to have one here.” I sniffled and looked around for some paper towels or maybe a paper napkin. Kara was looking at me as she warmed up a thing of soup in a sauce pot. I looked down at my knees very interested in my knees. 

“Amelia you don’t have to apologize, most people don’t hold half the things inside them that you probably do and they still break down.” She flipped a sandwich over in a pan on the stove top & stirred the soup. “Honestly one of the hardest things in life is being strong enough to understand that you don’t always have to be strong.” 

I sighed, maybe I knew I was due to break down but I had been hoping that maybe I would be able to get through the final draft of my novel and purchase a new house before I had one. Wishful thinking I know, but I had hoped. Rubbing the back of my neck I knew I should say something but all I was able to do was nod and hang my head. I heard the clack of bowls and plates. The rustle of silverware followed. 

I bowl of steaming soup was placed in front of me. MInestrone I realized, and a plate with a grilled cheese cut in half was placed next to the bowl. Kara refilled my glass with more water and set it down in front of me.

I looked up and saw her sitting down in front of me with the same thing. I looked at the counter with the beautifully prepared chicken, and rolls. 

“I’m sorry, I ruined your dinner.” I looked down feeling like a child who had ruined Christmas for their family. I heard a small sigh.

“Has no one ever told that not everything your body or mind does is something you can control.” I looked up at her then back down quickly. I didn’t have the heart to tell her about all the times as a child I wet the bed only to have my mother slap me for waking her and make me sleep in urine soaked sheets as “punishment”. Kara honestly looked like the type of person to hunt down my mother and punish her.

“If it didn’t come up in my mothers “Parenting for Narcissists” book then she probably forgot.” Kara let out a bitter laugh and I picked up some of the sandwich. I carefully dipped it in the soup and pulled out. The soup tasted perfect, as I expected. The sandwich had a decent cheese to bread ratio. Not that I was expecting anything less.

“I haven’t  known you for long, maybe a day or so at this point, but there’s something I don’t get. You seem to be hurting a lot and from what I can tell, what ever drove you to come here terrified you so much that you decided to leave everything you know behind. Why?” I looked down thinking about what had happened, and how people I thought to be my friends acted afterwards. 

“I guess I’m prying huh? You don’t have to say anything I know you’ve only been here for less than 10 hours. So finish your soup and go to bed, maybe take a bath. Since you’re the only one  here the communal bath has a nice big tub.” I nodded and I finished my sandwich and soup I got and went to go put my dishes in the sink. “Don’t you even dare, just go take a bath and relax.”

“Kara? Thank you.” Kara waved her hand at me and moved to gather the dishes. I left to her too it.

[theladyofdeath]

A Vintage Christmas

12 Days of Christmas in July {day 1}

Morrigan + Andromache.

Written alongside the love of my life, @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty.

I hope you enjoy. :)

The snowstorm had lightened to a soft snowfall as Mor walked down the streets of Velaris. Christmas was definitely in the air. Everyone seemed happier, the streetlights even seemed to be shining brighter.

Mor was the only one who seemed to be in a slight panic.

She pulled her red, fluffy scarf higher up around her mouth as she hurried down the sidewalk. She had five hours until midnight, five hours until Christmas. Most of the shops had already been closed for the holiday, and Mor had yet to find the perfect gift.

Her family had been taken care of and their presents were wrapped and waiting under the Christmas tree.

Everyone except Andie’s.

As Mor passed the shops in town, getting ready to close up for the holiday, she sighed. She hadn’t wanted to get Andie jewelry. That didn’t fit the woman who Mor had begun to fall for. She knew she would love something homemade, but Mor wasn’t the most craft savvy.

She had thought of and talked herself out of nearly everything. No, Andie was too good for everything Mor had thought of.

Mor’s phone chimed and she ducked into a shop to take off her gloves and dig her phone out of her bag.

You okay? It’s getting late. 

Andie.

Mor said she’d be over to spend the night with her, to wake up with her Christmas morning. She had told her that she would be there around dinner time, and although vague, it was growing past the window.

Yep :) Mor texted back. Just finishing up with the boys.

