#that branch always catches my attention with the looping swirl

[bzjphotos]

Minolta x370, Tokina 28mm f2.8 HP5+, XT-3

[draftedpage]

Of Prayers and Ash

Apparently I have the attention span of a koala, so here's this. A slowburn romance, between a knight, and a healer who's forced to accompany him on his journey to the war torn countryside

I open my eyes. 

It’s still dark in the room, though the faint trails of lanternlight trickle in from the street below, flickering softly across the ceiling in shifting bands of amber. The air hums with the quiet sounds of a city that never truly sleeps—wheels creaking against cobblestone, the steady clop of horseshoes, a distant shout that fades before I can make out the words. 

The scent of cedar clings to the floorboards, warped from years of candle smoke and rain that sneaks in through the shutter gaps. Underneath it all, something earthy and faintly sour lingers, street rot, maybe, or the neighbor’s strange cooking again. 

I lie still for a while, listening. 

The gods do not speak in voices here. Not like they used to. They speak through the stories told by firelight, or in the prayers my grandmother whispered while kneading bread. In the city, the gods have been buried beneath stone, silver, and law. Forgotten. Until only statues remain, hollow-eyed and clean of memory. 

I sit up slowly, my sweat sticking to the back of my knees, soaking my spine in the summer heat. My little altar waits in the corner by the window, tucked behind a faded tapestry. Three worn tokens rest there: a smooth statue, a sprig of dried rosemary, and an old coin etched with a sigil no priest would recognize. 

I light a candle, not the ones blessed by the Temple, but the ones I make myself. Beeswax, cloves, a single strand of black thread wrapped around the base. The flame flickers, and for a breath, it feels like someone is watching. 

I lower my head. 

Twelve words. Always the same. Always enough. 

"Let no one see me, and let the path be mine."  

I lift my head to the small, gilded statue. A pantheon we didn’t have a name for anymore. Whether they were good or evil I couldn’t say. The rough edges of stone long worn smooth.  

I can’t remember when this fixation began. Maybe in childhood. Maybe it was carved into me in the womb. I wasn’t sure—yet, for as long as I could remember, I prayed.   

The distinct sounds of metal clink below me. My grandmother up as early as I was, maybe I had gotten my early bird tendencies from her.  

Reluctantly I rise. My knees a flushed red, softly indented from the worn wood floor. The morning aches already settling in my bones. Nevertheless, I stretch and prepare for the day, the work still needing done despite my disinclination for it. 

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window. The light is dim, but enough to see the shape of myself. Pale from too many hours indoors, freckles dance across the bridge of my nose. My hair’s come loose from its braid, dark, unruly, curled tight like it never learned to obey. 

I’ve always been too slim, too tall, not quite right for the city’s taste. My mouth too soft-spoken. My hands too calloused from work the daughters of tradesmen aren’t supposed to do. I’ve been told I look tired even when I’m rested, serious even when I smile. Maybe that’s true.  

I keep walking. Not because I hate what I see, but because that’s what my grandmother taught me. 

Never stare too long at your reflections, she’d say. That’s where your demons hide—wouldn’t want them escaping now, would you? 

I pull open the door, the dark mahogany creaking softly—showing its age. 

My father had carved it from a felled tree, back when this place was still a town and not yet the pulsing heart of an empire. He spent hours with a blade and chisel, coaxing delicate designs from the grain. Pretty things. Trees with outstretched branches. Flowers that never wilted. Swirling vines that looped and danced like they had secrets to tell. 

The kind of beauty no one had time for anymore. 

I run my fingers along the carvings, tracing a petal worn smooth from years of touch. The wood is cool beneath my skin. A small comfort.  

He never finished the bottom corner, had said he’d do it next spring. Then spring turned into war, and war turned into death. 

I let my hand fall away. 

The hinges groan as I open it wider, and the hall yawns before me, dim, cracked tile beneath my feet, old paint chipping at the edges. My grandmother’s kitchen clinks faintly with the sound's movement and metal. The scent of boiling roots and roasted barley creeps through the air, the sharp tang of yeast pricks my senses.  

“Good morning,” I murmur, stepping into the blistering heat of the kitchen. The summer air, thick and unmoving, mixes with the warmth of the oven to create something almost unbearable. Sweat beads along my hairline within seconds, prickling beneath my collar. 

My grandmother stands at the counter, already elbow-deep in dough. A sturdy woman well into her sixties, her greying hair is pulled back into a tight braid, gold bangles woven between the strands—remnants of a culture long washed away, but still clung to in the quiet corners of our home. 

Her deep brown eyes don’t lift as I approach, but I offer anyway, voice soft. “Let me take over the kneading.” 

She doesn’t offer a smile, only nods in quiet acceptance, then turns away to the other counter, where bowls and spices wait for her hands. The rhythm of morning work continues without fanfare. 

I dip my hands into the cool barrel of water beside the hearth, letting it rush over my fingers, washing away the fine dust and sleep still clinging beneath my nails. The contrast is sharp—cold water to blistering air. 

Once I’m satisfied, I press my knuckles into the soft mound of dough. It yields under my touch, still warm but beginning to cool, its surface dusted with flour and the faint scent of anise and barley. The motion is grounding. Familiar. This, at least, I know how to do. 

We work in tandem silence. The only sounds are the steady beat of her knife against the cutting board and the soft squelch of dough beneath my hands. 

Sunlight begins to bleed into the kitchen, slipping through the open shutters in golden streaks. Outside, the city begins to stir in earnest. 

The hum of morning swells—vendors calling out in rough voices, hooves clattering over brick, a tin bell clanging somewhere in the distance. Through it all, the laughter of children rises and falls as they chase each other down the sweltering road, already slick with heat. 

“Oh, Lili,” the childhood nickname falls from her lips. Familiar. Warm.  “A letter arrived for you today. Looks official.” 

I glance up from my work, the dough already shaped into small, biscuit-sized circles. I tip my head, brow furrowed.  “A letter? From who?” 

“Doesn’t say. But it’s on the table.” She nods toward the far corner, where—indeed—a letter waits. 

A crisp white envelope. No return mark. Just my name, Liora, scrawled across the front in uneven handwriting. The letters slant awkwardly, like someone trying too hard to write neatly. 

On the back, a deep red wax seal presses against the fold. The sigil is unfamiliar—something sharp and curling, like a thorn wrapped in flame. 

I slide a finger under the flap, snapping the seal clean in half. Inside: a single piece of parchment. 

“Dear Liora, 

You are being summoned to support the military in their battle in the north.

You will be compensated handsomely for your time and dedication to this task. 

Captain Garrik Fenlor will arrive at your residence shortly. 

Signed, 

Lord Fenlor” 

I stare at the letter. 

One second. 

Then two. 

I feel my grandmother press into my shoulder, reading over it with me. Her grip tightens—firm, trembling fingers digging in. Her silence says more than words ever could. 

Then, finally, she speaks. 

“You cannot go,” she whispers, voice frayed at the edges. 

“Gran,” I whisper back, trying to sound steady. “He’s a lord. I can’t refuse.” 

A knock sounds at the door. Sharp. Immediate. 

I nearly jump out of my skin. 

Whoever it is doesn’t bother waiting for a reply. The door swings open like he owns the place—like he’s paying rent and we’re just squatting. 

The audacity. 

My irritation fizzles the moment I see him. 

Hard to stay mad at someone so... startling. 

He’s tall—too tall for the frame of the door, which he barely ducks beneath. His eyes, a cold, piercing blue, find mine almost instantly. I tense. The letter in my hand trembles, and only then do I realize I’m shaking. 

His gaze flicks to the parchment. 

“I see you received notice from my family,” he says. 

His voice matches the rest of him—rough, low, and edged like a blade. His dark hair is neatly cut, slightly too long to be military, yet precise in its own way. His jaw is clenched, like the very act of breathing offends him. Scars mark his arms and neck, pale against sun-dark skin—worn like armor, or maybe trophies. 

Everything about him screams danger. 

And yet, I can’t look away. 

“Uh...” I manage, brilliance incarnate. 

“Does she speak,” he asks dryly, “or is she always this stupid?” 

He doesn’t even look at me now—just turns to my grandmother, as if I’m the accessory in this room. 

Heat floods my cheeks. 

“No,” I snap. “She speaks. Unfortunately, I cannot accept your family's generous offer.” 

“It wasn’t an offer.” 

“Well, I’m not going.” I cross my arms, incredulous. “I’m needed here. In town.” 

“Either you go,” he says, voice like stone, “or I condemn this... hovel, and you can live the rest of your days disgraced.” 

I stare at him. Shocked. Furious. Angrier than I’ve ever been in my life. 

“No,” I hiss. “Tell your pretentious family I’m not going. You’ll have to find a different healer.” 

He steps closer. 

My breath catches. Instinct screams at me to move—to run—but I don’t. I hold my ground. Barely. My knees threaten to tremble, but I lock them in place. 

He leans down, until his face is inches from mine. 

Those cold, glacier-blue eyes skim over my features with absolute disinterest. 

“Here’s the thing, princess,” he says, and the word lands like a slap—dripping with insult. 

“I don’t want you tagging along any more than you want to come. But we’re both bound by things that go beyond duty.” 

His voice is low. Unyielding. No trace of warmth. 

Not a threat. 

A truth. 

My grandmother’s hand clamps around my bicep, tight. Like she thinks she might lose me if she lets go. 

“Please,” she whispers, voice breaking. “The northern border is only war and monsters. She is not fit to go.” 

Her fear is real. Raw. It wraps around my ribs, constricting. 

But his gaze doesn’t waver. Doesn’t flick to her. Doesn’t soften. Not even a little. 

“She must,” he says. 

