#so I only really knew how to draw hind legs

[quibbs126]

So here’s this idea I had for a Layton age/role swap au, where Luke (or Mr. Triton) is the puzzle/mystery solver, while Layton (or Hershel) is his loyal apprentice

I think I first saw the idea for something like this by @teenytinyapprentice, who made a role swap au like this as well, which I thought was really interesting. Then I saw a few more interpretations of it online and thought I wanted to take a crack at it myself

Sort of taking their idea as well, Triton is an author who writes mystery novels, who’s stories are inspired by the mysteries he solves in real life. Hershel was a fan of his stories and after requesting his help solving a mystery in his hometown, he became his apprentice

Yeah okay that’s basically the same thing @teenytinyapprentice did, but I just wanted to expand on the idea in my own way I think

Speaking of which, I decided to add Flora to the group too! Triton helped her with a mystery as well and she decided to join the team as well, enjoying going on adventures with them. She’s around the same age as Triton (oh yeah btw Triton is around his mid 30s here, just like Layton in the original universe) though a few years older or younger, haven’t decided yet. She was still raised in a town of robots, and eventually she decided to start studying robotics herself, and is rather accomplished in that area

She and Luke are good friends, but they are never romantically involved. Some people may ask them about their relationship but they maintain that they’re just friends. Hershel might even (innocently) ask them if they’re dating at some point

Oh yeah, to clarify, in this au, character’s backstories are mostly the same as the original, minus the parts that involve the other characters, or in cases like Hershel, wouldn’t have happened yet at their age

I have a few more ideas (specifically stuff involving a certain theater major), but I’ll just leave them to myself for now as I develop them. For now, just have these three discussing puzzles. Hope you enjoy!

[avatar-anna]

Just, like, a little crazy

this...is absolutely ridiculous, but i'm here for it. jealous hockey player!harry everyone! based on this tiktok

Hockey Player! Harry Styles x Figure Skater! Y/n

*.*

"What's that face, baby?"

You stepped off the ice with a furrowed brow, approaching your boyfriend once your skates were properly covered. His arms were crossed, a scowl marring heis features as he waited for you to finish your training session. Your students were long gone, as you usually stayed back to skate freely before heading home.

Harry didn't always pick you up, but he had a bye week, which meant he spent every moment he could with you. Date nights, casual evenings on the couch, late mornings in bed, breakfast in bed if Harry managed to untangle his tired limbs from yours. It was safe to say that bye weeks were your favorite weeks. And Harry's, though he'd never admit it around his teammates.

Shrugging, Harry took your hand and pulled you closer to him for a kiss. You were used to greeting kisses, but this was different, deeper, his tongue pushing into your mouth before you had a chance to even process it. Not in the mood to argue, you kissed him back, dropping your duffle bag at your feet so you could grip the thick fabric of his sweatshirt.

Harry's hands gripped your ass, pushing you closer to his front, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. "Baby," you murmured, trying to catch your breath, but your boyfriend was rather insistent for a Tuesday afternoon. "We—We're in public."

"There's no one around us," he replied, nipping at your jaw. "And since when has that stopped you? Remember your grad party? Or the away game in Boston? Or—"

"Okay, okay, big shot." You pulled yourself back from him, holding his chin in place when he tried to go for your neck. "Let's go home anyway. There are security cameras, and I happen to like working here."

With a little resistance from Harry, you eventually left the rink hand in hand. In the car, his hand was on your leg, his thumb tracing along your inner thigh in a way that made it hard to think straight. You tried to keep still, for no other reason than Harry's earlier comment and you were inherently stubborn, and maybe because you knew if you stayed still you might be rewarded for it. It wasn't a long trip home, but you knew he would make it worth it.

"So, who was that on the rink with you?"

When his hand dipped below the waistband of your leggings, you knew you were right. Sighing, you settled deeper into the passenger seat, eyes fluttering shut.

He started off slow as if to warm you up, drawing lazy circles and spreading your wetness around until he eventually slipped one finger inside. Just the one, pumping slowly. He waited until the first stoplight to add another.

"Hm?"

You weren't sure if it was a moan or a response to his question, but you didn't really care. You hadn't really heard him anyway.

"You were skating with someone at the end of practice," Harry said, though his voice was secondary to the sensations provided by his fingers. "I thought you just taught the younger age groups. Not...young adults."

You peeked an eye open, glancing at your boyfriend's profile suspiciously. His eyes were still trained on the road in front of him, hind fingers still pumping leisurely but slowly picking up speed. It's nothing, you thought, or told yourself to think. The only thing you wanted to focus on was finishing before you got home. This was probably some sort of game to see how well you could hold a conversation while his fingers were inside you.

"Winter showcase," you sighed, clenching around Harry's fingers to distract him from his questions. "I'm doing a little performance with the senior coach."

As his fingers pumped a little faster, he asked, "Oh? So you're—Have you been training with this person often?"

Groaning, you shoved Harry's arm away, pinching his skin for good measure. Yelping he pulled his hand back, cursing slightly as you crossed your arms. And your legs.

"Ow! What the hell was that for? You weren't finished!"

"Did you really try to butter me up into an interrogation by fingering me?" you accused. You'd be impressed if you weren't so annoyed. "All because you're...jealous of my coworker?"

"I'm not—"

"He's my colleague, Harry!"

"Oh, so now I'm just Harry? What happened to baby?"

"Baby is reserved for my mentally sound boyfriend who doesn't try to finger me into submission! And I thought you just loved me."

"Come on, don't be like that. I just saw you...and him...and you looked—you looked..."

Your annoyance ebbed, but only a little. Harry's thoughts were irrational, but you also tended to not see reason when he was around other women, so could you really blame him?

That didn't stop you from teasing him, though.

"I was thinking about you, idiot," you said, shoving his shoulder lightly.

There was a considerable amount of acting when it came to figure skating. It wasn't just about executing tricks perfectly, but telling a story through the lines of your arms, the bow of your head, the emotions on your face as you performed. Partner work wasn't something you were used to, but you'd been asked to fill in when a senior coach's partner got injured last minute. It was all strictly professional, because he was a colleague and you were happily involved with someone else, and everyone you worked with at the rink knew that.

You often thought of Harry when you performed. For years, he was the person who drew the most emotion from you. From anguish to love to desperation, he'd made you feel everything over the course of your relationship. It was the easiest way to tap into emotions for a raw and real performance.

"You—You were?"

You rolled your eyes, refusing to answer him as he pulled into the parking spot in front of the apartment you shared. Harry tried to rest his hand on your lap again, but you twisted your body to face the car door in a huff.

"Don't be like that," he said. "You know how I get, I'm sorry. Let's go inside and I'll make it up to you."

Silence was your greatest weapon at the moment. It drove Harry crazy when you didn't talk to him, even moreso when you didn't forgive him right away. You supposed you both knew what made each other tick.

"You're really gonna be like this? When we have a whole week together?" he asked, his lips brushing against the curve of your ear. "What can I do, princess? Tell me."

Excited chills curled down your spine. You tried not to let it get to you, but you could practically feel Harry's grin as he realized he was wearing you down.

"Let's go inside. I wanna finish what we started, and then some."

You wanted to wait, to not give in, but, "Like what?"

"There she is," Harry murmured, kissing your cheek. "I'll let you sit on my face."

"You act like that's a punishment for you," you scoffed.

"Can't blame me for trying," he said with an unapologetic shrug. "Handcuffs?"

All that got him was a raise of your brows.

"Handcuffs on me? No, that's too much work for you," he said, laughing when you swatted at his arm. "Give me a little help, princess. I'm dying to get my hands on you. Dying, princess."

His praise filled you with warmth, just like it always did. You loved to hear him beg, to hear how much he craved your touch, and he loved to see you preen and blush and melt beneath the sweetness of his words.

Unbuckling your seat belt, you opened the passenger door. "Dying, you said?"

Harry nodded, his eyes tracking your every move as he quickly got out of the car, following you up the steps to the apartment. When you got inside, he lifted you up, and your legs went immediately around his waist, but when he tried to kiss you, you pressed a finger to his lips.

"I want to hear you say it."

"Say what?"

Fighting a grin, you said, "That you were a jealous idiot and that you know I would never make moony eyes at a coworker."

"That's what you want?" he asked.

"That's what I want. And that you're sorry for trying to finger the truth out of me."

Harry sighed. "It sounds crazy when you put it like that."

"It does, doesn't it? It's almost as if it was crazy."

Harry grinned, not even the littlest bit sorry. "What can I say, princess? You make me do some crazy shit."

You only looked at him with raised brows. "My pants stay on until I hear you say it."

"Fine, fine, if my proclamations of undying love aren't enough," he said, shaking his head as he chuckled. He kissed your neck a couple times before you hugged him back by the curls that flopped over his forehead. After a deep exhale, he said, "I was a jealous idiot."

"And?"

Harry narrowed his eyes to green slits at you. "You're enjoying this too much. Fine, I was a jealous idiot and I know you would never make, what did you call it, moony eyes, at a coworker. And I'm sorry for fingering—" he sighed, rubbing an exasperated hand over his face, "for fingering the truth out of you. There. Satisfied?"

You beamed at him. "Very. You may now lead me to the bedroom please and thank you."

He shook his head, but did as you asked, commanded, really, anyway. "You think you run things around here, huh?"

"Think?" you asked, giggling as Harry tossed you onto the bed, following closely behind. "Baby, I know."

You held him close as he peppered your neck and cheek with kisses, laughing a little as he nuzzled you relentlessly. Your clothes and Harry's were quick to come off, both of you eager to finish what was started in the car. At the last second, you paused, a small grin gracing your lips. "So, about those handcuffs?"

Harry's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Nodding, you said, "Gonna make me feel good?"

"The best," he promised, kissing you once before scrambling off the bed.

You got into position, readying yourself for Harry while he rooted through your shared closet for the handcuffs. When he came back, he smiled, the gaze that roved your body nearly as powerful as his touch. When he climbed back onto the bed, he kissed your forehead. "Good girl," he murmured.

You beamed as he clasped the handcuffs around your wrists. God, it was good to be in charge.

[lqtraintracks]

Smut Snippets

Drarry Edition

I was tagged by some truly exceptional people: @kbrick @skeptiquewrites @sitp-recs thank you all so much! I’ll go ahead and tag some folx too. How about @nv-md @the-starryknight @ruinsplume @corvuscrowned @pennygalleon @maesterchill @onbeinganangel @magpiefngrl and @moonflower-rose

As you can maybe imagine, this was hard for me. :sweat_smiley: I tried not to overthink it too much. I couldn’t go back in my brain over 300 fics, so I just let them come to me and picked a few I knew I really loved writing the smut for (though many have multiple sex scenes and I had to choose just one from each). 

Wonderful Electric (cover me in you) (content: a wee bit of piss kink--ha ha!)

One time after he’s fucked me so well I can hardly walk, Potter’s at a urinal, pissing, and he’s going like he’s been holding it all day or something. I must make a small sound of amusement, because he flinches. I don’t know what comes over me then, but I move closer.

“Does it feel good?” I ask him. I use a soft voice, a calming one. It’s instinct. Even my body’s moving more slowly. I face his tense profile. His breath comes out all shivery. His stream slows, then starts again. “Mm, is that good?” I ask again.

And: Potter nods.

“Yeah?” I come even closer. I lift my hand, stroke my fingers through his hair. He groans. “That’s it, Potter,” I tell him. “Let it go.”

Good Boy (content: trans man Draco; werewolf Harry)

“Harry,” I said again. “Down.”

At this, he whimpered slightly. He withdrew his claws from the bars and sat on his haunches instead.

“Good boy,” I said. Then I drew my t-shirt up and off.

He got up and began pacing his cage, his gaze darting to me frequently. He’d walk on his hind legs only to drop down to all four, then back up again, as if unsure what to be.

I slipped my running shorts down and off, my pulse throbbing mercilessly through my limbs. I left my boxer briefs on as I came a little closer. Harry whined, panted, came at the bars again. But when I stopped walking, he whimpered and went back to pacing his cage instead, face always turned towards me.

He made a beautiful animal, and yet I saw him in the eyes… the intelligence, the way he was attempting to keep control of himself.

Merlin help me, I wanted him to lose it instead.

“Sit,” I commanded when I got close.

Restlessly, he obeyed. He huffed, howled a little, but it turned into a whine of protest instead. I smiled at him. I wanted to stroke my hands over his head, to bury my face in the fur of his neck.

I dipped my hand into my underwear, trailed my fingers through the wet, and then brought them to cage. He sniffed the air for the briefest of seconds and then lapped hungrily through the bars. His tongue was large and so warm and wet, his hard breaths bathing my hand as he eagerly licked my fingers clean.

“You like that?” I asked. I sank my hand into my shorts again and brought him more.

Heart Like Neon (content: sex worker Harry; some exhibitionism, between them, not other people)

Potter makes a little noise in his throat now.

“What is it?”

Potter looks at him across the space of half a pillow and says, “Your come is leaking out of me.” Then, “Do you want to see it?”

And with that, Draco’s refractory period is well and done. He goes so hard, so fast it’s both an ache and a sting through his entire body.

“Go on,” Potter says, drawing a leg up and hooking his arm beneath his knee.

This must be how fourteen year-old straight boys feel when a girl randomly provides visual access to her fanny just for the thrill of it. Potter looks perfectly comfortable lying there, not like he’s debasing himself at all. Not even like it’s all that dirty of them.

Draco moves down the bed enough that he can get a look. All his breath leaves him at the sight of it, the slow, shiny drip. He did that.

Bolts (content: some angst; teasing--like with sex, not bullying)

Draco blinks at him, feels the hot onslaught of shame seeping over him… that perhaps Potter doesn’t want it as badly as he does, hasn’t been in the same agony over it for weeks and weeks now. His cheeks flush with something other than arousal. He drops his hand away, turns slightly, affects a bitter laugh. “I wasn’t going to let you come, you idiot. I was bored tonight. I just meant to toy with you a bit, that’s all.”

His cheeks are on absolute fire at the lie. He doesn’t know how far he would have gone, but… he can’t say definitively. And that is bloody terrifying. That he might throw his whole life away. For this.

Humiliated, he digs deep inside himself and pulls up that blasé persona. But before it can solidify, before he can walk away, Potter grabs him by the hand. Draco tenses as Potter pulls him close again, puts Draco’s hand back on his own cock, looks into Draco’s eyes as he wraps Draco’s fingers tight around, his breath hitching, and he says, “Toy with me then.”

Blood and Fire (content: past relationship; getting back together--yes, I had to do the shirt scene)

Draco slowly stepped into the room, his gaze not quite calm. Almost. But not quite. Because something inside him simmered.

He swished his wand, and the door shut. Another flick, and it locked. Harry swallowed.

Draco took three leisurely steps closer, though it didn't feel at all relaxed. Harry felt like he was being stalked. The fine hairs along his arms leapt to attention.

Draco's gaze flicked down his body and back up. He huffed a bemused breath. "I've fucked you in that shirt."

The words, said softly, exploded into the air. Harry suppressed a gasp — that he'd said it, it had been acknowledged. The thing that was constantly pulsing there between them.

Draco hadn't forgotten. Maybe any of it.

Mens Rea (content: dirty talk; established relationship; reverse cowboy to start)

“Tell me,” I say.

Harry grunts a little. Then, a low breath, “You’ve got such a pretty pussy.”

My eyes roll closed, a soft frown of arousal settling on my face. My dick is getting hard again and starting to bounce as I go on him a little faster.

“Love to fuck your hot cunt.” Harry saying these things to me is everything. He could probably talk me into coming.

I take him, and he takes me, rough and so sweet. The noises we make verge on obscene. No, there is no verging. We are obscenity together.

There’s a thump, thump, thump from the floor, my downstairs neighbours banging on their ceiling with a broom handle.

I laugh and look over my shoulder at him. Glimmering with the lovely danger of it, I smack my arse down on him. The bed bounces; the headboard slams the wall; our voices start to crescendo.

“Wait,” he grits out.

I slow down, do him gently, my mouth fallen open on the seductive burn of it inside me.

“Draco.”

“Yes, love.”

“Come here.”

He sits up, and I come off his cock. He moves onto his knees, his arse on his heels, and he beckons me. I straddle him again, and this time I’m looking him in the eye as he fits himself inside me again.

And if the neighbours thought we were loud before…

The Only Magic Left Between Us (content: arranged/cursed marriage; they’re so sweet here; I wanted to do a scene featuring Draco’s small cock, because I love it, but this one jumped out at me instead)

Words abandon him. Because Draco’s halfway between the bathroom and his bedroom, clad only in a towel slung around his hips, still dripping. He stops, like a deer in the road, and looks at Harry.

Harry looks back. He can’t stop looking back. He blinks, breathless. “Merlin,” he says, “my husband is hot.”

The shock of it lands; Harry sees it land. He waves a hand at the hob, turning the heat off and throwing a stasis on. He never did actually promise to pretend like Draco wanted. He hasn’t been at all sure he could. He definitely can’t like this. He walks down the hall, meets a stunned Draco there, backs him into the wall, not yet touching him but burning to.

“Is it so awful," he asks, "that I want you?”

“Yes,” Draco says, though he’s not moving away.

“Why?”

Draco places his hands on Harry’s hips and moves him just an inch closer. Harry’s body brushes Draco’s, though he plants his hands on the wall rather than touch him. He’s gone if he touches him.

“I don’t think we should confuse things.”

“I’m not confused about this part.”

Draco looks down at how Harry’s cock is tenting his joggers. “I see that.”

“There’s no spell this time. There’s no alcohol,” Harry says, letting his erection brush up against Draco’s towel.

“That’s the problem.” But Draco’s hands have slipped into the gaping part of Harry’s vest, up his sides, under his arms, his thumbs finding and brushing over Harry’s nipples once.

“Why is this a problem?”

“It just is,” Draco says. Then, “Fuck, I can’t think.”

“Stop thinking. Come to bed with me.”

“I can’t. I’m married,” Draco says.

When Harry’s head clears enough to process the words, he leans back just enough to look into Draco’s eyes. “Was that a joke?”

Draco smiles, nods.

Harry grabs him up hard, surprising a laugh out of him, and he carries Draco down the hall.

Phoenix in the Fire (content: professors Drarry; I’ve cursed Draco again lol; angry sex)

Draco turns to him now, eyes burning. “The name Malfoy may mean less than nothing to you. I don’t honestly know what it means to me anymore, either, but… It’s who I’ve been my whole life. For better or worse, it’s who I am.”

“This is who you are!” Harry says, surprised to find himself shouting about it.

Draco smiles at him unkindly. “I envy your naivete.”

“I envy your fucking self-pity,” Harry spits back.

“Is that a no then, on the torrid affair?”

They stare at each other across the room, and Harry wants him so badly he could light something on fire.

“I’m going to get you out of this,” Harry says.

“You won’t.”

Harry grits his teeth around the feeling and the words. “Merlin, you’re such a complete arse.”

“You’re not going to break my heart just because you no longer want to fuck me.”

“Oh I want to fuck you,” Harry says, stalking toward him.

He grabs him hard, hauls him into a rough kiss, and then right in the middle of Draco's classroom floor, he does exactly that.

***

I’m supposed to have thoughts now. I think I like them pushing boundaries with each other, using boundary-pushing as foreplay maybe? I like physical details, but I try to use pointed ones that say something about the characters or where they’re coming from or how this might change them. I like to use sex scenes to propel the plot forward, to make comments on characterization and the characters’ growth as people. I like commands, dirty talk, sexually charged bickering, intense vulnerability as a power move, and disarming sweetness, sometimes all in the same fic. :D

I hope you’ve enjoyed! <3

[julianobungus]

I came up with this idea a long time ago, when Steven Universe had just ended.

Lapis has been watching Jasper from time to time since she was uncorrupted, and a few days after Steven left, she saw Jasper sitting on the Brooding Hill and joined her. They had a conversation. They recalled different events that had happened to each of them. And Lapis didn’t like Jasper's pessimism. She didn’t like Jasper, who didn’t believe that she could change, who recalled Lapis' memories of being imprisoned in the mirror and thought that she should be imprisoned in the same way, who wanted to be rejuvenated or even shattered.

And Lapis thinks what Steven would do. He always forgave everyone and was friends with everyone. He would have liked it if Lapis had done the same. Lapis holds out his hand to Jasper and offers to remember the old days.

– You... Do you really want to do this? You said it was a prison for you.

– I want to help you. Like Steven helped me. Like he wanted to help you.

– Aren't you happy to see me so pathetic?

– NO! – Lapis shouts and Jasper twitches in amazement. Lapis grabs Jasper’s head and pushes it to her head.

This time Malachite was smaller, she was slightly higher than the Jasper herself. She had long horns, a pair of hands that were instead of hind legs, were wearing pants and flip-flops.

On her wings, she flew to the Beach City and immediately went to the Snowflake Obsidian and Larimar, as the memories of her components told her that snow cone is very tasty. She really didn't want to meet Crystal Gems, especially Garnet, but ironically, she soon meets Garnet. She says that Malachite has cute horns, notices that she has greatly decreased and asks if she is going to exist forever.

Malachite asks Garnet to leave her alone, but Garnet just having fun from this reaction. After all, she likes to see another fusion, and also the one that has changed and become better.

Malachite outsmarts Garnet and hides from her to get to the snow cone stand, where she asks Snowflake Obsidian for a watermelon-flavored cone, since the only food Malachite ever ate was Watermelon Stevens. Lapis ate snow horns many times, Jasper ate them only a couple of times, and Malachite did it for the first time. And because of that, the taste was like a new one.

Since Garnet knows that Malachite is back together, she can tell everyone about it, and Malachite thinks what to do. She's thinking of going to Bismuth. Jasper and Bismuth did not communicate as much as Lapis and Bismuth, but they had more or less friendly relationship. They mostly discussed Pink Diamond and her second personality Rose Quartz.

Malachite does not notice how she comes to the beach in front of the Crystal Temple. She thinks about the Obsidian that Lapis knew about, and thinks about her power that has nowhere to apply. And suddenly an idea comes to her, and she begins to create ice blocks and destroy them. And then she starts creating ice statues of Garnet. Amethyst finds her doing this, says that Malachite is on fire, and calls her Sis. Statues of Garnet throw snowballs to Amethyst. When Amethyst digs out of the snow and throws a huge ball of snow at the statues of Garnet, knocking them down like in a bowling alley, Malachite is nowhere to be found.

Malachite arrives in a Little HomeWorld and meets Vidalia, who offers her to be model for her drawing class. Vidalia calls her a beauty and Malachite is outraged because her name is Malachite, not Beauty. But she agrees to sit still and pose, because she is afraid that the next person she will meet will be Pearl.

Malachite was amazed to see the drawings, as it was the first time she saw herself not in the reflection of water. She couldn't even believe that she looked so beautiful.

In fact, Vidalia recognized Malachite immediately. Amethyst and Lapis told her about Malachite and showed her the drawings. So even though this time Malachite was smaller, Vidalia remembered her.

Amethyst sent her a message about the snowball fight, at the same time sharing Garnet’s story about meeting an old friend. Therefore, it cost Vidalia nothing to write a Pearl, Garnet and Amethyst message asking her to stay away from her class while Malachite is here. If green fusion didn't want to see them so much, then let her not see them. But no one said anything to Peridot. And she wondered why Lapis didn't come back from a walk for so long, and she went to look for her.

She was very surprised to see Malachite, but Vidalia calmed her down and told her everything. And then Alexandrite comes to Malachite, and she is also very small. They are about the same height. And Malachite is very angry. But Alexandrite offers her a duel. "You're both against us," she says. "I'm against you," Malachite corrects her. They smile at each other, Malachite tells his new friends that he will be back soon and goes to the teleport with Alexandrite.

Previously, Malachite was the hate of Jasper and Lapis for each other. But now... She became forgiveness. She will do anything to be good. Not just for the sake of Her Diamond. But also for the sake of her components. And for her own sake

Honestly, yeah, this'd be my ideal ending for Malachite as well. Her becoming the physical embodiment of reconciliation between two survivors traumatised from the culture they grew up in and the issues that caused for them both. I love how everyone is just so accepting of Mal, too. fr, Love this, such catharsis.

[psychreviews2]

Case Studies: The 'Wolfman' - Sigmund Freud Pt. 2

Early memories

Serge's autobiography The Wolf-Man by the Wolf-Man described a lot of challenges that would affect any person, not just him, and is a good companion piece to Freud's paper. His earliest memories included memories of illness. "I dimly remember that it was summer and I was lying in the garden, and although I had no pain I felt extremely miserable, because of the high fever, I suppose...I have been told that in my early childhood I was a quiet almost phlegmatic child, but that my character changed completely after the arrival of the English governess, Miss Oven. Although she was with us only a few months, I became a very nervous, irritable child, subject to severe temper tantrums."

Another memory was of Serge's parents who went on a trip abroad. "My parents were often away, my sister and I were left mostly under the supervision of strangers, and even when our parents were home we had little contact with them." His parents left "both Miss Oven and my Nanya to our maternal grandmother, who unfortunately did not really assume this responsibility." Later on Serge called Miss Oven "a severe psychopath or often under the influence of alcohol...I can remember, and our grandmother confirmed this, that angry quarrels broke out between my Nanya and me on the one side and Miss Oven on the other. Evidently Miss Oven kept teasing me, and knew how to arouse my fury, which must have given her some sort of sadistic satisfaction." 

Serge's memories, like for most people, shift and change. Certain underlying patterns of who he liked or disliked would remain the same, but details like the story that scared him in Freud's analysis The Wolf and the seven little kids morphed into a similar story Little Red Riding Hood. "Unlike me, Anna got on with Miss Oven fairly well, and even seemed to enjoy it when Miss Oven teased me. Anna began to imitate Miss Oven and teased me, too. Once she told me she would show me a nice picture of a pretty little girl. I was eager to see this picture, but Anna covered it with a piece of paper. When she finally took the piece of paper away, I saw, instead of a pretty little girl, a wolf standing on it's hind legs with his jaws wide open, about to swallow Little Red Riding Hood. I began to scream and had a real temper tantrum. Probably the cause of this outburst of rage was not so much my fear of the wolf as my disappointment and anger at Anna for teasing me."

Serge described his mother in a more adult sense. "Although she did not suffer from depression, in her youth she...imagined she had various illnesses which she did not have at all. In fact she lived to a considerable age of eighty-seven...Since my mother, as a young woman, was so concerned about her health, she did not have much time left for us. But if my sister or I was ill, she became an exemplary nurse. She stayed with us almost all the time and saw to it that our temperature was taken regularly and our medicine given us at the right time." Serge learned about religion from his mother and Nanya. His doubts about God's omnipotence, not being able to stop evil, made him feel guilty that it was a terrible sin to doubt. Not knowing if there was a God or not influenced Serge to play it safe with faith. Ambivalence between faith and reason was with him throughout his life.

Another important memory related to Serge's sister is in the autobiography. "My sister and I both liked to draw. At first we used to draw trees, and I found Anna's way of drawing little round leaves particularly attractive and interesting. But not wanting to imitate her I soon gave up tree drawing. I began to draw horses true to nature, but unfortunately every horse I drew looked more like a dog or a wolf than a real horse." Serge lived on an estate that grew crops and raised sheep. The white wolves, who looked more like sheep dogs, may have influenced his dream. His memory of those sheep was that 200,000 of them were inoculated with a wrong serum and died.

The Wanderer

Between Serge's parents wandering around and he himself involved in moves, he was a wanderer from the beginning. I found photos of his former estate, Dubiecki Manor, that was purchased by his father one year before Serge's birth. It's a ruin now in modern Ukraine, nicknamed The Wolf Lair, but one can imagine the tree he saw out the window, like a Freudian psycho-archaeologist. Which window did he look out of? What were the walnut trees like back then? "We lived on an estate where I was born only in the winter. Our summer home was in Tyerni, a few miles away. Every spring we moved to Tyerni, and our luggage followed us in numerous wagons. In Tyerni, we had a big country house in a beautiful old park. Trips between the estate on the Dnieper and Tyerni took place during the summer."

The big emotional move for Serge was his first permanent move south. "We moved to Odessa when I was five years old. At that time there were no train connections between our estate and Odessa. One had first to take a little river boat down the Dnieper to Kherson, which took the entire night. Then one had to spend a day and a night in Kherson, and early the following morning continue the journey to Odessa, this time on a larger ship able to weather the possible storms on the Black Sea...My father bought a villa in Odessa, opposite the municipal park which extended to the shore of the Black Sea. This villa had been built by an Italian architect in the style of the Italian Renaissance. Almost at the same time my father acquired a large estate in southern Russia...Only after we were living in Odessa did I learn that my father had sold our estate. I cried and felt most unhappy that our life on the estate, where we were so close to nature, had come to an end, and I would now have to get used to a large and strange city. I learned later from my mother that my father, too, soon regretted the sale, as after a few years our former estate became a city. This recognition that he had made a mistake is said to have precipitated my father's first attack of melancholia."

"A few years later my father purchased a second estate in White Russia of about 130,000 acres. It bordered on the Pripet River, a tributary of the Dnieper. Although White Russia lay in the western part of Russia bordering on Poland and Lithuania, it was at the time, especially in comparison with southern Russia, a very backward region. Primeval forests, ponds, lakes large and small, and many bogs impressed one as a remnant of nature still untouched by man. There were wolves in the forests. Several times every summer a wolf-hunt was organized by the peasants of adjacent villages. During my high school  years, I spent a part of my summer holidays on this estate in White Russia and felt myself transposed into the past of hundreds of years ago."

Serge described his uncles and their different personalities. "Alexis, was a sickly man whose first marriage went on the rocks and ended in divorce. He then married a Polish woman and had two sons. This second marriage was a very happy one. Uncle Alexis was a quiet and unassuming man who kept busy looking after his estate and playing chess, his great hobby. He did this in a thoroughly scientific fashion, one might say."

This uncle went from sad to happy, but unfortunately his other uncle went in the opposite direction. Uncle Peter, had a sunny happy disposition, but "soon [he] began to show signs of most peculiar behaviour and to express himself no less strangely. At first his brothers were simply amused, as they did not take his changed behaviour seriously and considered it merely harmless whims. But soon they, too, realized that this was a serious matter. The famous Russian psychiatrist Korsakoff was consulted, who, alas, diagnosed this as the beginning of a genuine paranoia. So Uncle Peter was confined in a closed institution. However, as he had a large state in the Crimea, his brothers finally arranged for him to be taken there where he lived many years as a hermit. Although Uncle Peter had studied agriculture, he later wished to devote himself exclusively to historical research. All these plans, of course, came to nothing, because of his delusions of persecution."

Nanya ended up living as a pensioner with the family, as well as a French governess who seemed to know the secret of happiness, which is concentration. "We visited her from time to time and always found her in the best of spirits. One never had the feeling that she was unhappy or lonely, as she was always busy with little things that absorbed her entire attention."

New Year's Day Guided Meditation: https://rumble.com/v1gvmab-new-years-day-guided-meditation.html

Another influence in Serge's religious life was an Austrian tutor who was an atheist. Being around him allowed Serge to accept that his religious doubts were personal and it was up to us individually to decide if we want to have faith. The problem with Serge was how to deal with the transference, that for so many people, keeps them feeling secure. "...What filled the vacuum thus created?...Perhaps it was a mistake that I took the loss of my religion too lightly, and thus created a vacuum which was only partially and inadequately filled." This would be a deep question that would resound for the rest of his life. How does one stop the search for a parental replacement and feel secure with oneself? The aimlessness wasn't affecting only Serge. His sister Anna seemed to feel isolated and lost.