It wasn’t a complete lie. She had spent the afternoon with Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys, Amren having been off with Varian and Feyre off celebrating Christmas with her sisters and father.

She would see them all tomorrow afternoon with Andie. If Mor ever found the perfect gift, of course.

“Can I help you find something?”

Mor jumped, remembering she had entered a shop and she dropped her phone back into her bag.

She looked around the shop and then to the elderly woman in front of her. She had entered an antique shop and hadn’t realized it.

“Oh, I’m-.” She hesitated, not sure what she wanted to tell the sweet looking woman. Velaris was an accepting city, but there were still those who sneered as she and Andie walked down the street hand in hand. She steeled her nerve and said, “I’m looking for a gift for my girlfriend.”

The woman smiled, genuine and warm. “Well I’m sure we can find her something. How long have you been together?”

Mor let out a relieved breath and said, “Just under four months.”

“Still a new romance,” the woman winked. “Follow me, dear.”

She turned on her heels, Mor quickly following. She had never entered the little antique shop before, and that alone was a surprise. Her family liked to joke with her about her shopping habits. 

It was beautiful, though.

“Have you collected all of these things?” Mor asked.

“Ah, yes,” the woman said, taking Mor through the store, by shelf after shelf.

“It was always a hobby of mine and about ten years ago my husband began complaining that I had collected too much.” She looked over her shoulder at Mor and rolled her eyes, making Mor let out a soft laugh. “That’s when I got the idea to open this store. I could still collect lovely things and my husband couldn’t get mad about it.”

“You certainly have done just that,” Mor said, stopping to stare at a wall of old necklaces. “Collected lovely things.”

“How would she feel about one of these?”

Mor ran a finger over a large opal and shrugged lightly. “Not a jewelry person, but that doesn’t mean she’s not feminine, I just…” She trailed off. “If it’s jewelry, there has to be meaning behind it. I just don’t know what to get her.”

She glanced over her shoulder and held up a finger. “I think I know just the thing. Hold on a minute.”

She left and made her way back into the back through a curtained doorway.

Mor made her way through the store, looking at all the furniture that had been painstakingly refurbished. There were knick-knacks and dishes and jewelry and more.

“Here you go, dear.” She came up and sat down a small silver box.

Mor looked at the box, at the detailing and the filigree. “It’s gorgeous, but…” She paused. “What is it?”

The elderly woman smiled and, with gentle hands, opened the lid.

A soft melody began to play, a small silver snowflake spinning in slow circles along with it.

Mor smiled, running her fingertips gently over the edge of the lid. “It’s beautiful. But, I don’t think I could afford something this grand.”

The woman softly shut the lid. “Is this girl of yours special?”

Mor blinked, surprised by the question. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you love her?”

Mor’s smile softened. “Yes, I think I might.”

“Then consider it a gift,” the woman said, handing Mor the box. “From me, to you, to her.”

Mor shook her head. “No, I couldn’t possibly-“

“This is why I do what I do,” she said, placing the box into Mor���s hands. “Not for the money, but for the love of it.”

“Thank you,” Mor breathed. “Truly, thank you so much.”

She smiled. “Merry Christmas, dear.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Mor came rushed out to the car and realized she had no way to wrap it. With a sigh, she decided to run by her own apartment, wrap the present and then head over to Andie’s. She shot her a quick text and was on her way. Her phone rang as soon as she got in the car.

“Hey, what took so long?”

Mor stumbled for a second, but said, “Oh, Cassian hadn’t found a gift for Nesta yet. Had to help him out.”

Andie laughed. “They’ve been dating for what...three years? You would think he’d have that down by now.”

Mor chuckled, nervously. “You would think. But, it’s Cassian.” As if that was reason enough in itself.

“I miss you,” Andie said, laughter fading. “I can’t wait to see you, can’t wait to wake up next to you.”

Mor had to agree. Waking up next to Andie was perfection in itself.

“Me either,” Mor promised, starting her car. The snow had held its steady pace and Mor hoped the roads weren’t too slick. “You didn’t start watching Christmas movies without me, did you?”

“Nope. But It’s A Wonderful Life is queued up and ready. Hot chocolate is ready and waiting.”