Then he straightens, cold and deliberate, steps back. 

His eyes pass over my grandmother, briefly, like a soldier noting a closed door—then he turns and walks out. 

No further argument. 

No apology. 

No explanation. 

Just the sound of boots fading into the hallway. 

I stand there for a beat too long, heat rising in my chest. Then I turn on my heel and storm up the stairs, boots heavy on the wood. 

Gran follows. I hear her trailing behind me, her footsteps hurried, her voice unraveling. 

“Please. LiLi, you cannot go.” She’s breathless. Shaking. “I lost your father to war. I will not lose you too.” 

I don’t turn around.  I can’t. 

“You heard him,” I say, my voice rough. “Either I go, or we lose everything.” 

My hands tremble as I reach for my travel bag, shoving in tunics and a cloak. I try not to think. Try not to feel. 

By the window, my shrine waits. I hesitate. Then I reach for the worn statue, its surface smooth from years of prayer, and tuck it carefully between two layers of cloth. 

The cabinet creaks as I open it—familiar bundles of herbs, tied in fading string. I grab what little I have. Healing roots. Bandages. Salve. Enough to keep someone alive. Maybe. 

Behind me, Gran falls silent. 

She knows she can’t stop this. 

Not when a noble has decreed it. 

She just stands there. 

Watching me leave.  

My eyes burn as I step past her. I don’t look. 

I can’t. If I do, I won’t go. 

I’ll choose ruin. I’ll choose the street. I’ll choose anything but this. 

So I keep my gaze straight, cold and forward, like he did. 

Like I’m not breaking. 

The bag’s strap digs into my shoulder. It’s heavier than I expected. Or maybe I’m just tired—already. And I haven’t even left yet. 

I step outside. 

The heat of the city wraps around me, heavy and still. Down the alley, a vendor argues with a cart driver. Somewhere, a child laughs. Somewhere else, someone weeps. 

And there he is. 

Garrik. 

Leaning against the wall. One boot braced against the wall, arms crossed, like he owns the whole godsdamned street. Like this is nothing more than an inconvenience to him. 

His eyes find me instantly. 

He doesn’t smile. 

“About time,” he says. 

I say nothing. I don’t trust my voice not to crack. 

He gestures sharply to a chestnut-colored horse to my right. “Mount up.” 

And that’s it. No farewell. No escort. No final word from Gran. Just me and the man who barged into my life like a blade. 

And now I’m expected to follow him into the North. 

Where war and monsters wait. 

[felswritingfire]

April Brain Rot #7

Prompts:

10. Caught

3. Surprise Hug

(Pokémon AU) Kalim Al Asim x Reader

Summery: It's almost time for your's and Kalim's one year anniversary and you're determined to get him that water type Pokémon he's been wanting for his team. Though, plans do change once in a while- even if they're in the form of saving a baby Oshawott from some crazy rapids.

TW: Fast moving water (?)

Word count: 1,375

A note from Fel: FUCKING- OK- THIS WAS ONE OF MY FAVORITES HANDS D O W N. KALIM IS BABY AND I'D KILL FOR JAMIL'S ARBOK- Please, I love Pokémon AUs so much oml Also my gf liked this story a lot so like- *AGGRESSIVE FIST PUMP* ANYWAY! Enjoy!

You had been searching for hours, the tall grass having slapped you in the face one too many times and your pokemon becoming tired from the amount of stubborn pokémon who had jumped out at you. You were hoping that you’d be able to find the perfect pokemon for Kalim- he had been chattering to you about getting a water type pokémon to add to his team, but so far he had no luck. So, with that thought in mind and the looming day of your first anniversary of dating him, you gathered up your wits and continued to push, feeding Sauce, your partner Appletun (Kalim had given him to you as an Applin when he had confessed to you), an Oran Berry as you trudged on. He trilled and rubbed his head against your cheek, resting in your arms.

“We’ll go a little further and then we’ll call it a day- ok, bud?” You laugh as he answers with a happy cry.

The stream you’re following flows in a strong current: branches and leaves rushing down the flow of water. You really hoped a Buizel would come appearing- it would be a good match for Kalim’s performances. At least you think. You’ve never been one to participate in performances, your dream being a famous battle trainer from a young age. It wasn’t until Kalim waltzed into your life that you began to really pay attention to the contests. He always had a way of making a contest something even grander than it already was-

A sharp cry pulls you from your musings and you look to the rushing river to see a small white head bobbing along in the water: an Oshawott.

You frantically look around while you begin running and reach into the pouch that rests on the side of your hip for your Golduck, Delta. You feel the three lines that you etched into her pokéball and throw it; she comes out with a cry, already running alongside you on all fours. “Delta! We have to save the baby!” You point to the crying Oshawott that keeps going beneath the waves. Delta nodded and dove into the water, her strong body cutting through the water easily.

You continue to run, jumping over rocks and pushing tall grass out of your way. You catch sight of a giant log acting as a bridge to the other bank of the stream up ahead and you dart towards it. You set down Sauce before you climb it, it lets out a strained groan as you make your way across it. You wave to Delta, the little Oshawott on her back. She coos at you and brings herself to a stop in the water despite the speed and strength of the current. She takes the baby otter pokémon off of her back and holds them up towards you in her palms. You reach your hands down and loop them around the baby, cradling it towards your chest as you pull out her pokéball and call her back.

The log cracks and begins to give way as you rush back to Sauce, his tiny cry of relief as you hop off the collapsing log. You look at it with wide eyes and back to the Appletun and let out a strained laugh. “That was close, huh?”

He gives you a disgruntled whine.

“Sorry, sorry, bad joke.” You say, looking down at the baby who shivers in your arms, his big, watery eyes staring up at you. “You ok little guy?” You run your finger over the top of his head and he coos and lean into your touch.

You smile, a sudden idea hitting you. “Hey, would you like to meet someone? When we get you cleaned up that is.”

They tilt their head, before he nuzzles into your chest.

You share a look with Sauce before nodding. “I guess that’s a yes.”

************************************************************************

Kalim had been waiting for you in the hotel you had rented, Jamil sitting in the corner petting his Arbok while he read one of the books you had recommended to him. “Do you think they’ll be back soon?” Kalim suddenly asked.

Jamil glances at him before shrugging. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

“I know but I miss them so much.”

“They’ve been gone for a little over an hour. Have patience, Kalim.”

The prince groans, squeezing his Spinda close to him. She chirps and pressed his face with her soft paws, pressing his cheeks together until his lips are puckered and he laughs. “I’m fine, Dizzy! I just miss my love is all.”

Kalim doesn’t notice the silent gag that Jamil does, hugging his Arbok when he catches him making the same face.

The door opens and you’re standing there with dirt on your cheeks and thin scratches littering your exposed skin. “I’m back!”

“(Y/N)!” Kalim cheers, placing Dizzy down and racing towards you.

“Hello, do you need any…” Jamil trails off seeing the towel swaddled… something in your arms (along with the plastic bag holding books). He catches Kalim by the back of the shirt, stopping him.

Kalim goes to ask him what’s wrong when he notices the towel as well. “What’s in it?” He asks.

“Well-” You let out a laugh as the Spinda hugs your leg, looking up at you with a bright smile and swirling eyes. You lean down, pushing the blanket into the crook of one arm, to pat her head before Sauce comes up and nuzzles up to her and she brings him into a hug. “He’s your early anniversary present.”

“He?” Kalim’s eyes begin to sparkle like rubies and Jamil steps closer to look as you tilt the towel towards them.

In the towel lays the baby Oshawott, light snores leaving him as his chest rises up and down. He digs further into the soft fabric, an unconscious sigh leaving him. It takes everything in Kalim not to squeal in delight at the sleeping baby. His hands itching to spoil him. “Where did you find him? He’s just as cute as when Tanzanite was a baby!”

Jamil scoffs. “No one’s as cute as Tanzanite-” he rubs the head of the Arbok who sniffs at the baby before nuzzling his head against the soft fur of the Oshawott’s head- “but he is a close second.”

Tanzanite releases a happy hiss.

“I found him when I was looking for a Floatzel for you.” You say, moving to place the plastic bag on the floor. “Me and Sauce heard him cry and saw him getting washed down the stream, so I sent out Delta to go get him. And, well, I couldn’t just leave the little guy. Also I couldn’t see a mama or anything while I was walking back, he was all alone.” You smile down at the baby as he stretches in your arms, slowly waking up to look at the faces peering at him. He sniffs at the Arbok who hovers in front of him, closing his hood slightly to make himself seem smaller (Jamil hoped the baby wouldn’t start crying, Tanzi always looked so sad when it happened and would hide in the back of the room to not upset them any more). Much to everyone’s delight, the baby cooed and patted his snout with his tiny paw, Tanzi hisses in delight and pressed closer to the happy otter. “I think he’ll be a good match, don’t you, Kali?”

Kalim nodded, jumping on the balls of his feet. “He’s perfect! I love him already!” He holds out his hand to the baby who immediately beams at him. You hand the baby over to Kalim who cradles him to his chest and presses a smooch onto his fuzzy head. He lets out a happy screech, patting at the prince’s chin. Kalim pulls you into a sudden hug with his other arm (that has you letting out a small yelp), the baby being squeezed between the two of you and he lets out happy clicks and snuggles against both of your bodies. “I love you!” Kalim says before he presses a kiss to your lips.

Jamil and Tanzi gag at the display. The trainer high fives Dizzy who copies them and Sauce shakes his head at the three.

<The Next Chosen Character>

Thank you for reading!

[ao3bronte]

🐞Little Lady Paws🐾

0 | 1 | 2

Ladybug gets into a "hairy" predicament when an akuma capture goes wrong.