Anna's trip

"During the two weeks which Anna spent with me on our estate I did not notice anything extraordinary in her behaviour. It struck me as strange, however, that she suggested that I accompany her to the Caucasus, although she knew that I had enrolled in the Law School of Odessa University and that the lectures were just about to begin. When I mentioned this to Anna, she did not insist but she made me promise to write her a letter one week after her departure. This also seemed somewhat strange to me, but I did not attribute any special significance to her request...I saw Anna off at the boat which was to take her and her companion to Novorossysk in the northern Caucasus. We took leave of each other this time with very special warmth. As the steamer took off from the dock, Anna stood in the stern of the ship and waved to me until I lost sight of her. I stayed on the dock a while longer, watching the steamer as it left the harbor and moved out into the open sea." 

"Exactly one week after Anna's departure, I wrote her a letter as I had promised. Two or three weeks later we received news that Anna had fallen severely ill, and soon after came the news of her death...We later learned that my sister had taken poison. Following this she had suffered severe pains for two days, but nevertheless she had not told anybody what she had done. Only when the pain had become unbearable did she ask for a doctor. When he arrived she showed him the little bottle which had contained mercury and which had a warning label of a skull on the outside. Apparently this bottle had come from the laboratory which Anna had setup at home for her studies in natural science. Now after attempting suicide she wanted to go on living. There are evidently cases in which you have to be face to face with death to regain your interest in life and your desire to live. At first it looked as if the doctors had succeeded in saving Anna, and she was even said to be out of danger. But after two weeks heart failure set in and caused her death."

After the shock of her death Serge ruminated on reasons why she would do that. "In our childhood it had been said that Anna should not have been born a girl but a boy. She had great will power and a strong sense of direction, and she always succeeded in evading the influence and the authority of her governesses. As she was growing up, Anna's feminine traits began to appear. Apparently she could not cope with them and they turned into pathological inferiority complexes. She was enchanted with the classical ideal of beauty with which she contrasted herself. She imagined that she had no feminine charm, which was not at all true, and that if a man were to marry her he would do so for the sake of her money only, since she felt, among other things, that she was not attractive to anyone."

Rich Woman - Plant and Krauss: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52YxdYmLq24

Late in life during his interview with Karin, Serge recounted more details of his sister. "She was aggressive, and that is the reason the complex did not go away, somehow continued to have effects...There was a childhood seduction when she played with my member. That's something very important when it happens in childhood. I was very small when this seduction took place. It must have been before my fifth birthday because my father sold that estate when I was five. I can remember that we had sat down between the doors and she played with my penis. But must that necessarily have such consequences, or is it already a sign of sickness that something like that has consequences? Perhaps it also happened to other little boys and had no effect, I don't know.

O: Most children do have sexual experiences.

W: So you see, that sort of thing happens, it's no reason for someone to turn into a neurotic. It had no consequences. I'll admit that it wasn't as systematic as what my sister did. But you see, when we looked at those pictures of naked women, I pressed a little against her...Freud describes that...I remember that I felt like expressing something sexual and moved closer to my sister. In any event, she got up and left...It was normal. She couldn't have done anything else, otherwise it would really have been incest. It should not have such consequences...and that must not happen between brother and sister...and that should have put an end to the matter. Well, this sister complex is really the thing that ruined my entire life. For those women who resemble my sister, I mean as regards social position or education, well, that was incest again. There may also be an inheritance of these psychological illnesses, but we won't discuss that...All she ever really did was sit around with a book. She had no interest whatever in clothes. She really should have been a man. It is a mystery to me why my sister killed herself. She was so talented. I cannot remember my sister except reading. She always said that she was no classical beauty. But then, who is? She certainly wasn't ugly. Do you remember her picture? She was fairly pretty. She did nothing for her appearance, nothing. And then that horrible death, mercury. It was horrible torture, her teeth fell out. Why does someone do a thing like that?...There would have been people to take an interest, but she didn't care for them, and then she always thought they wanted her for her money." Later Serge recounts an important story of his sister running away with the daughter of the chief gardener. They had the idea that they wanted to hire themselves out as maids. She later said "'being a maid is really the best profession. You do your work and the rest of the time is on your own...' It could be said that Anna's tragedy, in spite of her intellectual gifts, consisted in her attempt to suppress her female nature and that she failed in this attempt. Of course, I am referring not to conscious acts but to a mechanism entirely hidden from her conscious mind."

Grief travel

After Anna's death Serge noticed his father move his interest from his daughter to him. Serge also had depression and thoughts of suicide. "I had fallen into such a state of melancholy after Anna's death that there seemed to be no purpose in living, and nothing in the world seemed worth striving for. In such a state of mind one can hardly interest oneself in anything." He eventually changed his choice of studies in University and decided to take a trip to the Caucasus to improve his emotional state, and tagging along was a family acquaintance. He was enthusiastic about the region and owned property, 'a Green Cape', in Batum. The trip started in Novorossysk and "from Novorossysk we preceded by train to Kislovdsk, then a fashionable spa in the north Caucasus, famous for it's carbonic acid baths. From there we took a side trip by horse and buggy to Bermamut, a high spot offering the best view of the Elbrus, the highest mountain in the whole Caucasus. We started very early and arrived at Bermamut toward evening, under a cloudless, transparent sky. There we found a small, deserted mountain hut, furnished with only a few wooden benches. This hut was perched on the edge of a vast, seemingly bottomless abyss. Opposite us, like a gigantic sugar loaf towering to the sky stood the majestic Elbrus, which we could admire in all its greatness and glory. The valley separating us from the Elbrus extended on either side into immeasurable distance, and on both sides one saw more and more towering, snow covered peaks and steep rocky cliffs reaching down into the depths. Unique as the site was, my depressed state prevented me from really enjoying it or feeling any enthusiasm. Just when we were in Kislovodsk something occurred to me to deepen my already melancholy mood: namely doubts as to whether my decision to change my course of study was a sensible one. So I started weighing all the pros and cons, but without reaching any satisfactory conclusion. Always immersed in my own thoughts, I was not easily accessible to impressions from outside the world, and I experienced everything I saw as unreal and dreamlike."

"There were other similar spas near Kislovodsk, such as the sulfur springs of Pyatigorsk...[it] was famous not for only its sulfur springs, but also not far from there Lermontov, the second greatest poet of Russia, was killed in a duel. This alone was sufficient for me to visit Pyatigorsk." Lermontov who insulted a man named Martinov and his clothing, and didn't know he overheard him, was challenged to a duel. "Lermontov, being first, fired into the air, but his adversary, declining reconciliation, took sharp aim. His bullet hit Lermontov in the abdomen. Just at this moment a terrible thunderstorm broke out, and the critically wounded man could only be taken to Pyatigorsk only with great difficulty and after a long delay. No physician dared to leave his house in this frightful storm, and medical care could not be obtained in time. Lermontov died three or four days later from his severe wound. He was only twenty eight years old. [We] visited the spot where the duel had taken place. It was a meadow like any other at the foot of a wooded hill from which a beautiful view opened to the lonely mountain Maschuk which, standing apart from the other four mountains, looked like a pointed rock springing out of the plain. Hearing that among the sights of Pyatigorsk there was also a so-called Lermontov Grotto. We went to see it." Serge identified with Lermontov because a friend once said that he looked like him.  Identification can be a lot of fun, but pathological if morbid elements are imitated too much, like tragic deaths. Lermontov had a bad end, his sister also had a bad end in the Caucasus, and Serge was veering in that self-destructive path.

After visiting the grotto, their trip became more rugged as they ascended to the glaciers on Mount Kasbek by mule starting from Vladikavkaz. "We rode our mules along a steep, rocky cliff, narrowly skirting the edge of an abyss several hundred meters deep. It was not pleasant to be haunted by the thought that if the animal made the slightest false step you would be hurled into the abyss. But the mules went so cautiously, at a slow and sure pace, that we could not help wondering at them." In a grief travel, the trip is more about dealing with emptiness and loss than to relax and have a good time. Anybody who traveled to escape, especially on long arduous journeys should identify with Serge's masochism and grief. "I am one of those people who feel drawn toward the depths as to a magnet. The anxiety which then overcomes one is primarily directed against this power of attraction, which one has to fight in order not to succumb to it." After an extended stay where Serge's friend caught up with his friends and acquaintances, they continued on the Georgian Military Highway. Along the highway Serge found a place where he could paint. "I got out my paintbox and oil paints from my suitcase and went to the nearer bank of the mountain stream Terek. It did not take long to find a suitable subject, as a very beautiful view opened in front of me after I had taken a few steps. I sat down on my stool and tried to transfer to my canvas the impression of the swift flowing river and the majestic mount Kasbek towering in the background...This was the first time I had done so well with a landscape, and it was the beginning of my activities as a landscape painter."

As they moved out of the mountains they descended into a vast steppe with a warmer climate. "It led soon into a fertile valley, in which corn and wheat fields spread out in all directions, with vineyards and orchards appearing on the hillsides. This cheerful southern landscape was in sharp contrast to the grim mountain world we had just left...We spent one night in Kutais and the next evening boarded the train for Tiflis, now Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia...I noticed that in Tiflis there were already electric streetcars, something which did not yet exist in Odessa...As the heat was becoming uncomfortable in Tiflis, we decided after a few days to proceed to Borshom, a health resort in the mountains not far away. Before leaving Tiflis, we took the funicular to the top of a small mountain in the vicinity to the enjoy the beautiful view over Tiflis and its surroundings. Altogether Tiflis made the impression of a handsome and modern town. This applied, however, only to the section called the European, for Tiflis on those days consisted of two separate districts, the European and the Oriental. The latter had all the characteristics of the Orient, with its shouting sidewalk merchants, its turmoil, and its colorful confusion. Borshom, apart from the advantages of its climate, was famous for the mineral water of its springs, which was used all over Russia as a drinking water, similar to Seltzer or Preblauer water in Germany. The landscape there impressed me by its gentleness and reminded me of places in the foothills of the Alps. The mountains were wooded and of moderate height, the meadows were green, and - a rare thing in the Caucasus in those days - the streets and roads were in good condition. After the heat of Tiflis, Borshom's fresh, invigorating air was most gratifying."

Their trip continued from Abastuman to Batum, their final destination. "Batum, situated on the shore of the Black Sea in the southwest corner of the Caucasus, is surrounded by mountains on its other three sides. One finds there eucalyptus and yew, myrtle, cactus, and various palm-like plants. The whole region is characterized by its luxuriant vegetation. Although summer had passed its height by by the time we reached Batum, there was, an oppressive mugginess. The air was not only warm but also very humid, and a thick, sweltering haze always hung over this exotic-looking countryside. Now I had the occasion to inspect personally the 'Green Cape' about which [my friend] had raved so much. It was a garden with some sort of weekend bungalow and it had nothing to do with a real 'cape,' which I had visualized as a promontory jutting out into the sea. We bathed in the sea twice a day but we nevertheless suffered so much from the humid, sultry heat that even [my friend] was not opposed to to my idea of starting our return trip somewhat sooner than originally planned. So after a week we embarked for Odessa and arrived there after a five day-sea voyage."

The waxy perception of narcissism

Despite having an amazing vacation, when major decisions are postponed, they have to be faced. When Serge returned from his holiday, he still had to decide on his vocation. He talked to his father in sessions lasting hours to figure out his problem. "...after a few days my father was succumbing to the devastating ambivalence and was even infected by it." Eventually he chose Law because his attempt to move to the Natural Sciences was more out of avoidance than actual interest. He moved to St. Petersburg with an uncle to continue his studies. He still had depressions and his father setup a meeting with his old doctor for him. "He is inhibited...he cannot get out of himself...I believe the best thing for him would be if he could fall in love." He tried to get involved in St. Petersburg life. Dating, museums, and lectures left him "in a state of indifference or boredom...There was too crass a contrast between the pulsating life around me and the bottomless, unbridgeable gulf of emptiness within myself." He eventually asked his father for advice on a sanatorium for him to really deal with this problem, which at the time was diagnosed as manic-depression, like his father was diagnosed. He consulted with Professor Bekhterev in Petersburg, Kraepelin in Munich, and Ziehen in Berlin. He met is love Therese in one of the sanatoriums in Munich, who was a nurse. But in regards to the success of improving his mental stability, he briefly felt better only to relapse, as was his prior pattern. He then describes the classic description of what narcissism does to your perception. "Then I found life empty, everything had seemed 'unreal', to the extent that people seemed like wax figures or wound up marionettes with whom I could not establish any contact."

When your mind is preoccupied with success, status, and advancement, and strategies of how to get there, there is a loss of appreciation of what is around you. It looks hollow because most of the environment is drained of meaning for your goals. The environment is taken for granted or is viewed as an obstacle. His "veil" was made of dreams and hopes projected onto an environment, like a fog separating one from reality. Narcissism can happen to anyone, but when the pathology is severe, it's a regular state of mind. Being lost in possibilities for power, control and managing fears of uncertainty, covers over your perception in the here and now. It can also act as a barrier to appreciation. You can see that in a prior video that includes some of Heidegger's meditation practices which was in response to the narcissistic method of Nietzsche. I still have to read more Nietzsche and Heidegger, but what it looks like now is that Nietzsche's method can easily turn into narcissism, with that style of rumination over success and power, and Heidegger blamed Nietzsche for that influence which lead him to his ultimate involvement with Nazism and all the rumination about power that it entails. As I read more, it could be a misreading that some people did when they read Nietzsche, or an inevitable consequence of obsessive self-development. The problem with self-development is that one is constantly seeking future improvements and getting addicted to only thinking about that. There has to be a balance between planning in your mind and appreciation in the moment. [See: How to motivate yourself - The Being of Beings: https://rumble.com/v1gv3zl-how-to-motivate-yourself-freud-and-beyond.html]

One of Serge's goals he was ruminating about was developing a relationship with his, then not yet wife Therese. He pursued her, but kept his desire secret from other nurses and doctors. He tried to meet her at Nymphenburg park, but was stood up while he waited into the night. He still pursued her. She eventually consented to walk in the English park with him and talk about her family, and her German and Spanish background. Her calm demeanor with her tragedies, such as her divorce, made her more attractive to him. He focused on finding rooms to rent to privately meet with her, but she rejected him to focus on nursing and her daughter Else. Serge was so depressed that he swallowed a handful of sleeping tablets, but in the end it did no more damage other than making him wake up more slowly. He still tried to meet with Therese only to get another rejection via a letter. Kraepelin and other doctors suggested that he focus on getting out of his manic-depression instead of pursuing Therese. Serge left the sanatorium and stayed at the Bayerischer Hof and pleaded with Therese to see her at least one last time before leaving Munich to never see her again. Later Serge welcomed a visit from his mother, who was able to soothe his ups and downs. They briefly went to Lake Constance where Serge's painful nostalgia returned. The location evoked "an aura of the remote past, and it seemed to me as if the spirit...was still hovering over the place. All this invited meditation about the evanescence and futility of human passion and striving, and about the wisdom of resignation." 

Manic depression

Spending time with his family abroad, resuscitated Serge's positivity. Serge told his uncle in Paris of his love affair with Therese. "It was certainly fortunate for me to be in a city like Paris, where the quick pulse of life and even the sight of the streets helped to distract me." On the question of Therese his uncle chimed in. "He thought that it was not a question of 'love' but merely of 'passion' and expressed the opinion that in the view of all these complications at the beginning, no good could have come of it in the future. What is the thing to do if a young man is unhappily in love or if the object of choice seems objectionable to the family? One tries to divert his attention to other women. So my uncle advised me to frequent night clubs and cabarets where plenty of beautiful women 'for one night' were to be found." He also gave him connections to Odessa society ladies.

When Serge returned to Odessa, he waited for his father to return from Moscow. "But more than two weeks passed...Then came a telegram from Moscow with the news that my father had suddenly died." He wanted to go to the theater but a violent storm made him return to the hotel. He was found dead in his bed in the hotel the next day, despite being young and considered in good health. Crucially Serge surmised that "it is true that he suffered from insomnia and regularly took veronal before going to sleep. Perhaps his premature death was due to an overdose of this sleeping medicine." Serge received a condolence letter from Therese who found out what happened. After the funeral and the process of disposing the will, Serge got into arguments with his mother and her secretiveness. He wasn't to get his portion of the inheritance until the age of 28, but it was understandable due to his mental condition.

With this disappointment, Serge moved on with his life, and resumed his painting. He also took lessons. Some of his paintings got recognition, but he fell back into indecision about focusing on painting or continuing his law studies. Eventually he went back to Kraepelin to notify him of his father's death. Serge looked at himself now as a "hereditary case", but there was also a silver lining because he would be close enough to Therese to meet her again. They did meet and agreed to stay in touch by letter. He felt that his meeting Krepelin was just a pretext to see Therese again and that was why he was depressed. Her letter of condolence brought up desires of being with her. His depression abated when he met up with her again. He met up with her in Berlin at the Central Hotel. This time their desires reversed. He now was ambivalent about the relationship and she was more eager to be married since she had a daughter and was suffering financial hardship. It blew up in fight in the hotel. He left for the Schlachtensee and wrote a farewell letter to her with the excuse of his mental condition. As expected, Serge had feelings of regret and fell back into depression. Over time he eventually was referred to Sigmund Freud as an attempt to try something different, and like with many of Freud's patients, he was a last option when other modalities failed.

During this time Serge's Uncle Peter, who had paranoia, died. He was alone and only around animals. He was found later when his delivered food wasn't touched. Rats had been chewing on him during this time. Therese found out in a newspaper article titled "A Millionaire Gnawed by Rats." The law stepped in and Serge was included in the disbursement of his assets, relieving some of the resentment of having to wait until he was 28 to get his father's inheritance.

When he started with Freud, Freud pointed out that his behaviour was normal up until the final break where he was now falling into a pattern of "flight from the woman." But Freud wanted the analysis to continue for some months before returning to Therese. Freud's analysis was hourly, so Serge was able to acquaint himself with the pleasures of Vienna and learned to play card games. Despite Freud's prohibition on Therese, Serge sent a detective to find her whereabouts. "I had learned that Therese gave up her position in the sanatorium, and now was an owner of a small pension in which she and her daughter Else were living. She looked terribly rundown, and her no longer fashionable dress hung about her body which had become so thin that it was scarcely more than a skeleton...In this moment I determined never to leave this woman, whom I caused to suffer so terribly."

The vicissitudes of war

When the war broke out, there were anti-Russian sentiments, and Serge and his mother returned to Odessa for the summer before his planned wedding with Therese. Therese stayed behind in Germany with her daughter. Luckily for Serge, being an only child, he avoided being conscripted. After the war broke out he had to go through a lot of legal work to get Therese a permit to enter Odessa. When she arrived they finally got married, though she sold herself short by saying to Serge "I wish you great happiness in your marriage" as if he was marrying someone else. Despite anti-German attitudes Therese put effort into learning Russian until she was able converse with people. Unfortunately she didn't get a long with her mother-in-law who fought over who ran the household. During this time Serge focused on his law exams and passed, but when things were going well, there was an ever present danger to ruin circumstances. For example, during the Ukrainian independence attempt and the Soviet Bolshevik victory, Serge was caught in crossfire. "In the fall of 1917 the October Revolution broke out. In the late fall of the same year armed conflicts were expected in Odessa. I was advised not to venture too far into the city. Nevertheless one day I went to visit friends who lived at quite a distance from our home. When I set out to return home I was amazed to see how the city had changed in so short a time. The streets were suddenly empty and all the front doors were locked. It was uncanny to walk through this deserted town. Finally I had to turn into a street which ran parallel to ours, from which, in order to reach our house, one had to go either to the right or to the left. As I looked down this street I was terrified to see that it was blocked on the right and the left by armed men. They had formed fighting lines on both sides of the street and opened fire against each other at just this very moment...I crossed the parallel street and turned to the left. The bullets were whizzing and swishing past my ears, but I proceeded at a steady pace, reached the garden gate, and seized the latch."

With the constant flip flop between different revolutions and fighting forces, Odessa finally landed in the hands of the Austrians. This allowed Therese an opportunity to get to Germany to visit her daughter Else who was in serious condition with pneumonia.

The biggest devastation to Serge's independence came with economic shocks during the war. "Our fortune was almost entirely invested in government bonds, held in deposit by the Odessa branch of the Russian state bank. The bonds were destroyed in a fire. Furthermore a constant devaluation of money had been taking place. At the time of the German-Austrian occupation an independent Ukrainian currency had been created, which was expected to drop in value rapidly. The inheritance left to me by my father was still administered by my mother, but I had invested most of my inheritance from Uncle Peter in mortgages. My debtors were now very eager to make considerable payments to me, taking advantage of the devaluated currency." 

By the time Serge made it back to Germany, despite a lot of red tape related to his Russian ethnicity, he brought what money he could. He saw Therese again, but now with a shock of white hair. Else was diagnosed as terminal with her tuberculosis and died a couple of months later.

During this dark time, Serge met Freud again who felt there was still a residue left that needed to be analyzed and this analysis stretched out until 1920. "After WWI there was a catastrophic fall in the value of German and Austrian currency, which finally led to a complete collapse...Because of the currency devaluation I had practically nothing left of the money I had brought with me from Russia. So I was forced to look for some sort of job as soon as possible. By exhausting his connections, including Freud, he was able to find an economics professor who got him an opportunity with an insurance company, a job that would sustain him for years."

Psychoanalytic Mindfulness

Some years after the war Serge was again stuck in obsessions. Freud assigned him to one of his followers Ruth Mack Brunswick. When she saw him he was "now earning barely enough to feed his ailing wife and himself. Nevertheless, things went smoothly with him until the summer of 1926, when certain symptoms appeared which called him to consult Freud. At this time it was suggested that if he felt in need of analysis he should come to me...He was suffering from [hypochondria related to his nose acne and treatments]. According to him, [an] injury [from treatment] consisted varyingly of a scar, a hole, or a groove in the scar tissue. The contour of the nose was ruined. Let me state at once that nothing whatsoever was visible on the small snub, typically Russian nose of the patient. And the patient himself, while insisting that the injury was all too noticeable, nevertheless realized that his reaction to it was abnormal. For this reason, having exhausted all dermatological resources, he consulted Freud. If nothing could be done for his nose, then something must be done for his state of mind, whether the cause was real or imagined. At first sight, this sensible and logical point of view seemed due to the insight won from the earlier analysis. But only in part did this prove to be the motive for the present analysis. On the other hand, the insight was undoubtedly responsible for the one atypical characteristic of the case: its ultimate accessibility to analysis, which otherwise would certainly not have been present." Ruth continued associating his complaint that "I can't go on living like this anymore" to his other statements going back to childhood when he soiled himself and thought that he had dysentery, and when he contracted gonorrhea before his sessions with Freud. It was an identification with his mother. 

His obsession turned towards reflections. "The 'veil' of his earlier illness completely enveloped him. He neglected his daily life and work because he was engrossed, to the exclusion of all else, in the state of his nose. On the street he looked at himself in every shop-window; he carried a pocket mirror which he took out to look at every few minutes. First he would powder his nose; a moment later he would inspect it and remove the powder. He would then examine the pores, to see if they were enlarging, to catch the hole, as it were, in its moment of growth and development. Then he would again powder his nose, put away the mirror, and a moment later begin the process anew. His life centered on the little mirror in his pocket, and his fate depended on what it revealed or was about to reveal."

Despite starting a fresh analysis, Ruth announced that "all the childhood material appears [in Freud's paper]; Nothing new whatsoever made its appearance in the analysis with me. The source of the new illness was an unresolved remnant of the transference, which after fourteen years, under the stress of peculiar circumstances, became the basis for a new form of an old illness...At the end of 1919 he had come out of Russia and returned to Freud for a few months of analysis, with the purpose, successively accomplished, of clearing up his hysterical constipation." Unfortunately Serge didn't have enough money to pay for the analysis. With no work and dealing with a wife who was ill, Freud was able to collect money for him for six years. "The money enabled the patient to pay his wife's hospital bills, to send her to the country, and occasionally to take a short holiday himself." Ruth described Freud's interest in the patient as someone "who had served the theoretical ends of analysis so well..."

Despite the supposed cure, Serge not only continued identification with his mother, but also his sister. Before his analysis with Ruth, just like his sister, "[Serge's] preoccupations on his looks and health continued on his nose, teeth, and his constipation. In 1924- 1925 Serge found that his nose had healed..." Unfortunately the nose symptoms returned with a pimple on his nose. "He [then] saw the movie The White Sister which reminded him of his sister who preoccupied herself with feelings of depression over acne and not being beautiful enough." Serge had suicidal thoughts about his looks, and he went to his old dermatologist to have the pimple removed. The blood gave him a sense of relief, but he began to worry about scarring. In the end he had minor scarring that ended up being "the finest white line."

Like in my review on the treatment of Narcissism, [See: Treatment of Narcissistic Personality Disorder: https://rumble.com/v1gtj2d-treatment-of-narcissistic-personality-disorder-narcissism-part-4-of-4.html] Ruth appeared to fall into the trap of positive transference, where it's easy for both therapist and patient to flatter each other. "For a time, despite the patient's invulnerability on important topics, or because of it, my relations with him were mostly sunny. He brought the clearest dreams in order that I might show my skill at interpreting them, thus confirming his statement that he was better off in my hands than in Freud's." When Ruth mentioned the death of the dermatologist that worked on his nose, which was the first time Serge heard of the news, he admitted a desire to kill him, sue him or expose him. Ruth then tried to connect this hatred of the dermatologist back to a possible hatred of Freud. Here Serge defended Freud and viewed his analysis with him more as a friendly connection than a professional one. Ruth countered that Serge was not invited to visit Freud and his family, so was not really a close friend. She saw that the patient was stuck wanting to stay Freud's favourite son.

"Our entire concern is with a remnant of the transference to Freud. Naturally this remnant implies that the patient has not been wholly freed of his fixation to the father; but apparently the cause of the remaining attachment is not the presence of unconscious material, but insufficient living-through of the transference itself. I say this in the face of the fact that the patient spent four-and-a-half years with Freud and remained well afterward for some twelve years. It is one thing for the analyst to consider a case complete, and another for the patient to do so. As analysts we may be in full possession of the historic facts of the illness, but we cannot know how much living-through the patient requires for his cure." What he didn't live through enough was seeing his false self in action. Serge wanted to maintain the pleasant feelings of being the star patient to bask in Freud's success. He also had financial needs, needs for social praise and survival needs. 

At the end of Ruth's analysis she declared a cure based on the awareness of his nasal obsession being the same as the gonorrheal infection. An emotional castration. This went back to his identification with his mother and dysentery, and a lingering attachment to his father. "He was now able to realize that his nasal symptom was not a fact but an idea, based on his unconscious wish and the defense against it which together had proved stronger than his sense of reality...At last the patient had sufficiently lived through his reactions to the father, and was therefore able to give them up. The modes of analytic therapy are twofold: the first is the making of hitherto unconscious reactions; the second is the working through of these reactions. The second point involves the primary bisexuality of this patient, obviously the cause of his illness. His masculinity has always found its normal outlet; his femininity on the other hand has necessarily been repressed. But this femininity seems to have been constitutionally strong, so strong, indeed, that the normal oedipus complex has been sacrificed in its development to the negative oedipus complex. The development of a strong positive oedipus complex would have been a sign of greater health than the patient actually possessed. Whether the patient, who has been well for a year and a half, will remain well, it is impossible to state. I should be inclined to think that his health is in a large measure dependent on the degree of sublimation of which he proves capable...All at once he could read and enjoy novels...He could paint, and plan work and study in his chosen field, and again take the general intelligent interest in life and the arts and literature which naturally was his."

In his interview with Karin Obholzer, Serge didn't think that Ruth's analysis helped him as much as his own determination, especially when he didn't agree with the diagnosis of paranoia. "I gathered all my strength, stopped looking in the mirror, and somehow overcame these ideas. In a few days it was gone...That is my greatest accomplishment...I believe I had most success while I saw Mack because I took a stand against the psychoanalysts, made a decision on my own. Stop constantly thinking about your nose!" Despite the accomplishment in using willpower to drop his nose obsession, Serge would have to face more losses and grief.

Endless grief

Things were going well for Serge with his paintings and vacations, until 1938, a bad year for Austria. "When I returned home the evening before the day of the referendum, I wanted to listen to a radio concert that had been announced. This concert should have began within a few minutes, but quite a long time passed without a sound...Suddenly came the voice of the announcer...[Chancellor] Schuschnigg spoke. His statement contained the information that German armed forces had already crossed the German-Austrian border, and that Schuschnigg - to prevent unnecessary bloodshed - had given the order that there should be no armed resistance." Despite Therese being somewhat sympathetic to the Germans, she was starting to deteriorate markedly. "Sometimes she would stand in front of the big mirror in the bedroom, look at herself for a while, and then say discontentedly: 'I am old and ugly!'...She gradually lost contact with her surroundings and wanted neither to visit the few acquaintances we had in Vienna nor to invite them to visit us."

As anti-semitism started to increase in Austria, and many Jews were starting to commit suicide, Therese made a strange remark. She said that "as only the Jews committed suicide and the Christians on the contrary were too cowardly to do so, it was unjust to consider the Jews cowardly. From this remark it was clear that Therese regarded suicide as a heroic deed." Later on she shocked Serge again and said "Do you know what we are going to do? We'll turn on the gas." She quickly spoke of other normal things as if she never said anything so extreme. A week later the couple went for an outing to Grinzing. "As we sat in a café there, I told Therese about the changes which had taken place in the office since the Anschluss [annex] and mentioned that the employees had been asked to produce their so-called family trees which would prove their Aryan descent, or - as people mockiningly said at the time - that they had no Jewish grandmother." Her reaction to this was curious and then one day when he went to work "Therese said goodbye especially tenderly, which I took as a sign that her mood had improved." The morbid scene when he returned home showed that Therese was serious about using gas to commit suicide, and had planned it out far in advance. "I stormed into our hallway where warning notes had been put up: 'Don't turn on the light - danger of gas.' From there I rushed into the kitchen, which was filled with the streaming gas as with a thick fog. Therese was sitting near the gas jet, bent over the kitchen table, on which lay several letters of farewell." She had been dead for several hours. "I lived this day and the following ones as though in a delirium in which one does not know whether what happens is reality or a dreadful dream."

Therese's last letters were cryptic of the cause of her suicidal thoughts. Did she think that she had a Jewish ancestor that would be found out? Did she have a terminal disease that she kept secret? In one letter "Therese tries to justify her suicide on the grounds that she would have died within two or three years, and it would be easier for me if this happened earlier." 

"I ask you a thousand times to forgive me - I am so poor in body and soul. You have suffered so much; you must surmount this also. My prayers in eternal life shall protect you and comfort you, my blessing goes with you. God will help you to overcome everything, time will heal all wounds, the heart must endure the loss of that which is buried in the earth. It is hard for me to leave you, but you will rise again to a new life. I have only one wish, your happiness, this will give me eternal peace. Do not forget me; pray for me. We shall see each other again..."