“I’ll be there in about 15 minutes,” Mor said, smiling.

She could hear Andie’s smile as she spoke. “I’ll see you then. Bye.”

“Bye.” She hung up the phone and carefully drove through the snow. When she pulled up at Andie’s house, she grabbed her bag from the back and the present. Before she even made it up the steps, Andie had the door open and had a mug of cocoa waiting for her.

“Hey, you.” She smiled and pressed a kiss to her lips. She handed her the mug. “I missed you.”

Mor smiled and pressed her lips to her cheek. “I missed you, too.”

“Now, come in, warm up, get your comfy clothes on, and let’s watch this bitch.”

Mor laughed, striding past Andie and into her apartment. The Christmas tree was lit up in the corner of the living room looking just as it did the afternoon before, after they’d decorated it. It smelled like cocoa and peppermint, Mor’s favorite combination. 

Andie was leaning against the wall, watching her girlfriend fondly.

“How was your afternoon with the boys?” She asked.

Mor chuckled, removing her scarf and hat. “They were as annoying as they usually are. So, good.”

Andie’s smile widened. She already had on her pajamas - an oversized tee shirt that was hanging off one of her shoulders and a pair of plaid boxers that matched her glittery red socks. She glanced down to the red package in Mor’s hands. “Whatcha got there?”

Mor smirked and walked across the room, setting the present under the tree. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would actually,” she said, following her across the room and picking it up. She shook it lightly.

“Don’t!” Mor voice was a bit sharper than she meant for it to be. “Sorry,” she breathed when she saw the shocked look on Andie’s face. “It’s just...very fragile.”

Andie glanced down at the present. “Now I really want to know.”

Mor made her way towards the bedroom to go change, backing up as she went. “If you can make it through the first movie, we’ll see. Maybe I’ll let you open it tonight.”

Andie’s smile turned into a sensuous grin. “Such the bargainer, Morrigan.”

Morrigan scowled at the use of her full name as she shut herself in Andie’s bedroom.

The second she was alone, Andie hurried to the kitchen and pulled a little box out of the cabinet above the fridge. She smiled at the box, knowing full well how much Mor was going to love it, thanks to the advice of her brothers.

Andie placed it lovingly next to Mor’s beneath the tree.

Perfect.

She placed herself on the couch, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, draping a blanket across her lap and picking up her mug of hot chocolate.

She heard the door open and Mor walked back into the living room, in fleece pajama pants and white camisole. When she sat down next to her, Andie glanced at the pants. “Aren’t you festive?”

Mor ran a loving hand over her own thigh and glanced down at the reindeer patterned pants. “These are my Christmas pajamas,” she defended. “I wear them every year.”

“I think they’re cute,” Andie said, scooting closet and tossing the blanket across Mor.

She couldn’t stop herself as she wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re cute.”

Andie blushed as she started the movie.

It wasn’t halfway through before they both began to doze. Although the movie was a classic, and a tradition, there was only so much Andie could handle before sleep begged to consume her.

When she looked down at Mor, who was lying on her lap, her eyes had already fluttered shut.

With a small smile, Andie brushed the golden strands off her face with gentle fingers. “Let’s get to bed, babe.”

Mor didn’t open her eyes as she mumbled, “What about presents?”

Andie chuckled. “What about them?”

Mor cracked a lid open and looked at the clock over the mantle. “It’s after midnight.”

Andie followed her gaze. “I guess it is.”

“Merry Christmas,” Mor said, smiling, leaning up to press a kiss to her lips. “Now let’s open presents.”

Andie was chuckling as her lips brushed against her own. “It’s not Christmas morning, silly.”

“But it’s Christmas,” Mor said, perking up with a wink in Andie’s direction. “Come on, or I’m opening mine without you.”

“How do you know you have one?” Andie crooned, following Mor to where the tree was lit in the corner. 

“I saw it the moment I came in,” Mor laughed, grabbing her box from under the branches. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I would never,” Andie grinned, sitting down on the floor. “Go on, then. Open it, my love.” 