A collaboration between @ao3bronte​ and @yamina20-blog​ 💕

“Remind me why you thought this was a good idea?”

Surrounded by animals, Chat Noir lands gingerly on the top of a light post and scowls spectacularly, having just peeled himself off the sod in the park across from Sacré-Coeur. This isn’t their first animal themed akuma and it certainly won’t be their last, judging by the increasing frequency of angry protesters flooding the streets of Paris; there’s always something to protest it seems, and Le Papillon was having an absolute field day targeting them all.

Today’s protest themed akuma of the hour? FrankenFur!

“Hey!” Chat rubs at the grass stain on his belly as a panicked giraffe goes running by and sticks his tongue out at the akumatised monster who’d just tossed him like a Frisbee halfway across Marcel-Bleustein-Blanchet Square, “This wasn’t my idea, this was your idea!”

Ladybug throws her hands into the air, “You led it over here!”

The monster, dressed in a pseudo animal activist uniform and spouting endangered animal facts to all who would listen, throws another magic smoke bomb at a group of unsuspecting visitors, “There are too many tourists at the front of the Basilica! There’s less chance for collateral here and besides, we weren’t getting anywhere anyway. We still don’t know what the object is!”

The smoke clears to reveal a family of farm animals lying on the ground and Ladybug swoops to get out of the way of the panicking herd, landing on a tree branch, “Could it be in the protest sign it’s holding?”

Chat flexes his hand and spins his baton in his other, steadying himself, “It’s worth a shot.”

Ladybug calls for her Lucky Charm and immediately notices the strings of fairy lights hanging atop the pergola the akumatised protester is standing upon as well as the sewer grate embedded in the concrete directly across from it. Dodging a flock of ducks, Ladybug catches a red and black polka dot crowbar and swings it between her fingers, “Chat, try and tangle it up in the string of lights over there.”

Chat follows her gaze and nods once, leaping from the lamp post to the tree tops. Meanwhile, Ladybug runs over to the sewer grate and lodges the business end of the crowbar beneath the steel lip, quickly prying it open.

“AhhhAAAAGHH!”

Ladybug peers into the puddle of rainwater in the divot by the grate and uses its reflection to watch as Chat expertly dislodges the fairy lights and drops them unceremoniously onto the akumatised monster. The creature screams as it tangles itself in the mass of wire and glass and tosses its limbs every which way like a deranged octopus, howling curses at the top of its lungs.

Amongst all of the chaos, Ladybug launches her yoyo and wraps it around the monster’s legs, unbalancing its already lopsided stance. Chat sees where she’s going with this and drop kicks the creature in the back just as Ladybug yanks the string, causing the akuma to topple forward towards the manhole, and with another well timed feat of synchronised backflip ingenuity, the dynamic Cat and Bug duo have the monster falling headfirst into the hole and Ladybug is certain she’s got the protest sign in her sights—

“LADYBUG!”

She looks up and feels time slow to a crawl, watching as the akumatised monster uses the very limited range of motion it has in its arm to launch one last grenade at her face. Ladybug can’t move, not really, not when one arm is reaching for the sign and the other is wrapped up with her yoyo and—

It feels a little like falling into a giant tub of Perrier, the tingling sensations on her skin almost overwhelming. There’s static in her ears and panic in her heart as she closes her eyes and holds her breath against the onslaught of colours and shapes swirling passed her eyelids, a cacophony of noise so loud she can hardly stand it. She reaches up to cover her ears but there’s no moving in this strange purgatory as the world falls out from under her, shoving her to the cobbles with a thud that jars her bones. She tries to cry out but there’s no sound save for the high pitched squeak coming out of her throat like a siren, and it occurs to her suddenly that something has gone very very wrong.

She opens her eyes.

The world is suddenly a lot larger than it was before.

HELP!

“CATACLYSME!”

Ladybug looks up just in time to see her gigantic, skyscraper of a partner disintegrate the sign with his fingers and backhand the monster into the manhole, reaching down with his monstrous hand to pick up her yoyo. Ladybug shrieks insistently as he slips his finger through the loop and tosses it at the fluttering black and purple butterfly, quickly capturing the cursed insect in his grasp. He calls the yoyo back and stares at it for several moments before bending down into a crouch, holding it out for her to see.

“Ladybug? What do I do now?”

Throw the crowbar up into the air and say Miraculous Ladybug!

Chat gulps, “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Ladybug looks down at her tiny paws and does a double take, What AM I?

“Now that I could understand,” Chat says, reaching out with his other hand. She gives him what she hopes is a truly devastating stink eye and rears up onto her hind legs with a particularly petulant squeak, “You’re a hamster.”

A HAMSTER?! Ladybug’s jaw drops and her paws are on her face immediately, patting every part of her she can reach. She’s got whiskers! And huge front teeth! And fur! Fur everywhere! Why am I a HAMSTER?!

Chat has the gall to laugh, “Oh my god, you are so adorable.”

I AM NOT!

“Come on, get on my hand before someone steps on you.”

NO!

Chat places his open palm on the ground and beckons her forwards with his fingers, “There’s like, three elephants over there and the last thing we need is for you to get squashed.”

Indignant, Ladybug tries for several humiliating moments to cross her arms and finds herself entirely at a loss. She glares at his outstretched hand with contempt for almost as long before finally giving in and marching over, determined to stay on her hind legs like any self respecting human should. She gets a good look at her body then, the soft tuft of white fur covering her belly and her tiny hind paws. How the heck was she supposed to purify the city as a hamster?!

Momentarily distracted, Ladybug stumbles over one of Chat’s claws and falls onto all fours as the ground disappears beneath her, HEY!  

Smiling indulgently at her little squeaks of horror, Chat brings her to eye level, “Thank you. Now, should I just throw this in the air and say Miraculous Ladybug?”

Ladybug nods in earnest, chirping as she mimes the movement with her paws. Chat tries his hardest to suppress his giggles and turns his attention back to the crowbar in his hands.

“Here goes nothing. Miraculous Ladybug!”

Ladybug tracks the crowbar with her eyes and watches as it falls back into his hand, still as spotted and corporeal as it was before. She tugs on his thumb and gestures for him to try again.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” he yells with gusto, tossing it yet again into the sky. When it falls back down in front of him, Ladybug realises with an awful sense of dread that she is very much screwed, “Ladybug? I think we have a problem.”

No kidding! She tugs on her whiskers and rubs her eyes, What are we going to do?

Chat sighs, “I guess we can’t purify the city like this. We’ll need to go see Master Fu.”

Ladybug nods vigorously and chatters as Chat clips her yoyo onto his belt and glances away as a flock of ostriches run across the square, “And quickly! This is otter pandamonium!”

Chat Noir’s laughter at his own puns turns to howls as Ladybug bites down on his index finger with all the prim resentfulness she can muster; she may have been turned into a hamster, but at least some things would never change.

To be continued...

[thecoddiwomplingnoeur]

A Voice To Command Armies.

Fandom- Twilight

Pairing- Tanya Denali / Bella Swan

Universe- Canon Divergence.

Work- One Shot.

-

   Autumn’s last rays slowly slid from the horizon, tendrils clinging to barren branches and fallen leaves. The twilight was cold already, the hand in Bella’s doing little to combat it. Crushed pebbles of gravel ground under their feet as they made their way up the Cullen's drive to the front door in comfortable silence. Birds were silent, nests and branches occupied and little heads finding their way under fluffed wings. It was the perfect autumnal day, the atmosphere crisp and fresh.

  It wasn’t a particularly special day, except retrospectively. School was out, homework studiously ignored, the drive had been pleasant with Edward’s hand never leaving hers.

  Perfect.

  Normal.

  Until Edward growled.

  Bella stiffened, wincing as the hand caging hers tightened just a little too much. The closed-door before them swung open, and Edward took a step back, tugging Bella along with him and swiftly behind.

  “Edward.” One word was spoken with a well of tapped authority, screamed of age and knowledge. Bella couldn’t see the owner of such a voice. Such a voice as to send shivers down her spine, to draw soft patterns on her skin that coax goosebumps out. Edwards voice was unrecognisable, low and hissed. A cornered animal with its food source threatened.

  “Denali.”

  That voice chuckled, low and throaty. Bella dropped her head forward, breathing out a sigh as her insides squirmed, stomach tugging at that tone. Edward tried to swarm her backwards, pushing against her front. He stilled his efforts when that voice spoke again, humoured.

  “Now, Edward, that’s not a nice way to greet your family.” A drawl, accented. Intoxicating. Something in Bella shifted. She tried to pull back from Edward, his hold, his herding, making the panic flail in her chest. He was cold, hard. Hard enough to draw her blood forward, hard enough to bruise her where they connected. She tried to take a step back, but her feet slipped on the stairs up to the front door.  

  Bella fell with a yelp, body crumpling with no footing to ground her until she was yanked up by her arm. Her wrist was still trapped in Edwards effortlessly constricting hold, and she hung from it like a ragdoll.

  There was a cry that echoed Bellas, and she dropped. Cold dead fingers pulled off her tender hand. Instead of angular concrete bruising her flesh, she was captured by two arms. Held against something cool and solid, something… safe.

  Instead of Edward’s concerned gaze she was expecting, instead of his short coppery hair and angled pale face. Instead of that, Bella found herself cradled by a woman. She had beautiful blonde hair curved around a strong face, piercing amber eyes and a soft smile that could stop a heart.

  Bella gulped, breath rapid, heart likewise and shivers licking her stomach.

  “Now then, little one,” So that’s who the voice belonged to. The soft smile curled a little further, sharpened teeth peeking out. “Who are you, and why has our dear Edward been keeping you from me?”