"Be reasonable, do nothing rashly but act only after you have quieted down. Take care of your health; be careful not to squander your possessions, so that when you are old you will still have something besides your pension. I have saved only for you, I have loved only you, everything I have done has been from innermost love...Think it carefully before you marry again. Marriage could mean your happiness and salvation - or your doom and destruction. You must find a thrifty, hard-working, good woman - not some frivolous creature. Choose a woman from a good home. Then you can make new relationships. You must resume your life."

"W: ...There was considerable enmity between my mother and Therese. This enmity was Therese's fault. Nothing suited her; she wanted everything different. That's the reason I could not have my mother live with me until after Therese's death. It bothered her that my mother was so attached to her relatives and not to us. That was Therese's idea. Her relatives were the most important thing to my mother, you understand, but I was never really aware of it. Due to the quarrel with my mother, the fortune was lost because I couldn't discuss anything with my mother...And she was constantly with her relatives, and those relatives naturally also turned away from me. So it was an awkward situation. 

O: Therese was jealous of your mother.

W: I'd say so. You see it correctly.

O: But your mother also had a prejudice against Therese.

W: Of course. My mother did not like my having married Therese.

O: Because it was a [mismatch]?

W: Of course. She was a nurse - that's a lower class. But you see how it is when a mother is jealous of her daughter-in-law, and vice versa. My mother was always jealous. My father said that he was unfamiliar with that emotion. But she had reason...

O: And a woman after your mother's heart, what would she have been like?

W: Rich, for one thing....Therese sensed her rejection. She was very much attached to her mother, to her parents. She wanted my mother to act toward her as her own mother did....Freud said I was looking for something inferior because she was only a nurse, although...there were difficulties, but...I had...received something very good, you see, because she was a very decent human being." Despite living with Therese, Serge couldn't clearly say why Therese committed suicide. Maybe it was Hitler and she was afraid that her Spanish ancestry had Jewish in it. She also complained about aging and her health..."Freud said that she was perfectly all right psychologically and that only physical illnesses need be considered in her case... Mack said, 'That's where the professor was very badly mistaken...You were married to a crazy woman for twenty-five years.' In the case of my wife, it was real hypochondria that she was so ill. She wasn't ill at all. She imagined she was ill, that she wouldn't live much longer, and so on..."

After the disaster Serge found Psychoanalyst Muriel Gardiner and asked for help "In early spring 1938, shortly after the Nazis had taken over Austria, I came face to face with the Wolf-Man on one of the busy Vienna streets. He did not greet me in his usual polite ceremonious manner but began to cry and wring his hands and pour out a flood of words which because of his excitement and his sobbing were utterly unintelligible." Muriel guided the panicked Wolf-Man to her apartment. Serge used to teach Muriel Russian grammar and talk about his favourite subjects, French Impressionists, Doestoevsky and of course Freud. Muriel couldn't keep up the lessons when she began studying medicine, but she would still be visited by Serge to renew her insurance, since he was working for an insurance company at the time. Serge was in a depressed mood. "My wife killed herself. I've just come from the cemetery. Why did she do it? Why did this have to happen to me? I always have bad luck, I'm always subject to the greatest misfortunes. What shall I do Frau Doktor? Tell me what to do. Tell me why she killed herself."

Serge found his wife Terese dead in the gas-filled kitchen and this was recognizable to Muriel. "Suicides were common in the early days of Nazi Austria, as I knew firsthand from my work in pathology in the autopsy rooms of the general hospital, so of course I thought first of political motives. But this was apparently quite out of the question; neither the Wolf-Man nor his wife was Jewish and they were politically completely indifferent. To my astonishment I found that he scarcely even knew that the Nazis were in power." Muriel managed to get a passport for him and he left for Paris to meet up with Mack Brunswick for more sessions. Muriel went to the U.S. Serge followed Brunswick to England and he returned to Vienna during the Munich Pact. Muriel continued to receive some letters in the United States from Serge until Pearl Harbour. After the war was over news of the Wolf-Man communicated his good mental health and acceptance of his lot in life. He continued to work in insurance and took care of his mother. Though, more sad news arrived about Ruth Mack Brunswick's untimely death. She had died of a fall in the bathroom while on opiates. She had a painful gastrointestinal illness which led to her dependence on painkillers.

On a later visit to Salzburg Muriel negotiated a meeting with the Wolf-Man in Linz. Serge talked about how he benefited from Ruth's comfort but also criticized saying "one could hardly call that a real analysis; it was more of a consolation." He also talked about the kind of women he was attracted to. Muriel pointed out that his taste in women was the same, and connected with his sister's influence. He gained some solace when his mother was opened up more about her own life, which "cleared up for him some of the problems which he had never understood."

Both Gardiner and Pankejeff continued sending letters to each other while Serge continued writing his memoirs. A highlight of those letters was when he got in trouble with Russian soldiers. One day in 1951 he went out to paint, and out of a nostalgia for the Russia of his boyhood he wandered away from the English zone into Russian zone by mistake. He went to the top of a hill and found a nice landscape to paint. When he returned to go home and walked towards a streetcar line he was surrounded by Russian guards. He was interrogated, but strangely, after a few days, the interrogator decided to talk about Russian literature instead. They made an agreement where he would return in 3 weeks to show his other paintings and provide personal documents. Out of a duty to make sure that his case was definitely resolved, he took another chance and returned to the Russian zone. When Serge went back, none of the interrogators were there but instead a different soldier who looked at the paintings and talked about his son who also painted. In the end, they showed no interest in Serge. They warned him that all he needed to do was ask permission and they would allow him to paint.

As age creeped up on Serge he started to admit some of his struggles. "I too am growing older, although, I must sadly confess, not wiser. For many years I thought that I, through the many hard blows of fate which I have suffered, would at least in age become somewhat more mellow and would acquire some sort of philosophic outlook upon life. I thought that in old age I could at least spend my last years at a distance from the emotional struggles of which I had so many in my life. But it seems these are illusions also. I am still far away from the capacity for a contemplative life..." Quoting from later works of Freud he showed how difficult it was to deal with strong impulses. "It is interesting how the 'id' can be. How it can dissemble, apparently following the commands of the 'ego' and 'superego,' but in secret preparing its 'revenge' and then suddenly triumphing over these apparently higher courts. Then the old emotional conflict breaks out, and the apparently subdued mourning for the great loss which one suffered so many years ago makes itself felt again. Freud says that the unconscious knows no time; but as a consequence the unconscious can know no growing old...Unconscious processes [can] gain the upper hand." For Gardiner, much of Serge's complaints about losses, like in his family, and his loss of status, he handled it about as well as many people can. For her "there is no doubt Freud's analysis saved the Wolf-Man from a crippled existence, and Dr. Brunswick's reanalysis overcame a serious acute crisis, both enabling the Wolf-Man to lead a long and tolerably healthy life."

The Ego and the Id - Sigmund Freud: https://rumble.com/v1gvdo1-the-ego-and-the-id-sigmund-freud.html

The Wolfman and other cases - Sigmund Freud: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780142437452/

The Wolf Man by the Wolf Man - Sergei Pankejeff, Ruth Mack Brunswick, Muriel Gardiner, Anna Freud: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780465091973/

The Wolf Man: 60 years later - Karin Obholzer: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780710093547/

The Cries of the Wolf Man - Patrick J. Mahony: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780823610907/

Freud Standard Edition Vol 12: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780701205256/

The Correspondence of Sigmund Freud and Sándor Ferenczi, Volume 1: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780674174184/

The Assault on Truth - Jeffrey Masson: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780345452795/

The Wolf Man's Magic Words: A Cryptonymy - Nicolas Abraham & Maria Torok: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780816648580/

Freud and the Rat Man - Patrick J. Mahony: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780300036947/

Violent Origins: Ritual Killing and Cultural Formation - Walter Burkert, Jonathan Z. Smith, René Girard, Robert G. Hammerton-Kelly, Renato Rosaldo, Burton Mack: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780804715188/

The War that ended Peace - Margaret MacMillan: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780143173601/

The First World War - John Keegan: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780676972245/

The Origins of the War of 1914 - Luigi Albertini: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9781929631261/

Lothane, H. Z. (2018). Freud Bashers: Facts, Fictions, and Fallacies. Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association, 66(5), 953–969.

Homosexuality Anxiety: A Misunderstood Form of OCD - Monnica Williams: https://www.psychologytoday.com/sites/default/files/attachments/72634/williamshocd2008.pdf

Misusing Freud: Psychoanalysis and the Rise of Homosexual Misusing Freud: Psychoanalysis and the Rise of Homosexual Conversion Therapy - Jonathan Barrett: https://digitalscholarship.unlv.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1027&context=psi_sigma_siren

How do I know I'm really not gay? Fred Penzel: https://iocdf.org/expert-opinions/homosexual-obsessions/

Sigmund Freud urged his disciple to divorce: https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1987-11-12-vw-20532-story.html

The Master's mad move: https://www.theguardian.com/books/1999/jan/30/sigmundfreud

Conditions for intuitive expertise: a failure to disagree. Daniel Kahneman, Gary Klein Am Psychol. 2009 Sep; 64(6): 515–526

Alan Cumming Is Bisexual — And You Might Be Too: https://www.advocate.com/bisexuality/2015/03/30/alan-cumming-bisexual-and-you-might-be-too

Alan Cumming Sounds Off On Being Bisexual And Being Married To A Man: https://www.huffpost.com/entry/alan-cumming-bisexual-_n_4460070

Psychology: http://psychreviews.org/category/psychology01/

[gracefireheart]

Been brainstorming a bit more about what animals to base all the different Eggs' dragon designs after, 'cause I really like how Tallulah and Chayanne's looked in my previous drawing :]

Overall they will all mostly look like dragons, but small things like face structure, body structure, tail, pattern, if they have fur or scales or something else, and/or if they have horns, ears and things like that will be determined by the animals that's gonna be mixed into their design.

For example: Tallulah's got a mix of farm animals (mostly cows tho') into her overall design, and has the pattern (and maybe the back fin and/or tail, idk yet) of an orca, which will hopefully be more noticeable if I do a full body drawing of her lol. Meanwhile, Chayanne's a mix of a goat (the horns + I'm thinking of giving him the tail of a goat qvq it's very cute), and will also be either a mix of both a duck and a crow, or just crow. Unsure yet if I want the duck floatie to be just an accessory, or if I should maybe make his hind legs have webbed feet like a duck while his front legs have crow feet.

For the other Eggs, I still don't have everyone set in stone. Like:

For Dapper, I only got black cat on the list, but I miiight add bat too. Idk yet.

With Ramon, I do want him to have some alligator features, but idk what else. A small part of me wants to add catfish just 'cause it would be funny lol. Or I could go with something "octopus-esque" 'cause of the meature (I know the mob doesn't have egg legs, but it still reminds me of an octopus ajkshfaksh) and let Ramon have either 4 front legs or 4 hind legs, and then two tails instead of one so he has 8 limbs all together. But idk.

As for Leo, she definitely gonna have some shark features (the back fin, probably the tail, and maybe the pattern of a leopard shark? idk yet), and more than likely will have some bull terrier features (mostly the face, ears, and maybe the pattern if I don't go for the leopard shark pattern).

Richarlyson I know I want to have highland bull mixed into his design, 'cause of the mushroom helmet + those bull breeds got so much fur it covers their eyes, which just seemed fitting due to most of people's design of Richas :] As for what else to mix in... idk o(-(

Pomme I'm struggling a bit to figure out. I have put down butterfly, so she could have antennas + her butterfly wings (or at least something like her butterfly wings, idk yet if I'm gonna give any of them full-ish wings), but idk what else to mix her with orz

I knew for Sunny, I wanted at least an animal that represented the sun + give her the pattern of a tiger ('cause of her cat hat she wore). And one animal that represented the sun was a ram, which I immediately chose since Tubbo is the one spending most of the time with her, and I still kinda HC him as either a goat or a ram hybrid.

Besides having the pattern and maybe some features of a calico cat, idk what other animal to mix into Empanada's design o(-( Ayayay

Pepito seemed pretty set in stone for me. Having some mix of axolotl, maybe a hint of duck, and more than likely the pattern of some sort of spider into his dragon design :]

It will probably be a while before I even try to attempt drawing these designs, but hey, gives me plenty of time to find out what other animals to mix into the design of some of these Eggs uvu

Also, I probably won't write down any design ideas for Tilin, Juana Flippa, Trump and Bobby since I just don't know enough about them orz I sadly started watching the QSMP quite a few months after those four passed.

[kohanayaki]

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 6

You continue the tale of how you, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter became known as The Marauders.

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2    CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

___________________________________________________________

Ch 6 .:The Making of the Marauders:.

~Previously~

“That was when they were first starting to put the map together,” you continued, “but that wasn't even the biggest secret they had. Of course, I wouldn't find out about that for another year. . .”

“So at this point I knew that they were hiding something else, but not what it was,” you told Harry, continuing on with your story, “But one night we had planned to meet up and use the invisibility cloak to map out the underground tunnels that ran through the storage cellars, and they never showed up. So I snuck into the Gryffindor common room through the secret passage and found their dorm completely empty. But what was there was our work in progress map. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1975  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This isn't going to work,” Peter said flatly, watching James and Sirius draw a large circle in chalk on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

“Not with that attitude it's not,” James said, “if there's a way we can speed up this process I'm willing to give it a go. I don't know how long I can go on with this bloody leaf in my mouth.”

“Is this even real?” Peter sighed, “it looks like what muggles think magic is.”

“It's real all right,” Sirius said, “old, but real. I mean, Transfiguration was founded on the principles of magic circles! I'm not really sure what these runes on the side mean, but it's probably not important.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Peter retorted, “Remus, back me up here.”

He turned towards Lupin, but he had long since dozed off, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the nearly decaying walls in the corner. Peter sighed, taking a piece of paper from the ground and crumpling it into a ball before promptly throwing it in the sleeping boy's face. Lupin jolted awake, realizing what had happened and chucking the paper back at Peter in annoyance.

“Not a moment of peace,” he huffed under his breath.

“Sounds awfully boring,” James said over his shoulder.

“Blimey, what time is it?” Remus said, panicked as he noticed the light had completely gone from the sky, “It's long past sundown.”

“So?” Sirius shrugged.

“So, we told (Y/n) we'd meet them to work on the map at dusk,” Remus said, “They're probably looking for us right now!”

“Oh, they are,” you announced your presence, an unimpressed look on your face as they jumped, whipping around to look at you.

“(Y-Y/n)!” Sirius stuttered, “how did you—”

You held up the map, raising a brow at the four guilty looking boys.

“Right. . .”

“You snuck into our rooms?!” James said incredulously as he saw the map, which he was sure he had left on his bedside table, in your hands.

“You've snuck into my shower before, Potter,” you glared lightly at him.

“Point taken.”

“Okay, look, I'm sorry we didn't show tonight, and I know we've been acting weird,” Sirius sighed, “the truth is—”

“Lupin's a werewolf.” 

The color drained from Remus' face, slightly mortified that you already knew.

“Come on, guys,” you said, “the claw marks and you lot disappearing whenever there's a full moon kind of gave it away. You aren't exactly subtle about it.”

You could sense the intense nervousness in the room, especially from Remus. Ok, so maybe coming right out with it wasn't the best course of action.

“Look,” you said, “if you're worried about anyone else finding out, they won't. I mean, the only reason I even knew you were here is because I'm literally helping you make a magical map that details all the secret passages and shows where everyone is. I won't tell anyone, I swear.”

They still seemed a little unsure, and you bit the inside of your lip slightly.

“If it'll make us even, I'll let you know a secret of my own,” you said, “it can even be future blackmail me if you really don't trust me.”

“No, it's not that, (Y/n),” Remus said as he stepped forward, his throat feeling dry, “it's just, well, I've never really told anyone except the people in this room. Having someone else know. . . it's just a lot to process, but if had to be anyone I'm glad it's you.” He paused for a moment, feeling oddly self-conscious as he regarded you. “When I turn into a werewolf I can't recognize any human as someone I know. I have no control over myself in that state. In the worst case scenario, I could injure or even kill someone I didn't mean to. We originally started taking note of the secret passages and rooms to find a place where I could turn safely and not hurt anyone, and we settled on here. I don't remember much when I come out of it, but. . . I do feel this painful sense of separation each time. Werewolves are pack creatures by nature, so being isolated in that state is. . . agony, if I must be honest. They all figured, I can't recognize humans, but perhaps I could recognize other animals, so. . .”

“They're trying to become animagi,” you finished, “so you won't have to be alone. That's. . . that's actually really sweet,” you said, a breathy laugh escaping you.

Remus thanked Merlin the Shrieking Shack was as dimly lit as it was so his beet red face was at least somewhat less noticeable.

“I agree,” Remus said, turning to his friends and sharing a rare, genuine moment with them. “And, you don't have to tell us your secret,” he said, turning back to you, “it's okay.”

“Hey, I wanted to know,” Sirius said, Peter swiftly elbowing him in the ribs.

“I was actually planning on telling you anyways,” you said, “If you guys are trying to become animagi, I can help you.”

You took a few steps back, bracing yourself against the wall.

“Promise me you won't freak out.”

After receiving a few quick nods, you kicked off the wall. Your body seemed to morph in mid-air, shrinking and re-configuring so fast that by the time you landed on the floor you had been entirely replaced by a large, (e/c)-eyed wolf with fur reminiscent of your hair.

Peter yelped, instinctively putting Sirius in front of him who was gawking at the sight. Remus was in complete shock and you could have sworn you saw James' glasses slip down his face.

In your animal form your heightened senses could sense their fear, and you tried your best to assuage it. You padded around in a circle, sitting down and blinking up at them to try and show them you were in control of your actions. After you figured they'd seen enough, you crawled back into your robes, which had pooled on the floor when you'd transfigured, and willed your body to turn back.

James, Sirius, and Peter looked somewhere in the intersection of shocked and terrified, but Remus looked nothing less than impressed.

“That's amazing, (Y/n),” he said breathlessly, “your transformation was seamless, how long have you had this ability?”

“My aunt had me go through the process when I was nine,” you said, a bitter edge to your voice as you fastened your clothes back around you, “it's not fun, but obviously useful. And thank you, but trust me, it didn't come at all naturally to me. I spent a good part of my winter break stuck with a wolf's hind legs, which is just as inconvenient as it sounds.”

“But this proves that it's possible!” James said, a new rush of energy invigorating him, “we can actually pull this off.”

“If I can manage to keep this sodding leaf from choking me every ten minutes,” Peter grumbled.

“Here, this should help with that,” you said, drawing your wand and pointing it at Peter's mouth. With a simple sticking charm, he suddenly felt the odd sensation of the leaf in his mouth disappearing, only to find it had melded with the flesh on the underside of his tongue.

“It's a long process, but yes, it's possible,” you said to James. Your eyes drifted to the floor where the magic circle and pages of runes were still scattered about, “if you were thinking of taking shortcuts, you might have wanted to read the warning about this spell requiring a blood sacrifice.”

The quartet paled and you laughed at their dumbstruck expressions.

“Kidding,” you grinned, “but seriously, there's no shortcuts. Now look alive, boys. We have a lot of work to do.”

_________________________________________________________

From then on, you helped the four wizards along on their quest to become fully fledged shifters.

“In order to become an animagus, a wizard must keep a Mandrake leaf in their mouth for an entire month, even when eating and sleeping,” Peter read aloud from the book they'd snatched from the restricted section, “Next, under a full moon, the wizard must place the leaf in a vial full of dew that has neither been stepped on nor exposed to the sun. The resulting potion must be stored in a dark place, and the following incantation: Amato Animo Animato Animagus, must be recited every morning until an electrical storm arrives, at which point the potion can be taken.”

“Blimey, all that to turn into a bloody cat?” Sirius said, exasperated.

“Well we have the first part almost done,” James said, feeling the faintest outline of the leaf still under his tongue, “Next full moon we'll have to go dew-hunting, I suppose. Looks like you'll have to stick it out for a few more cycles, Moony,” he said to Remus.

“That's alright,” he said, “I've made it this far.”

“He won't be alone for those,” you said, “I'll spend the full moons with him until you guys are ready.”

“What?” James said, looking at you like you'd just told him you were off to join Voldemort, “not a chance, that's way too dangerous.”

“Aw, don't act like you're all concerned about me all of a sudden, Potter,” you smirked. When his expression didn't change it took you aback slightly. He was actually worried about you. “Look, I'm probably the best suited for it anyways,” you said, coughing a bit to coast through the awkward tension, “Remus and I are both wolves, or at least partly. If one of you end up turning into a sheep or something you might be dead meat, not to freak you out or anything.”

“That's reassuring,” Sirius said under his breath.

____________________________________________________________

“You really don't have to do this,” Lupin insisted as you sat on the floor together in the Shrieking Shack later that month.

“I want to,” you assured him, “take it as a thanks for helping me pass Arithmancy. Besides, it's a perfectly fine excuse for me to practice interacting with other animals in my animagus form.”

The boy beside you was quiet for a moment, shoulders tense and jaw set tight. It wasn't that he wasn't happy you were here, he was more grateful than you could know, but he was terrified that he was going to end up hurting you. On top of that was the fact that he didn't want you to see him as he transformed. It wasn't pretty, and it was visibly painful. He didn't want you to think any lower of him, though he knew that fear was irrational.

The calming jazz record that spun on the other side of the room was the only noise between you two for quite some time, but you understood that he needed time to gather his thoughts. This was something so deeply personal you were surprised and a bit honored he allowed you to be here at all. You noticed the photograph that he held in his hands; it was of Hogwarts, taken from the very edge of the forest. The sun was peeking over the horizon, spilling out between the complexly constructed towers that made up the castle's exterior, and casting a warm, golden hue over the landscape.

“It's beautiful,” you said, “the picture.”

“It is,” Remus smiled to himself and nodded, “James gave it to me, as a reminder. He said that matter what happens during the full moon, the sun will always rise on us again.”

“Huh,” you mused softly, “perhaps he isn't such an insufferable jerk after all.”

“Oh, no, he is,” Lupin chuckled, “but he is also a very good friend, and endlessly thoughtful even if he denies it.”

You let that sink in for a moment. You supposed he was.

“Well,” you said, laughing a bit as you shifted in your seat, “this isn't as deep and meaningful as the photo, but I brought something for you.” You reached into your bag, retrieving something that made Remus' eyes widen.

“Where did you get that?” he said, elated as you held out his favorite chocolate bar which had been out of stock at Hogsmeade for weeks now.

“You guys have a secret tunnel that goes right to the Honeydukes cellar and you've never taken advantage of their storage?” you grinned.

Lupin hesitated as he held the bar in his hands.

“So you stole it?”

“I left five dracma in the tip jar,” you rolled your eyes, “I'm not a death eater.”

His smiled returned at that, and he ripped open the familiar foil gratefully.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“It's the least I could do,” you said.

“It's really not,” he said, turning to face you fully. You were left a bit breathless as the unexpected intensity of his eyes. “None of this is the least you could do, because the least you could do is nothing,” he continued, rambling, “we were so horrible to someone you consider a dear friend, and you were willing to look past that. You're risking your life by even being with me right now, (Y/n).”

“You don't—”

“I do know that,” Remus said sharply, “I've never been in contact with anyone as a werewolf. The one time I was, I. . .” he trailed off, and it hurt you to see his pained expression, “I just don't know how I'll react.”

“You're saying that as if something bad's already happened,” you said gently, “it'll be okay.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked quietly, equally full of frustration and admiration.

“I'm willing to put my trust in you, Remus. I think it's time you put some trust in yourself.”

Lupin's heart pounded a little harder in his chest. Had you ever called him by his first name before? You looked at him so reassuringly, so confidently. He couldn't understand it, but your words reached him to his core.

“(Y/n). . .” he trailed off, blinking rapidly. A shaky breath escaped him, and your stomach dropped.

“Remus?”

Suddenly you saw something shift in him. His breathing became heavy and his pupils dilated, completely filling his irises in a matter of seconds. He braced himself against the wall as he stumbled to his feet, his skin slowly taking on a gray hue.

“It's happening,” he said, voice deeper and strained, his neck convulsing, “you have to transform, now!”

You didn't waste any time, taking the shape of your wolf form and padding away a cautionary distance. Your stomach churned as you watched Remus yell out, his expression full of pain as his body grew in size, his cries slowly becoming reminiscent of howls. His face contorted in agony as his head morphed into a more animalistic shape, ears growing from his scalp and fur appearing as if his werewolf was fully formed inside him, physically escaping through his skin. You've seen werewolves before, but seeing someone you know actually turn into one, it was completely different. Nothing could have prepared you for this. Seeing anyone in this much pain made your chest tighten harshly.

At last it seemed the transformation was complete. Remus Lupin was gone, and in front of you stood a creature of at least eight feet, perched on his hind legs and towering over you especially in your animal form. You could hear how ragged his breathing had become, his body convulsing with the motion; growing and retracting like a beating heart. You heard a whimper escape his throat, and you could tell he was still recovering from the pain.

You steeled yourself, making the decision to alert him to your presence subtly. You tilted your head upwards, releasing a similar sounding whimper to his. Immediately the werewolf across from you was on high alert, his head snapping towards you and his lips pulling back into a snarl as his ears lowered. You took an instinctive step back, lowering your head slowly. He seemed puzzled by your behavior, which made sense seeing as Lupin told you he never interacted with any other animals during the full moon. His head tilted inquisitively and he took a heavy step forward. You forced yourself to not back away, testing the waters. His eyes narrowed again as he saw you standing your ground, but you quickly sat down, your head tilting to expose your neck slightly. You made doubly sure not to show any signs of aggression; you knew you had no chance against a werewolf at full strength.

However, he seemed to take your queues well. His tail seemed to relax a bit, his eyes returning to their full, round shape as he looked at you with curiosity. You sniffed up at him and he hesitated, but eventually circled around you and did the same. You could almost see the turmoil in him, as a werewolf you doubted anyone he came across treated him with anything less than terror in their eyes, but you were completely relaxed.

He whimpered again, and you were shocked at the sign of submission. You rose to your feet, and he didn't back away. You let out a friendly yip, which he returned, and you felt the weight lift off your chest. You leaped to the side, and he followed you, running alongside you as you bounded across the room, practically leaping off the walls. You jumped at each other playfully, rolling across the floor in a mess of fur. You smiled inwardly as this continued throughout the night, no longer seeing fear or pain or aggression in his eyes when you looked into them. Even if he wouldn't remember most of this, you hoped he would at least feel better in the morning than all the times he had to go through it alone.

Exhausted from all the playing around, you padded softly back to your robes, crawling inside yours and and gesturing over to him with your head. He followed you, coming down to all fours before laying beside you. You weren't sure when sleep came over you, but it was like the world's most comfortable blanket had been thrown over your shoulders, and your eyes drifted closed of their own volition. . .

“Merlin's beard, just what were you two doing last night?!”

You and Remus both jolted awake at the sound of James Potter's aggravatingly loud voice but quickly came to your senses. Remus' arms were wrapped around you, your back facing him. You were just barely covered by your robes with nothing underneath as a result of your transformation. As you scrambled to get decent your face heated even more as you saw Remus was currently without a shirt, his pants ripped considerably. You scrambled away from each other, trying to make yourselves decent.

Peter was howling with laughter, James looking smug as ever. Sirius was oddly quiet, but you were too wrapped up in the embarrassment to notice his behavior.

“What was that about being 'endlessly thoughtful'?” you grumbled to Remus.

“Right, I completely take back what I said,” he scoffed, “ 'insufferable jerk' is much more accurate.”

“Close your eyes, you perverted git!” you yelled at James, who was blatantly staring at you, “toss me my clothes at least, would you?”

James bit back a smirk as he grabbed your bag that was sitting in the corner of the room— clothes you had brought with the intention of changing into after returning to your human form when Lupin fell asleep. He tossed it over to you and you began to change under your robes. As his back was turned to you his mind began to wander. You'd always been attractive, sure, but since you'd always been his rival he hadn't really given you a second thought, especially when he'd been trying to get Lily's attention for ages. But just now, thinking about how downright adorable you looked when you'd yelled at him, something in him shifted. He shook it off quickly, turning to Lupin with a grin he'd managed to put on concernedly fast.

“You cheeky bastard,” he said to Remus, who was furiously changing into a new shirt, “you just wanted her alone, didn't you? Do you really need us to become animagi after all?”

“You're the worst, Potter,” the werewolf glared at him.

“Don't listen to him, Remus,” you grumbled, straightening out your tie as you slipped it on over your shirt, “he's an even bigger idiot than he looks.”

“Are you implying I look stupid?”

“Implying may not be a strong enough word.”

__________________________________________________________

It had taken months of brewing the potion and getting all the necessary preparations in order, but they were finally ready. Remus sat with you in the grass, wand at the ready to undo any untoward transfiguration that happened on accident. Peter, Sirius, and James stood across from you, standing at the edge of a stone ledge about five feet off the ground. You'd said that a leap of faith is what would best trigger their first transformation. They looked nervous, but they were prepared as they'd ever be. Over the last year you had grown considerably closer to the four boys you had miraculously come to know as friends.

“Remember, focus on your emotions,” you said, “you need to pick a strong one, let it fill your body and flow through you. If you block the magic off from any part of your body, it's not going to be pretty.”

“Right, but how do I—”

“James, I swear, I'm really rooting for you to be a mute animal.”

“But how do you choose-”

“Just do it already!”

“Oh, sod it,” James squeezed his eyes shut, not giving himself time to second guess before jumping off the ledge. For a moment he was certain he was about to land face first in the dirt, but then it happened— a moment where time seemed to freeze and his body felt completely weightless. He felt this sensation where his arms and legs vibrated with an intense, foreign energy. Images flashed through his mind in that brief moment in the air; Sirius manically laughing as they ran away from Filch, Remus snapping off a piece of chocolate to offer him after he'd lost Gryffindor a Quidditch match, and, unexpectedly, you. A feeling of warmth spread through his chest, and he grasped onto it, letting it flow through his body like you said. In an instant he felt torso shift, his shoulders narrow, his neck elongate; and when he landed on the ground he still landed face-first as he predicted, but in a completely different form.

He could see you and Lupin in front of him, mouths agape. He was about to say something when he found his vocal chords only allowed him a gruff whine. Shocked, he lifted his head, which felt much heavier than he'd last recalled, and as he looked down at himself he was taken aback to be met with a pair of hooves right beneath him. He staggered to his feet on wobbly legs, of which he now had four. As he tilted his head he could see the shadow of a pair of antlers twisting into brilliant shadows on the grass.

“Potter, you did it!” you exclaimed, “you actually did it!”

“Well how about that,” Remus chuckled, “a stag.”

“It fits him, I think,” you grinned, looking over at Sirius and Peter who looked determined and terrified respectively. “Well go on, it's your turn now!”

Sirius braced himself for the jump, but somehow he found no fear in his system. After seeing James shift in the air right before his eyes, he knew he could do it. He looked over at Peter who was nearly shaking.

“Come on, Peter,” he said, “we'll go together.”

“I-I don't know about this, Sirius,” Peter said, “I'm not ready, I don't think I can do this.”

“It's just a little jump,” Sirius said encouragingly, “you can do this.”

After a few nerve wracking deep breaths Peter gave him the smallest nod one could manage.

“We'll go on three,” Sirius said, “Ready? One—”

“AaHH!”

Sirius shoved Peter off the ledge, knowing he wouldn't jump on his own, before taking the plunge himself. Peter's screams became higher and higher pitched as he shrank at an alarming speed, almost an undetectable size by the time he hit the grass. A small brown rat scurried across the field towards you and Lupin.