The wrapping paper was in shreds on the carpet before Andie could finish her sentence. Mor cradled the small black box in her hand. She flipped the lid open and covered her mouth at the sight before her.

Nestled in the black velvet was a simple golden chain, with a diamond encrusted heart. Mor ran her finger over the heart, the small engraved A staring back at her.

“Andie…” she breathed. “It’s gorgeous.”

“I know. Just like you. I saw it and knew it was perfect for someone as beautiful as you.”

Mor couldn’t help but bite her lip to keep from tearing up. The years building up to this relationship had been a long, shitty road. She never thought she would have this. This kind of hope, of happiness. She never thought she would have Andie, never thought she would have someone who thought so much of her to give her such a wonderful gift.

“Thank you,” she said, pressing her lips to Andie’s cheek. “Help me put it on?”

“You want to wear it to bed?” Andie asked, eyes lit with pleasure.

“I want to wear it always,” Mor promised. She lifted her hair as Andie took the necklace and hooked it around Mor’s neck.

“There,” Andie whispered. “Beautiful.”

Mor’s smile was bright and unmoving. “Now,” she began, grabbing for the box she had brought. “Open yours.”

Andie took it from her hands, delicately opening the paper. Mor couldn’t help but laugh lightly at the different...methods the two of them used to open their gifts. She pulled back the last piece of festive paper and gasped as she ran her fingers over the shining metal of the box.

“Mor, oh my god.” She was speechless. “This is beautiful.”

Before Mor could say anything, Andie had flipped the lid and the softest, most sweet lullaby began to fill the living room.

And, inside the box, was a ring.

Mor’s eyes flared as she beheld the ring she hadn’t seen before. She hadn’t even thought to open the box once she had left the shop.

But then the sweet woman’s words came back to her.

From me, to you, to her.

“Mor,” Andie breathed.

Mor blinked, once then twice before searching for something to say.

Anything to say. 

“I love you,” she said, at last, the words rushing out so quickly that they sounded a bit like gibberish.

Andie just stared back at her, unable to speak, the small jeweled ring still in her fingers.

“I love you,” Mor repeated. “I love you and I’ve wanted to tell you from the moment I met you.” She leaned forward and framed Andie’s face with her hands. She lightly pressed her lips to Andie’s and breathed one more time, “I love you,” and waited for her response.

“I love you, too,” Andie smiled, placing her hands over Mor’s that were still against her cheeks. “You’re everything I ever wanted, and more than I deserve. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to call you mine.”

Mor’s vision blurred as her eyes lined with silver. She had dreamt of moments like this, of loving someone like this and not having to hide it.

Mor smiled, kissing Andie’s lips softly, quickly. She took the ring and slid the small, emerald stone onto Andie’s slim, tanned finger.

“I love it,” Andie promised. “Thank you.”

Mor rested her forehead gently against Andie’s as she said, “Now, weren’t we headed to bed?”

Andie’s brown eyes sparkled as she raised a brow. “Do I get a second gift this Christmas?”

“Christmas has only just begun,” Mor winked, rising to her feet and holding out her hands, which Andie gladly accepted. “You have many gifts coming your way.”

Mor led Andie to her bedroom, feeling like a goddess even in her fleece reindeer pajama pants, and spent the rest of Christmas morning making love to her girlfriend, to the woman she loved.

[fancifulwritings]

The Song Remains The Same

Chapter Eight

     From the moment Robert parked his car, Calypso was in awe. The house was beautiful, it was stunning. Not quite as large as she had imagined it might be, but that was almost expected. The house of his current life should be a bit smaller than the house of his past, the one she had spent time imagining. It was bigger than anything she might ever be able to afford, though.

     The land surrounding it was breath-taking. She wasn’t quite sure where his property ended and the next person’s might begin, but that hardly mattered. Something told her he had enough to keep himself busy. It was clearly maintained, but not too much. There was something natural about how it looked, like this was how it was meant to be – untouched by human hands.

     Just as she was about to open the car door, she noticed that Robert was already doing it for her. “You don’t have to do that, you know.” She spoke with a laugh.

     “Oh, but I do,” he said. He offered her his hand and she took it with a smile.