  “What?” Bella whispered, caught in the vampire’s gaze like a fly trapped in honey. She’d never heard her own voice so soft, so wonderstruck.

  “Your name, little one.” Amber eyes were so… gentle on Bella’s face. Voice commanding, and yet oddly affectionate. It set a spark a light in her, a sizzling warmth that had her breath catching at the back of her throat. “What is your name?” A cool hand lifted to gently tuck Bella’s hair from her eyes, stoking smooth fingertips over the curve of her cheek. Bella pushed into the fingers, seeking attention, and then froze, blinking down at the caressing digits strangely.

  “Bella…” Bella murmured as she lifted her hand gingerly touch the cool one that lightly cupped her flushed cheek. She didn’t understand how warmth could emanate from the dead hand, or why Edward always chilled her to the bone. The vampire grinned, dazzling white teeth pinching her bottom lip as she bit it and eyes lighting.

  “Bella. How very fitting. Very fitting indeed.” Her words were soft, musical even. “My name is Tanya Denali.”

  “Beautiful.” That gaze turned almost bashful at Bella’s wide-eyed look and words.

  “I think you’ll find, that’s your name, little one-” A growl, low and inherently dangerous sounded. Tanya tightened her hold. Tighter, but not too tight. Tanya lifted her, holding Bella against her chest as she spun.

  Edward, crouched low, missing an arm. Eyes black. He wasn’t the boy Bella knew, not right now.

  He was a direct threat.

  There was a cry from inside the Cullen’s house: Alice. Tanya ran. Bella flung her arms around Tanya’s neck and held on as the world blurred around her. They moved at speeds that stole away Bella’s breath, leaving her gasping at the crook of the vampire’s neck.

  She heard the smack of diamond-hard flesh on diamond-hard flesh, like a clap of thunder, an avalanche of boulders.

  It felt like only a second, ten at most, before the speed was reduced. Care for Bella’s human capacities displayed in the slow descent, instead of a dead stop.

  Tanya righted Bella, arm staying supportively around her lower back as the human gulped air and fought the wave of nausea that was yanking at her insides.

  “Are you okay, Bella?” That voice asked, its resounding timbre comforting in its concerned tone.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just, motion sickness.” there was a seconds pause, then Bella's spine stiffened, and she drew herself together. “What happened? Where’d you take me, where’s Edward?” Bella staunchly questioned, and frantically demanded all at once. She straightened, pulling away from Tanya, the feeling of loss surprised her, and pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. She winced, the purpling bruise stinging as she accidentally put pressure on it. Bella winced, jerking her hand away to inspect the damage and she felt the telltale welling of tears. Frustration and pain but equal contributors.

  “Bella, just stay calm. It’s okay.”

  “I’m not not calm! I’m asking what’s going on. Who even are you? You with your perfect hair, and- and your god-damned hypnotic eyes. Who are you?”

  “I’m…” Tanya seemed… lost. She looked down, nervously blinking at the ground and then glanced up at Bella. “I'm Tanya Denali.”

  “Well, Tanya Denali, do you make a habit of stealing random humans?” Bella asked, exasperated, accusing.

  “You're not ‘random’. You’re- well… you're my mate…” At that Bella outright scoffed, but it wasn't as convincing as she would have liked.              

  “No… no, I'm Edward’s.”

  “No one owns you, Bella” Tanya’s eyes bled deeper, darkness swelling and swirling around her iris, but her voice remained soft. Whispered, almost scandalised. “I'm not- I mean, from the moment I saw you I've been yours. Even if you think you are his .” She practically hissed out ‘his’, eyes turning flinty before landing on Bella’s hunched shoulders and defensive posture. She softened like butter under the sun. “I'm yours .”

  “You've only known me for a minute at most!” Bella exclaimed, turning from Tanya and her crestfallen, almost heartbroken expression. She stared out over the land; the trees spread below her from the mountain Tanya had somehow run them up. This was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous, there was no way Tanya was her… mate or anything of the sort. In fact! Bella had basically just been kidnapped by an unknown vampire! Exactly why she wasn’t panicking is beyond her.

  “A few minutes was all I needed. I’ve waited for you for a thousand years.” Came the whispered response. It felt wrong, that such a voice would be lowered to such a tentative murmur. A voice to command armies lowered for Bella. She didn’t like it.

  She didn’t know why.

  “This is ridiculous.” Bella denied, ignoring the stab in her chest at Tanya’s admission.

  “Call me ridiculous, then,” Tanya replied instantly.

  “I mean, seriously. You just… just expect me to up and leave Edward, for what? I don’t… You literally kidnapped me! I don’t know where I am, or who you’ve been hanging around with this century, but I do not feel safe! Just… just take me home .” Bella ignored her and ranted on.

  “Okay,” Tanya acquiesced quickly, eager. She stepped forward slowly to carefully pick up the stiff human, one arm under her legs, and one behind her back. Bella looped her arms around the vampire’s neck, face turned into her own shoulder, and she tried to forget how warm Tanya had felt, even compared to herself.

  Tanya ran slowly. Perhaps, Bella considered, slower than was strictly necessary for her human self. The world didn’t blur into sickening swirls of colour, so Bella could see the towering trees, the tumbling boulders that lay dormant from their once quick tumbling down the mountain.

  She didn’t feel herself relax into Tanya’s steady hold, but the vampire cradling her did.

  Soon the view of the forest land and the rugged, snow-capped mountains was swallowed by the forest’s drowsy shadows. Deep emeralds and mint hues twirled together in an epic dance of nature. Pillars of mossy bark support the ceiling. The sunlight shining through almost looked like light trickling through stained glass, casting the world below in lime greens and pale yellows.

  Tanya shifted her grip slightly as she ran, effortlessly adjusting Bella, so she was cradled close to the vampire's neck. Bella automatically buried closer into the hollow created between the shoulder and neck. Bella could barely tear her gaze from the sight around her, never having seen such a land untouched by humanity. How far had Tanya run with Bella? How fast must she be?

  And as if thinking of the stunning vampire was enough, suddenly all Bella's senses tuned into her. She felt the ivory hardness of her skin where she held Bella, the coolness that wasn't cool, that lit fires along her nerves. The slight tickle of blonde hair against Bella's cheek and the smooth pad of a finger that pressed to the hot skin of Bella’s hip just under her shirt.  She caught the scent that hung around the vampire even as she ran, the all-consuming warmth and the… Bella could begrudgingly admit, the rightness that clicked in her bones. Bella turned her head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of Tanya's golden eyes in the filtered sunlight. It was… she was…

  Those eyes turned to meet her sneaky look. Dark pupils expanded as she blinked down at the human slowly. The amber hue of her iris shrinking. The dark of her eyes was almost hypnotic, growing with every blink and every deep breath of Bella's scent.  

  Bella really wanted to deny the tug in her stomach, the flutter in her chest, but she was sure Tanya could feel her heart stutter.

  “Can I show you something?” Tanya asked softly, barely a twitch of her jaw. Eyes never straying. “I think you might like it, and it wouldn’t be too out of the way. I'll get you home, I promise.” and Bella explicitly, and without doubt, believed her.

  “What do you want to show me?” Bella demanded with as much force as she could. It was a genuinely pitiful amount. Tanya just smiled slightly, only the faintest uptick of her lips and shook her head. Pale hair danced, tickling across Bella's cheek and it was hard to be annoyed.

  “Just… can I show you?”

  Bella nodded.

  Tanya held her tighter, focusing on something further away, concentrating. Then the speed picked up. The world blurred, but not uncomfortably so. A couple of seconds, a slight direction change and then they were there.

  Tanya slowed, gently placing Bella onto the forest floor behind a rambling bush, her hand settling uncertainly on the small of the humans back. She inched forward, quieting Bella's protests and questions by coaxing her along until Tanya could slowly pull the branches aside to reveal the inner clearing.  

  Bella's breath caught.

  In the clearing, neck bent to drink steadily, elegantly, was a doe and foal. They watched the foal's ears flick, nose twitching as it nibbled young blades. It was such a peaceful picture, a snapshot of the forest’s every day. Something Bella was sure she would never have seen without vampiric help.

  Again, despite the beautiful scene in front of her, Bella found herself glancing sideways, glancing at Tanya. At the soft reflecting of light through her hair and through the leaves up above, at the smooth perfection of her pale skin, the soft pink of her lips that seemed to alive in juxtaposition to her complexion. She ever found herself looking at how one elegant hand supported Tanya on the first floor, the definition of thin bones and gentle cushions of flesh beneath rock hard skin. The hand on Bella’s back suddenly felt inescapable, and what worried Bella most, is that she had no real desire to run from it.

  Nervously aware of her rather unsubtle staring, Bella quickly looked back at the view by the river, of the frolicking calf and indulgent mother. How many times had Tanya run across things like this? How many times had she ended scenes like this with swift flicks of her wrists and two sharp fangs? And yet, Tanya had thought of Bella, and brought her here to see it for herself. It was… sweet. Thoughtful, and surprisingly caring for someone she’d only just met.

  With a deep breath, Bella chanced a glance over at the vampire beside her and- oh. Swirling black eyes met her own, caught them in an embrace Bella really didn’t want to leave. A thin, flecked ring of amber was the only thing that separated Tanya’s look and the look Edward had given her. That and something more profound than the physical, something Bella couldn’t place. Some feeling of safety. Of wholeness. Of- oh.

  Tanya really was… she really was her mate.

  Oh.

  As if the realisation played on Bella’s face like the finest Shakespeare, Tanya smiled that soft little smile. Like she knew.

  She probably did.