The stag in front of you made a sound, dragging his hooves across the grass in what you could imagine as James' unadulterated laughter at his friend.

Sirius began to morph almost as soon as he left the ground, something you were surprised by. He landed on his hind legs, landing gracefully as his front two followed, and a shaggy black dog looked back at you with mischief in its eyes.

You couldn't help but go over and pet him. You laughed as he nudged you with his nose, a resistance that was quickly halted as soon as you started scratching him behind the ears.

“I have to say, I didn't think you would actually manage that on your first try,” you said, secretly prouder than they could have known, “but if anyone could have done it, it's you three stubborn goons.”

James huffed as he saw you continue to pet Sirius, using his antlers to prod the dog out of the way. Sirius barked, lunging at him playfully. It was quite a scene to see the two interact.

“Honestly, this is a pretty solid group,” you said, “you've got James who blends perfectly with the surrounding wildlife so he wouldn't be suspicions, Sirius who could probably do a fair bit of damage as a dog if he needed, and Peter who can fit through small spaces and snoop around the castle virtually undetected.”

“Quite an odd pack,” Remus chuckled.

“Definitely,” you agreed, “but a pack nonetheless.”

And that very week, Remus Lupin was able to spend his first night as a werewolf with his four friends by his side.

__________________________________________________________

“So, how did we choose which animals we turn into?” James had asked you the next day at breakfast, “I specifically tried for a dragon.”

“You don't get to choose,” you rolled your eyes, “You're a stag, that's the end of it. It's pretty much up to chance.”

“I'm sorry, you're telling me I could have turned into a fish and died right there on the ground?!”

“If only,” you sighed dreamily, earning you a playful shove from James. “Alright, it's not completely random, but you're definitely in the unknown the first time you turn,” you went on to explain, “and once you turn for the first time, that's it. That's your animal. A wizard takes on the animagus form of whatever animal most closely resembles their personality. So, a horny bastard for James, a loyal little puppy for Sirius—”

“A bitch for you,” Sirius quipped.

“Never heard that one before,” you scoffed, purposefully messing up his hair.

“Hey, watch it!” he shoved you off him, twisting each of his curls back into form.

“Well, look who's a high maintenance pup,” you chuckled.

Around the same time that year, you finally completed the map. It came together beautifully, each different way of folding the paper revealing a different level of the castle for easy navigation. You'd included the surrounding forests as well as the parts of Hogsmeade that applied for the secret passageways, all of which were marked with symbols and the unique names you'd all come up with. Every student and staff member at Hogwarts had a tiny scroll with their name that appeared in their location. Remus had added the nice detail of including footprints at the last second, so you could see which way they were facing and walking as well. It was fireproof, rip proof, and prone to insulting anyone else who tried to read it. It was the pinnacle of your magical (and slightly illegal) achievement.

“We should write our names on it,” James said, looking down proudly at the finished map, “it belongs to us, after all. We don't want anyone else taking the credit.”

“Yeah, fantastic way to get caught,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “what if Filch comes across it? That's like leaving your signature at a murder scene.”

“You should use code names, then,” you suggested, “I know you guys call Remus 'Moony' as a joke, but I kind of like it.”

The scarred boy blushed lightly at the compliment, a brow raised to his other three friends.

“Alright then, I guess you should all say hi to Rudolph over here,” Sirius said, jutting his thumb in James' direction. The bespectacled boy narrowed his eyes before shooting back.

“Right! And this is my good friend, Snuffles.”

Sirius lunged at him and James swatted him away in laughter.

“Come on, you two,” Remus said, “or we won't put anything down for you at all.”

“I've got an idea for Peter,” you piped in, “When my mom used to garden she said she didn't mind having rats there because their tails resembled worms, which were an old a sign of healthy soil, I know it's odd, but I think Wormtail sounds pretty cool.”

Peter seemed to perk up at your acknowledgment and nodded. It suited him somehow.

“Should we pick animal features too, then?” James mused, “I guess Antlers doesn't really sound that cool. What's another word? Horns? Give me some analogies, guys. What else do they look like?”

“Yours honestly kind of look like a couple of bent forks,” you snickered.

“Prongs?” Sirius snorted, the laughter that followed nearly splitting his sides.

“Oh, go on, what have you got then?” James scoffed.

“I was thinking Padfoot,” Sirius said, “like a dog's paw prints.”

“You know, for someone who was just making fun of code names a second ago you sure have given a lot of thought to yours,” you teased.

“Shove it,” he smirked, “What about you? Can't very well have a second Moony.”

You stared at him in momentary disbelief.

“Me?”

“Well, yeah,” Sirius chuckled.

“We couldn't have done any of this without you,” Remus reminded you with a smile.

“I think you've more than earned an honorary title as one of us,” James said.

“That is, if you want to,” Peter said timidly.

You looked at the four of them, genuinely touched.

“I. . . I don't know what to say,” you smiled.

“You could say 'yes',” James piped up.

“Alright, you loons,” you laughed, “if you leave Severus alone for good, then yes.”

“Hey, I think we've been pretty good about that lately,” James pouted.

“Yes you have,” you admitted, “It's the only reason I bothered to give you the time of day, but this time it's a promise.”

James rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face was undeniable. He'd never admit it out loud, but being friends with you was more fun than messing with Snape ever was.

“Alright, fine. (Y/n) (L/n), I solemnly swear that I will leave tormenting our dear old friend Snivelus behind us forever,” he said dramatically, putting a hand up at his pledge.

“Oh, bother,” you laughed, “the only thing you'll 'solemnly swear' to is that you're up to no good.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

“Then that's settled,” Remus smiled, “you'll need a code name too.”

“Let's see,” Sirius hummed in thought, “What other defining features do wolves have besides. . . well, their. . . fangs?”

“They're canines, you numbnut,” you huffed.

“Close enough, I'm writing Fangs.”

“Oi, I didn't agree to that!”

“Too bad, I'm already writing it~”

“Okay, well if that's the stupid name I'm getting saddled with them I'm going to write it myself,” you said stubbornly. You actually didn't mind the name at all.

“Well that's it, then,” James said, “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, and Fangs. We could join the bloody circus.”

“All we need is a group name,” you said, half joking.

“We've already got one,” James said proudly.

“Oh? Let's hear it, then.”

“The Marauders.”

“. . .”

You kept your face straight for exactly three seconds before you burst out laughing. The four boys flushed with embarrassment.

“The Marauders?” you chortled, “what are you, pirates?”

“It's what McGonnagall called us the first time we got ourselves into proper trouble,” James defended himself, his cheeks reddening, “You rowdy mob of marauders, she'd said.”

“Huh,” you chuckled, coming down from your laughing fit, “Well, then I suppose that would make this The Marauders Map. I'll admit, it actually kinda has a ring to it.”

And despite your group's joking quips and bickering, they couldn't agree more.

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

“Wait,” Harry said, eyes wide at your story, “So, my dad was an animagus too?”

“Sure was,” you smiled warmly.

“This whole time I thought 'Prongs' was just because his patronus was a stag.”

“Your animagus form is usually the same animal as your patronus,” you explained, “In some very rare cases they can be different, but they work in the same emotionally driven vein of magical ability, so it would make sense that they'd be linked. Your father was extraordinary at both, because as much as he would deny it, he felt everything very deeply.”

Your eyes drifted to the wall opposite you in the living room, and a small but sad smile graced your features.

“Love is often the most powerful emotion a witch or wizard can draw from,” you said softly, “but you already know that.”

Harry followed your gaze over his shoulder. There, posted on the wall among a collage of photographs from the Order was a picture of his mother and father. It was one he'd seen a hundred times, and one he had his own copy of: them in each others' arms in a London park, autumn leaves swirling around them as they danced without any music. Even from this distance he could see the emotion in their eyes as they looked at one another— like they were the only two people in the world.

“Yeah,” Harry said, wiping a stray tear from his eyes, “I do.”

Read chapter 7 here!

Taglist:  @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy @calaryssia @aleksanderwh0r3 @juggysgirlfriend @beautifulsweetschaos @kattirin @mialupin1

[qianinterprises]

Fated To You

Pairing | Kitsune!Yuta x Human, gn!Reader

Warning(s) | depictions of violence, minor character death, supernatural character, blood, mentions of stabbing, mentions of murder

Synopsis | You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you found the injured fox hiding away in the forest. However, after accepting the fox pup into your life as a new member of your home, you quickly realized that there was more to him than just an adorable fox with an odd number of tails.

Genre: supernatural au, fluff, angst, soulmates au

Author's Notes | I have had quite a longing to write a supernatural character, and, while my favorite supernatural creatures are werewolves (they're majestic amazing creatures, shush), I wanted to do something a little different, thus, Kitsune Yuta was born! This has also been posted on NCTA under the name Tori, so if you see it there, it's me. I really hope you enjoy this piece!

Word Count | 6.5k

Tag List: @treasuretaeil

The moon began to rise over the land, casting grotesque shadows over the forest as your feet moved carefully over roots that protruded from the mossy earth. Your hands held strong to the green flashlight clasped tightly in your fingers, lighting the way through the darkened trees as the sun continued to fade.

It had never been your intention to stay out this late. Fresh air. That’s all you had needed. Air to clear your head and calm you down from the near panic attack you’d thrust yourself into as you thought about all the papers and assignments you’d have to complete within the next few weeks.

It was a lot; juggling a full-time job and part-time university. You’d known it was going to be when you’d decided to finally finish your degree. What you hadn’t anticipated was everything piling up at the end, making you truly stretch yourself to get everything done correctly and on time without losing your job and crumbling under the impending weight of unemployment.

Luckily for you, behind your rented out house, was a forest. You weren’t exactly sure how far it stretched, nor had you ever explored it before, but you had a certain affinity for nature. When you began to lose yourself, you slammed your book shut and got up with a huff, grabbing your unused backpack out of the closet and setting out into the woods, hoping immersing yourself in nature would calm you down.

It had. Walking about, listening to the birds sing and the trees grow had soothed your mind and allowed you to relax for the first time in several weeks. You’d gotten so relaxed that, as you sat against a sturdy oak for water and a snack, you found yourself drifting off.

It was only recently that you had awoken. Your eyes blinked open as the sounds changed and the peaceful chirping birds were replaced with the soft, yet creepy, hoots of owls and the howls of wolves.

You’d never meant to be out there that long, but as you pulled yourself off the ground, you were thankful you were smart enough to have a packed back full of extra water, a few snacks, a rope just in case, a compass, a hunting knife, and a flashlight along with batteries.

As the sun descended, you pulled the flashlight from your backpack and here you were, wandering the woods at dusk, navigating your way back to your house in a forest you’d never been in before.

Perhaps it was the start of a disaster. Or perhaps it was keeping you away from your books for just a little longer.

Whatever the reason, you tried not to panic as you made your way through the woods in a direction you assumed was home but honestly, you were too sure.

You scanned your beaming light over varying trees, looking for the mark you’d left on a particularly girthy oak, a mark that would signal your correct direction and your soon entrance into the backyard of your home.

As your light hit along the trees, searching high and low, it caught the glow of a pair of glassy eyes not three feet from where you stood. With a shriek, you jumped back, stumbling over a tree root and falling back onto your bum, letting out a whine at the pain.

You shined your light back on the spot you’d saw the eyes and found them again, wide, yellow eyes staring back at you in, what you could only assume was fear. Fear that pulled at your heartstrings, because this wasn’t any regular fear of humans. This was absolute terror.

Slowly, you pulled yourself up onto your knees, dusting the dirt off of the bottom of your jeans as you carefully inched forward, careful not to spook the animal which you assumed to be a mistreated cat or an abused dog.

The animal didn’t move, seeming to be frozen in place as you moved closer. It was only when you managed to shift the bush it was hiding in that you realized what it actually was.

A fox. A small, dull orange fox that still resembled a pup. It had greying pointed ears and a dirt covered orange coat. As your eyes trailed over the body of the fox, they landed on the tail, or shall you say, tails! By your count, nine, although you knew that couldn’t be right! It’s tail was likely matted in nine big places! You pushed the question of tails out of your mind and roved over its body, finding surprisingly small paws and a muzzle covered in a crusty red which you quickly realized was blood. That fact alone should have sent you running, but as your eyes scanned it’s body, you quickly realized the source. An opened gash on the foxes side, just above it’s hip, steadily weeped a bright red liquid that would claim the fox’s life if kept untreated.

Your heart broke for the poor animal and you knew you couldn’t simply leave it to die. Carefully, you offered your hand for the fox to sniff and, as soon as he did, he seemed to trust you a little more.

You’d taken several animal science classes while pursuing your degree, and you knew the technical way animals seemed to trust a human just by sniffing them, but you always found yourself fascinated by the way an animal could get to know someone simply by sniffing their palm.

“I can’t leave you out here. You’ll die from your wounds if I do. Would it be alright if you come home with me?” you asked softly.

Part of you felt silly for speaking to a fox that couldn’t understand you, but as the fox nodded to your question, you felt relieved-

Wait… nodded?!

You stared wide eyed as the fox, who apparently could understand you, slowly crept from under the bush, small whimpers leaving it’s throat as it moved its hind legs. It no doubt hurt, especially with the placement of the wound.

“I doubt any animal hospital would be open right now,” you muttered, more to yourself than anything, but the fox froze in place, fear once again in its eyes.

“You don’t want to go to the animal hospital, do you?” you asked.

The fox shook his head-- you were really going to have to get used to that.

Sighing to yourself, you reached a hand out to gently stroke the orange fur, something the fox stiffened at before all together relaxing in your touch.

That was all it took for you to know you couldn’t let anything happen to this gentle fox.

“Can I pick you up?” you asked. “It may help get you back home with minimal bleeding.”

The fox seemed to pause, as if pondering and you were beginning to odd just how strange this fox truly was. Not like any other wild animal you’d ever happened upon, which, in turn, led you to believe that this was not just another wild animal.

The fox moved closer to you and touched its nose lightly to your hand. You took this as the ‘go-ahead’ and, very gently, you lifted to fox pup up into your arms.

It whimpered slightly, but as you pressed it’s wounded side purposely against your torso to still the bleeding, it relaxed in your arms.

You didn’t know how you were going to get him home. You weren’t even a hundred percent sure where home was, but as you shined your flashlight carefully clenched between your teeth, your eyes landed on the jagged ‘X’ you’d etched into the pine.

With a breath of hope, you moved toward the mark and within a few paces, you were standing in the yard of your house.

Carrying the fox through the yard was made easier by the darkness. You flicked off your flashlight, relying on memory so as not to draw your neighbor’s attention to yourself or the orange mass in your arms. When you finally made it to the front door, you opened the latch and let yourself into your messy living room covered in stay books and disposable coffee cups you hadn’t yet gotten rid of.

You latched the door behind you carefully and carried the fox going scarily limp in your arms through the house and into the bathroom.

“Don’t go to sleep, please,” you begged the droopy-eyed fox as you placed it in the bathtub.

It seemed to struggle to stand and you knew you had to work fast. Helping it lay down surrounded by the porcelain walls, you moved to the sing, ripping open the medicine cabinets and began rifling through everything you had, which wasn’t too much. You may have been training to be a veterinarian, but that didn’t mean you were already practicing.

Luckily, after shuffling around, you managed to find basic rubbing alcohol and peroxide along with several large bandages, gauze, and, the best find yet, suture thread with a needle.

Pulling on a pair of gloves you usually used to dye your hair, you turned back to the tub with your utensils only to find the fox had drifted off to sleep, pants leaving its mouth. It didn’t have much time left and you’d be damned if you let it die in your house.

Grabbing a towel and a pair of scissors, you knelt by the tub. With the scissors, you hastily cut away the fur surrounding the wound, getting yourself a better image of the wound itself while also making it easier to clean.

Once the wound was exposed, you didn’t know whether you were relieved or panicked, staring at the long gash clearly having been made from a sharp knife. This was no animal fight as you’d first thought. This was intentional and likely had been done by a human. No wonder it had been so scared, yet it begged the question, why had it trusted you?

You pressed a towel to the still weeping wound, pressing down hard to still the bleeding. Once it was mostly halted, you poured peroxide on the wound, flushing out any dirt and grime before washing it with rubbing alcohol that surely would have hurt like hell had the animal been conscious.

With the wound cleaned, you sterilized the suture kit with the rubbing alcohol and threaded your needle. You’d done suture’s before, but only on test dummies. Having a real patient had your stomach twisting in knots, but you didn’t have time to worry about it.

Bringing the needle to the skin, you began to stitch up the now cleaned wound, careful not to injure the fox further. The stitches weren’t pretty by the time you’d finished. A professional could have done a much better job, but at least the wound was closed. You placed a bandage over the wound before wrapping the gauze carefully around the fox’s waist, keeping it loose enough it didn’t constrict him, but tight enough to keep pressure on the wound.

Time was still sensitive. You very well may not have gotten to it before it lost too much blood and you had no way of administering a transfusion. It was solely up to the fox now whether it lived or died.

As it slept in the tub, you ran your fingers through it’s fur, too scared to leave it alone. As you stroked around the foxes neck, your fingers gazed over metal beads buried deep in the fur. Curiosity got the better of you and carefully, you pulled at the beads until you unveiled a dark metal necklace that resembled a collar only slightly.

Inquisitively, you trailed your fingers along the beaded necklace of a collar until you gripped the base, the end that hung down at the fox’s chest. It was then that you saw it.

Resting at the base of the necklace was a dog tag with only one marking. A marking that spelled out a name.

Yuta.

As you ran the tag over in your hands, careful to not disturb the fox, you found no address or number to call. There was nothing to give you any information about who this pup belonged to. However, you supposed, whoever it was wasn’t a very good owner if the knife wound were anything to go by.

Letting the necklace drop from your hold, you ran your hands over the fox’s head.

“Yuta,” you mumbled to yourself.

The name had a nice ring. A name that seemed to roll off your tongue as though your tongue was meant to speak it. And perhaps that holds true as the moment the last syllable left your throat, the fox was stirring, shifting as it-he slowly regained consciousness until his yellow eyes met yours.

Something seemed to stir inside you at that moment and you found yourself reaching out to touch the animal again, a touch the fox shifted into, nuzzling against your hand as if he wholly trusted you. You didn’t really know why the fox would trust you, but your heart beamed with joy. A joy that you knew meant you wouldn’t be letting this fox run back out into the wild unless it’s something he truly wanted, but you could already tell, the fox was going nowhere.

~

That statement seemed to hold true as the next few days passed and Yuta was finally able to walk around a bit more. He tired easily and had a bit of a limp, but he’d managed to walk from one room to another easy enough before giving you a look that begged you to pick him up. Even now, as you sat on the living room couch, laptop perched on your thighs, surrounded by mountains of resource material books, Yuta made his way from napping in the bedroom to where you sat.

You didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in your work that you were slightly unaware of your surroundings, but as he pressed his cold nose against your exposed ankle, you took in a sharp breath, eyes glancing down at the mischievous fox who had learned just how to get his way.

“What do you want?” you asked.

It had become normal for you to ask him questions you’d ask a human. The fox seemed more and more human every day, which made him likely the most intelligent animal you’d ever encountered. He truly was one of a kind.

‘Pick me up.’

A masculine voice suddenly permeated your made, making you yelp out at the suddenness of it all, head shaking as you dropped your computer onto the ground, hand coming up to hit lightly against your head.

That was a voice you’d never heard before and most definitely was not your consciousness.

‘Calm down human, it’s only me.’

The voice spoke again, eliciting yet another yelp from your lips as you looked around. There was no one in your house save for yourself and Yuta. No windows or doors were left open and, unless someone was hiding in your closet and speaking, there was no one around. The voice itself was too vivid, too clear to be heard through your ears anyways which ultimately lead you to the conclusion that the voice was in your head, although that didn’t make anything better.

“I’ve finally gone crazy!” you murmured to yourself, eyes wide with worry and fear. “I’m hearing voices! It’s only a matter of time before they lock me up!”

‘(y/n), calm down! It’s only me! Yuta!’

“What?!” you screeched.

You didn’t bother looking down at the fox on the floor. There was absolutely no possible way the voice in your mind was the voice of an injured fox named Yuta who’d come to live with you a few days ago! There was no possible way! You were just-

‘Would you stop saying you're crazy before you really upset me!’

“Leave me alone!” you squealed.

You jumped up off the couch when suddenly, a rush of tranquility washed over you, ebbing the panic away as the masculine voice was once again in your mind, this time, in a much gentler tone.

‘Calm down before you hurt yourself. Look down at me on the floor. Look into my eyes and you’ll understand.’

You don’t know whether it was the sudden sense of calm that had you keeping cool, curiosity, or sheer trust that had you lowering your gaze to the floor where they met Yuta’s yellow ones. As soon as your eyes locked on his, a rush of comforting heat surged through your body, spreading from your eyes down to your toes while washing over your brain. Your knees buckled and your body crashed against the couch as thoughts and memories surged through you, eventually knocking you unconscious, head lulling against the couch cushions.

Two Hundred Years Earlier

When you opened your eyes, your living room was nowhere in sight. Instead, you were standing in a deep, open space painted a galaxy shade of purple. Beside you was a handsome man with long, dark hair that touched his shoulders. He had a lean face and boxy jaw leading to a square chin that only added to his handsomeness. His shoulders were broad but he wasn’t all that muscular, rather, he was lean. A grey shirt wrapped around his frame, long black shorts flowed to a stop below his knees.

“Who are you?” your voice cracked.

“I am Yuta,” said the man, the voice the same one you’d heard in your mind earlier.

“W-what- How-...?” you couldn’t seem to conjugate the words properly.

“I wasn’t going to tell you until later. But I am Yuta, and the fox version of myself… well that’s technically my natural form. While injured, I take that form,” he explained.

You still couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. This Yuta was your Yuta… Your Yuta had a human form… Your Yuta… the fox you’d been sharing your bed with… had a human form…

“Easy now, I’m not sure what happens if you pass out when you're not awake!” the man said, hands grabbing your shoulders to still your wobbling form.

“But how-- I…”

“I’m going to show you,” he spoke softly.

With that, he snapped his fingers and the purple room evaporated from sight. You let out a small screech as it was replaced with air rushing around your face as your bodies hurtled straight from the sky into a forest you’d never seen before. A forest that certainly wasn’t in your backyard.

You touched ground without so much of a wince, your feet settling gently on the plush, mossy earth.

“You’ll get used to that,” Yuta promised as he clasped an arm around your waist to hold your quivering body steady.

“W-where are we…”

“Japan. 200 years in the past.”

“WHAT?! But-”

You trailed off as your eyes caught sight of a beautiful fox with nine tails flowing proudly from her backside strode up in front of your prying eyes, a young fox pup not too far behind, accompanied by his father who kept nudging at the pups hindquarters playfully, earning small little yips from the pup.

“They’re so adorable! Who are they?!”

Yuta didn’t answer for a long moment and when you looked at his face, you caught the fading wisps of a painful memory.

“The pup is me…” he spoke. “And my parents.”

You were about to open your mouth to ask about them when there was a rustle in the trees and a group of six men appeared, each one looking meaner than the next.

Yuta’s father turned away from the pup, who was drawn closer by his mother, as his father approached the men.

“Do you wish to honor our son?” you could hear the father ask although you knew he wasn’t physically speaking.

“Freak!! Unnatural piece of nature!!” screamed one of the men, drawing his sword.

“Hey! Show some respect!” you wailed, fist clenched as you glared at the man who seemed to not even notice you.

Yuta’s arm tugged on your waist, pulling you against his side.

“This is a memory… My memory… There’s nothing we can do or say that will change the past…” he whispered.

“You don’t want to do that!” Yuta’s father exclaimed. “We are kitsunes! We are luck and fortune!”

“Freak!!” the man squealed, swinging his sword at Yuta’s father, who turned to flee from the men, ready to protect his family with his power when another man slashed a sword at the fox’s backside, slashing through all nine tails.

You let out a squeak, hands coming to cover your mouth as a pained cry left the fox’s mouth moments before his body hit the ground and life left his body. You could see the spirit of the fox lifting, rising into the trees, where it would rest as a ghost, keeping watch on it’s family.

The men howled with glee and charged over the fox’s body, trampling it as they made their way for the mother and her pup.

The blaze of a campfire suddenly sparked from the place Yuta’s mother was planning on cooking dinner. A ball of fire lunged at the men, who dodged, and the fire only made them angrier.

The female, just as strong as her husband, held the men at bay with a wall of fire, managing to severely burn four of the six men before the kindling in the fire had died and all was left was embers. She could bend fire, but not without a fire.

“Looks like you’re all out of ideas,” one man, the man who’d killed his father chuckled.

The pup whimpered and burrowed itself in his mothers side, not quite old enough to possess all the powers of his parents.

Frantically, the female fox turned to the pup and, without hesitating, bit down onto its scruff. The pup cried out at the sudden jostle, but his mother did nothing but squeeze tighter. With her pup held close, she leaped over the fallen men and darted into the forest, putting as much distance between herself and the men as she could.

The air around you and Yuta rustled past your faces and suddenly, without moving your feet, your bodies were standing beside a fox and her pup who were now both panting, far from the men that would come searching for them.

“Yuta, listen to me child. The humans are turning on us, but you mustn’t let that stop you from being yourself, from being a true and great kitsune!” the fox’s voice permeated your mind. “The humans will hurt you, try to kill you as it has been prophesied, but you mustn’t let their ways sway you from your duties.”

“Mom!” the fox cried.

He could tell, even at such a tender age, what his mother was about to do.

“You will find your soulmate, who will be human, and you must make the human understand who and what you are. They must understand where you come from. And, if they accept you, bonds between man and fox will be restored once more!”

Her voice was urgent as the sounds of the men tracking them grew louder. Your heart hammered in your chest. You knew what was going to happen, but your heart wept at the fate of the family torn apart. Yuta’s arm around your waist fastened to you tighter, although you weren’t sure if he was holding you or himself together.

You don’t know what spurred you to move, but you turned toward him slightly, enough to unpin your arm from your side, and wrapped both of your arms around his middle, hugging him tightly as together, you watched his mother kiss her pups head softly before dashing off toward the men.

There were yells along with a high pitched whimper before her spirit rose into the air to join her mates, leaving the young pup all alone.

You buried your face in Yuta’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter as a few tears slipped from your eyes, dropping onto his shirt. You’d only witnessed a memory. Yuta had been there. You couldn’t imagine the pain he felt the day both of his parents were killed by greedy, uneducated humans.

Present Day

You stood there, embracing Yuta for what seemed like hours before the air was shifting around you again and, by this time, you knew what that meant.

When the air stopped and you opened your eyes, pulling your face from Yuta’s neck, you were standing against the wall of a small little shop that resembled what you would have imagined to be an apothecary’s shop. White-wicked candles burned around the tiny, clutter-filled room, casting a smoky glow around the shop, surrounding the shelved knick-knacks and bottles of liquid medicine. Inside the shop, sitting behind a desk stacked with papers, was a middle-aged man with snow white hair and tan, wrinkled skin, so many wrinkles it looked as though he were shedding. The bags under his eyes were drooping low on his face, making his entire face seem to sag.

“Who is he?” you asked.

“His name’s Mr. Huang.”

Yuta seemed to know that that didn’t answer your question, but you didn’t have time to inquire further before the door to the shop was opening and Yuta, your Yuta, walked in, dressed the exact same as he was now.

This must have been recent…

“Good afternoon, Mr. Huang,” Yuta greeted, giving him a respectful bow.

“What do you want, boy?”

Mr. Huang’s voice was mean and cruel, riddled with an angry snarl as his now beady snake eyes looked up to pierce Yuta’s brown ones.

“Is Mrs. Huang nearby? I had a few more questions about the prophecy regarding my soulmate,” Yuta said, seemingly unfazed by the man's harsh tone.

The question only seemed to make Mr. Huang angrier as stood up with, slamming his hands down on the desk.

“Mrs. Huang died this morning,” he snarled.

Yuta’s face dropped, skin growing pale as the man stalked toward him.

“You promised us she wouldn’t die!” the man hissed, slowly approaching Yuta.

Yuta backed up slowly, his eyes racing around the room, looking for something he could use for leverage when his eyes landed on an envelope with his name scrawled onto it.

Discreetly, he picked up the envelope and slid it into his back pocket.

“Mr. Huang, I did everything that I could do. I promised you’d I’d do my best to heal her! But she had lung cancer! I gave her as much life as I could!” Yuta said.

“That’s not good enough!” Mr. Huang yelled.

He reached into his back pocket and produced a long knife with a jagged edge. You gasped loudly as the man lunged at Yuta. Yuta, carefully dodged the first and the second jab, but by the third, his back was pressed against a wall. Mr. Huang stabbed the knife into Yuta’s side, right above his hip. Yuta cried out on pain, clutching his side.

“Let’s see how you fare against pure silver!” Mr. Huang snarled.

Silver wouldn’t kill him, but it would slow his healing way down. His body could be unable to atone for the wound. That coupled with his young form without having a soulmate to help him heal faster would prohibit him from healing much faster than a normal human.

With the blade still lodged in his side, Yuta shoved past the man and bolted for the door, running straight into the forest, careful not to be seen by any other human.

You followed this Yuta’s movements, your Yuta holding close to you as together, you watched this Yuta drop to his knees and pull the blade from his side, crying out at the pain before dropping it.

The boy cried out as he clutched his side in pain, slowing the bleeding as much as he could before leaning himself against a tree, the same tree near the bush where you’d found him.

His body began to shake with the weight of blood loss and you wanted to run to him, but your Yuta held you back.

“It gets better,” he whispered in your ear.

You didn’t like it. You hated watching the man die, but there was nothing you could do. This may be happening in front of you, but it had already happened in the past.

With shaky fingers, Yuta used his free hand to dig the now wrinkled envelope out of his pocket, specks of blood dotting the starch white.

He opened the envelope with that one hand and pulled out the letter inside. Somehow, you managed to see the letter from here.

Yuta,

If you can find it in your heart to forgive my husband for what he has done, please do. I know that he can have a temper, and he isn’t the best when it comes to dealing with his emotions, but he means well, usually anyways. I have no doubt that he has tried (if not succeeded) to commit bodily harm after my passing. He will likely be unable to handle himself after my death.

The truth is, I’ve always known there was nothing you could do about my condition. Guess that comes with the territory of being an old witch. You know when you’re going to die. But don’t worry, sweetheart, today is not your time. You still have that soulmate of yours to meet.

Your mother was right about the prophecy. I do apologize that I could not speak of it with you. The fact is, my husband is one of those humans that will be swayed when you meet your soulmate, and as such, I couldn’t have you or him finding too much information out. The future is tricky like that.

I just thought you should know, dear boy, that your soulmate will appear to you soon. I cannot say when. Yes, I know, but again, the future can be a tricky thing. When they do show up, they won’t hesitate to show you compassion and kindness. You will also find yourself drawn to their gentle soul. And they will be drawn to you, although they will not be able to explain. Go easy on them, hun. They are human after all. Humans are not as good at understanding things like this as you and I are. Be gentle. Ease them into it.

While all of this is nice, I do also have to give you a warning. When your soulmate is revealed to you, you will know almost immediately. However, it may take them a bit, especially if you aren’t as a human. Be patient. However, if all else fails, show them this letter. I will write your soulmate's name at the bottom. The future will allow that.