     They walked closely together, Calypso practically plastered to Robert’s side, as he showed her the ground. He made a comment that he wouldn’t show her it all tonight. He wouldn’t be able to. It was getting late; the sun would be gone soon. But, he would be happy to show her around more the next day.    

     Calypso had just begun to get cold. But, for the moment, she wanted to stay outside. The sun, as it began to set off in the distance behind some trees, lit the sky on fire.

     If the world ended in this very moment, Calypso was sure she would be content. They stood, just behind his house, for a few spare moments. It was stunning. Everything about this trip seemed to just be stunning and surreal. Part of her was afraid she might wake and discover it was all a dream.

     Once Calypso began to shiver, Robert slipped his coat over her and ushered them inside. The inside of the house was just as brilliant as the outside, if not better. Calypso wasn’t too sure what exactly she had expected. Perhaps less decorations, a house that felt mostly empty. But Robert, it seemed, prided himself on his house.

     On the first floor, he showed her from room to room. Most seemed to not have a specific purpose. Just used for whatever, whenever it was needed. All seemed decorated the same way, old but a quaint kind of old. An aesthetic that fit him perfectly. It was like an antique store filled with love.

     Once room, though, Robert just glossed over. He made no mention of it as he walked back. Didn’t even look at it. That struck Calypso was a bit odd. Would it be alright to pry like that? Perhaps there was something he wanted to keep hidden behind it.

     Thankfully, she didn’t have long to debate it. Robert must have noticed, somehow someway. Or perhaps he had just forgotten to say something. “That’s my son’s room, the youngest,” he said. He shrugged with a smile. “I don’t pry much. What more can he do that I haven’t already done?” He chuckled. “I would appreciate if you could leave it alone as well.”

     Calypso, of course, had no intentions of going into the young boy’s room. Though, she doubted his son was much younger than her. She just chuckled a little and nodded, understanding him. The last thing she really wanted to see was what kind of unchecked hellscape it was anyways.

     “Come, this way,” he said. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder as he led her up the stairs. A few rooms were passed, Robert saying small things about each of them. It was obvious he was heading directly for one place. Calypso wasn’t dumb. She couldn’t be that much of a fool. She knew that they were heading toward his bedroom.

     Once she was there, she began to understand why he had set out so directly. And for once, it wasn’t just for sexual reasons. It was stunning, his room. For two reasons, as it seemed to exist as a dual purpose room.

     At one end lay a bed, one of those huge ones with the four posters and curtains. Of course he would have something like that, it would only make sense. It looked like it was straight out of some period romance piece. She hadn’t imagined he would have something so nice, but it made sense. His whole house wasn’t quite what she had pictured, but it all had made sense.

     The other half of the room was truly what had her in awe. From floor to ceiling, on these big shelves, were records. They lined the whole wall. It was a beautiful sight, something that Calypso strongly envied. She just drank it in as she gasped.

     “This isn’t all of it. I’ve got an actual record room.” He chuckled a bit as he kissed her forehead.

     “Of course you do,” she mumbled.

     There was more than this though? What didn’t Robert own at this point? Sure, he had a few decades on her with collecting, but this much? He must have never gotten rid of a single record, ever. She wondered what treasures could be hidden amongst the shelves.

     “You have any preferences for what I put on babe?” He asked, jolting her from her thoughts.

     “Oh, no, I’d be too overwhelmed to have one.” She spoke with an awkward laugh. A grin was plastered on her face as she walked further into the room. He walked toward the record player and she walked toward the bed. She sat down, and then laid down on it. A bold move, one she wasn’t thinking about until it had already been done.

     Once she did it, and it registered in her mind, she froze. Would it upset him? She was making herself comfortable in his house, on her own accord. They didn’t know each other enough for her to feel comfortable with that. At least, he didn’t know her enough. If this was anyone else, she wouldn’t have done it at all. She shouldn’t have. Her mind was screaming at her.

     Her limbs started to move, clearly making an attempt to stand and apologize.

     Robert caught the look on her face. He didn’t understand why she looked so worried. It was fitting, really, seeing her laid out on the bed. She should have looked at peace from the moment she had done it. It made him chuckle a little bit as he shook his head.