-

Archive Of Our Own- LachrymoseLake

Thanks for reading! xx

[avannak]

End of an Era

InuKog Week Day 5: Death/Angst

★On AO3★

Inuyasha wiped his greasy fingers on the jacket he had draped across his leg. The edge of the building he sat on wasn’t too high as to alarm anyone who happened to glance up; with a snack of pork cutlets in hand, his heels bouncing against brick as he let his legs swing, and suspenders off shoulder, looped at his hips, he looked the part of any day-to-day working taking a lunch break.

He chewed slowly, the construction below holding his entire attention, his heart somehow high and heavy all at once—up in his throat and weighty. The fried food was delicious, bought from one of the new vendors popping up on street corners as Tokyo exploded into a metropolis. He could hardly taste it. Every bite sat leaden in his stomach.

“You know, when you’re in the country could you try letting me know every now and then.”

Inuyasha popped the rest of the cutlet in his mouth, gestured to the ostentatious building five blocks from the very rooftop on which he sat, and said through a mouthful of food, “Why the fuck did you think I chose to sit here?”

In plain view of Kouga’s top floor office.

“To admire the architecture.”

“Admire a goddamn eyesore?"

"It's cutting edge."

"It's obnoxious.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, puppy. Much like that common-man’s garb. Can’t you at least lose the western look when you come here?”

The clip of geta on a rough surface had Inuyasha turning his head just enough to catch a glimpse of a long, navy tonbi with a fur-lined collar over whatever expensive ensemble lay beneath. Inuyasha eyed the outfit in distaste as he scoffed.

“—sound like my brother. Better than looking like a ponce…”

“So, what’s the occasion this time?” Kouga asked, easily ignoring the grumbling. He leaned over Inuyasha, curtain of silken black hair swinging cross the younger man’s head, and reached into his lap to pluck a cutlet. “This is the third time this year I’ve seen you back east. Something’s happening. Wedding? Funeral?”

Inuyasha let off a low growl but allowed the theft. He picked up his next cutlet and gestured to the knot of humans milling around below, shifting gravel in wheelbarrows, sawing planks of wood, hammering into place the beginnings of a structure Inuyasha had been (would become?) all too familiar with…

Even with his human ears, Inuyasha could hear Kouga’s chewing slow before giving a rough swallow.

“Woah, wait…what are they doing? They can’t—”

“It’s fine.” Inuyasha cut him off, and he was sure the melancholy in his voice disturbed Kouga more than the construction swirling around the Bone eater’s well. “It’s supposed to happen.”

In the last thirty years since Edo had been renamed Tokyo, Inuyasha had kept a closer eye on the land, retaining one foot in Japan as he hadn’t done in centuries.

He’d been waiting for this—perhaps all these centuries. He’d been both dreading and yearning for it…

In a flurry of expensive cloth, Kouga settled down next to him on the roof’s ledge.

“It’s so weird you know this...” the wolf muttered. The man fiddled with the bulbous gemmed ring on his middle finger; should it have slipped off, the ears and tail and every other supernatural feature would have been exposed to the thousands of humans below.

Inuyasha continued to eat, shrugging one shoulder in a show of indifference.

“You don’t seem excited,” Kouga observed.

Inuyasha flicked crumbs off his fingers with blunt nails and said, honestly, “I don’t know what to feel.”

More specifically, he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. Excited just... well, it didn’t seem appropriate.

The foundation for the shrine had been set weeks ago. He could point out where the family house would go, though he didn’t know if it would be built along with the shrine or if it would come later. He knew where the shed would later appear—the one that where the Noh Mask would eventually be stored...

And the Goshinboku stood tall, as it always had, buds tight against every outstretched branch as warmer weather stoked their bloom. Inuyasha hadn’t touched the tree in centuries. Hadn’t cast an eye on that grove where he had been sealed. Not since he first left Japan centuries. He didn’t know if he could bring himself to…

He could feel Kouga’s stare. He met the wolf’s eyes and did his best to look annoyed. Seeing the oddly human gaze soften back at him, Inuyasha knew he failed.

Sighing, he cast his attention down to the two last cutlets in his lap, debating on whether to offer them to the wolf or throw them down at the pedestrians for a laugh.

A tanned hand gripped his shoulder, demonic strength thrumming beneath the concealment spell.

“Hey,” Kouga said, “this is a good thing.”

Inuyasha let out a hoarse chuckle. “You think?”

“Why not? We’ve known this was coming.” Kouga gestured with his free hand just as Inuyasha had minutes before. “Look around. It’s the start of a new era.”

Inuyasha nodded—hardly taking in the multi-floored apartments and paved streets and ever churning fashion that had struck Japan just as it had the rest of the developed world—but his frown deepened.

Then why did it feel like the end of one?

He knew he said it out loud—whispered it, perhaps—when Kouga’s grip tightened for a breath.

Well, if he were to be vulnerable before anybody, he was glad it could be Kouga, who had long since wormed past his defenses.

It couldn’t be helped. This why Inuyasha spent more and more time watching the shrine being built, feeling anxious one day and sick to his stomach the next. The clouded air, Kouga’s hand on his shoulder in a show of comfort—Inuyasha realized he had been mourning, of all things.

It felt like the end was approaching with every bone set in the impending structure. That she would be born again (at last?) and then leave and that would be it. There would be nothing left to wait for. The closing of a book he was sure he hadn’t read correctly, that he might never understand.

The pair spent another silent moment watching the oblivious human crew work, each with their own thoughts, their own concerns, and anticipation hammering in their chest along with the tools below.

Together, they watched the beginning of the Higurashi shrine take foot into history.

The beginning of the end.

-------

**This takes place in the early 1900s (1918 because I had to get specific for myself). Again, I have so many headcanons for how these characters develop over the centuries that I’m taking full advantage of this challenge to bury myself into nostalgia and let them out. 

Also... I know I’m a day behind. Yesterday was my day off, but also was spent at an event had me partying out too late.

[anthracenes]

Passion-Based Learning | Chapter 1

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, Abuse of Authority, Conditioning, Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Dom/sub, Brainwashing

[read on AO3 here]

He had first spotted it on his Chemistry Department's bulletin a week ago—set apart from the rest as being the one with the least art, the least color, and the most unassuming font to ever grace an ad. Isaac was just heading back to his dorm from having gotten his third D- in the class when he saw the stark flash of white from the corner of his eye.

A nondescript little flyer, advertising for some home-based, one-on-one tutoring off-campus.

He'd never admit it to his parents, but Isaac thinks he prefers it like that: learning with a real person on the other end. His first and only experience with it was on campus, with the student mentors he had the pleasure of working with last semester, but it was enough to open his eyes to it and never look back. His positive experiences that semester—being heard, listened to, treated as an average person and not another bottom line to satisfy—had made Isaac wonder for the first time whether there was more to learning than what he’s been led to believe all his life: whether classes, academics did not have to be the chores that they were—but something that could be appreciated with others, for their own sake.

He shudders to think what they would say to him now, if only they knew what he was up to. Mingling with everyday folk, and even learning a thing or two from them. But that was what college was all about, wasn’t it? Learning and trying all sorts of things a parent would never approve of, all on your own.

That’s what Isaac is doing now at least, in the passenger’s seat of a cab. It was unfortunate that the student mentors he so loved were unavailable this time around—mainly due to both popular demand and the sheer intensity of classes this semester. Still, all that meant was that he had to expand his search a little more. The two tutors from the flyer had offered help for an impressive breadth of STEM subjects: ranging from Calculus and Physics, General and Organic Chemistry, even to four different branches of biology. He had called the number provided and scheduled for a session for 3:00PM today, for help on Organic Chemistry, and is now on his way to meet them for the very first time. It’s not as if he’s sneaking around doing something awful, and yet Isaac feels a bit of a thrill in this—for being in control of at least one aspect of his life, for the first time.

As he skims the address plaques from the window of the cab, Isaac can't help but wonder about all sorts of things of his new tutors. How old are they? What relationship do the two have with each other? What inspired them both to take on this job? He wonders the reason for their preference to work from a house in the suburbs, as opposed to the luxury of a more established organization. The voice he had heard on the other end of the call last week was Wilfred’s: Caucasian, friendly, probably well in his late forties or fifties. Isaac wonders if it's him who will be tutoring him or the other tutor, Alexander.

Either way, he’s excited to meet them both.

“.. Oh, right here please. Thank you.”

He tips the driver and steps out of the vehicle with his belongings. Walking up to the welcome mat laid neatly under the white wooden door, he rings the doorbell and waits.

The neighborhood here is nice. It’s a quiet little cul-de-sac: a modest row of brownstone houses all lined up one after another, like a looping trail of dominoes. Instead of sprawling green lawns, many of the houses here have small gardens dotting along their front porches—a few morning glories here, rhododendron bushes there, even a plant growing little red chili peppers from across the street. This house in particular had pink, rose-like flowers he’s never seen before, adorning the entrance of the house in hanging baskets affixed to the ceiling.

Isaac hears footsteps approaching from the inside before the door finally opens. To his surprise, out steps a young man: dark hair and dimples, and barely any older than Isaac himself. The young man extended a hand to greet him, smiling.

“Welcome! You must be Isaac?”

He nods, shaking the outstretched hand.

“You can call me Alex,” the young man says. “I’m the other tutor here, along with Wilfred. It’s great to finally meet you, Isaac; please, come on in!”

Alex walks with him through the foyer, down the hall, and into the living room of the house—where all their tutoring sessions will be held. All the while, he’s all smiles as he goes over with Isaac the specifics of their arrangement.

“Tutoring usually lasts an hour, though we can always extend it if need be. It’s just us two for now, so we’re pretty flexible with our scheduling. You mentioned you preferred once a week on Thursdays to prep for your Friday exams, correct?”