My second warning is to tell them your past. The burden is not yours to bear alone. Prophecy says that when you meet your human soulmate, humans will stop trying to kill you and those like you. Conspiracy says this is because they will understand who you are and what you are set on this earth to do. Unfortunately, this is not the case.

The gods have seen what terrible things humans can do, and it has swayed their opinions (for the better in my opinion). Rather than revealing your purpose to the humans, only a varying few will know the truth, your soulmate being one of them. The memories of Kitsune’s and other supernatural creatures will be erased from the minds of most humans, so you must be careful with this new chance in life. You must hide your identity as a Kitsune from everyone except family.

Now Yuta, I want you to know that these last two years have meant the world to me. I love you my dear boy and I will always be watching over you along with your parents.

Find your soulmate, and love them as hard and as deeply as you can.

Love,

Mrs. Huang

Ps: your soulmate's name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Treat them well.

Your eyes widened at the last note of the letter before Yuta folded it up and put it back in his pocket.

“(Y-Y/N)... but… that’s my name…” you muttered.

The man beside you didn’t utter a word as the Yuta you were watching suddenly began to quiver even harder than he already was and, within a few seconds, in his place was the same fox pup you’d rescued a few days ago.

“Wait… so… the pup… you really are the pup!” you exclaimed.

Yuta turned to stare at you, eyebrow raised.

“Tell me you didn’t just get that.”

You didn’t say anything back, instead trained your eyes back on the pup who was crawling under the bush to hide. Time suddenly began to speed up and within a few moments, you saw yourself kneeling in front of the bush in the dark, peering at the fox.

“So I… I was meant to find you… We’re connected…”

Yuta nodded.

“You’re my soulmate, and I am yours.”

You didn’t say anything. Your voice felt like it was locked in your throat as a rush of air once again brushed past your face, taking you somewhere new, although you weren’t sure what else was left to see.

“The future is a tricky thing,” Yuta’s voice whispered as the world became a blur of shapes and colors as you were taken to someplace new to see more sights that would expand your outlook on life itself.

Undetermined time in the future

The wind stopped brushing past your cheek and you stood in front of a small, cozy house with a broad backyard and a large forest filled with thick trees, perfect for running. You saw yourself, or rather, an older version of yourself, sitting on a pink and purple throw blanket in the middle of the backyard. Beside you sat a brown picnic basket waiting to be opened and a vacant seat on the other side of the blanket. The older you smiled softly as the clouds in the sky parted and a beam of sunlight shone down, warming your body naturally.

Older you looked far too happy to be on that picnic alone, so your eyes scanned the valley for someone you hoped was there.

“I haven’t seen this yet either,” Yuta whispered.

He brought his arm back around your waist, keeping you fixed to his side, not that you were complaining. Somehow, it felt you belonged at his side.

As your eyes scanned the yard, you almost missed the two bodies emerging from the forest. One was the body of a tall man, a body you immediately recognized to be Yuta’s. The other was a much smaller body, the body of a young girl whom you couldn’t see all that clearly.

Yuta’s breath hitched and you turned to look at him.

“Do you know her?”

He shook his head, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the two as they approached the picnic blanket where the older you waited, waving your hand to the two with a bright grin on your face.

Yuta’s reaction to the girl had you pausing to take a closer look at him, waiting for him to tell you who this young girl was. When he seemingly noticed you staring, he turned to look at you.

“I honestly don’t know her. But she has been prophesied many times,” he spoke, voice shaking with emotion.

“She wasn’t in the prophecy I heard,” you conjured.

Yuta shook his head, a smile breaking out across his face.

“There’s not just one prophecy,” he answered. “There are many, about many different things that allow us a glimpse into our fate, but somehow, they never play out the way you think they will.”

“Can you tell me the other prophecies?”

Yuta turned his attention back to the scene and urged you to do the same, but you caught him nodding to your question as the little girl jumped into your lap, laughing and giggling as you began to tickle her.

“I will tell you all of them,” he promised.

The scene before you was nothing like what you’d seen earlier. There was no blood or death or attempted murder. No sacrifices or ominous warnings. There was nothing but peace and love, and if that was your fate, you were happy with it.

The older Yuta sat down beside you on the picnic blanket and, as the young girl became distracted chasing a butterfly, he dipped a finger under your chin and lifted your face to his.

“I love you, my Flower,” he spoke softly.

“I love you too, my Fox.”

He pressed a soft kiss against your lips, a kiss so soft you felt as though you were prying just by watching, and, although it didn’t last long and your own lips hadn’t felt the gentle touch, you knew there was no kiss quite as sweet as the ones from Yuta.

~

The backyard disintegrated into an array of pickles before your eyes fluttered open and you were staring at the ceiling of the same rental house you’d spent the last three years.

“Was it all a dream?”

“Yes and no,” a familiar voice spoke next to you.

This time, you didn’t jump at the sound of the voice, although you weren’t sure if it was because it was familiar, or if it was because it wasn’t in your head this time.

Turning your head, you caught the sight of Yuta, standing just as he had been in your dream, wearing clothes that were coated in blood, likely the same ones he’d been wearing when he was stabbed.

“How are you not a fox anymore?” you asked.

He smiled as he knelt down on the couch where you were still sprawled out.

“Your human mind couldn't accept the truth earlier. That’s why you freaked out when I began speaking into your mind, which is something I can only do in fox form,” he added. “When I calmed you down by accessing your nervous system, I realized you were going to have to see the truth, so I knocked you out and took you on the journey with me. You had to live through that one way or another,” he explained.

You didn’t understand, not really anyways, not the full story, at least. What you did understand was 1) Yuta was a kitsune, 2) he had a very dark past, and 3) you were his soulmate and, although you hadn’t known him for very long, you were 100% ok with that.

“Now, do you think you can stay calm long enough for me to do something I was dying to do the entire time?” he asked.

“What?”

“This.”

Without further exchange of words, Yuta’s plump lips were on yours and, for the first time through the whole ordeal, you could feel it. And you knew it wouldn’t take much until you were addicted. Because he was Nakamoto Yuta. Kitsune. And your soulmate.

[wh0re-4-techno]

2. PICNIC ((PROFESSOR TECHNO))

Description: Minx and you have a picnic on the grass field, discussing your very seemly normal meeting. But so some reason you couldn't keep your mind off of your new Professor.

Words: 2024

Last part ::  Next part

"Oh my god, I am so sorry for that Sir. You shy away, taking a few steps back from embarrassment, stepping away from the door frame, and him, he lets go of your arm. "No, no. That's alright. I run into people all the time on campus. Nothing to be sheepish about." He softly chuckles, it sounded so warm and welcoming. You look back at him, this time with a smile. Trying to reassure your professor.

"Well, it was my pleasure to meet you, Miss. Y/l/n." He sticks out his hand, which seemed a bit awkward as he was halfway through his door way and how you stood in the hallway. He had to bend towards you, you stepped forward to shake his hand.

They where slightly rough, but there where still softness to it. Maybe it was because he read through so many pages that his hands where becoming so rugged. He gently squeezed your hand, which you did the same.

His hands where so much bigger than yours.

As you pulled away from the interaction, "Can't wait to see you in my class, I can see that you'll do great." He said through a toothy smile and a wink. Your fingers where becoming warm, you grip them against your hand. "Thank you sir." You say as he closes his door.

You stand there for a few seconds, contemplating over this whole situation, but your feet started to move anyways. You walk down the hallway and down the many steps.

As you walk out of the building you pull out your phone. It reading '11:13am'. It felt as time flew by, where you really talking to him for about an hour?

Y/n to Minx:

R u at the grass field????

You send a text to Minx, she did mention that she would be meeting you there as you ran to that meeting. You walk your way to the grass field anyways without a text back, even if she replies with no, you where still going to be there. But you got a text back from her saying,

Minx to Y/n:

HELL YEAHHHHH! I have a picnic blanket too!

You softly giggle at her message, she always did little things like this. In a good way. You wouldn't have thought to bring a picnic blanket at all.

Soon enough you where at the grass, you look out in the many people whom decided to do the same thing you where doing. Many couple who where studying for a exam or doing homework, other where just making out with each other. Which you didn't necessarily care about PDA as much as the next person would, but for sure you wouldn't be caught dead sharing saliva with another person at the grass field.

Spotting Minx, who was laying on a classic red and white picnic blanket. She sat with a sandwich in hand, while her other hand was waving over to you.

Walking up to her you say, "Did you make one for me?" You gesture to her sandwich, which she simply rolls her eyes. She moves her leg to criss-cross so you would have room on the blanket. "No I didn't, sorry." She takes a big bite of it, you where fine without one, you weren't really that hungry anyway. "It's alright." You sit down, it was surprisingly very soft. "You where gone for a while."

As you sit you pull out the piece of paper that he handed you. "Yeah I guess." Unfolding it, you stare at it once again, going over every material you might need for his class. Your head slowly but surely started to drift off, thinking if the small amount of time that was spent on that office. How much you wanted to go back in there with him and just talk. Hearing his voice almost electrifying. Suddenly hearing Minx. "Earth to y/n?" Her voice was muffled but you could see her hand moving in front of you. Breaking you out from your train of thought. Minx asks you again, her face said it all, she was confused as why you where lost. "Are you okay up there?" She tapped her own head, gesturing to you.

You chuckle at her actions, "Yeah I'm fine, just looking at this." You hold up the paper. She 'oh's in realization, but didn't seemed that interested in asking more. "How'd it go?" You hummed at her question, still a little lost in your own head, but you figured out what she was saying. "It went well..." You placed your piece of paper on the ground next to you.

She quirked an eyebrow at you, taking another bite of her sandwich, which she was close to be finishing it. She eyed you before talking, making sure you weren't lying. "Really? That good?" Your eyes slightly widen, where you blushing?

She definitely could see now that you where you getting color on your face, "Okay now you have to tell me how was it!" She threw her hands up, "Excuse me?" Your lips parted as she asked that question, taking you aback of what she said. "You heard me! How was your new tech, is he hot?" She wiggled her eyebrows as she leaned forward, now you where definitely starting to blush. But you where unsure why she asked that out of all the other questions she could've picked. "TELL ME!" She half yells at you, grabbing your arms. Some people near by turned towards the both of you. Confused and somewhat worried as why she was yelling. You mouth out apologies for interrupting their time. You turn back to Minx, whom took her hands off of you and sat quietly, slight embarrassed by her own yelling.

"Okay okay, he was nice. I'm not gonna say anything more though." You throw you hands up in defense as she grunts. She slightly punched your shoulder, "You, ms. Y/l/n, are a fucken tease! You can't just say that and leave!" She raises she voice again, not as loud, but was starting to draw the same people to start looking back at the two of you. This time your getting embarrassed by her yelling. You shush her as she glares at you, somewhat unbothered at the people's attention. "Well. What do you want me to say?" You question her with a laugh as she doesn't stop glaring at you, finally taking her last bite of her sandwich. "What's his name?" She chews on her food while asking, gross.

But as you think, your mind goes blank.

What was his name? But then it hit you, you just didn't even ask for it. He knew your name, but you didn't know his. "I didn't even ask for his name." Your hands slap against your face, hinding away from the embarrassment. You slowly tip backwards, you could feel how hot your face was getting, you need to calm down before Minx could poke fun at you.

She didn't believe you at first but you didn't say anything else so she grabbed the paper that was beside you. She sighed at first but then started to laugh. You questioned her at first as to why she was laughing, but it was quickly answered. "His name is on the top of the paper y/n!!" She fell backwards too, the both of you laugh at the moment.

The two of you just lay back for a few minutes, taking breathes as you stare into the blue sky. Watching as the clouds fly by, it was good.

"His name is Mr. Technoblade, strange name huh?" Minx tells you, you didn't respond, just thinking about him. You got his name...

Technoblade.

Minx rose back up, still a little giggly that you actually didn't ask you your new Professors name. It was a thing that only you would do for sure. "Wait, did your counsel tell you his name before picking his class?" She asks, starting to remember that they did that. "I barely remember what day it is, what'd you think I would remember that!" You start to chuckle, she just shrugs it off.

"So when's your first day again?" She asks, while picking at the grass. "I think on Thursday. It should say the schedule on the back." You pick up the paper once again to read it.

There it was, the whole schedule on what day and what hour his class was on.

-----

After about another hour or so, you and Minx decided to head back to the dorms.

While walking back you pull out your Bluetooth earbuds, handing one to Minx. She gladly took one from you. You turn on Spotify to your special playlist for you and Minx. Some where her songs and the others where yours. It wasn't the best flowing mix of music as some where slow beat and others where pure punk rock. But seemingly each step the both of you where going on beat.

The both of you hummed out the songs that played. It were these sweet moments that you think back to when you think about Minx and your friendship. It was simple, but great.

Walking up each step together, passing random people and some that you seem to pass everyday. Making it to your door. Minx pulls out her set of keys and opens the door for you. "Thank you." She gladly took your thanks and closed the door behind her.

She handed the Bluetooth earbud back to you, you head towards your bed. Once you hop on your twin size bed you lay down. Putting your hands behind your head like this morning. Minx followed you and jumped on your bed. She sat on the other side of your bed, against the wall as she watched videos on her phone.

"You never went to class." You take her by surprise, as you where just relaxing and there wasn't any conversations happening between the two of you. "Eh, fuck it." You start chuckling and she does the same. "Yeah I'm just going to email my teacher that I wasn't feeling to good." She drops her phone to look at you. "Say that you threw up! It works every time." You explain to her, but her face is deadpan. "Really? That's the most used excuse ever Y/n." She roll her eyes at you, but you can tell she was still playing with you. "Then say you got food poisoning! I don't fucken know." You scoffed at her. She thinks for a few seconds then nods. "You're pretty smart for a 2nd year." "Oh shut up." The both end up laughing at each other.

-----

She turns off the light as it was past 11 already and the both of you had to go to classes tomorrow. You knew it was going to be boring as every class was, there wasn't anything exciting you anymore. Maybe it was because your honeymoon phase with college past or you where having enough fun at college anymore. You're only real friend was Minx, the others where people who you would talk in class and that was it. You didn't mind that Minx was your only true friend, but maybe it was time for you to find more people to hang out with, after all you could meet more people in your new class.

That's right, you had a new class to look out for. Next Thursday. You couldn't wait for it.

You pull your covers over your body, resting your phone on its side as you play a youtube video. Your head begins to think back to this afternoon, about your new class and how fun it might be. But then remembering him. Mind drifting to his voice, that voice. Hearing him softly chuckling while he drops his head. There was something in you brain telling you that you shouldn't be wanting to hear his laugh again, but why was it so tempting...

[froog-water]

howdy y'all, again! 

just quickly before the chapter starts, i wanted to say a HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who reads this! i have received a lot of support for this thing (more than i had hoped) and i am beyond grateful for it!

again, if there are any mistakes in this chapter, just hmu and i will fix it. i am just tired rn :)

also, slight warning for the beginning of the chapter, there are vivid descriptions of blood and gore and death. but nothing really troubling past that ;P

be safe out there my friends and thank you again

Upwards Over the Mountain

(Bloodhound x Reader)

previous; Chapter 2

Winter is in full swing and the entire world is covered in a thick blanket of white snow and eternal cold. For the most part, you had forgotten all about Bloodhound and the stranger circumstance of your meeting. Because there was not much for a bunch of fishermen and farmers to do during the stagnant times of chill, your bar had become a most frequented hotspot for these idle workers meaning you had very little time to yourself. Busy hands kept your mind busy too and soon some, if not most, of that night had been pushed back to the recesses of your consciousness.  It also did not help that they never took you up on your offer of returning to the bar. They retreated back into being merely a story to you, a faint memory of a person long moved on. You could hardly even remember if it had even really happened at all. Oh well, you supposed they had better things to do.

Early morning light was barely seeping in through your bedroom window when you managed to open your eyes. Groggily you yawn and stretch and slowly go to open the curtains. Greeting you was the pleasant sight of a land half-asleep, the sky a brilliant warm pink despite the rest being draped in an unimaginable freeze. Your breath collected as fog on the frozen glass and tentatively you reach out to touch it. It was a lovely morning indeed and it would have stayed that way had you not looked up into the sky.

In the distance, large birds circled. Tiredness shifts to dread as you adjust your eyes to try to get a better look. Those were no ordinary birds, you remark taking note of how large their bodies were and of the swooping patterns of their flight. Those were scavenging birds. And there is only one thing to bring scavengers out during Winter.

You dress quickly, putting on your best and thickest jacket and pants, before grabbing your hunter's knife and bow. Andante was a man of many talents, most of which he passed on to you. One of those talents was his hunting skills. The summer before his knees went, was spent mostly out in the heart of the wild woods. It was an interesting experience, to say the least, and though you were nowhere near what could be considered good, you understood the basics of the hunt and of the weapons you wielded and you knew how to read signs. Signs like scavenger birds circling in the sky. Signs like there was something dying.

Into the snow you run without much of a second thought, your head locked upwards as you follow the shapes of the birds eyeing their next meal. What confused you most about this strange encounter was not the presence of the birds themselves, but the proximity that they were to you and the rest of the town. This was wild country, home of beasts and lands untamed and untouched by man’s iron hand. That much you knew, encounters like this were commonplace if you dared to leave the safety of human comforts. But you were not out in the uncomfortable forest which meant that whatever had caught the bird's attention was either very far from home or of a more concerning matter.

You edge into the outskirts of the white forest, the trees around you nothing more than empty sticks bearing only wind and ice. Overhead, the birds caw and swoop and through the boney fingers of branches, you can see that they are getting lower. You had to move quickly before they did. As you go deeper in, approaching what you assumed to be the border of someone's field, you hear something. Faintly, carried on the morning breeze, was the mewling of an animal. Your pace quickens and quietens as you zone in on the source, painfully aware of how loud the snow was underfoot but pushing on regardless. The relief that you had felt at knowing it was not a person in danger eases some of your mounting anxieties and offers you momentary strength to continue on in pursuit. If given the choice, you would have gladly left whatever animal lay in wait to its own devices, you had no business intruding in on their affairs - your presence would only bring them distress no matter your intentions. But something about this situation told you otherwise and guided your feet to where you would most certainly be needed. On the outskirts of a clearing, you spot something and crouch behind a leafless brush.

There before you, not even 20 meters away, was a fallen elk. You swallow down your gasp and try to focus over the noise of your beating heart, which becomes only louder as you start to take in the entire situation. The animal has toppled over a wired fence of some farmer's land, its hind leg still entangled and bleeding from its restraints, held high above the rest of its body at an uncomfortable angle. From its bloody mouth, it screamed weakly, puffs of dying hot breath escaping with the haunting noise. Your first guess was that this misdirected elk had simply gotten itself stuck in the fence, a most unfortunate event but not entirely implausible, but upon closer inspection at the rest of its heaving body, your guess died on your tongue.

Horrible, long gashes run down the length of the animal's side, pooling blood into the snow around it turning white to red. Its powerful neck was sliced deep in odd places and one of its front legs looked twisted or broken. This creature had not done this kind of destruction to itself - it was attacked. By something. You slowly turn your head around to scan the morning shadows of the forest clearing for any glowing eyes of an animal on the hunt. But there was no predator to be found. There would be none of course, because if there was such a predator here, then why would it not have killed its prey by now? Animals do not find enjoyment in torture and no man, you hoped, would ever do such heinous crimes to such innocent life. For now, at least, it was only you and the elk and the circling, hungry birds.

The elk cries again and you notice how its kicks have become lethargic and stifled by freezing joints and waning energy. It was suffering. Without much debate you ready an arrow in your bow, pulling taut the string with trained proficiency. You whisper to yourself a prayer, hoping that it would only take one arrow to kill the poor thing. You line your aim up, try to cease the shaking in your hands and shoulders, breathing deeply. Your arrow flies prematurely and misses its target, rather than piercing its skull you instead strike it in its neck, right behind its ear. The thing wails, although much softer and with more subtle movements - you must have hit its spine. Seizing the opportunity, you rush forward, ignoring the lurching of your stomach and pulling out your knife. Without a moment's hesitation, you drive it deep into the elk’s heart, right to the hilt of the blade. A little excessive, you deride, but a necessity given your previous inability to finish it quickly.

The thing stops moving. The pained cries fade off into the cold wind. You are left alone with your thoughts and the smell of fresh blood. Beneath your hands the elk lay motionless, its beautiful, soft fur a gentle texture against your trembling form. Andante had made sure that you had killed a few animals before he had honored you with a knife of your own. Still, experience did not dull the sharp sting of shock nor quell the rising weight in your chest. It was suffering, you reminded yourself, lightly dragging your fingers down the side of the animal's large and strong back.

These elk were beautiful creatures, graceful and nimble; they pranced through the wilderness in powerful, delicate strides showcasing the ultimate wonder of the natural world. You had encountered a herd of them once, all the while mesmerized as they strode past your hiding spot without a care in the world. It was quite distressing to see one now crumpled and lifeless. Emptiness sits heavy in your chest and though you know you are not going to throw up, the pressure erupts and you fall to your knees. A red hand clasps the arrow lodged deep in the neck of the animal and sharply pulls it out. You blink hard but cannot stop the tears that threaten to burn your eyes.

It was an animal. It was suffering. You did the right thing.

From somewhere behind you, the softest snow crunches, and your pity party abruptly ends as you draw another arrow and spin around. For a few tense seconds, your fingers quiver around the bow’s string, ready to shoot down if you so dared it. You only hesitate when you finally recognize the figure.

Bloodhound quietly raises both their gloved hands, fingers spread apart in an unarmed, peaceful gesture. You remain poised a moment longer until your eyes start to prick with new tears and you are forced to look away. You drop your arrow and turn back around to the elk, furiously trying to wipe your face with the clean sleeve of your jacket. Now, this was a predicament. What god had you spite so hard to deserve this kind of cruelty? True embarrassment blends with your established disgust and you fear now you may really throw up. Here was a true hunter, a beast born in blood and forged to kill. And here also was you, wallowing in pity. If only you could sink into the floor.

You can hear Bloodhound approach and soon feel their impending presence standing right next to you, taking in the sight of the poor thing on the ground. No one spoke, only the wind dared whisper in the dead world around you. The silence was stretching on for far too long and you knew you had to break it before it became too uncomfortable.

“I’m…” You sniffle hard, trying to force strength into your voice knowing full well that you had very little left to offer. You cough and stand up straight. “I’m not going to do you the dishonor and assume this was your kill.” You say, your voice somehow managing to sustain itself despite your state. Bloodhound does not respond right away, instead, they remain motionless, eyes scanning every detail of the elk and committing it to memory. You shake loose the last of your unstable emotions and grab ahold of your knife again. You move to the elk’s tangled leg and set to work cut free the wires.

“You cry for the animal.” Bloodhound finally speaks, sounding more like an observation rather than a question. With your attention focused on your task, you manage to answer in a more steady and calm attitude.

“Yes.” This was your admission of guilt, not just to Bloodhound but to yourself as well. God, how pathetic you were. “Yes, I cried. I know it is natural. That this is how it is meant to be but,” You hesitate, your lapse in concentration misguiding your knife and almost slicing the tip of our index finger. “This is not a hunt nor a kill. This poor creature was driven away from its home and family and pushed to our borders by some deranged and cruel beast. This is not natural. It was not killed to feed mouths. It was tortured. And it died confused and alone.” The leg snaps free from the wired fence and you wipe your blade clean on the snowy floor, ugly red stains being the only reminder of your deed.

“There is no shame in veeping.” Bloodhound murmurs a brash reassurance and kneels down, tracing their fingers from the elk’s wounds. “Vhat did this?”

“My guess is,” You state taking a step back and allowing Bloodhound to proceed with whatever they were wanting to do with the body, “A few years back, an illegal trading ship hit a bit of trouble just beyond our planet's frontier and had to quickly dump its cargo on the East mountains. Some of that cargo was the creatures we call ‘Shrieks’. They are alien to this ecosystem but even though they are terribly small and their numbers were minimal, they dominated the local wildlife - killing not just for food but for fun. The town’s people tried to cull some of their numbers but,” You explanation stutters off and you hastily take in a sharp breath, the icy air burning your nose and lungs. “Well, they could not get them all. It appears now that they are growing in size again. And in courage.”

Bloodhound does not respond, their attention wholly directed at the study of the animal. You wait a moment longer, the adrenaline of the moment finally ebbing off and allowing the freezing cold to seep into your bones. You shiver and wrap your arms around your body. Bloodhound stands, all the while their attention remains downward.

“You can leave it there.” You say, passing one more glance over the body before averting your gaze elsewhere. “If you want nothing from it, leave it for the birds. They could use the meal.” As if aware of their mention, the still-waiting scavengers call loudly from the tree-top. A raven answers with a caw and you look around to find many black birds scattered around the clearing. The birds do seem to follow their raven stranger everywhere they went. The wind howled through the desolate forest and you grimace upon thinking of returning to your empty house with such a shallow heart. The smell of blood lingers cruelly to your clothes, reminding you of what you had just witnessed. You had to think of something to keep your mind off it, thinking of your act for people, play your part until you finally were normal again. But your bar would not be open until at least noon and there was no one else who would be willing to distract you.

“Did you track it all the way here?” Your voice breaks the silence, your mind subconsciously switching to your more charming persona. They do not answer immediately.

“I sensed distress and followed its blood.” They weren’t giving you much to work off of and you shuffle in place.

“Then I suppose you will need a ride back?” This garners their attention and they turn to face you, the nerve of being under their masked gaze still sending jolts up and down your spine.

“I cannot accept your generosity again.” Bloodhound tries to talk you down but you scoff and lift a hand to silence them.

“Please, I won't be needed until lunch and I really don't mind.” Your tone successfully managed to hide that you had a third reason to be so insistent - you just hoped that they could not see the desperation in your face. They could. They take a moment to consider your offer, whatever expression lay under their mask you would never know. The raven to their left caws and they turn to look at it. It takes off after a final noise and Bloodhound lowers their head back to you - some secret understanding passing between bird and hunter.

“Then,” Bloodhound motions for you to lead the way, “By all means.” Though strained and almost painful, your first smile of the day pulls at your lips and you turn around to walk back to your house.

~

Bloodhound, as bizarre and strange as they were, never afforded you the opportunity to truly draw a defined picture of their personality. Wrapped so totally in mystery and gear, your perception of them was created on a flimsy base of shadows - beyond what they portrayed on T.V, you knew nothing of. But in the frozen forest of that Winter’s morning, something changed and you felt your world flip upside down onto its head.

Bloodhound was a lot more talkative on the way to their cabin than they had been the first time. Or any time really that you had interacted with them. It had started with you asking them the simple question of how they managed to track the injured elk and although their initial answer remained vague, a tangent soon manifested and from there the spiral began. To your utter surprise, and mild enjoyment, they proved themselves to be a great storyteller and had many wonderful and whimsical tales about their Gods and hunts that had made the drive over to their place seem almost too short.

“Most people stop me at this point.” Bloodhound commented, drawing a snicker from you as your eyes were glued to the ice-capped road ahead.

“Well, most people are not here. And I am very much enjoying myself. I love stories.” You could not see it, but your response brought a cracked smile to Bloodhound's hidden face.

By the time you had reached their cabin, they had entranced you in a tale about wolves and the true essence of the hunt. Though you thought your morning could not get any more surprising, Bloodhound steps out of your truck and extends an offer to share warm drinks with them inside. In the heart of Winter, you could not resist the temptation.

The interior of their cabin was much as you expected - totally unpredictable. It was like a bear and a machine had a fight, a complete subversion of everything you had come to know as normal. On the floor was a multitude of animal rugs, the couches too were draped with the furs of Bloodhound’s past, presumed, victories. Yet despite the clear aesthetic for ruggedness, a definite sense of modern order was showing through. The fireplace was quaint in its design but unmistakable retro. The furniture too, the chairs and tables, shelves and windows, were all of a very contemporary era. A perfect combination of the comforts of the past and the conveniences of the present. But all and all, the only word that came to your head when you first stepped in through their front door was - cozy.

Bloodhound leads you through their small cabin, past the living room, and into the small kitchen. They motion for you to take a seat at the wooden table in the center of the room and you marvel at the smells and sights around you. Hanging from strings draped across the walls were various herbs and spices and on the counter in bowls were fresh fruit and vegetables. They must have visited the town if this was their food supply and you feel a twinge of apprehension pluck at your light mood. You brush it off as Bloodhound asks if you would prefer tea or coffee.

“I find myself the one in honor of sharing breakfast with you this morning. Fair varning must be made, however,” Bloodhound extends a steaming cup towards you, “I have been told I am not the most accomplished of hosts.” You smile gratefully and take the cup into your shivering hands. The drink was shockingly and terribly bitter and you barely manage to hold back your gag at the first sip. Bloodhound snickers at your reaction and produces a tub of honey for you to add to your drink. “And that my tastes are mostly unagreeable.”

“Oh please,” You wheeze weakly after drowning your taste buds in the soothing honey, “This is nothing. Besides, I assume that, with your choice of isolation, you don’t particularly want to be anyone's host.” Bloodhound hums at your comment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with it. They pull up to the opposite chair and take a seat and you notice how their drink has a straw in it.

“I am not entirely opposed to indulging certain people. And even fewer dare to give my delights a try. Therefore I rather keep them to myself. I do, however, give special heed to those vho show interest in my stories.” This draws a smirk from your lips as you bring the hot liquid up to your mouth for another sip. Content silence passes through the room and you focus intently on the warmth now spreading through your hands and to the rest of your body. “I did not think that anyone vould be out on such a morning like this.” Bloodhound admits, causing you to slowly look at them and lower your cup.

“Most are too old or too busy to take time out of their day to notice these things, or to even care. And I do not do well in the cold. Today was a special exception.” At the mention of the temperature outside you quickly raise your cup to your mouth and down another gulp. When you open your eyes again, you finally notice the bird in the room who had before blended so seamlessly in with the other oddities of the kitchen. Sat on a perch made of carved wood to the left of Bloodhound was their signature raven. It tilts its head at your attention, letting out a meek calling before eyeing you up and down. Bloodhound must really like their raven friend if they were kind enough to invite them inside. The sight alone was enough to bring a bemused grin to your chapped lips and Bloodhound watched it all happen in mild fascination.

“Do you often listen to birds?” They ask, breaking you out of an almost trance and extending to their raven a piece of freshly sliced apple.

“It is not so strange.” You breathe a laugh, “It was what led me to finding you in the rain that first evening.” Bloodhound turns their disk-like lenses towards your face and wordlessly implores you to continue. Despite the warmth now residing in your bones, you still shiver under their daunting gaze. “Your friend I mean,” You motion to the raven who has also turned to look at you with its beady, brown eyes as if aware that it was the topic of conversation, “Its cries were all I could hear. Which is saying something, considering it was storming pretty hard.”

“I do not think it skrýtinn.” Bloodhound replies without missing a beat, their voice mellow and their words an alluring symphony of strange syllables, a true joy to listen to. “Just an uncommon trait in most people. And his name is Artur.” You pass the bird a look and slightly tip your head in acknowledgment of his name. He squawks and fluffs his chest feathers, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. Bloodhound smiles at the bird. “Ravens are the messengers of the Allfather. They guide and aid me on my hunts. I do not think it skrýtinn to listen to them. Only that someone else does also.”