     “I’m glad to see you’re comfortable, darling,” he said with a smile. Something, anything to soothe over whatever anxiety she might have been feeling. And it worked. Calypso relaxed and laid back in the bed as he searched through some records.

     It was odd, for a moment. Calypso was afraid but decided to push it aside. The bed was soft and smelled vaguely of him. It felt safe and she couldn’t help but make herself comfortable. Those hotel beds would never feel quite as nice as someone’s actual bed.

     There was something about him that was so relaxing, so charming. Calypso could feel herself falling deeper and deeper into an endless pit. She’d never met another soul like him. One that she could bare her whole being so freely to and then not want to run, to not be made to feel naked and vulnerable. The end of this week was going to be hard on her. She doubted he might feel much when she left, but she knew nothing would ever again compare to this.

     Calypso, though, was wrong on how Robert might feel. As he shuffled through the records, his own thoughts raced. A week with her. It was something too short. She deserved more. For perhaps the first time in his life, Robert wished it was the seventies again. So he could keep her around, treat her like she deserved to be and show her the world. There was something so… refreshing about her.

     But Robert knew he was not young. Knew that trapping such a young woman with him would be cruel. She enjoyed their time together now. But who was to say she wouldn’t come to regret it? Come to hate him. Robert knew he would have to let her go. Let her go like he had all the other woman in his life. Just, he wished for more time with her. He would learn to make do, as he always had.

     Calypso laid her head against the pillow, chuckling a bit at the fact there were only two on the bed. At least he was always prepared for company. She heard the needle hit the record and let out a long breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

     “I hope you don’t mind some Robert Johnson. It’s a bit… typical, but I love it, love him. Hits the right part of the soul, I suppose,” he said.

     Calypso just chuckled again when he sat down on the bed next to her. “I couldn’t think of a better soundtrack. I love Johnson,” she said softly. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. He wrapped an arm around her and laid down.

     It felt like true peace, for the first time in a very long time. There was a certain safety in his arms. They stayed like that for some time. Robert just ran his fingers through her hair. Calypso listened to the sounds of his breathing and heartbeat. The record played gently in the background. Johnson sang of pain, but they felt none at the moment.

     “Thank you, for listening to me, in the car,” she said after a moment. Where it came from, Calypso wasn’t too sure. Something in her felt the need to break the silence, thank him for what he had done. The last thing she wanted to do wanted to do was take anything he gave her for granted.

     “Don’t,” he answered back softly. There was no cruelty in his voice, nothing that strictly forbade her from going back down that road. Robert just didn’t want to reopen that wound at the moment, it just having scabbed over again. For not, he wanted to relax and enjoy her company. Life was filled with pain, he wanted a sweet reprieve with her.

     Whether he meant to not go there again, or not to thank him, was a bit lost on Calypso. She didn’t care to ask for clarification. His voice was kind enough, so she thought nothing of it. She just nodded and curled into his arm a bit more. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

     For the moment, he kissed her soft and slow. It was gently. Calypso didn’t expect for things to stay like that, not with him. This was his home turf now. If there was anything he had held back the night before, and this morning, Calypso knew he wouldn’t now. Eventually, he eased them down a bit more, both laying on their sides facing the other.

     His hand went to the back of her head, firmly guiding her where he wanted her. The other traveled up and down her side. It never stayed in one place long, not one particular spot. He was just feeling her, enjoying whatever skin he had access to at the moment.

     When he parted to breath, he had a devilish smile on his face and Calypso just let out a faint sigh, her own eyes closed. The music played on in the background. It was lost on them. Only really entering their consciousness when there was a particularly loud note. Otherwise, they were too lost in each other.

     Eventually, Robert moved them so she laid on her back with him propped up next to her. His hand once again traveled down her body as he captured her lips with his.

     There was something about her that made him feel young again. Like he was on top of the world and nothing could hurt him. Like nothing had ever hurt him. She also made him feel horny like a damn teenager again. No that his libido had ever truly slowed. Rather, he had just learned to manage it better. That seemed to go out the window with her.