”Yes, that’s correct,” he replied, grimacing slightly as he recounts the three awful ones he’s already been handed back so far. He has got to turn that around, and he’s sure he could with the help of this tutoring.

“Alright! Just let us know if that day no longer works for you for any reason, or if you want to add any more sessions in the future. Wilfred and I are happy to be of help, in any way we can.”

When they finally reach the living room at the end of the hall, the young man walks him to the brown leather couch right in the middle.

“Wilfred is in the kitchen right now, making snacks for the session. I’ll let him know you’re here so that we can get started right away. In the meantime, though,” he waves his hand, motioning for Isaac to sit before he heads to the kitchen, “Please, make yourself right at home here.”

Isaac sets his bag down next to his feet as he sits. He’s thrilled to have the privilege of studying with such wonderful people, and in such an inviting environment. The house is unique, welcoming, and charmingly eclectic in its furnishings; he feels he could identify at least five distinct styles and periods from the various things in the living room alone—all married together nicely to provide the overall personal, comforting atmosphere of the house. On the coffee table in front of him was a glass vase, filled with the same, swirling pink flowers he had seen from the hanging baskets outside.

But what catches his attention the most in the living room was not the flowers, or any of the other furnishings, but what sits across from it: all on its own, separated from anything else in the room.

There, positioned against the wall opposite him, stood a magnificent, cherry-red grandfather clock. Isaac's gaze is helplessly drawn to the structure: the swing of its shiny brass pendulum from behind the glass, to and fro and to and fro, with each movement accompanied by the monotonous, dull ticking of each second marching by. Isaac finds himself oddly relaxing to it as he stares on—sinking back into the soft cushions of the couch, letting each of the muscles in his body slowly unwind and let go of the tension he didn’t know he was even carrying with each heavy swing. His thoughts scatter away from him the more he watches the bob of the pendulum until there remains nothing else to pry him away from the hypnotic pull of the clock, lulling him deeper and deeper in unawares.

It was only when Wilfred himself appeared in front of him, setting down a tray of warm cookies on the table and blocking the clock from his direct line of sight, that Isaac was finally able to snap out of his strange reverie.

“Oh—! I… I’m so sorry,” he apologized, frowning. Isaac straightens up immediately, sitting up on the edge of the couch. “You haven’t been waiting long for me there, have you? I have no idea what’s gotten into me…”

“Oh, no; not at all,” The older tutor smiles, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand. “I don’t mind it, really. I'm just glad you're able to find it so relaxing here."

After setting the tray down, the man extends a large hand out to shake his.

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Isaac. Alex had probably told you already, but my name is Wilfred. We both look forward to working with you as your tutors from here on out.”

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

My Design Verse IIX

“I’m going to ask one last time - how the fuck did you lose my white whale?”

Jack Crawford’s voice boomed through the office, ricochetting off of the wood panneled walls surrounding them, muffling the tone and softening the blows of his words. He had been shouting for the last fifteen minutes, ever since he had arrived at the hospital from the awkward phonecall an hour earlier updating him of the events.

The anger of it washed over Will, leaving him unmarked and untouched, uninfluenced at all by the heat of the words or the accusations alike. Will’s mind was much more unpleasantly focussed at that time, down two floors in the basement holding cell, watching her escape from between his fingers all over again.

“There was an orderly-” The doctor attempted to answer the fury being thrown at him, though Will knew he would have been better off being silent and letting the storm blow through and out again. Instead Fredrick Chilton was cut off with an animalistic growl.

Jack Crawford rounded on the shorter psychiatrist, snarling as he waved a hand towards the grainy security footage on loop on the screen to the side of them all. Will found himself averting his gaze as the long, tan legs turned to stand up for the nth time since it had been recorded to move towards the window, looking out on the suddenly greyer streetscape. He could have sworn it was greener when he’d reached the hospital that morning, he could have sworn the sky still held a lick of blue behind the clouds, but there was no sign of it any more. He could almost see a slight darkness consuming the world outside, as if a dark shadowy mist was rolling in across the ground, creeping over the grass and pavement alike, swallowing the light that tried to reach to saturate the colours but getting consumed by the inky rippling surface instead, shadows crawling towards him, towards the window pane that separated him from it, a menacing darkness looming towards him like the darkness that would swallow the image of his angel within a few seconds leaving a black screen before the world would be missing her again. 

Blinking his eyes, the world righted - the sky was blue, the grass was green, and Jack’s voice was once again booming through the office without a sign he was going to slow down - around Will again, and he found himself rubbing a hand over his eyes and then down his face as the man’s words began to sink in.

“-fucking unknown employee that you can’t even find a fucking record of somehow disappeared with the most wanted female serial killer in this fucking goddamn country!”

“Jack,” He found himself speaking for the first time since the other man had entered the office, voice rough but quiet compared to the power of both other men’s contributions to the interrogation thus far. “We are all aware the gravity of the situation.”

“Are you, are you all?” The FBI agent rounded upon him, though Will found he could not turn from the window again lest the shadows return and steal all of the light once and for all. He could see out the corner of his eye the darkness threatening, wobbling and wriggling, as if awaiting the moment he would look away to come back out and swallow him whole this time. He could feel it watching him as much as he watched it. Jack moved towards him, and he barely flinched at the meaty palm that clasped down on his shoulder. “And what exactly were you doing here today, Will? We already did out investigation with Hannibal and Alana-”

“Their findings were incorrect.”

“Their… their findings were incorrect? The trained professionals were incorrect?”

“She’s not a serial killer, Jack.” Will replied, arms crossed and leaning forward to press his forehead against the jarring cold of the glass before him. Perhaps the cold would draw away the phantoms taunting his mind, the little voices whispering to him that he knew what happened, he saw what took her, he knew it was all real, he knew he should stay. away. from. her... His voice was a soft growl as he spoke, jaw clenching slightly as he paused for the voices to fade away before continuing despite what he was sure would be the infuriated look on the other man’s face. “She’s barely even a murderer. A killer? Yes. A torturer? Yes. But a murderer or serial killer is not right for her. She doesn’t.. kill indiscriminantly. There aren’t set patterns of persons she targets. She can barely even be tied to half the charges you’ve attributed to her.” His eyes focus on the singular tree he remembers seeing the underside of the branches of from his own cell, eyes focussing upon the twisting gnarled form of it. There had been no leaves upon it’s surface when he had been institutionalized there, but now was brimming with green folliage and shivering under the wind’s force. “You have her in two, three, four and even five locations at the same time with your case, Jack. You have her murdering cattle in Missouri while flaying a woman alive in Seattle, while decapitating a trio in New York and burning a house down in Dallas. Shine a light on your findings, Jack, shine a light on the reality that no woman, even one as complex, intruiging and unnatural as Joanna Harvelle can do all that.”

The room was silent, or at least it would be if not for the voices Will could hear in his ears, as both other men appeared to pause at his words. Freeze and stand silently reviewing and judging him. He could feel their eyes on the back of his shoulders, and in the reflection of the glass he could see both sets looking at him - concern, rage and distrust in one that he remembered from the last time he was in this hospital, considering and judgement in the other’s. Will could feel the change from self-righteous indignation from the doctor into an almost knowing smugness, but that was not Will’s concern. Jack’s rage was much more pressing than Chilton’s suspicons.

“I don’t care about what the case shows, I care that that psychopath managed to escape this facility and no one can tell me how the fuck she managed it! Other than by seducing some fake fucking Orderly. Right after an unapproved visit by a FBI liason without anyone knowing of it!”

“I wanted to speak with her. See her. Since I did not get the opportunity back at the bureau.” Will snapped back sharply at the other man’s words, the whispered voices egging him on to snap, snarl, tear, to tell the truth, let them see you’re crazy too, to confess to his feelings, to helping her, to letting her escape over and over, to wanting to crawl into the madness with her so they would lock him up safe and sound far, far away from her. They sounded so like his thoughts, maddened and swirling as he thought back how close he had been just barely two hours earlier to the bewitcher, to his lure that he could have bit down and given in to being dragged from the water and into the gasping air from the sweet, sticky darkness of her. “Alana was being toyed with, she is too forgiving, too trusting, too weak to handle dealing with such a force. And Hannibal… Hannibal was dismissed the moment he entered, you know that Jack. And yet…” Will’s fist tightened agains the window sill, head turning to pin Jack with the same cold, calculating look he felt so familiar, so at home in, ever since the hospital and his eyes were opened. The right side of his lip curled up, a dark smile that matched the dark one flickering on the screen as the woman’s arms wrapped around the neck of the unknown man before the screen flashed back to black. “You wouldn’t let me try, Jack, you wasted your best tool for the job.”

He could see the rage subsiding slightly from the other man’s face, the firey fury dying down as the fuel slowly seeped away. The video continued to roll behind him, as perplexing as it was the first time on it’s hundredth roll. Jack Crawford’s face was so easy to read now, now that Will could see the cold calculating man hidden beneath the facade of care and attentiveness. Where he had entered the room a furious bonfire of rage, he now has burned down, tired so tired, from the loss of his Bela and his Moby Dick finally died out. Will could see the deep set tiredness that had swallowed the once powerful man into the empty husk he had walked around as since Miriam Lass’ discovery the previous year and the dead end’s ever since with his current prize search. Catching Joanna, capturing the bloody angel and clipping her wings, had emboldened the man some but now it was gone away again. Will’s fingers twitched, as if he could feel her slipping through his own the same as she had his superior’s.

“You are still not cleared for that work, Will.”