“You give me too much credit.” You bashfully avert your gaze, dropping your eye level to the rim of your mug no longer steaming. “It has only been a few, very odd occasions. Mere coincidences if nothing else.” Bloodhound shrugs off your deflection, unpersuaded by your argument.

“Even so.” The room falls into a content stillness after their last comment and you are left wondering how you had even ended up here. On T.V, Bloodhound was a truly mysterious character, never talking or partaking in the more rowdy activities as the others did. Sure, you were not an avid watcher, but from what little time you had spent gazing at the screen, you had made Bloodhound out to be a vastly stoic, isolated person. And by all means, they had mostly proven themselves to be exactly that person, what with their initial reluctance to meet your extended friendliness and the way they had so precariously placed themselves on this mountain all alone. However, sitting now with them in their own house, you did not feel intruding or unwelcome. And the way they spoke to you, the ease of words and conversation, came as soft and comfortable as if from someone you had known before. From them, you could feel nothing but gentle amity.

“Do you hunt?” Bloodhound’s voice wafts through the air and to your ears, bringing your head up in a hum. You snicker, a twinge of embarrassment pulling at your chest.

“Not if I can help it. Though Andante did try, I simply cannot,” you inhale deeply through your nose, suddenly aware of the gaze trained attentively on you, “Find the strength to actually kill anything. Much to the dismay of my patrons.” This peaks Bloodhounds attention and they motion for you to explain yourself.

“Every year around the beginning of Summer, before the birth of the first lambs, the town gathers for a sort of Summer festival. With my bar being the sole provider of food and alcohol for such an event, it normally fell upon Andante to supply the people with a freshly killed elk. A make-shift banquet we would all share. Everyone has so much fun.” Your head drops and your shoulders give inwards.

“But with him gone, I doubt I would be able to give the people what they want. Last year I barely managed to scrape by, I had to do a lot of ass-kissing to get the more hardened townsfolk back on my side. But this year,” Your story fades and you sigh miserably, the relief of finally expressing this concern aloud only seeming to momentarily dull the growing sense of shame.

“It is stupid, I know.” You run a hand through your hair, the bubbling self-hatred in your stomach threatening to go overboard. You were oversharing again. A lot. But you could not find a way to stop. “But, what right do I have to take the life of an animal when I already have frozen meat stored in my fridge?” Strength wanes from your knees and you are glad to be sitting down - oh, you were definitely going to kick yourself over this one later. Perhaps staying at home all alone would have been the better option after all.

In the silence that followed your last words, you felt incredible judgment bare down upon your shoulders and you wanted nothing more than to shrink away from it. Under the menace that was your own self-scrutiny, you were unable to recognize that Bloodhound was not, in fact, judging you. From behind their goggles, they watched you closely, noticing the subtle shudder of your shoulders, the downward twinge of your head, and the way your eyes seem to have lost that burning. This was something that troubled you deeply and for a terribly long time as well. So instead of what might be predicted of them to feel or do, mainly berate you for your lack of spine in the face of their profession, Bloodhound only leaned back in their chair and their mind wondering on how best to help you.

“It is not about vhat is right or vhat is not.” Bloodhound finally speaks, their tone mellow and coaxing you to look up at them again. At your acknowledgment, they continue with their explanation. “The hunt is a matter of vill - the vill of the hunter and of their prey. If your vill as a hunter surpasses that of the prey's vill to live, then you have every right to take it.” They ball their hand into a fist in an expression of power, shaking it slightly for emphasis. “You as a hunter must have an unwavering ákveðni, and strong belief in your skills. Trust your veapons and abilities, know that you are verðugt of the hunt.” Their voice lowers and they watch you for any signs of apprehension or disagreement. You only manage to look at them, eyes an unreadable ocean of something at war. They bring their fist to their chest and hammer it hard on the fabric, an attempt to ignite passion from you.

“If the hunter is humble and honors the hunt, then they have every right to taka their prey. Reap their rewards. You must just believe yourself vorthy of it. I have already seen that you have the ability and skill. Your bow, through troubled, aimed sure. And your knife brought a swift death. Now…”

“Just need to practice it.” You finish their statement, your gaze drifting a thousand miles away. Sure their wisdom was easy to take, generous even given the circumstances, but your mind was too frazzled to digest even a single word. Worthy? Not someone who hides in the forest and plays pretend bar-keeper. Bloodhound could see how you hesitated at their words, not necessarily rejecting it but not truly considering them either. They felt the urge to lean in more, to keep talking and chipping away at your pseudo mask until finally, they struck home. What were you thinking right now? Why were you so disgruntled at the thought of being worth something?

“You listen but my vords are not heard. You disagree vith vhat I say?” Bloodhound asks, their arms folding over their torso as they sit themselves upright, alert to your every movement and utterance. At their question you stir, a tired laugh that sounds more like a sigh escaping your nose and your eyes dropping their gaze.

“No, not at all. I am just… surprised.” Your response is framed with quiet complacency, your expression shifting to one of meek placidness. Bloodhound could tell that you were retreating back inside yourself, falling behind curtains of a trained profession such as the first night they met you. No longer were you that desperate person standing in the woods over a kill they mourned, instead you were a fake silhouette of someone who once was. They frown, unsure why they felt so unhappy to watch you shrink away again. Without speaking, Bloodhound asks you to elaborate.

“Forgive my rudeness but,” Your eyes snap up again and Bloodhound sees nothing in them. “I don’t really know you. And what little I do know, well, is that you are a most proficient hunter of both man and beast.” A hand lifts to your chest and you laugh. “You have seen it all and must think I am most annoying. Yet,” You pause, Bloodhound hanging off every one of your words, “You are so kind to my troubles.”

“I do not hunt in the Apex Games to prove anything. I do it for my folk and for the Allfather. I am no better than any other hunter.” Bloodhound speaks plainly, their heart thumping in their chest and their stare never once leaving your face. You smile unknowingly under their attention and they stare at your weak imitation of the real thing. Your true smile was the one they saw whilst sitting on the grass with you or when they told you stories in the car. Right now, you were faking it. Pulling away from them. Returning once more to your charade of sensibility. Whatever genuineness they had somehow managed to draw out of you was waning and they could do nothing but look on as you slipped away from them.

“I didn't mean to offend.” You ease them, your words lacing themselves with accommodation. “Your people must be very proud of all your titles however. No denying that it is impressive regardless of your motive.” You chuckle lightly. Suddenly you frown and you tilt your head at them. “May I ask,” When they did not oppose, you continued, “Why are you here? On this planet I mean. Why are you not with your people?” Bloodhound looks on like a marble statue, hardly even breathing beneath all their armor. You worry you might have overstepped your boundary and you open your mouth to apologize but they quickly cut you off.

“My folk vould not understand my decisions. Nor vould they approve of most that I do.” You can tell that the conversation was over and the warmth your bitter, hot drink had offered you only minutes earlier faded with the atmosphere. You nod in resignation.

“Then,” You say, standing and bowing your head in anticipated gratitude, the raven stranger’s attentive gaze not once shifting off your form, “I look forward to the Winter when I do not hear your Artur's call.”

~

“Oh my sweet, gentle Bar-keep, I am in need of your assistance!” Your eyes snap upwards from their work of stacking away cleaned glasses and you cannot help but grin at the one calling you. Seated at a table in the middle of your bar was a very drunk Thomas waving you over in exaggerated and hurried movements. He rocked backward in his seat and nearly looked as if he would fall over. You sigh and think it better to listen to him, lest your bar never know quiet again for the remainder of the evening. You step out from behind your bar table and carefully stroll over to him, a playfully condescending expression plastered to your face. Thomas beams a lop-sided smile and extends his hand, which you ignore and instead pat him lightly on his shoulder. He hums and overlaps your hand with his own seemingly unperturbed by your refusal.

“Ah my dear,” Thomas hiccups, swaying slightly in place despite being perfectly still, “Do not worry. I have not called you here to cause trouble. I just could not bear to see you stand behind your bar so lonely. I simply had to call you here. So troubled and worried over something.” Thomas squeezes your hand lightly and you roll your eyes at his obnoxious and misplaced concern.

“Though his words are slurred, they come from a genuine place.” From across the table, the farmer Mallory spoke. She offers you a sympathetic smile and silently apologies for her friend’s unruly behavior. Her heavy arms fold defensively over her large chest and she scowls at Thomas who sheepishly chuckles under her glare, retracting his hand and shrinking away slightly. Mallory sighs and looks to you again, the same concern that claimed her companion now sprinkled into her brown eyes. “You look a thousand years away tonight. What has upset you so?”

The two patrons turn their attention onto you and you gently shrug off their worries with a mild hand wave and flash of your smile. “You are looking for smoke signals when there is none, Mallory. And Mr. Thomas, you are concerned over the wrong things. You should be more concerned about returning to your own home before it gets too dark and I have to phone Rohan to come fetch you again.” Though the woman remains unmoved by your deflection, Thomas scoffs and shakes his head.

“Rohan’s bed will stay warm regardless of where I am. And he would excuse whatever lateness I cause if he had also seen how,” he stutters, his fingers flexing as he tried feebly to grasp at words that would not come, “ sad you look tonight.” You let out a tired laugh at the drunk fisherman’s antics and punch lightly at his shoulder.

“I assure you, my ‘sad looks’ are merely just that. Looks.” You gesture to the various empty beer glasses scattered around the table and after a nod from Mallory, you begin to place them on a tray to take back to the kitchen to be washed. “How ever could I be sad when I have your fine company to make my evenings so noisy?” This draws a cackle from the bitter woman, who relishes in your pecking at the man. Thomas gasps and feigns hurt under your judgments, a teasing hand placing pitifully over his broken heart.

It was all a lie, of course. There was some deep sincerity to your sadness that evening and it was not over Thomas’ painful crooning. Try as you might, your mind could not rid itself from the events that had occurred only the day before. What had happened with Bloodhound plagued your every waking moment. During the more lively hours of the day, when your bar was packed with singing, intoxicated patrons, you thankfully had a very loud and engrossing distraction. But now, as the evening winded down and the last table still waited to be cleared, your mind was awash with bitter thoughts.

It was all going so well, they had been so welcoming and friendly and you sat in their home confident and assured. They had shared in you their many stories and experiences, pulling you deeper into a conversation than you had ever been with them. And yet the moment you opened your mouth, allowed it to run unchecked and unguarded, the walls came down and the party ended. You were a fool, you kicked yourself. A damn, stupid fool for allowing yourself to speak so freely. To express to them a most sensitive part of yourself that not even your bathroom mirror had known. It was because of your inability to keep yourself in line that caused the rift to tear and now separate you from the person of your interest. Bloodhound told you such wonderful stories and now you were sure they would never want to speak to you again.

But you put on your brave face and pretend as if nothing is wrong. And that is true, of course. Nothing is wrong. Your life was fine before their intrusion and it shall be fine thereafter. The show must and will go on. Eventually, forced routine will become natural again and you will slip back into ease and complicit quietness. You will learn to move on and most certainly, so will they. If ever, you doubted greatly, you even left that much of an impact on them and all their glory.

“It is because you are so lonely, that's why you are so sad.” Thomas chimes, drawing both yours and Mallory’s attention back on him. He hums with content and leans back in his chair, sure that if he had a beard he would be stroking it thoughtfully. “We must find you someone to work with. Someone you can boss around and pull on their ear.” He winks at you and you smirk back, playing into his needful childishness.

“This is not the dark ages, Mr. Thomas.” You tease, taking your loaded tray to the bar counter and speaking over your shoulder. “We do not arrange marriages anymore.” The fisherman jeers and Mallory kicks him under the table. You return to them quickly, bringing with you a wet cloth and a glass of water requested by the woman. She presses it to Thomas’ face and commands him to sober up.

“Then how else are we supposed to get you hitched?” Thomas continues, paying no heed to the violent death stares of the woman sat across from him. Mallory kicks him again and he nearly spills his drink from the movement. You grin at the two of them, stepping back from the freshly wiped table with your arms folded over your chest.

“People don't need to be with others to be happy. I am perfectly content with myself as company.” You announce with your nose pointed in the air. “And you, as occasional annoyances.” The man chokes on his drink and Mallory snorts at your comment. You decide to continue playing along, matching their extended friendliness with your own enthusiasm.

“Y’know, I always thought it a vile rumor that fishermen were mad people.” You joke, taking the cloth and wringing it out before throwing it over your shoulder. “Nothing to do all day but sit in boats and think. But with every word you speak, my dear Thomas, I begin to believe that the rumor has some truth behind it." This arouses a snicker from the woman farmer and she shakes her head in amusement over you and disappointment for her friend. Thomas whines a noise that does not sound like any language you would know and Mallory leans forward.

"Finish your drink, my friend. I will see you home tonight." She urges the glass of water to his attention. "I cannot bear to watch you be torn apart any longer." Thomas darts his eyes between Mallory and you, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish out of water. You smugly smile at him, charming with all the beauty and grace of a snake. After a moment he relents, slumping down into his seat with a defeated huff, the water glass in hand.

“I swear, that mouth of yours,” Thomas moans into his glass weakly as if greatly wounded on a battlefield, “It is more vicious than any beast I’ve come across. Godspeed to anyone who dares to try to face such a monster.” At his last comment, you exhale loudly through your nose and shake your head dismissively. With one final look from Mallory, you leave the two late-evening patrons to finish their drinks and return to your work behind the bar.

The mood in the bar is somewhat lighter now and your hands worked at an easier pace with your mind quietly wondering over Thomas’ words. This was not the first time you had been scolded over your sharp words and you were sure it would not be your last. Conversation was your master and you were always one quick with your words, whether that be for the better or worse. Over the sound of you wiping down plates and glasses with a cloth, you could hear Thomas and Mallory talking faintly, the wind whispering outside your walls, and the gentle nothing of the world beyond. It was a peaceful evening, much more so now that you had dealt with your rowdy patron and the thoughts that curled like rats in a drowning cage. Though his comments were unnecessary, you thank Thomas for his distraction and for his unwitting lifting of your spirits. At least now you would be able to sleep soundly and with less of a worried mind.

Suddenly, a knock at the front door. Curious, unsure if it had even happened, you cast your attention over to it. It was far too late for anyone wanting to pop in for a drink and even if it was you were sure to turn them away. But still; there was no denying that you had, in fact, heard something. Or someone. Wordlessly, you slip out from your bar and quickly stroll to the door, pulling it swiftly open to reveal a cold night and a strange visitor.

“Oh,” You mumble, blinking numbly like a star-struck owl. You shake your head and revive your best smile to be planted on your lips. “What a lovely surprise.”

Standing before you, Bloodhound tipped their helmet, specks of accumulated snow falling off in the process. “Good evening,” They respond formally.

“And to you.” You nod back, familiar shivers running up and down your spine as you stood under their gaze. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” You swoon, curling your words with over-exaggerated sweetness so as to hopefully hide your utter shock at their being here. They always seem to have a knack for popping back into your life when you least expected it. But now of all time, why?! You could hardly even look at them straight after what had happened not even the day before! Fresh embarrassment boiled in our stomach and you wanted nothing more but to go back into your quiet existence. This had to be some cruel dream from a most hateful deity, cursing you out for some horrible act you had unwittingly done. Why could they not just go back to being a figure on the T.V, an unknown? Why did they have to be here, standing before you, talking to you?!

“I vish to speak with you.” Bloodhound says, voice terribly low and near-emotionless. It caught you off guard slightly at how plain and devoid of anything they sounded, nothing at all like the passionate hunter you sat and drank with yesterday.

“My bar will be closed soon.” You explain after a moment of debating on what to say. A strong part of you begged for an excuse to say no, the refusal even gracing the tip of your tongue in eager desperation. But your hospitality overrode your anxiety and you stepped to the side to allow entry into your bar. “If you do not mind waiting a few minutes then you will have my undivided attention.”

Bloodhound considers your words, eyes darting between your face and the warm interior of the business. They too notice how your own words seem guarded this evening, jaded behind bars of entertainment and false care. You smiled, yes, but it was not genuine. Again, you reeked of fakeness and it irked them for some unknown reason. They hum their agreement and stride quickly inside. Upon their entrance, two faces turn to look at them.

You shuffle between Bloodhound and the skeptical table, closing the door and guiding your new patron over to the bar. They follow closely behind you and seat themselves on a red cushion stool. You resume your position as host and perform your duties accordingly, offering them something to drink while they wait. Bloodhound silently refused, only lifting their hand and shaking their head.

“I don’t think I mentioned it before,” You say, works trickling out like a spring in a dessert, soothing all worries with a trained presentation. “A while ago we had a fellow pass through our humble town who had a similar accent to yours. He was a swindler and tried to persuade me to purchase from him strange pickled meats and other strange things.” While you spoke, you resumed your wiping of the glasses and plates, talking over your shoulder as you worked in a most casual manner.

“Though everyone tried to steady my hand, he just was so compelling and I caved. And now I have, stored in the back for the foreseeable future, a bottle of the most potent alcohol anyone has ever seen.” Your face softens into a smile as you recall the memories of that night when a brave soul tried to drink from that poison. “Someone once tried and no one has since. Perhaps it is a drink you know?” You cock your question at Bloodhound, leaning over the bar table and grinning.

“Your intuition values you, but perhaps another night I can provide you an answer.” You take Bloodhound dismissal with grace and nod your head in swift acknowledgment. They were cold tonight, the very definition of stoic. Whatever they wanted to discuss with you, you could only hope would somehow be more lighthearted than this. From behind the hunter, movement erupts as the two patrons stand up.

“We are off, my dear Bar-Keep.” Thomas sings, waving a hand at you in an irritating manner. Mallory follows close as they make their way to the front door, her eyes practically burning holes into the raven stranger’s dead-straight back. She passes you a flash of a concerned look and you calm her down with a cool smile.

“Have a good night and a safe journey home.” You call after them, mildly glad that now your ears would know rest from the fisherman’s chanting. However, as his hands grace the front door’s handle, Thomas quickly spins on his heels and points towards you and your new arrival.

“Don’t you dare try anything with my Bar-keep!” Thomas threatens, standing with his hackles raised like a chihuahua to a bear, “If I hear that you have touched even a single hair, so help me I’ll-”

“Thomas.” Mallory punches the man's shoulder causing him to drop his ill-backed threat and wince in pain. Without a moment more, the farmer shoves the man out the door and the two disappear into the night with the door closely swiftly behind. You stare after them, the atmosphere suddenly seeming to shrink and grow cold as you become painfully aware of your aloneness with the hunter.

“They seem nice.” Bloodhound remarks and you are so stunned by their nonchalant attitude you nearly snort.

“It is a small town. Everyone here is like family.” You explain, turning to face those unreadable, immovable lenses. “Besides, I serve him beer. I get special privileges.” At this Bloodhound seems to stir and you feel slightly more room to breathe. Relax, it was just conversation. Don’t get carried away again and you will be fine.

The conversation halted, however, neither you nor Bloodhound knowing what next to say to break the forming ice that had started growing between you two. Though you wanted to know what exactly had compelled them to travel all the way to visit you on such an odd evening, you could tell that they were not ready to answer so instead you plucked random topics from the top of your head.

“Winter is moving slowly this year,” You begin, regaling the exact dialogue you had shared that afternoon prior with a patron and reusing it word for word, “No big snow storms as of yet. But that just means that towards the end of the season, Mother Nature will rear her true head and drive us all inside our houses.” You sigh and rest your elbow on the tables’ surface, your busy work of drying cutlery all finished and packed away. “Many people tell me, warn me in fact, that the late-season storms are the worst kinds. Impossible snow and hail and everything else to make the shit pie complete. And I thought the cold now is hard to handle. I have no idea how I’ll-”

“Stop that.” Bloodhound interrupts you harshly, their voice an almost growl as they sit behind their undecipherable armor. You are slightly taken aback by their outright force at the command, flashbacks to the first time you met them in all their rage reappearing in your mind. Bloodhound remains still, fists clenched over the table, shaking beneath the heavy red fabric gloves.

Though you cannot see, they squeeze their eyes shut in an effort to understand why, so suddenly, they were getting so worked up. Why were you just talking to them? So nonchalant and practiced - it felt as if talking to them was a chore. Some kind of business transaction or task that was only being done as a means to an end. But that is not what muddled Bloodhound’s mind, not your lack of genuine interaction, your quiet was not what drove them out of their house and to your bar this evening. What made them toil in confused agony, was why they even cared so much for your genuine company?

“What?” You murmur after a minute of stale silence, the wind picking up the rising atmosphere inside the bar and clawing at the windows to join in. The raven stranger does not respond right away, instead they fight with what words would be best used in this kind of delicate situation.

“Stop that.” They repeat their vague statement sternly, staring at you through their goggles with great intent, noticing any slight change in your features or body language. “Stop trying to sell me your company. I do not vant it.” At this you frown and straighten your back, confused beyond anything at what they could mean. You open your mouth to speak but Bloodhound stops you with a raised hand.

“You talk but there is no life. You smile but there is no light behind it. Do you think I am not worthy of your trueness? I have seen your true self but always you hide it. Do you think you are not worthy of enjoying yourself?” Utterly and so completely shocked at what was being said, you stood wordless with your face a mix between anger and bewilderment. Bloodhound watched you, eyes scanning up and down your form for any signs of egregious discontent. Why weren’t you speaking? Why weren’t you reacting in any way? Had their visit and accusations not even struck a nerve with you? You only stood there, placid and unwavering, like ice waiting for the sun to melt it.

“I have talked vith this free person, sat in silence vith them and felt þægilegt , calm. And I came here this evening because…” Bloodhound falters at this, unsure at what best to say when describing the reason they themselves still had no answer to. Why had they come here to bother you? Why had you not left their thoughts since yesterday, or even, since that afternoon on the grass? Why is it that when the world goes quiet and they stand still to listen, it is you who looms in the corner of their vision, beckoning for them to find you? In such a short time of meeting, somehow you had trapped them in some unforeseen and unbreakable cage - an ever-present urge to lean in more, to seek you out. But why, exactly, it was you of all people who had proclaimed that spot of interest, was a mystery that the Allfather cruelly hid from them.

“Vhat is it you vant from me?” Bloodhound lowly asks, their tone hollow and their demeanor stone-cold. Perhaps that was the reason for their spontaneous visit - to search for an answer themselves. To find out if maybe you felt at all the same way they did.

“Nothing.” The words leak from your lips like a whisper yet hold the strength and bite of a scream. Devoid of all anger, hostility, confusion, and regret, you gaze back at the raven stranger, “What ever could I possibly want from you?” And there it was - their answer.

“Now if that is all you came to ask me, then I must now say good night.” You motion with your attention towards the door, still shell-shocked over what had just transpired. Why are they so angry towards you? So taken aback by, what you were sure to be, great and comforting hospitality? This was the reason you had so ardently avoided opening yourself up to people, allowing yourself to talk unchecked often leads to situations where people get angry. And now Bloodhound was angry and you were sure you could never fix it.

The raven stranger slowly rises from their seat, tipping their helmet in a stiff manner before silently making their way over to the front door. This is how it will be, forever. You made a mistake, let your mouth have free rein over your conversations, and brought ruin to a person that made your chest ache. And as you watched them slip away into the snowy night, the only thing you can say was, “Have a safe journey home.”

[lilxberry]

Lost Then Found - Bofur

Requested By: @prestongoodplayisbabey​

Could I have a Bofur x reader where the reader gets lost (she’s part of the company) and when Bofur and the rest find her she’s eating a bear she caught with her own hands? I loved ur fic for @iwazoomingouttahere 💕

It’s probably a little different to what you were expecting but who doesn’t love a surprise amiright?! Also, I’m really glad that you liked the other fic so much that you wanted to request something for yourself so I hope that you like it

Warnings: A lil bit sad, wouldn’t say angsty though. Fluff. Mentions of death (animal). Mentions of blood. Mentions Bofur without his hat lmao. I think that’s it, don’t quote me on that.

Words: 2,713

Pairings: Bofur x Reader (female reader)

_______________

It was definitely NOT your fault when you had become separated from the company. Everyone takes a wrong turn occasionally and loses the entire group they were travelling with. Right? It’s not like you heard a strange noise a bit away and went to investigate and when you returned, you found that they pressed on without you. If anything, it’s THEIR fault you were now separated from you. The big knuckleheads are completely oblivious sometimes. Anywho, that isn’t the point. It most certainly, definitely, absolutely WASN’T your fault.

Honestly, you actually had no clue in which direction they took off in but nevertheless, you followed your gut. They’re quite the noisy bunch so it shouldn’t be too hard to find them if you were on the right track. So, when you hear no rowdy group of 13 dwarves, a hobbit and a wizard, you deducted that you either went the wrong way of they finally learnt the meaning of the word silence.

_______________

You huffed as you sat down on the damp ground as you were surrounded by forestry. The towering trees and shrubbery provided great cover for when you slept alone at night. You brought your knapsack that contained your bedroll over to your side where you rested against the mossy tree. You wrestle your bedroll from its confinement within your sack and roll it out, ready for when you rest when it gets darker.

As you finish up sorting your sleeping arrangement, you turned and looked at the slight clearing which you’ve chosen to set up camp before groaning slightly and setting out ready to find whatever you could for kindling the fire you plan to build. You set out slightly away from where you’ve set up your bedroll and knapsack and begin searching the ground for anything that isn’t to damp and will burn.

All you can think about as you collect fuel for your campfire is of the company, more specifically, a certain dwarf who had captured your heart with his whittling, singing and goofy hat that never leaves his head. You sigh, wondering if he even cared that you had disappeared, if any of them cared really. You had been separated for almost a week, surely, they noticed at least.

You shake your head. ‘Of course, they care.’ You groaned as you realised you practically came to a standstill as your mind wandered instead of doing what you intended on doing so. You look at the singular stick within your hand and huff. “It’s gonna be a long night…”

_______________

Bofur’s mood had been off lately, everyone could tell, especially his brother and cousin. They all dearly missed Y/N and were concerned about where she is now and whether she is safe, but it’s Bofur who’s losing his mind over his missing One.

Bofur knew the moment he first laid on the girl that she was his One, he almost instantly confided in his brother and cousin about the subject. He even asked Balins’ ear off over what he should do. He loved how Y/N’s smile always happened to brighten up his day, or how her laugh could lure any man for it was easily mistakable for a sirens call.

He even loved how she was the only person to truly make him flush a deep red. She matched him perfectly when it came to humour, making him flush when a sarcastic, dirty joke passed her lips.

The dwarf sighed as he sat himself down on a log beside his cousin and the young princes’. The three all shared a concerned look towards each other then turned their gaze towards the love stricken, hat wearing whittler.

“Don’t worry Bofur, we’ll find her.” Fíli spoke, placing a comforting hand atop his companions’ shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile.

“Yeah. She’s probably right on our ass knowing her.” Kíli joked, attempting to lighten the mood. Bofur could only offer a solemn shrug and a smile that couldn’t meet his eyes. The brothers turned to Bifur, hoping he would know what to say.

Bifur shook his head and shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly before looking towards his cousin and offering him the most comforting of smiles he could muster up. “We will find her soon. I promise cousin. We will find your One.”

Bofurs’ smile a tad bit more genuine at his cousins’ words. He sat up that little bit straighter before standing and facing towards Bombur who stood near the campfire. “I’m gonna see if Bombur needs help lads, thanks.” And with that, he slugged his way over, looking down towards the ground and sighing out deeply.

“Where the bloody hell are ya, lass…”

_______________

You head away from your camp and towards the deeper parts of the woods, ready to hunt for your meal. Crouching low to the ground, you spot small tracks, a rabbit most likely. You slowly and quietly followed the small tracks, hoping to come across meat for your food.

A small crackle within the bushes before you forced you to snap your head up. You smiled victoriously as you raised your bow and arrow, steadying your breathing, bringing your elbow back past your ear, forcing you to stare down the length of the piercing wood with a steel pointed head. ‘Got you, ya bastard.’

Just before you released your arrow to send the arrow piercing through the air, the small rabbit emerged from behind the bush, standing on its hind legs, revealing itself as not a small rabbit like you intended to find but a large, burly bear covered in a dark, fur coat.

You fell backwards from your crouched position on to your behind, clamping a hand over your mouth, your breathing becoming increasingly heavier, almost hyperventilating. Your eyes were wide with fear as the bear raised its snout into the air and sniffs, almost as if it were searching for you. You slowly crawled away backwards, putting some distance between you and the beast.

Your efforts had practically been futile.

The bear whipped its head towards you in a flash, staring at you for moment, a moment where you could only hold your breath and pray to whatever God could hear you. The beast released a loud, ground shaking roar, a heavy growl underlining it before it burst out into a run towards you. You scrambled to stand quickly and take lengthy steps back as you drew your sword, unsheathing it from its position at your hip, your bow and arrow long forgotten on the dirt ground.

It lunges towards you and you let a piercing scream tear its way through your throat. You drove your sword up into the chest cavity of the beast as it fell down from the force of its attack, impaling the beast on to your weapon.

It bawled out and whimpered in pain as it laid dying atop of your smaller form. You struggled to worm yourself out from underneath the beast and laid yourself beside it, sprawled out like a starfish and chest heaving heavily as your tried to catch your breath. “I’m sorry…” you whispered to the bear, a tear escaping from the corner of your eye.

You rolled on to your side and slowly came to a stand. You retrieved your dagger from your belt and stepped closer to the corpse. Embedding the blade into the bear, you began to skin and salvage any possible meat from the beast, your body quickly being covered in the luke-warm crimson liquid.

“I’m so, so sorry…”

_______________

The company had sat around the fire, eating whatever Bombur had been able to form into an appetising broth when they heard the loud roar of a beast. They all momentarily paused, all either halting their chewing or stilling the movement of the spoon coming closer to their mouths.

Their eyes travelled along each other as they sat a few moments in silence, some slowly lowering their bowls down, cautious if any over the few decibels they were making would draw whatever it was to them. But once they heard the feminine scream moments after, they jumped up and raced towards whatever they hoped to find.

Everyone was hopeful that it was their missing lass, all the while they wished it weren’t. The scream could never be a good sign. Bofur was the first to spring to action and burst through the treelines to head deeper into the woodland. All he could think is that his One could be in danger and he isn’t with her to protect her.

The others followed suit, rushing towards whatever it was. They dodged and weaved through trees and climbed over and under branched and roots. They ran and ran until they came across the carcass of a bear, a large one at that. It was partially missing some fur along with most of the meat that once encased its bones.

They searched the area, high and low. As Kíli crouched low towards the ground, he noticed the strange disturbances the ground had gone through. He assumed it was that of someone shuffling backwards in a vulnerable state. He brought the scuffle evident in the dirt to Thorins’ and the companies attention.

They backtracked the marks in the dirt and found where they had started, near a bush. They continued to search but one discovery had sent everyone into a state of panic and fear. Your bow and a singular arrow.

“She must’ve been here. You cannot deny it is hers!”

Finding your own tracks that came from your boots hadn’t been difficult to do. So, with that, they hastily followed your footprints, double and triple checking they were on the right track. A million thoughts whirled through their heads. What had happened? Were you alright? Had you been injured?

Bofur felt an array of emotions as he tailed the company, perplexed about what he had hoped to find. He so desperately hoped it was you, but what if they found you in a condition they so desperately didn’t want to come across. What he didn’t want to come across. He would never forgive himself if you had been injured or worse, never forgiving himself for not being able to protect you. His woman, his One.