     As his hands wondered down to her legs, Calypso spread them for him. She did so with a smirk and without a second thought.

     “You’re insatiable,” she mumbled against his lips.

     Robert couldn’t help but chuckle, his hand finding its own way between her legs. “So, it seems, my dear,” he nipped at her neck, “that you are too.” He teased her with a smile.

     His lips kissed a line down her neck and Calypso arched into his touch, wherever it was. One hand slipped back up her, and she whimpered. The loss of contact wasn’t what she wanted at all.

     Her worries were eased when he slipped his hand down her pants. Through her panties, he gently began to rub circles around her clit.

     “Oh, Robert,” she gasped. Her hips strained up to meet him. He just smirked as his fingers picked up pace. Slow and gently didn’t seem to be on his mind anymore.

     “Yeah babe?” He said right into her ear. He was trying to coax something about of her. What he wanted, what that was, she wasn’t sure of. His fingers paused for a moment and she looked at him.  

     “Oh, please,” she mumbled as she rolled her hips. Her shyness was still getting the best of her. Asking for what she wanted might be too much. He had to know anyways. Robert wasn’t a fool. This was hardly close to being his first rodeo.

     But, he was trying to coax her out of her shell. The more comfortable and less shy she was, the more he knew they would both enjoy it.

     “Please what?” He asked as he flicked his finger up. Nothing major would happen until she asked for it. But, he could tease her. Wear her down just a little to get what he wanted out of her.

     Calypso gasped and blushed right after doing so. Was he really going to make her beg? That hardly seemed fair. But, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. “Robert, please,” she whined.

     “Please what?” He asked as he moved his finger down.

     “Please, just, oh Robert, touch me, please,” she mumbled. Her hips pushed up against him, trying to get the friction she so desperately wanted.

     Robert smirked before returning to his assault on her neck. She knew that before the night was over that he would have marked her whole neck. Was that such a bad thing? Anything to help her remember the events of the week.

     His hand paused once again, dragging up against her skin. She whined, afraid he was going to stop yet again. He just chuckled a little. His hand slipped under her panties, touching her where she most wanted him to.

     Robert didn’t need to comment on how wet she already was. They both knew she was soaked. Soaked just for him. God, if seeing her like this hadn’t properly turned him on, there was no going back now.

     Calypso gasped and rolled into his touch. Robert slipped a finger inside her with a sideways smirk planted on his face. She froze and let out a long, low moan. Robert pulled back enough to reclaim her lips. His finger gently fucked her, rubbing up against her walls, as his tongue invaded her mouth.

     He was hardly moving as fast or as hard as she wanted him to. “Oh, Robert,” she moaned again when he pulled away.

     “Yes, my dear?” For a second, she was afraid he was going to stop again. This time, he did the opposite, slipping in another finger. Her eyes flew open. She was so lost to his touch and her own desires that she hadn’t even realized she’d closed them.

     “Fuck,” she whimpered.

     “Is that a request?” Before Calypso could actually process what he had said to her, she was nodding.

     “Anything you ask for, my girl, anything for you at all.” He said with a grin. Calypso just blushed. His fingers pumped in and out of her for a few seconds more before retracting completely.

     This time, she didn’t whine. She just looked up at him with hungry eyes, taking him in as he undid her button and fly. She canted her hips up to help him pull her pants down and over has ass.

     This time felt different than last time, than last night. There was a look in his eyes that said he couldn’t wait. That this time wasn’t going to be as gentle. It all felt so much more different. She herself felt like she was on fire, burning for his touch. Calypso was hardly complaining, wanting to take anything and everything he gave her.

     She felt different as well, besides the burning she felt wherever he touched her. This need felt bigger, consuming her completely. Any sort of fear or anxiety she had felt last night was gone. Perhaps because she had now done this before. Though, she doubted that normal anxiety went away this quickly.

     Robert threw both her pants and underwear to the side haphazardly before undoing his own fly. She spread her legs a bit wider as she watched him removed his straining cock. God, she didn’t think she was ever going to get over how big he seemed. How big he felt.

     His movements were hardly the most graceful, but she couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment.