“Just because you still haven’t caught the Ripper. Still haven’t followed what I’ve told you-”

“Will, if you please.” The silent man’s voice cut over Will’s slowly building tirade, catching both men’s attention back to the awkwardly shifting doctor. Fredrick’s hand was clenching and unclenching nervously around the head of his cane at their stares, but appeared to be unaffected otherwise. He gestured his other hand towards the door where two security men were standing. “Jack, my men are your men, and no one has entered the cell since the disappearance. These fine gentlement will escort you to the security room where all of our cameras and recorded footage will be at your disposal.”

There was a long pause, drawn out and cold in the air between them, before the FBI agent’s shoulders slipped slightly, hands fisting into clubs before the man shot another look towards him. “I will need to speak with you after. The both of you.”

“Of course, anything to assist with recovering the woman, Jack.” Chilton’s voice was calm and collected as always, hand straightening his tie clip slightly as his men moved back from the door to allow Jack’s passage. At a nod of his head, the last guard pulled the door closed behind them.

“Of course, anything to assist Jack,” Will parroted, the curl of his lip back in place. He was rewarded with a snarl from the usually professional man as Chilton’s hands grasped tightly to the top of his cane for a moment, before releasing it into a gentle hold again. “Are you going to give him access to-”

“Your speaking with Miss Harvelle?” The other interrupted, voice clearly dripping with amusement as he sank back down into his leather desk chair. The theatrics of it, cane resting against the arm rest of the Chesterfield desk chair, dark red toned leather and elogated design dwarfing the doctor but adding to his power if Will were the man he had been before he entered the facility as a patient and walked away a changed man. The dark haired doctor smiled saccharinely at him. “You want to know if I watched your… interview with her, and if I will be providing the footage to Jack Crawford.”

Will gritted his teeth, hands clenching at his side as he could hear the voices whispering to lash out or to lie again as you always do about her and as his eyes diverted towards the now black screen filled with the ghost of himself - eyes dark and heavy with fury unlike the kind that had filled the room before, mouth pressed tightly together to hold back the snarl, the darker version he wished he could display to the world without fear. Blinking, he turned his gaze back to the other man, the cruel face staring back at him from the corner of his eye. “Yes, I want to know if you plan on providing that to Jack.”

“I am sure it would be of interest to Jack, that I am sure of.” Chilton’s voice sounded rough, tight as if trying to hold back any slip of emotion, any sign of what he was thinking. Will’s eyes narrowed slightly, the twist of his lip dropping into a thinly pressed line as he raised a hand to readjust his glasses. The doctor likewise appeared to fiddle with the top of his cane, long fingers curling and stroking the cold metal pensively as he chose his words carefully. “I must say, Will, I was not aware you had any involvement in her case-”

“I didn’t. I only worked on her profile, as we discussed.”

“Ah yes, her profile. You did seem to want to…work on her profile from the looks of the feed before our conversation was so abruptly concluded before.” Will could feel the doctor’s eyes drilling into him from across the desk as he himself paced slowly, prowling as if a predator awaiting his chance to spring forth and attack. Each pass of the display monitor - it’s power off now that Jack had left - reflecting the sinister snarl he wished he could pull off each time Will drew close to it at the other man’s observation and probing words. “Tell me, Will, do you have a curiosity or is it just lust I saw? I mean, the woman is beautiful and you have lost the lovely Alana Bloom to Hannibal from what I’ve heard.”

That got the snarl out of him. The dark face in the monitor matching the one on his own face as Will turned to the desk, hands planted firmly as he leant forward, staring fiercly across at the now silent man. He could feel his jaw clenching, the darkness seeping into him as if the armour he used to separate himself from the him that invisioned torturing Hannibal, murdering the stag and feasting on it’s flesh, of strangling the Wendigo and drawing it’s last breath from it had been chinked and a weakness found. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you were curious about her, but I see now that perhaps there is something more to that.” The knowing smirk was back in place after it had momentarially faltered, showing Chilton’s hand as much as his hand had shown it tightly gripping the leather of his arm rests and recoiling slightly back into the chair away from Will’s fury. He was scared of him, he could use that. Chilton appeared to shrug it off, the smirk blooming back after a moment and his fingers appearing forcedly relaxed. “It is curious that you asked to visit her. As Jack and yourself confirmed, you never spoke while she was at the Agency and yet… It seems you were already acquainted with her, weren’t you Will. Interesting that you shared such fascinating conversation for two people who have never met before.”

Gritting his teeth and letting out a slight rush of air, Will retracted his hands, ne raising to resit his glasses frames while the other tucked into his front pocket. He could hear the ghostly version of himself on the screen, or was it one of the other voices, hissing at him to silence the other man. To refuse to answer him. To do what Hannibal would do to someone so close to finding him out. Clenching his fist in his pocket, Will bit down the desire with the bite of his tongue before asking quietly again, “I want to know if you plan on providing that to Jack.”

“You don’t care if I watched it?”

“Should I?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps that tape has already mysteriously disappeared from the office before Jack even left this room.” The psychiatrist’s face slipped from the sickening smile into a more professional frown, brows creased as if trying to read Will’s mind - the open book it had been when boiling to death no longer. As if trying to disect him alive, and draw out what secrets hid within his skull so tightly held and hidden away from the light of his probing search. As if trying to burrow deep within Will to find out just what it was that Will really wanted from this conversation. “Does that answer satisfy you, Will?”

Will wished he knew himself. He wished he knew what he wanted to keep hidden, what he wanted to be known, what he wanted to shout from the rooftops and dig deep within the earth and bury like his dogs would a bone. He knew all the answers were one and the same though, but that he could not let it fall from his lips lest the other options disappear from him forever. 

The one thing he knew above all else was that he needed to escape the bars of the cage deep within himself, the bars of the frightened man he was when he was drawn into Jack’s macbre world and the webbing of the spiders web he had flown into chasing Hannibal before so that he could maybe, possibly, inevitably dive into the jet black darkness of the water after his lure instead.

—

It was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. He could not have woken up and this could not be reality.

Those were the only thoughts that managed to run through his head as Fredrick Chilton followed the bloody trail through his house from where he had awoken, splattered and smeared in bloody residue, along the foyer and hallway into the kitchen and dining space to the two mutilated corpses.

There was no way this was true. He could not have found himself wrapped up in the bloody remains of two FBI agents posed and displayed in such gruesome ways. His marble counter top would never be the same again. That thought felt out of place to the horror that surrounded him, but truly he bemoaned the likelihood that his counter would always have a slightly red hue no matter how much bleach was added. That was Calcutta marble, it would cost a fortune to replace.

Fredrick’s mouth twisted as he moved around the front of the counter, taking in the delicate bow around the lap of the agent on the island, fashioned out of intestines so clearly decoration and wrapping the case up against him so tightly, so cleanly, so precisely for Jack Crawford the moment anyone entered the building. So theatrical that Fredrick couldn’t help but appreciate the Ripper’s work - a beautiful touch in an otherwise foul display.

As much as the Chesapeake Ripper had set Will Graham free months and months ago, the Ripper had now trapped him instead.

Moving past the body splayed on the table - a reconstruction of the Wound Man in perfect display, knives and implements spaced perfectly, the angles like a deformed hedgehog and face turned up in a frozen spectre of the last painful moments of the man’s life - the psychiatrist could hear the echo of the Ripper’s voice in his mind as he looked down at the body. “When you wake up, your only choice will be to run…”

And run he did.

The door was battered and worn, a perfect representation for the owner as Fredrick found himself approaching the opening front door to the sound of barking from within the little white house. It was such a picturesque place, so apart and isolated from the rest of society that the doctor in him would have loved to have known of this place when he had the owner within his grasp. Clearly this would have been a perfect metaphor for the man himself - separated from the rest of society through the cold barren land of emotive empathy and madness.

The look on the other man’s face as the door was opened fully, Fredrick knew that the somewhat mad man was probably uncertain what his appearance - suit jacket over his bloody shirt and blood smeared across his face - meant. Or rather, any other man would find it uncertain, Will Graham would know exactly what it would mean.

“May I use your shower, please?” His words were calm, belittled however by the slight wobble of his legs and the shake of his hand as the crowd of dogs surrounded him. The knowing smile from the empathetic man calmed his fraught nerves slightly as Will Graham stepped back and waved a hand, welcoming him into the house.

The almost dribble of the water pressure made him sad, it was nothing on the beautiful rainwater shower head he was so used to, nor was the faded old shower curtain that wrapped the shower-tub anything on the elaborate steam shower stall of glass and marble. He would have done anything to be back in his own shower to wash away the tight knots in his shoulders, but that would not be happening again any time soon. He could hear that dark little voice in the back of his mind as the red rinsed off down the drain, you’ll never get home again, you’re going to be on the run forever, you’re lavish lifestyle is gone from here on out.

Hannibal had been polite enough to prepare his suitcases for him with a suitable array of clothes, stylish yet comfortable, appropriate for the man Fredrick was and who he had to be in hiding. Nobody could ever accuse the man of impoliteness nor a lack of taste. The thought got a dark chuckle out of him at that.

Shrugging the woolen sweater over his head and tugging the shirt collar clear over top, Fredrick found himself fighting down the twinge of panic and hysteria all over again as he entered the dining space to find Will Graham watching him - those piercing eyes focussing entirely upon him alongside the attentive looks of the man’s canine family.

“I have the same profile as Hannibal Lecter.” He found himself pacing, the nervous energy of his mind whirring over his situation overflowing to the nervous movements as he walked back and forth. Anything to stop looking at the almost sardonic look upon Will Graham’s face, a knowing smugness and humor to him as much as the offkilter man could display. “Same medical and psychology background. We are both doctors of note in our fields.” Fredrick continued rambling, hands clenching tightly across the top of his cane - head jerking at the cut off noise of amusement from the other man, before he was distracted again from the frustration at the man’s bemusement by the hyped thoughts swirling through his head. That this was going to be the end of his life and if the FBI, if Jack, caught a hold of him it would be done. “Of course it would be me. Hannibal was never going to kill me. I’m his patsy.” Fredrick basically spat the word out, snarl on his lips as he smacked the worn wooden floors with the end of his cane to a resounding crack. He cared little to the spectacle he was making any more, there were more important things than maintaining calm and collected to be thought of. “I have to leave the country. I’m leaving the country.”