He prayed to Mahal all throughout their search for you and soon, he found his prayer answered. There you were, sat beside a small campfire atop a thick coat of black fur, turning large chunks of meat over the fire, roasting it for your meal, all the while you were still covered nearly head to toe in nearly crisp dry blood.

Bofur dropped his weapon to the floor and rushed over to you, causing you to jump near enough a foot off the ground. “Mahal, Y/N, I’ve been worried sick!” He enveloped you in a bone crushing hug, dis-concerned about the blood, your shocked face and the other members who watched on. He pulled back ever so slightly and cup your face in between his hands, staring at you intensely. “Where did you run off to?!”

You swallowed down the dry lump that had formed into your throat and looked into his eyes, the other members of the company momentarily forgotten. “I uh-I heard a noise, so I went to check it out and when I came back, you guys weren’t there…” you trailed off, tears forming in your (E/C) orbs, threatening to spill at a moments notice. “I…I thought you guys didn’t care…”

The dam had broken and you now openly sobbed, tears had begun to stream down your face like salty waterfalls. Bofur had reacted quickly, bringing you into yet another hug, seeming more desperate than the last. You clung on to him like a scared child would cling on to their mother as you wept and wept into his chest. The other members all watched with saddened eyes, their hearts breaking the slightest at the thought of you thinking they hadn’t cared that you had disappeared.

“We’re right here lass, I’m right here. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Bofur whispered sweet, soothing words in your ear as he laid a gentle kiss upon your forehead. “I ain’t ever letting you out of my sight ever again, ya hear?” You sniffled and even released the faintest of giggles as you lifted your head up to look Bofur in the eye. He smiled down at you and you could do nothing but return it with a tiny one of your own. “Aye, there’s my lass and that beautiful smile. Not as beautiful as mine though.” He spoke to you with such love and care.

You had laughed once more, always thankful for Bofur and his attempt at making others smile. “I missed you.” You whispered, leaning your forehead against his own.

He beamed towards you as the words passed your lips. “I missed you more, amrálíme.” He spoke not even a decibel louder than you before planting his lips firmly against your own. You froze, shocked by what was happening, but before you knew it, you melted into the kiss and matched his passion and love, raising your arms to wrap loosely around his neck.

The company all had smiles etched across their faces, some of them cheering and realising high pitched wolf whistles. You two broke the kiss as if remembering you were surrounded by others. You flushed a deep red whilst Bofur only seemed to beam towards you once more.

“I would like it if you would allow me to court ya and braid your hair, lass.” He spoke with such confidence that it almost made you neglect the pink tint his cheeks adorned. All you could do was nod and smile sheepishly as your blush intensified. He grinned from ear to ear and kissed you once more, one you happily returned.

Parting, he stood and extended his hand down towards you. You placed your smaller hand into his own before his encased yours and pulled you gently to stand beside him. As soon as you gained your balance, Bombur had rushed towards you and crushed you in his own embrace, him clearly missing you a lot just like his brother. You chuckled as you hugged him back, the company also finding Bomburs affection amusing. It even elicited a deep, throaty chuckle from the ever-brooding Thorin.

You all headed back towards the camp the company had set up, not without grabbing your belonging along with the meat and fur you obtained for the bear you had the misfortune of running into. Bofur had a protective arm around you the entire time, not even removing himself from your side once you had reached the camp.

Bombur and Bifur had taken it upon themselves to cook yet another meal for the company, seeing as you had salvaged much meat from the beast. You all sat and ate, they barraged you with questions about the week you had been separated from them. They even asked about the bear you had taken down and how you lugged so much its meat back towards your makeshift sleeping area.

As you talked and talked with the company on how you had no clue if you were even heading in the right direction towards them, Bofur stared at you lovingly, afraid that if he were to blink, you would become separated once again.

He thanked Mahal a million times over in his head, thankful that they had found you again, that he had found you again. He smiled, removing his hat which he then proceeded to place atop of yours. It fell past your eye, obstructing your vision, causing you to push it up whilst you giggled.

Bofur released a chuckled of his own as he brough you further into his side and rest his head on top of yours. “Amrálíme?”

You smiled as you hear his hushed use of the affectionate name. “Yes Bofur?”

“I love you.”

You turned and looked up at him through your eyelashes, that hat of his threatening to fall over your eyes once again and smiled. “I love you.” You snuggled further into his warm, loving embrace and you both sighed in happiness and contentment.

He’ll be damned if he ever got separated from his One ever again. And Mahal help whoever stands in his way.

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First fic uploaded in 2021, lets gooooo!

It’s a little different to what the requester probably envisioned but the overall plot is still there so all I can hope is that they like it

BRO I HATED THAT I HAD TO WRITE ABOUT KILLING A BEAR, THAT SHIT SAD BRUH lmao

I hope you all enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

[sanktnikolais]

Invisible String

The three major events of Zoya's life that Nikolai has had glimpses of, and he feels her emotions all the way to his side of the invisible string connecting them.

or that zoyalai psychic/emotional connection au

@grishaverseonline​ mission 12: favourite character - nikolai lantsov

A/N: guess who’s posting a new content after months of hiding? HAHAHA. This was supposed to be posted yesterday for my birthday but I wasn’t able to finish early. So have this late birthday treat from me. ;-;

Warning tho, contains some RoW spoilers, and contains the alternate version (Am’s version LMAO) of the garden scene.

Word count: 5174

They said that it would take a lot for one to get accustomed to the pain that came with losses. 

          Nikolai never realized he had lost so much until he had everything within his reach.

          He didn’t know it was already a loss when his mother had decided to be unfaithful to the King of Ravka and bore an illegitimate child with a Fjerdan merchant. He didn’t know it was already a loss when he had met a certain brown-haired boy in one of his private classes, not knowing that he would be the reason why that same boy would be drafted early for the war that would take his life later on. He didn’t know it was already a loss when he still tried to seek the approval of the older brother that never wanted him, and that would end up in him developing a cunning personality to gain acceptance from everyone around him. He didn’t know it was already a loss when he dropped the guillotine that would imply that his father was guilty of such a heinous crime, exiling both him and his queen to a faraway place, never to set foot on the country they had sworn to protect yet failed in every possible way. 

          It only came to him, when he was finally sitting on the throne and overseeing a broken country, that he hadn’t really gained anything along the way. Only nightmares that weighed on his shoulders and kept him awake at night, and the black scars that were just as dark as the blood of every life lost in the war coating his hands. 

          And pain.

          Both the ones he had known and acknowledged, and the sudden, unexplainable bursts of physical or emotional pain that came to him in the most random times throughout his life.

          Nikolai didn’t know when it started. Being a young royalty that grew up doing everything in his own cunning way had taught him to mask the pain into something less hurting. Whether it was telling horrible jokes or making something more complicated by talking too much—it was his way to beat around the bush and away from the impending truth, thinking that if he ignored it long enough, he would forget it. 

          It worked, somehow, but it only pent up the emotions in his heart that were bound to explode later on. 

          Even though that fact was clear to him, it still wasn't enough to justify his first, sudden outburst when he was twelve. 

          It was quite a normal day—he had another hour with the extra reading on chemistry and Kaelish history he had requested from his tutors, and he was stuck in the library until the late hours of the afternoon. But the truth behind it, however, was to have time to sneak in and out of the palace to visit Dominik and his family in the countryside. 

          The whole day of learning to braid Dominik's sisters' hair had ended happily, with Nikolai able to finish tying all of them, albeit resulting in tangles that would need more attention to fix later. 

          You'll get used to it, Dominik had mused with a light laugh. I didn't learn this in just one day. 

          Nikolai thought of them on his way home, seeing how their smiles seemed to reach their eyes when they laughed around each other, something he never saw or felt in the Grand Palace. An unwanted pricking stung his eyes, and he immediately reached up to wipe the tears away. It was foolish to be longing for something insignificant when he already had everything he needed. He could just ask anything from his servants and tutors, and they would appease his request without question. So why was he suddenly—

          His throat clogged up with muffled sobs, the sickening feeling of both anger and sadness constricting his heart as if there was a fist was trying to crush it. The next thing he knew, he was collapsing on the palace gardens, and the tears were endless. 

          The wind picked up around him, followed by the sound of thunder. But they fell deaf in his ears as the wails tore from his throat. 

          Then it happened. The dreadful images of a ruined church and a horrified expression from the face of an old man flashed before his eyes, along with the searing feeling of anger directed to him. 

          But then the images faded as fast as they had come, and there was the sudden hollow feeling in his chest. 

          Palace guards found him in the same spot a few hours later, curled into a fetal position as if to shield his body from harm. The King had demanded he explain what had happened, and knowing their judgment to anything Nikolai had ever done and said made him lie. He told them he had hurt himself when he tripped and fell in the gardens, and they easily believed it as it was his own foolishness. There was no way they would believe him even if he tried to tell the truth. 

          He had been sent to a Healer right after that to check for other injuries, even when he knew to himself there wasn't any. 

          Except for the sudden hollowness in his heart that could never be filled. 

***

The next one didn't happen until three years later, when Nikolai was fifteen. 

          He would never know what had given him away, but years of sneaking back and forth in the palace made him careless, and it was only a matter of time before Vasily, his ever cruel brother, knew about it.

          "You're just turning sixteen," Vasily said with a sneer. "But you're already tumbling peasant girls. You're no better than father." 

          Fear gripped at his mind almost instantly when he realized that this mistake would befall on Dominik. Nikolai knew too well how commoners who had done something wrong would be punished by being barred from the palace in disgrace, sending them back to their families with nothing else but their clothes and themselves. 

          Nikolai had begged Vasily to hold his tongue, to keep a secret for him. But if there was one thing he knew about his older brother, it was that Vasily never cared about him. 

          So why would Vasily care about some boy with no name? 

          "Do you understand what you have done?" Nikolai asked furiously the next morning when he had cornered Vasily in the lapis drawing room. 

          Vasily merely shrugged. “Your friend won’t get to study with his betters, and you won’t get to keep rambling in the fields like a commoner. I’ve done you both a favor.”

          “His family will lose their stipend. They may not be able to feed themselves without it.” His rage was boiling into something much worse, and he could feel it coursing through his veins. But he still held back. It was his weakness, he realized, that he didn’t have the heart to lash out his anger on someone close to him, no matter how cruel they had treated him. “Dominik won’t be exempt from the draft next year.”

          “Good. The crown needs soldiers,” said Vasily. Then he scoffed, giving Nikolai a once-over. “Maybe he’ll learn his place.” 

          Nikolai had expected his anger to explode, all the pent-up emotions to finally be let go. But he felt disappointed instead, as if he had lost something important. It took him a second to realize that he had lost his respect and admiration for his older brother. 

          For years, he thought that Vasily was better than their father. Whereas their father sat slouched on the throne and shoulders hunched when he stood, Vasily was the exact opposite of him. He always stood tall, chin held up high. He was the spitting image of what Nikolai had imagined a royal should be. 

          But Nikolai had never been ashamed to admit that he was so wrong. 

          "You should be ashamed," said Nikolai quietly. 

          But Vasily only jabbed a finger to Nikolai’s chest. “You do not tell me what I should or shouldn’t do, Sobachka," he snarled, his voice laced with poison, the same one that Nikolai almost drank when Vasily had mixed a droplet of it into Nikolai's cup. "I will be a king, and you will always be Nikolai Nothing.”

          Then it happened again, the strange images appearing before his eyes. Where Nikolai expected it to be the same ones he saw four years ago, they were different this time. 

          The drawing room morphed into a rough terrain full of snow, and an enormous white tiger had replaced the spot where his brother was in front of him, its teeth bared and hind legs laid back to pounce. 

          It was then he felt the sudden feeling to protect himself, his survival instincts kicking in, and he did just that. The images faded, his surroundings fading back to the drawing room. 

          With a strength that came from nights spent roughhousing with peasants and workers alike in some shady fight club in Os Alta's outskirts, Nikolai snatched his brother's finger that was on his chest and twisted hard. 

          Vasily fell to the ground with a yelp. He looked impossibly small. A satisfying feeling settled itself in Nikolai's chest. It was most likely the worst he had seen his brother, and if Nikolai had only known that his older brother was nothing more than a facade to hide such a vile and weak face underneath, he wouldn't have wasted his whole life trying to be like Vasily. 

          "A king never kneels, brother," Nikolai hissed before he left his brother's prone form on the ground. 

          He was sure that Vasily wouldn't let him forget what he had done to him. 

          But the next time his brother would try to come for him, Nikolai would be ready. 

***

The worst one happened almost five years later. 

          He was finally fulfilling his dream as a privateer in the seas, and the name Sturmhond was born right in the middle of the True Sea, never to be forgotten by all sailors and pirates as the years would go on. 

          It was supposed to be a diplomatic meeting with the Fjerdan traders that came from Djerholm. They were set to talk about the territories, with Fjerda claiming that they didn’t allow enemy ships to sail freely at the northern True Sea without permits unless they wanted their ships obliterated by Fjerda. Nikolai had wanted to laugh when he saw the ship; it was too enormous and too sturdy-looking to be of trading purposes only.  He assumed that it had to be a warship since its captain and crew were too confident to stop the Volkvolny. No one ever dared to go against the Volkvolny —the black sails that had guided them for years were already a familiar sight to all the sailors and pirates. Though it was smaller than any warships in the seas, it could still go on par with ships twice as big as it, and it had sunk numerous vessels and gotten away unscathed. 

          These Fjerdan ‘traders’ should have known better than to get in the Volkvolny’s way. 

          True enough, when Nikolai had stepped into the enemy ship to negotiate the terms, he immediately noticed the heavy artillery carelessly covered by a rag on the main deck. They had even attempted to blend it in among the cargo crates scattered on the floor, but the canons were obvious underneath the thin material covering them. He let out a breath. He suddenly wasn’t sure if going here with only his two Shu mercenary turned personal guards was ideal. At least twenty rough-looking men were surrounding them, and their captain, Captain Hjar, was only a bit shorter than Tolya, and yet he still looked impossibly tall than all of them. His hair had been cropped close to his skin, exposing the lined scar that ran from his temple to the spot behind his ear. 

          Tamar had voiced out her concerns then, telling him that something was not right, and Nikolai acknowledged it greatly. The Shu mercenary’s gut instincts already saved their lives countless times before, and he wasn’t going to ignore that. But he knew the Fjerdan crew’s taste for dominance. He wasn’t just going to let these men do as they please to the travelers that would pass their private routes.

          He could only hope that this risky meeting they were doing would turn in their favor.

          And yet as soon as they stood in front of Captain Hjar and his men, the wooden bridge that connected the two ships was cut off, causing shouts of protest from his crew back in his ship.

          “Oh, wow," said Nikolai with mocking surprise. Tolya and Tamar tensed behind him, their hands already poised on the weapons strapped to their belts. He turned back to Hjar. "We haven't even started the meeting yet." 

          Captain Hjar only smirked. "Better not waste your time, little wolf," he said, his voice scratchy as if he had been shouting his whole life. "Why try to prolong this when it would still end in the same result?" 

          "Lay down your sword, Hjar." 

          "These men would be making bread from the bone and skin of skinny Ravkan boys tonight, little wolf. And I can assume your ship has plenty of valuables, aye? I cannot promise not to hurt your men," he said, and his men laughed together with him. When he stopped, his cold eyes held a dangerous glint as he stared at the twins behind Nikolai. "And it'd be fun to have some nice, warm campfire with those two Grisha of yours." 

          Something in Nikolai's mind had quieted, shutting out anything logical from coming into his head. The thoughts halted. His rage slowly took over like a monster finally overwhelming its prey. He felt numb and empty, and he realized that the rage was focused on the Fjerdan captain. 

          Then for the third time in his life,  it  happened again. Everything else faded around him and threw him under the landscape of complete darkness. It was like he had been thrown into the Fold. After a moment, it blurred and shifted to another—a small, empty shop in some town he couldn't recognize where. Then it shifted again, and this time, it showed him a man who was on his knees, clawing at his throat as if he were struggling to breathe. 

          Nikolai held onto those images in vain, so he could make sense of them earlier on. But the rage inside him had him forgetting them in a snap, and all he could feel was anger. Anger towards everything. 

          With that, his body relaxed, and he regarded Hjar with a calm tone. These men needed to know their places. "Maybe you're right about that, Hjar," he asked, and he saw the Fjerdan captain acknowledge him with mocking curiosity. "But it wouldn't be my men who would be butchered today." 

          He saw the shift of expression from the Fjerdan captain's face, and Nikolai pounced with his own sword. 

          The fight hadn't even lasted for a minute. Hjar's men had completely underestimated the mercenary twins by just being Grisha, but they were just as deadly as any well-trained assassins. Soon enough, Nikolai’s crew had the Fjerdans tied up and shoved them down their knees, with Hjar at Nikolai’s mercy. But he felt nothing at all. 

          "You want to know something, captain?" asked Nikolai mildly as he went behind the burly man and held up his tied hands on his back. Hjar gave a pained grunt. Then Nikolai leaned down near the man's ear. "Foolish old captains aren't fit meat for Ravkan men."

          Then he took out his knife and cut the Fjerdan captain's fingers. 

          Nikolai barely heard the man's screams or even felt the blood gushing out from the wounds. He just felt numb all over. If his crew noticed the sudden change in his behavior, they didn't voice it out. Only the twins were the ones who showed a bewildered reaction as Nikolai held the decapitated fingers in his bloodied hands. 

          He threw them over his crew's guard hound dog at the side. "Eat up, Razjen," he said. "I'm pretty sure the dogs would appreciate that kind of meat given to them." 

          That same night, he and his Volkvolny crew had drunk and eaten to their guts' limits from the spoils they had divvied up from the Fjerdan trader ship. From the night until the earliest hours of dawn, they had laughed, celebrated, and sung until their throats were raw and their bellies full. 

          But when the night ended and Nikolai had retreated into the confines of the captain's quarters, he had thrown up everything he had eaten until tears stung his eyes. He had expected them to stop when he was done, but it only worsened as sobs and wails tore from his lips again, just like it had almost a decade ago, when he had collapsed in the palace gardens and cried himself out for a reason he had never known. 

          And as the hours passed and night broke into dawn, the tears had finally stopped. Nikolai fell asleep, but the hole that had made its way to his heart from the first time he felt the sudden shift in his emotions now only felt deeper than before. 

***

Nikolai blinked as he felt the heavy tug in his heart again. It was much more painful than before as if whatever at the other end of the string wanted him to hurt on purpose, and he was left to choose whether to still follow her in or not.

          The funeral had ended hours ago but he could still feel the heaviness and gloom lingering in the air. He wanted to visit Genya in her quarters for the night, just to extend whatever he could offer her for the meantime. But he decided against it when he rounded the corner leading to the Tailor’s chambers, and that’s when he saw Zoya coming out from the door. She had lingered outside for a moment, her hand clutching at the handle as if to hold herself upright. If he looked harder, he was sure it really was the reason as he saw her shoulders shaking and her head was bowed down, something his general never did. 

          A searing pain in his chest made him wince, the hurting so painful it felt like he had just been burned by a branding iron. The want—the need—to reach out for her was the only thing he had wanted to do at that moment. But he willed the thought away, remembering how the things were between them.

          They did not look to each other for comfort, and he knew the last thing Zoya would want was for him to give her his sympathies. It had been their unspoken agreement ever since Ravka was put on their shoulders. There was no time for sentiments, they would only spiral them down much worse. 

          After another minute of silence, Zoya had quietly left, her form completely blending in with the gloominess that surrounded the palace walls. Nikolai decided to follow her out then, and it led him to now, following her through the dark, narrow walkway that led into someplace he wasn’t sure of. Tangles of vines pricked at his skin as he walked further. Eventually, he reached the other end of the path, and the sight of the place astonished him.

          Flowers and shrubs of every variety were lined up in the soil beds, overwhelming the ground in different colors. The open ceiling of the area had allowed frost and snow to fall over the plants, and it coated the leaves and petals alike. It looked almost like a small world of only peace and serenity, and yet it felt like a garden of sadness, with grief dripping on every plant and bleeding through the four walls that surrounded it.

          Nikolai spotted Zoya in the middle of the dim garden, her back turned to him as she looked around. Snow was starting to fall, and it caught in the dark waves of her hair. Under the moonlight, she was glowing, a saint watching over the people. But behind the light that masked her real face, something was wrong. What once was her perfect stance and chin held high, she was now hunched, bent down, as if she were hiding from the world. 

          Then he felt it again, the sharp and painful tug in his chest. But this time, it felt different. This time, it was leading in a direction. 

          And it was leading towards her.

          Nikolai blinked, his eyes widening a fraction. Could it be—

          "I'm running out of room," she said, her voice barely a quivering whisper. 

          Had she known he was following her all along? 

          "Do you—" Nikolai shook his head, unsure of what to say. He tried again. "You tend to this place?" 

          Zoya was silent for a moment. Her shoulders had gone stiff the same way she was poised for battle. But Nikolai had merely asked a question, and he wondered if it was prying enough to cause that reaction from her. 

          "I needed somewhere to go to distract myself, and this has always been the place my feet would lead me to," she said quietly. "It was an old vegetable garden. I found it years ago, back when—" Her voice broke into a muffled cry, and yet there were no tears, like she refused to let them fall. She shook her head, her hands lifting as if to brag about the wonderful bunch of plants around her. But the gesture looked so helpless, so lost, and she let her arms fall back limply to her sides. Then in a broken whisper, she repeated, "I'm running out of room." 

          Nikolai's eyebrows drew tight in concern. He took a step towards her, and stopped almost immediately. It felt like he was treading across a dangerous line that neither of them ever had the guts to cross. Things were already too complicated, whether it’s about Ravka or about them, and he didn’t want to make things worse. But he refused to leave her on her own. Not like this. 

          Slowly, he made his way towards her, feeling the tug become stronger and stronger until he stopped at her side. He felt the cold seep through his clothes, harsh and biting like Zoya’s daily demeanor. But tonight, there was only grief and sadness, and it made everything even colder. 

          There was a long silence between them as he waited for Zoya to speak. Or if she wanted to speak. He wasn’t going to force anything from her. It was already a painful day for them to get through, and he wouldn’t add to the burden they were all carrying on their shoulders. He was grateful for the silence either way. 

          But when Zoya spoke later, her voice was quiet, lacking the usual sharpness it always had. “I plant something new for every Grisha lost,” she started. And there it was again, the heavy feeling in Nikolai’s chest that weighed down on him and made him struggle to breathe. It took all of Nikolai not to reach out for her. Then she lifted her hand and started pointing to the plants. “Heartleaf for Marie. Yew for Sergei. Red Sentinel for Fedyor. Even Ivan has a place. He was once a soldier like us too, before the Darkling corrupted him.” She touched her fingers to a frozen stalk near the edge of the soil bed. “This was for Harshaw, and they will blossom bright orange in the summer, just as bright as his ridiculous hair.”

          Nikolai felt a small smile twitch on his lips. There was an obvious jest in her tone, but her words were sad, still haunted by the past war they could never be free of. He reached for the plant, letting his fingers touch its leaves delicately. He dusted off the frost from the leaves’ surface, and it almost looked as new as ever. The Inferni had once fought beside him in the mountains and with Alina and the others in the Fold, proving his loyalty up until the very end. It was unfortunate that he didn’t get to see past the war as it had already taken his life. 

          “These Dahlias were for Nina when I thought she’d been captured and killed by the Fjerdans,” Zoya continued, her hands reaching out to the flowers next to Harshaw’s. “They bloom with the most ridiculous red flowers in the summer. They’re the size of dinner plates.” Then as steady as her hands were when she first reached out to touch them, they began to tremble badly. “This was the last one I vowed that I would plant. I kept promising myself over and over and over. But they only kept increasing. There was no end. And now David—” She stopped abruptly, her throat clogging up with a quiet sob. “I’m running out of room, Nikolai.”

          A tear escaped Nikolai’s eye, and he quickly wiped it away. He didn’t know why he did that. Earlier in the funeral, he didn't shed a single tear when he gave the eulogy, only the prickling pain that gave the first signs of tears. But they didn’t fall. Guilt had been clawing at him ever since, thinking that he hadn’t cared enough to show that he was mourning the loss of an old friend. It was only reasonable to cry; they were all grieving, after all. So why still hide, when there was no one else to see him?

          Then he realized it was what he had been used to. This was what they were taught. You don’t let yourself wallow in sadness—you get back up and continue on. No matter how heavy the weight on your shoulders was. 

          Soldiers did not cry. Princes did not weep. And kings should never get fazed by such sentiments and emotions. 

          But what if it was the only thing left to do?

          Nikolai glanced at Zoya, seeing tears staining her cheeks as well. She wiped at them hastily and tried her best to blink them away. He heard her draw in a shuddering breath. 

          “They will continue to thrive and bloom as long as they get taken care of,” said Zoya, her fingers curling around a stalk from the dahlias. “But what if they don’t? What if they stopped even as I tend to them everyday?”

          He immediately understood the deeper meaning behind her words. Every life lost under her watch; every Grisha blood staining her hands. It was the weight on her shoulders she had always carried, a weight that existed ever since she had been a soldier, up until now that she was their general. 

          If he could only take all the burden from her chest and carry it along with his own, he would have done it. But that wasn’t how it worked. They were all bound to have their own burdens—it would only be a matter of difference with the people around them that would help them get back up on their feet whenever they get too tired from carrying it all. 

          Nikolai let out a long breath, his gaze landing on the twisting gray branches that ran along the perimeter of the garden. He recognized it right away. “Thorn wood,” he murmured. He felt Zoya’s confusion even before she could voice it out, so he continued speaking. “It grows around, protecting everything within these walls, stronger than anything else in the garden, weathering every season. No matter the winter it endures, it still persists, all prickles and thorns and spines anger just to keep protecting everything here.” Then he turned to her, looking down at the bright and never-ending flames behind her eyes. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Those thorns, they remind me of you. Prickly and sharp, just like you are. But its purpose was to protect all these flowers and plants, like the way you protect our people.”

          Zoya almost looked like she was on the brink of breaking, but her questions persisted. “And what if the winter is just too long and hard? What if it can’t continue protecting them all?”

          He was afraid to reach for her, but he did it anyway. He took her gloved hand in his, and when he expected her to pull away, she didn’t. Instead she folded into him like a flower closing its petals at nightfall. “Then it would still be there, watching over all the flowers and plants, giving them the sense of protection, keeping them strong until the summer comes, even as its life withers away.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, a laugh escaping his lips. “I do hope I made sense with all that blabbering.”

          This earned a huff from his general. “Who says you ever did?” she said, but he felt her hand squeeze his back, gratitude evident even from that smallest of gestures. That was when tears fell from her eyes again, and Nikolai felt some of his own as well. 

          Trusting what his gut told him to do, he wrapped his arm around her. 

          And in the same exact moment, Nikolai didn’t feel the painful tug in his chest anymore. It was as if he had undone all the tangles and knots between, and he could finally pass through the thread without difficulties. 

          Zoya seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then with a soft breath, she let herself lean against him. Zoya the deadly. Zoya the ferocious. The weight of her against him felt like benediction, the long lost piece from the puzzle that he had been trying to figure out for years. For the first time in his short life, he felt at peace. He had been strong for his country, his soldiers, his friends. It meant something entirely different to be strong for her.

          When he thought that they did not look at each other for comfort, he had just been understanding it quite differently. No, they gave each other comfort in their own way—whether it was through sharp wits and harsh words that kept their will stronger, or even just through knowing looks and long silences. It was their way to tell each other that they were always there to keep each other marching on their feet, and pull each other from the darkness they were both continuously fighting their way out of. 

          There would still be a lot of problems to face, obstacles to get past with, lives to be lost. But they would be alright. They still had each other to get through everything, and it was enough. 

          Together.

          And that’s how it would be from then on until the very end.

***

He used to believe that the other end of the string was just like any other end, blunt and empty. Not once did he ever think that he could be wrong.

          Now, Nikolai knew one thing. It would always lead towards her.