     Her legs wrapped around his waist as he guided himself inside her. His hands held her hips with a smile. He eased himself in and let out a low moan as he did so. Once all the way in, he paused for a second, allowing her to adjust to his size.

     There was something about him that filled her in a way nothing she had ever had before did. Her toys would never feel good again. She gasped, eyes closed as she rolled gently against him.

     “Robert, oh fuck, Robert, I, I need,” she whimpered. Her brain seemed to be short-circuiting as she looked up at him. She was unable to think of anything besides more, now, hard.

     “So tight around me babe, fuck, you’re like a god damn vice,” he groaned. He then began to move, small gentle thrusts at first. Nothing crazy, nothing that would initially hurt her. She arched her hips up to meet him.

     Already, she was right there, so close to the relief she ached for. She could feel it, and she knew he could feel it too. Yet, he was denying her, the bastard. Her hips began to move faster, trying to get what she wanted. He had a wicked glint in his eyes. Obviously, she wasn’t going to get what she wanted without begging.

     “Robert, oh Robert, please,” she begged. There was a smirk on his face, but he gave into her. His tempo picked up, slamming into her now. Harder, faster, and pushed into her just a bit deeper. Her eyes widened as he did so. Her hips stalled as they were no longer able to keep up with him.

     She moaned as she grasped the sheets for dear life. There was one final last thrust, one somehow deeper than the rest, before Robert was coming.

     He threw his head back and moaned her name. She felt him throbbing inside her, coming deep in her, and it threw her off her own cliff. It felt like she nearly blacked out as the pleasure overwhelmed her.

     “Bloody well woman,” he panted as the record finally came to a close, “I haven’t managed that in years.”

     Calypso just smiled, very much at a loss for words. Still too tired for words. He’d taken everything she had to give, and still somehow had demanded more from her. He slipped out of her, gathering her up in his arms. She kissed him gently before placing kisses all around his face.

     She laid there, against his chest, for just a few moments more. Robert had already fallen asleep, almost immediately passing out. Calypso struggled to keep away for just a bit more. She wanted to enjoy as much time with him as she could. As much time in his arms as she had.

[inkwell-attitude]

Odds & Ends Intro!

Genre: modern-magic, fantasy

Stage: rough draft, vague planning

Themes: found family, mixing magic and modern technology, personal growth, overcoming your past

Summary: A pair of twins, a vindictive assassin-for-hire, and Idalia Yi, who just wants to run her antique store in peace, fall into a portal. 

This sounds like the set-up to a corny joke, but I can assure you, dear reader, that there is nothing funny about what happens as these four very different destinies intertwine around much more responsibility than they would like.

Excerpt: 

The group lands in various states of confusion. Idalia lands on her feet with a jolt, immediately stumbling over Theo who is curled on the ground. He’s given up on the tough exterior and has one hand clutching his shin, the other rubbing at his cheek. Kamari drops and within seconds is reaching for a second knife.

Quinn drops last, landing unceremoniously in the large dumpster the group finds themselves next to, the lid dropping over them with an alarming clang.

Idalia leans against the rough brick wall, ignoring the fact that she’s probably getting dirt and muck all over her sweater because holy shit she’s a wreck. Travelling by portal is understandably not a pleasant way to travel, and she takes a moment to focus on standing up and breathing and not keeling over.

The lid of the dumpster creaks as Quinn pushes it up. This is… not the shop. Instead of the fragrant scent of herbs and spices, the smell of rotten food and exhaust hits Quinn's nose, and the soft ambient light of the charms has been replaced with a neon glow coming from the mouth of the alley.

They make a move to remove themself from the dumpster and find the edge of a knife directly in front of their eyes.

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

It’s fun! It’s only semi-serious! It’s a quirky found family story where even I don’t know what happens!

This story was originally practice for me to write something without worrying about planning every little detail, but now I’m enjoying it too much to let it go, so I’ve decided to make it my NaNo project! It’s going to be tough because I quite literally don’t have any planning for what happens, but I’m sure that we’ll end up with an interesting and fun story nonetheless! 

Taglist: @uraniumwriting​ @human-nonsense​ @walking-talking-irony​ (ask me if you want to be added!)