[evolutionsvoid]

The frequent attacks from the beast known as "Vish'El" left the world in chaos. Despite all technology we had created, all the weaponry we built and hoarded, we were powerless to stop it. We let loose enough firepower to last three wars, but the creature hardly seemed to flinch. At times it would act like we hurt it, but then when we stopped to observe or swooped in to take advantage, it would let out that weird shout and send us all flying. Nothing marred its impenetrable skin, so all we could guess was that it was playing pretend in order to trick us. No clue why that is necessary, as it could carve through our armies in seconds without suffering a scratch. All we could do is keep running to the drawing board and try to think up of some new strategy or weapon that could take it out. Until we found its weakness, humanity just had to accept the fact that our cities were just open season to a sudden monster drop in. No surprise so many people fled to the countryside once they figured out their governments couldn't stop the thing. Everything became a nightmare, and we were all lost on what to do. So imagine our reaction when another one of those wretched things suddenly appeared. It showed up a little after Vish'El dropped in and started stomping an empty city, arriving in the same bizarre manner. It was obviously a different creature, no doubt some other cosmic species of titan, but there were some odd things we immediately noticed. This one moved a bit more fluidly, though still had a bit of an awkward gait and pace. Its mouth seemed to function more than Vish'El's, so much so it seemed to constantly be flapping open and closed like a chattering crocodile. This beast too seemed like a noisy one, as it liked to roar just as much as Vish'El, though it was a bit different. While Vish'El's were strange variations of the same sound, this fellow seemed to have only one noise that it could duplicate perfectly. That strange metallic howl just over and over, constantly repeating in a deafening loop. It was bizarre. When it arrived, our hearts stopped. Another monstrosity just entered the ring, what hope did we have now? The appearance of this intruder seemed to upset Vish'El as well, as it stomped and screamed in a furious tantrum. Without warning, the two launched themselves at each other and fought. They slammed together with incredible force, shaking the earth with the impact. Neither seemed too fazed by the collision, as they backed up and did again. And again. It was a strange fight to behold, as they just rammed into one another again and again. They would roar and scream, sometimes stumbling or getting their limbs locked, but they would eventually regain this position and continue to bash their heads together. Once in a while, one would hit the other with an awkward tail swipe, sending the opponent tumbling, but then they would just get back up and charge in. We watched the brawl closely, hoping that it would reveal some secrets to us. Despite the ferocity of the fight, the two didn't seem to be getting hurt. But just as our disappointment began to grow, we saw a glorious sight. Vish'El did a tail swipe and suddenly tore a chunk of flesh from the other's shoulder. The meaty hunk slammed to the ground and the intruder trembled and howled. We cheered when we saw it, as it meant that these beasts could be hurt. We looked for any clues on why this attack caused damage, but failed to find any answers. The odd thing was that the stranger did not seem to bleed, despite the grievous injury. It appears these creatures do not possess blood as we know it, or they can easily staunch the flow in these situations. Empowered by this mutilation, the new beast lunged in and seized Vish'El's leg in its jaw. Chomping down hard, it suddenly launched itself into the air, dragging its opponent with them. There was a struggle, but Vish'El could do nothing as its foe spun wildly about. High in the heavens, it flipped around and aimed Vish'El towards the ground. Like a meteor, it drove the duo straight towards the earth, spinning wildly like a crazed ballerina. The impact was devastating, as it slammed Vish'El into the ground. The whole city practically exploded, the plume of dust and debris blotting out the sun. When things started to settle, we saw the aftermath. Vish'El lay on the ground, whole but unmoving. The other beast lurched onto its hind limbs and let out another roar. The victor had been decided. Before we knew it, the two were gone. Vish'El and its destroyer zipped into the heavens and vanished. The whole event caused another uproar, as we scrambled to find meaning and information from this legendary brawl. Vish'El had been soundly defeated, so there had to be hope. The other beast was shown to be mortal, seeing that it could be wounded. Surely we could find something from all these observations to help create a weapon and put an end to this new beast. We hoped that Vish'El's state meant that it would be gone for good, as any animal will flee its territory once a stronger creature appears. The other foe suffered a terrible injury, so perhaps it would slink off for a bit to heal, giving us time to gather and plan. Despite the fact that another titan had appeared, we felt motivated from it. We would get new ideas and new data, and eventually humanity would win. Those dreams ended just as quickly as they started once the dueling duo appeared the following week. They dropped into another city, and we braced for another fight. It seemed Vish'El did not wallow in defeat for long, and the other creature had healed its wound quite quickly. We all were glued to our screens, hoping to glimpse another hint on how these things lived and died. The two squared up and lurched towards each other. Then with a bump of limbs, they turned towards the city and started wrecking. They stomped and smashed with glee, crushing the streets and knocking over buildings. The animosity they held was suddenly gone, as they did not trade a single blow or bite. They just demolished the city side-by-side, occasionally working together to really give it a skyscraper. Once everything was mashed to paste, they returned to the heavens. The world was filled with dread, the two beasts were now allies. Or were they? Two weeks later, they showed up and duked it out again. This time, the beast we dubbed "Mant'Tal" fell, after Vish'El tore a chunk out of its shoulder and shouted it into the ground. They left and returned a few days later, with Mant'Tal winning the day despite having its shoulder wounded in the harsh duel. This victory was secured by spinning its body like a tornado and ramming into Vish'El. Not long after that, the two joined forces to smash another city, only to turn on one another a week later. The friendship was seemingly over after Vish'El gouged Mant'Tel's shoulder and bashed them with a weird flying/sliding dropkick. What relationship these two had was a mystery, but the end result of every meeting was another destroyed city. We couldn't figure anything out, we had no idea what to do next. Things became even more muddled after a video popped up of the two beasts somewhere in the countryside. What we saw was baffling, its purpose known only to these crazed titans. The first bizarre thing was that the two were not in a city, instead out in the wilderness amongst the trees and fields. Their lust for destruction and death seemed to be gone at the moment, as they moved more slowly and methodically. They did not stomp or screech, they did something far strange. Mant'Tal stood in a forest, their huge bulk jutting from the pathetic trees. With bizarre movements, it somehow was tearing up the trees and placing them in a pile, occasionally stopping to add trees to a different pile and then kind of mix them around. It did this while it grumbled an odd noise, something more organic and melodic than is previous roars. Vish'El was not with Mant'Tal, rather the beast was out in the fields, kind of just standing their motionlessly. Eventually it seemed to snap awake and slowly trot its way over to Mant'Tal's forest. When it reached the tree line, it stopped, spun ninety degrees, spun back and then stepped forward. Once in the trees, it turned all the way around, let out a loud noise and then turned back forward. The noise attracted Man'Tal's attention, and they abandoned their various piles of trees to greet the other titan. They growled and roared in odd tones, bouncing in place as they did. Eventually the two moved toward the tree piles and sat by them. They jammed the torn plants into their maws, shoveling them in at a constant pace, despite the fact they kept tumbling out of their open maws. When the piles were scattered at their feet, the two strolled deeper into the forest and then lay on the ground. Once on their sides, all movements ceased. Moments later, they were gone. What this video showed was brand new behavior, but we didn't understand a lick of it. It felt like a dream, especially when the two went back to fighting and smashing weeks later, with no sign of them acknowledging this strange behavior. There is something more to this, beyond mere destruction. We don't know what they are playing at, but its critical we find out what that is. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ah crap, Kaijune is wrapping up and I am hurrying to post the last few scraps! No kaiju is complete without a trusty sidekick/arch-nemesis/friend/something! Complete with battle damage!  

[dapandapod]

Child of surprise

So my darling gremling @geogrewife were supposed to help me pick a Wip to work on but made me write this instead. Please enjoy!  On Ao3 here

Warning: fluff. so much fluff. Like, fluffy fluff.

“Somethings wrong with Roach.” Geralt frowns at Jaskiers words. They have been staying in a cottage all winter, deep in the forest away from prying eyes. They found it when the first hint of gold appeared in the trees, and they decided that this is a good a place as any. It has been restful. No big bad monsters around, just the normal inhabitants. Roach has been away a lot, roaming the forest but always returning unharmed at nightfall. The cottage didn’t have a stable so they simply made a new door to the cottage, making a pen out of one of the corners. Geralt can be a handyman when it comes to the comforts of Roach and Jaskier relentlessly teases him about it. This is one of those nights they spend in peace, wind whistling among the trees and hard rain falling on the roof. “No?” Geralt protests, because he can see nothing wrong with her? And he is clearly the superior horseman out of the two. “Uh, yes? Geralt, I know I know very little of horses but something is clearly different? Can’t you tell?”

Geralt puts down his gwent cards and gets up from the wooden chair he sat on. Roach is ignoring him, munching on her hay in her corner, resting one hind leg as she does when she is relaxed. He walks up to her, hand on his chin and eyes squinting. He looks her over but sees nothing obvious, so he focuses, letting all other sounds fade away. Geralt rarely uses his witcher senses on her, but she smells like usual? He senses no wounds, no pain, nothing sticking out. Her fur is all shaggy now in wintertime, but that’s about it. “I can’t see anything.” Geralt mutters, returning to the table. “Did you look at my cards?” Jaskier scoffs. “I don’t need to look at your cards to win. Just. Let’s keep an eye on her?”

Time passes slowly. Winter is dark, and every day Roach wanders the woods. Geralt is out hunting for dinner but stumbles on her tracks among the trees. He is very far away, he wasn’t aware Roach made such long trips. He suspects Jaskier might be right. Something is off with Roach. She is getting slower, sometimes in the mornings her legs get a little swollen. Geralt massages her and tries to keep her warm and well fed but he will not be in the way when she wants out. But it’s probably time to see what she is up to. It seems like this stretch is well walked, many hoofprints covering the ground in both directions. Geralt follows her tracks and stops mid step when he notices where they lead. Up ahead is a clearing, a frozen creak glistening in the sunlight, snow heavy on the branches. It looks magical. On the other side of the clearing stands Roach. Only, she is not alone. Next to her stands a white horse. So white it almost can’t be seen against the snow. It has long white mane with grey streaks and the body is powerful. And it’s a unicorn. The horn is long, sharp. Dangerous. The unicorn could easily kill Roach with it. But it doesn’t. They are standing peacefully next to each other, her dark fuzzy fur a stark contrast. They use their muzzles to push away the snow to get to the grass underneath. Geralt barely dares to move, barely dares to breathe. As far as he knew there were no unicorns left. Obviously he was wrong, and it has taken a liking to his Roach. Geralt tries to back away quietly, stepping into his own footsteps, so that he doesn’t startle them. But the unicorn must sense him, his head shoots up and then runs away. Roach startles and looks around, but when she sees Geralt she relaxes. Well. “Hi girl.” He greets her. “Uh… sorry. I didn’t mean to startle your... friend?” Oh. Ooooh. That’s why she’s been away so much. That’s why there was more than one set of hoofprints. Probably. He wonders how long they have met out here in the woods, and he feels oddly protective of her. Roach makes no effort to walk up to him so he leaves her there in the clearing.

When he returns to Jaskier some time later, two winterbirds under his arm, he realizes Jaskier was right. He kicks his boots on the doorframe on the way in, ridding himself of most of the snow. “You were right.” He calls as a greeting, and Jaskier hits a sour note on his lute. “‘Scuse me?!” Jaskiers eyes are huge, startled. “Did you hit your head while hunting?!” Geralt chuckles and hangs up his outer clothes. “You were right about Roach. There is something up with her.” “OH! Yes, I told you so! You know what it is?” Geralt settles down to pluck the birds. “Yeah. She has met someone.” Jaskier picks up his playing again, plucking on the strings in a soft melody. “Oh really? Are there more horses in the woods? Or a nymph perhaps?” “Unicorn actually.” Again, Jaskier makes a sour note on the lute and Geralt cringes at the sound. “Sorry, but. Did you just say you saw a fucking unicorn?!?” Jaskier gapes, not believing a word he hears. “Yeah. It got scared of me though and ran away.” “THIS IS WHY I NEED TO COME WITH YOU GERALT!!!” Jaskier abruptly stands up from his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. “I MISSED A UNICORN!” Geralt smiles again, fingers still working on their upcoming dinner. “You will never let me out of your sight again, are you?” Geralt says fondly and Jaskier huffs. “You are absolutely right!” He plops back in the chair again but lets his lute hang from his hand and rests on the floor. “I can’t believe this.” “Don’t pout. I’ll bring you with me in a few days.”

And so he does. They let Roach get a headstart of a few hours, but it takes two months before they see it again. By then Roach has eaten through a third of their collected hay for the winter. Her legs are still swollen and her back seems to sink a little. Geralt is starting to suspect he knows what is wrong with her.

They follow her to the clearing, this time walking with her instead of sneaking behind. They see her go about her usual routine, scraping a hole in the stream to drink and them starting to push the snow around. It takes almost an hour before she raises her head and she whinnies towards the woods. There is a deep rumbling neigh in return. And there he is. He trots up to her, his neck curved and tail raised.

Because it is a he, Geralt realizes. A stallion. And there is nothing wrong with Roach. She is with foal.

Beside him Jaskier draws in a breath, mouth open with awe. It’s like a picture from a fairytale, the snow glistening, the world holding its breath. The unicorn nuzzles her thick fur, and they start scratching each other's backs. Next to him Geralt can hear Jaskier sniffle, and he is not far away from breaking a tear himself. The unicorn sees them, ignoring Roach buffing his side to continue, and stares. Geralt really, really hopes he won't attack. He is not sure he would be able to flee it, and that would mean fighting it. Luckily it seems to decide they are no threat and turns away. The two horses go back to inspecting the other and then walk off into the woods without a backwards glance. Jaskier and Geralt stay in the clearing for a while longer, breaths as clouds in front of them.

“Wow.” Jaskier finally manages, wiping at his eyes with his ungloved hands. “Too bad I can never sing about this.” he smiles, blinking up at the afternoon skies. Geralt sees the reasoning in that too. The moment rumors of a unicorn comes out there will be people hunting it. He takes Jaskiers freezing hands in his and leads them back towards the cottage.

When the first spring flowers peak through the snow Roach is heavy. It’s clear they won’t be going anywhere for a while. So they prepare to stay for even longer. Geralt leaves for two weeks, trekking towards the closest village. They need more supplies and food, and getting there by foot and back is going to take some time. To Jaskiers surprise (and Geralt's despair) he returns through a portal, Yennefer close behind. She stays for a few weeks, cooing at Roach like she never had before, lovingly petting her down and spoiling her absolutely rotten.

She comes back in the middle of summer. Because it’s time. During the night Roach is restless. She walks around outside the cottage, snorting and panting. Geralt, always the light sleeper wakes up and goes out to her. There is no need for her to sleep indoors during this time of year, and she leads him towards her clearing. It takes another hour for her to lay down, and by then both Jaskier and Yen found him by her side. Roaches sides are slick with sweat, and the small hoofs sticking out from her are just as brown as she is. Geralt wasn’t sure what to expect of this foal, if it would be white or brown. But it would seem that it’s brown. When the first early rays of sunshine filter through the leaves the foal, a little stallion, takes its first steps. His eyes are pale blue, his body a dark brown like his mother, and his mane a shade paler. There is no sign of a horn and Geralt can’t decide if he is relieved or disappointed.

They stay for some time longer, making sure Roach is alright before retreating back a bit. By now they have learned the unicorns habits a little better. Geralt and Jaskier double back to the cottage to bring some breakfast back. Jaskier squeeze his hand all the way there, and when they get inside the door Jaskier pulls Geralt close. He smiles at Geralt, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Why do I feel like a proud parent?” He asks and Geralt chuckles. He couldn’t agree more.

Jaskier decides to name the foal Pegasus. The little thing is feisty, he nips after them even though he doesn’t have any teeth yet. He kicks and he bucks and he flies over the grass. His father didn’t come on the first day, nor the second. But when he comes there is a full show of sniffing and buffing. When Roach thinks he is too rough on Pegasus she steps between them, ears slicked back and teeth on display. She turns around and half heartedly kicks at the unicorn and Geralt swells with pride. When they calm down Pegasus tries to imitate his parents, doing his best with his short neck to bend down towards the grass. He can’t quite reach and stumbles. “I can stay here for hours.” Yen says softly, a soft smile on her lips. Geralt knows how she feels.

And they do. They stay for hours and hours to watch Pegasus and Roach, sometimes around the cottage and sometimes in the clearing. Still no horn in sight, just a small bump in the middle of his forehead. Pegasus seems to have taken a great liking to Jaskier. Whenever the bard sits in the grass, leaning back on the wooden wall with his lute, Pegasus scampers over to inspect. He pulls at his clothes, steals his expensive hat and tries to nibble at the lute.

They talk about what they should do. Yennefer comes and goes, unable to stay away from the little menace of a foal. She claims she wish to study him, if he got any magical abilities, but they all know better.

Perhaps they will make their way towards Kaer Morhen. The area isn’t perhaps the safest for a horse, but at least there won’t be any prying eyes in case Pegasus actually shows any abilities. Jaskier speaks of the coast again, and about Lettenhove. Traveling with a foal however is not the safest nor the most practical thing. But the summer is still young.

They have time.

[flooffybits]

Favoritism

Idol: Kim Minji, Kim Yoohyeon (Dreamcatcher)

Anon: - i wanna start by saying thank u for taking the time to read this and that reading ur works is such a stress reliever amidst all the deadlines i have ☺️ craving some fluff rn so can i request a scenario with poly reader, jiu and yoohyeon? jiyoo wants their s/o’s attention but s/o is busy with pie and cherry who seem to favor s/o a lot more than their own owners. (can u add sua being whiny bc pie keeps running away by going to the reader? i find it cute everytime i see a scared pie with her 😂)

A/n: this is just such a cute and funny idea that i was excited to write it. I’ve been itching for more Dreamcatcher requests so thank you for this

☕buy me a coffee☕

Your girlfriends always loved it when you were able to spend time together despite your busy schedules. With them being idols and you at your own job, it was understandable that the time you had together wasn’t exactly a lot. But whenever you were around, it made the whole thing more meaningful.

Gone were Jiu and Yoohyeon from Dreamcatcher and the only people left were your girlfriends, Minji and Yoohyeon. Whenever the three of you were together, they lived their lives in such a domestic manner even with the mention of InSomnias and having the rest of the group around every now and then.

While they loved when you were at the dorm, right now, they were sat to the side, watching with envy when your attention would not shift away from the twos pups that were happily wiggling on your lap and trying to catch your hands.

“You’re so cute! If I knew you were here, I would have brought something for you.” You coo while scratching under their chins before they decided to stand on their hind legs in an attempt to lick your face, but due to both being so small, they could barely even reach your neck.

But their attempts were just so cute, and the way they would not stop trying to lick you ended up tickling you and forcing you to fall back from your sitting position. Seeing their opportunity, the two dogs waste no time in attacking your face with kisses, drawing more giggles from your lips as you squirmed on the floor.

It would have been such an adorable sight to the two owners, but seeing as it’s been more than thirty minutes of you ignoring the pair that’s caused them to dislike their adorable little fur babies at that very moment.

“Cherry, come here!” The leader tried after another five minutes, but the white puppy refused to budge from your chest, the same with Pie when Yoohyeon tried calling for her. “Pie, Y/n is tired, see?” But she simply turned her head away when you started to pet the two.

Minji looked at you with a huff, pouting when you wouldn’t even look in their direction. “I get the feeling that you’re only with us for our dogs.” She claims, but even then you refuse to look while smiling at the two. “Well, they were the ones asking for my attention. It’s kinda hard not to give it to them.” You chuckle lightly before slowly sitting up, setting the two on your lap but keeping one hand on each of them as they finally calmed down.

“You said you were visiting us, not Pie and Cherry! And they won’t even come to us.” Yoohyeon complained with a pout of her own when she stood to try and take her pet away, but Pie had only tried to wriggle out of her arms before she was making her way back to you.

“In my defense, I had no clue they were here.” You smile before putting the two on the floor to stand up and tend to your sulking girlfriends, which caused them to finally smile at getting your attention, but the tugging of your pants had caused you to pause, looking down to find Cherry biting on it just so you would pay more attention to her.

Seeing this, Minji’s eyes narrowed before she looked around for the pup’s toy and then reaching for it. “Cherry, look! It’s your favorite toy.” She called out, and while she felt triumphant when she looked, Cherry was quick to dismiss it as she barked and attempted to have you pick her up once more.

Their antics had caused you to laugh before reaching down to pick both Cherry and Pie up, seeing as the latter was staring at you to do so. Walking over to the bed, you sat down next to Minji, Yoohyeon taking the opposite side as you set the two dogs on their respective owners’ laps.

But before they could even properly hold them, the two hopped off their laps and back on yours, earning a groan from the pair and another bout of laughter from you. “Jesus, why are they so clingy?” You ask, your voice going a pitch higher when you, once again, began to shower them with affection.

"For heaven's sake..." Minji tried to get Cherry off of you, only to have her bark back and shift away from her hands. "Yah! Kim Cherry!"

"Pie loves mommy, right? Come to mommy." Yoohyeon had attempted to lure Pie back to herself, only to have said dog turn its head to you and pressed her small body against your stomach.

Seeing as there was no chance of their pets leaving your side, Yoohyeon groaned dramatically before she was laying down on the bed. “Unnie! Our babies are stealing Y/n!” She whined in a high pitched tone as Minji pouted while you continued to play with the two said babies.

“You’re being so dramatic. They just missed me just like you did.”

“We still miss you because we only got at least five minutes until Pie and Cherry took you away.”

Lightly rolling your eyes, you then move to set the two pups on the floor and then turn to the pair who were looking at you with a pout on their faces. If it were possible, Yoohyeon would even cry with how much you refused to give them any form of attention.

“Come here. They can’t get on the bed.”

At that, your two girlfriends finally perked up before you were pulled down on the bed and into their eager arms, kisses being pressed to your cheeks before Yoohyeon rested her head against your shoulder and Minji pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, sighing in content as they were finally able to enjoy your company without a problem.

“I can’t believe you were being jealous over dogs.” You chuckled when the three of you just ended up cuddling on the bed, kisses exchanged in between and whispered compliments slipping every now and then.

Minji scoffed as she glanced to the floor where the two were, patiently waiting with their tails wagging, and then back to you. “We’re your girlfriends.”

“They’re your babies.”

“Stop ruining the moment.”

You ended up laughing at the small whine that came from the silver haired woman and kissed her forehead before doing the same to Minji, who relaxed in your hold and allowed her eyes to close.

“I’m always gonna love the both of you. Cherry and Pie are your kids, so of course I’m going to love them, too.” You tell them as Yoohyeon hums. “But you should love us more.”

“There’s no one else to love more.”

..

Later in the evening, everyone’s gathered in the living room, you and Minji in the kitchen, preparing dinner, while Gahyeon decided to help out and wanting to learn as well.

The rest of the girls were just waiting, playing with the two dogs since their attention seemed to always flit to the pair whenever one of them was brought along for the group to meet.

“Unnie, stop!” You could hear Yoohyeon’s voice amidst the chaos while continuing to stir the pot, the girls’ laughter meeting your ears after. “Be careful!” Siyeon had called out and the three of you wonder what was happening until two fluffy puppies came pawing at your legs.

Handong had to laugh as Bora ran after them. Currently, Yubin was laughing on the couch with Siyeon beside her and the main vocalist had her phone out whilst Yoohyeon had gotten up to run after the two as well.

When you look down at the two, Bora was already whining. “Why do they keep going to Y/n?” The volume of her voice seemed to frighten the pups and you smile before gently picking them up, your older girlfriend shaking her head as she went back to finishing your food while Gahyeon did her best to distance herself from you and the dogs in your arms.

“They really love Y/n. Cherry even barked at me when I tried to take her away.” Minji explained as you walked to the living room to set the pups down. Yubin reached out after calming from her laughing fit and smiled when Pie licked at her hand while Handong gently started to pet Cherry’s head.

“It would have been easy if Y/n’s surname was Kim, too. But if ever, are you going to rename them as Cherry and Pie L/n or just keep them as is?” Siyeon asked curiously.

“I’m offended that you think I’ll let Y/n completely steal my baby, unnie.” Yoohyeon piped up as she picked Pie up into her arms and rubbed her stomach. “Ohhh. Rejected.” Handong teases but you just smile and shake your head. “Even if they don’t have my name, I can still love them, anyway.”

“Y/n is such a sweet talker, no wonder Cherry and Pie prefer them over us.” Minji stated as she and Gahyeon finally came back with the food and placed them on the table. “Well, to be fair, Y/n is a really lovable person.” Gahyeon piped up, earning a smack on the arm from a cackling Bora.

“I can’t argue with that, but I still refuse to leave Y/n with Cherry and/or Pie anymore. I feel like if we do that, they’ll go home with Y/n instead.”

“Hey, I’ll take good care of them.” You defend and Yubin nods her head. “With how you take care of Jiu unnie and Yoohyeon, there’s no doubt about it.”

“No, I’d rather Y/n just takes care of us and we’ll handle the dogs.” Yoohyeon huffs and her fellow maknae seemed surprise whilst Siyeon poked her arm. “Are you being jealous? Of your own dog?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Minji and Yoohyeon send you a glare while you winked at them. “They’ve been like this the whole day.” You explain, earning another round of laughter from the group, minus your two lovely girlfriends.

“You’re lucky we love you.”

“Love you, too.”

[12tardis]

Feel The Pull Of You (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Warnings: none (cabbage if you’re James Acaster)

Requested: Yes @imapartofwaytoomanyfandoms24 asked for ‘a soulmates AU where the reader loves magical creatures and they can only see colour when they touch their soulmate and she runs into him looking for her demiguise. She’s in shock and so is Newt and then she sees her demiguise runs up to it and grabs it and walks back to him and they both stare at each other’ - thank you honey! I hope you like it- I’ve had a couple soulmate ideas kicking around my head for a bit but I hadn’t considered the colour one so thank you! 

Summary: You’ve seen in only shades of grey your entire life knowing that meant you had a soulmate out there somewhere. Your demiguise has been acting up lately and leads you on a wild goose chase through the streets of London where you literally fall into the arms of a handsome stranger. 

A/N: I had to stop here or else I was just gonna keep writing for lord knows how long because IMAGINE what a trip it would be to see all the creatures with your whole new colour palette. 

Words: 1,925

Title song: The Pull Of You- The National - just rewatched the IAETF film last night and balled my eyes out. What was it you always said? We’re connected by a thread. If we’re ever far apart I’ll still feel the pull of you.

Taglist: @moonkissk7  @just-an-outstanding-auror

 It had been exactly 3 months since Newt had finally released his book ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them’ and exactly 3 weeks since he’d received the most unexpected letter in the mail from a complete stranger. 

There had been plenty of children and a few keen creature lovers that had approached him at his book signings. They were always eager to hear more about his adventures and his case and he’d received a few fan-mail letters, again mostly from children drawing their favourite creatures. He loved those ones especially because he hoped it meant he might have inspired another generation of children to follow in his footsteps. 

But there was one letter Newt hadn’t put down since he’d received it 3 weeks ago. He kept it in his pocket and often found himself re-reading it over and over again. There was just something about the elegant scrawl that had completely captivated him from the moment he opened it. 

And here he was again, standing beside a cafe in the middle of a bustling street in London, pulling the well worn letter from his pocket and tracing his fingertips along the lettering. He had had every intention of writing back to the stranger but a mishap involving a hungry Graphorn had meant he’d lost the envelope with the sender return address much to his dismay. 

‘Dear Mr.  Scamander, 

I am writing to thank you for your incredible book and the remarkable work you have done in magical creature preservation. I must admit I found myself quite moved by your passion. I am an aspiring Magizoologist myself and I can assure you there is still an entire world of magnificent creatures out there to discover!

I wonder if perhaps you were looking for an assistant to help you with your creatures? I’m sure, a capable set of hands could be of great service to you with your ever expanding case and I am confident I could be of help. 

Perhaps we could meet for tea some time and I can show you some of my dearest creatures? 

I eagerly await your response. 

Yours respectfully,  Y/N L/N ‘

 As he stood on the street corner reading the letter for what must have been the hundredth time he truly mourned the fact that he had no way to contact the sender because there was just something about it that pulled at his heart strings like he’d never felt before. It almost felt like a puzzle. One that he desperately needed to solve. 

The letter had kept him up most nights, wondering about things that would never usually cross his mind. He wondered what the sender looked like? And more peculiarly he wondered what the colour of her eyes were. Or perhaps the colour of her hair? 

To most people these questions would be normal to ponder and that was because most people had some idea or reference for colour. But not Newt. For Newt, these questions were completely nonsensical because he only saw in shades of grey. 

His colour blindness had never bothered him before because he knew it meant he was one of the lucky ones that had a soulmate. A twin flame that he was destined to be with. He was generally content, and patient biding the time because he knew one day he would meet his other half. But ever since he’d received that letter he had found himself feeling restless and frustrated, walking the length of the city and mourning the entire spectrum of colour he was missing out on. 

It bothered him now to realise that he had no idea what colour the letter even was. What colour was the ink you’d used? Logically he knew it was black ink on a presumably neutral toned paper but what did that even look like? 

He was so preoccupied in his musings that he barely registered the sensation of his case rattling in his hold as one of his creatures was unsettled because he was suddenly stood face to face with a Demiguise. A Demiguise that certainly wasn’t his Dougal. 

“Bunsen! BUNSEN! Oh my stars Bunsen I swear if you don’t get back here right now you’ll be eating cabbage for the rest of the week. CABBAGE!” 

You were madly dashing through the London crowds in pursuit of your rogue Demiguise, completely uncaring of the bewildered looks you were receiving from the other locals. 

Bunsen had been acting out of sorts for several weeks now, pacing back and forth and frequently leading you on wild chases much like the one you were on now. This time though he really wasn’t relenting and you were just thankful no one else noticed the creature hurtling past them. 

Your stomach dropped however when you saw him stop and stand on his hind legs to face a man in a long coat. The man had his back to you but you were certain from his body language that he was very much aware of the rare creature that was now stood in front of him with glowing eyes. 

“MERLIN NO!”, you panicked dashing towards the man. 

 “Sir, please don’t panic! He’s harmless I promise! He can’t hurt you, just stay calm!” you shouted at him as you approached, lunging for the Demiguise that dodged you, of course, sending you careening forward into the very arms of the man you were shouting at. 

You gasped, blinking furiously when your vision transformed instantly while your heart seemed to swell to double its size in your chest. You stared down at the ground in wonder, taking in the way the shades of grey slowly bled into all these colours and shades you’d never seen before. 

Newt grasped you in his arms with a loud ringing in his ears as he tightened his hold on you instinctively. He gaped back at you, so completely enraptured with the sight of you that he barely noticed the new spectrum of colour he could now see. 

That was until you were suddenly moving out of his hold and rushing away from him. His knees nearly buckled as he watched your retreating figure, his brain now vaguely taking in the colours around him. He was still standing frozen to the sidewalk as he slowly came to digest what had just happened. 

He had literally just run into his soulmate.  Who was chasing a Demiguise. You tripped and he caught you and then you ran away from him just as quickly, and his heart was surely about to shatter beyond repair but then oh-

You were walking back towards him, with the Demiguise perched on your hip and he felt his heart in his throat as he took you in. 

You had nearly fallen again when Bunsen had suddenly stopped in his tracks, seemingly content with being in your arms again as you scooped him up. You noticed the way his eyes flashed and he was looking over your shoulder and you remembered that yes, you had just cannon balled into your soulmate. 

The person you’d been dreaming of your entire life. “Why you clever little…”, you breathed out, petting Bunsen shakily while your heart slammed in your chest. You closed your eyes and sucked in a deep breath before you turned back around to face the man..

You two stood in front of one another for what felt like an hour, just staring at each other in complete awe. You took in the colour of his hair, fighting back the unexpected impulse you felt to comb your fingers through it and then you looked back into his eyes. And you knew then what your favourite colour in the world was. 

Newt was entirely unprepared for the sudden urge he had to just touch. He’d never really understood the need for affection, instead shying away from it but as he gazed back at you his hands seemed to burn at his sides. He longed to run his thumb along your bottom lip or graze his hand down the curve of your shoulder to your waist. 

Bunsen had apparently had enough of the silent staring competition going on between you two though because he let out a huff followed by low grumble. 

This startled Newt from his stupor and he quickly held his hand out to you “I do apologise for my  rudeness, I’m-“

“Newt Scamander”, you breathed out quickly, your eyes bright and a small smile playing on your lips. Newt’s eyebrows flew up in response.

“You know my n-name?”, he stuttered, stunned that a beauty such as yourself would know who he was. And when you took his hand in your own he felt the most overwhelming sense of peace rush over him. 

You squeezed his hand in your own, nodding slowly as you smiled wider at him “yes, I wrote to you. A few weeks ago. My name is-“

“Y/N L/N!”, he cut you off this time, his eyes wide as he set his case down beside him carefully, still gripping your hand in his own as he used the other to rummage through his coat pocket. “You wrote this!” he exclaimed, holding the obviously worn letter up for you to inspect. 

It was your turn to look at him in astonishment as you nodded again, furrowing your eyebrows.

 “I...something about this letter just felt...like home,” Newt explained, shyly threading his fingers with yours as he pocketed the letter once again. 

When you stared back at him silently, glancing down at your joined hands he continued. 

“I apologise, I really wanted to write you back but one of the Graphorn’s ate the envelope”, he turned to look at Bunsen then, nodding at him.

“I bet you two would get along”, he murmured and Bunsen made a noise of interest, reaching an arm out towards Newt signalling that he wanted to be held. 

You looked down at Bunsen in surprise because he had never allowed another person to touch him before but your surprise quickly washed away as you watched Newt take him into his arms, greeting him with the kindest smile you’d ever seen that you couldn’t help but swoon. Of course he would like Newt. He had, after all, been trying to make this meeting happen for weeks now.  

“Oh!”, you were broken out of your ogling when a passerby just barely missed knocking Newt’s case over that was still set on the ground beside him. You didn’t hesitate to pluck the case up, holding it securely against your chest and the very sight alone had Newt feeling dizzy with adoration. Not only were you breathtaking but you cared for creatures too. 

“So um…” he cleared his throat nervously, looking back at you with hopeful eyes “I know I’m a bit late, but I wonder if you are still interested in that cup of tea?”

You smiled back at him widely, stepping close to him until you were nearly chest to chest and he sucked in a breath of surprise when you lay your hand over his where it was resting on Bunsen “yes, but only if you promise to show me around your case afterwards.” 

Newt laughed softly, nodding as he shifted Bunsen to be perched on his hip with one arm so he could thread his fingers with yours again “well I suppose it would help if my assistant knew her way around the enclosures”, he murmured, looking over at you as you fell into step beside him, following him through the bustling streets hand in hand.  -MORE WRITINGS HERE-