“If you run, you will look guilty.” The words were quiet, almost gentle, but there was a dark current underlying the other man’s tone, though it wasn’t worth his attention right now.

Fredrick let out a bark of laughter, harsh and cruel, as he turned to point a finger at the other man. “ You didn’t run and you looked plenty guilty.” Snarling, the psychiatrist clasped his other hand around the top of the chair he had his coat laid over, knuckles almost white from the tightness of his grip. “Abel Gideon was half-eaten in my guest room. I have corpses on my property, you just threw up an ear.”

“There’s an APB on you right now. They’ve canceled your credit cards, they’re tracing your phone.”

“I have cash and I tossed my phone.” He grit his teeth at the almost accusing tone from the other that he hadn’t already thought of that. That Fredrick Chilton was a fool who did not understand how to react to investigators showing up on his door and subsequently dead in his home. Will may not have respected him as a psychiatrist or a professional, but he would damn well make him appreciate his intelligence. “Jack Crawford thinks I killed two agents – three agents. You know what tends to happen to people who do that?” His brow raised across at the other man’s impassive face, knuckles cracking quietly as he dropped both hands to his sids. “Shoot on sight.”

There was a long pause before Will spoke again. “I’m going to prove that Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper.” The look in his eye would have paused Fredrick before, if he had seen the darkness deep in those eyes last year while Will Graham was tucked carefully behind metal bars and in the faded grey jumpsuit - there was no way that he would have ever believed that the man was innocent of murdering a young woman and eating her corpse. Now however, he had more pressing issues.

“I know you will.” The doctor remarked back, folding his hands over eachother before reaching out for his coat, gripping the black, grey and red peacoat tightly in his hands. The scratchy material not the best quality of his coats from his old wardrobe, but Hannibal was clearly well versed enough in disappearing to know how. Fredrick wished he could have had his black trench coat instead, but this was what he would live with now. “And when you do, I will read about it from a secure location and reintroduce myself to society at that time.”

As Will appeared to open his mouth to respond, the pair both froze at the sound of wheels on gravel, the rumble of an engine and the starting of barking by the dogs in the other room. Someone had arrived. Someone was pulling into the driveway behind Fredrick’s car. Someone had been notified.

“What did you do?” He practically hissed the words out, hand ducking into the pocket of his coat and retracting again, barrel of the handgun he’d woken up with held in his hand and pointed straight across at the wary looking other man.

“I called Jack Crawford.”

“No.. No no no…”

Backing towards the open window, leaning his head to the side to look through the curtain he could see the black Agency issue car pulled in behind his own. He could feel himself muttering curses under his breath when the creak of the other man’s chair as Will made to stand up. The gun was back on the other man’s face, tracking him as the other stood up and began towards the front door. “No! Stay there!”

“You’re not a killer Fredrick.”

They both knew the statement to be truth. That between the two of them, only one had the ability to draw a weapon and fire it too compared to just drawing it. That only the unstable one of them could stomach pulling the trigger.

As Will stood and moved towards the front door, the blood pulsed in his ears, thudding like a drum as the quiet whisper came over the pulsing noise that -run, run run run - and he followed its advice straight out the back door and towards the winter covered woods.

The trees were barren and bare, the snow crisp under foot crunching like cracks over the icy cold wind. He could see his breath in front of his face as he ran and stumbled through the undergrowth, his fingers were sore and reddening the further he went, breathing harsh and ragged as he pushed further. The sound of footfalls behind him and Jack Crawford screaming after him just spurred him on further, deeper and deeper into the white dead woods as he was trailed behind.

Slipping and sliding as he reached a ridge, trying to drag his way up the side of the embankment to get above and away from his stalker, Fredrick’s eyes were wide and wild as he realised his frozen fingers could not grasp the tree roots, gnarled and hard, and he pulled and scrambled. “God…God help me.” His words were harsh, a prayer out as if something might be out there that could hear him. As if his words would have any chance of being answered. As if he had the last moments to escape.

His hand scrabbled one last time as he looked over his shoulder, seeing the furious and cold FBI agent approaching - close enough that in a few seconds he would have a clean shot at the fleeing doctor - when he felt something warm wrap around his wrist and pull him upwards harshly. The tug was enough. His feet managed to find purchase and throwing his other hand up to grasp the wrist of the hand holding his own, Fredrick lurched upwards and over the crest.

Panting as he threw himself flat upon the ground, snow burning his eyes and nose and lips but the separation from the gunshot that rung out behind him. Saved. He’d been saved. Rolling onto his back, he blinked away the white crystals on his lashes to see the bright blonde hair as the woman sat upright, rifle locked and held outright towards where the agent was stood, staring up at the pair of them.

“You!”

“Yes, me, Mr. Crawford.” The voice was harsh and yet sounded like the sweetest sound Fredrick had ever heard. There was no way Jack would go after him when the woman was present. This was his chance to escape, to flee and get away while the armed pair faced off. “Sorry to say, but you’re after the wrong person yet again, you fuck. And I’ve got you in my lines so… I’ma give you a chance to leave uninjured. One chance to leave without a gunshot.”

The crack of a gun rang through the forrest as Fredrick rolled again to the side, scrambling back away from the crest behind the thick trunk of the tree he’d tried to reach, staring across at the woman who’d not even flinched at the sound. There was blood blossoming across her shoulder where the bullet had hit, but she stayed firm letting out a breath.

Three more shots fired, all from her towards the other. And the groans that followed let Fredrick know that at least one had found their mark. If not all three if her case file was accurate at all.

“Sorry Crawford.” Her voice was almost as cold as the wind itself as Joanna Harvelle flung herself over the crest of the icy river bank. Crawling up the tree trunk and leaning his head around the wide berth of it, Fredrick watched as the woman approached the agent, now kneeling on the ground - blood visible dripping from his arm and the puddle beneath his feet suggesting that she had hit at least one of his legs as well. She kicked a foot out, the gun in the agent’s injured hand flung wide into the snow before she too was thrown into the snow by the other man.

It was a flurry of movement from there. Fredrick had trouble following who landed which blow, who was winning and who was losing, who’s blood spread across the snow or who’s groan it was as the pair tussled. He kept looking between the struggle and the woods before him as if he could escape before a victor was found.

And then it happened. The fifth gunshot and the heavy thud of a body onto the ground echoed in the quiet space before Fredrick heard it.

“You can either keep tryin’ to catch us, or you can keep applyin’ pressure to that neck wound and make it home to your wife.” Joanna’s words were quiet but carried on the wind as she stepped back from the other man, laid bare on the ground and hand pressed tightly to his throat. “Your choice, but I know what I’d pick.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, and Fredrick’s eyes blew wide again, scrambling away from the tree and moving a few feet back from the riverbank as the deadly woman approached, climbing up the distance smoother and with none of the struggle he himself had had trying to climb the bank face. Her blonde hair stood out from under the brown knitted beanie on her head, and she looked more suitably dressed for the cold winterscape than he himself was. Her boots were worn but thick compared to his dress shoes. She would have him in a moment, he knew, and he’d be yet again on death’s door by an ex-patient and he found his breath increasing sharply as her angular face approached, blood dripping from a cut in her eyebrow and from what seemed to be a hit to her nose.

He struggled to move back, feet tripping over the thick roots behind him blindly. This was going to be it. His prayers for saving was answered by a cruel and capricious god that simply wanted him to see his exit from the world to be as horrible as it could possibly be. Maybe he’d be decapitated, or perhaps it would be through fire, a gunshot to the heart or his heart carved out of his chest. It could be any of them, and as he watched her approach, Fredrick let out a quiet sigh, closing his eyes tightly as he tried to prepare.

Next second she was past him, trudging along in the snow. He felt nothing, there was no cuts, no knives, no gunshots and no fire, nothing to him but the cold breeze of the wind.

“Wha-”

“So, are you comin’ Mr. Chilton? It’s goin’ to get real cold out here soon enough and Crawford’s already crawlin’ his way back to Will’s.”

“Uh..” He blinked in confusion, watching as the murderess began her stalk through the woods, following what he could see must have been her tracks towards him before. Returning wherever she came from, wherever she had been hiding. “What?”

“Come on, Chilton. What’d you think I was here for? To kill you?” The woman huffed, pausing in her strides and turning to look back at him again, hands firmly planted on her rounded hips. Joanna Harvelle raised an eyebrow at him, jerking her head towards the cold forest. “Unless you wanna get the death penalty for Hannibal’s crimes…”

That made up his mind, feet following after her into the cold woods. It wasn’t the smartest idea, it wasn’t clearly the best idea, but at least she knew where she was going even if he didn’t any more.

“How… How did you know I was here?” The doctor asked quietly, making his way along behind her, “What are you even here for?”

“Was in the area recently. Heard over scanners about some Ripper activity in the area and then saw your ‘rrival at Will’s.” Joanna huffed, trudging her way forward and holding out a hand to help him down a steep embankment before sliding down herself. The jeans soaked more, dark patches on the back of her thighs spreading, but she still was better dressed than himself for the weather with the thick olive jacket somehow reminiscent of the empath’s own from Fredrick’s memory and the thick grey scarf along with the jeans and boots. The blonde brushed her hands off on the dark jeans. “You boys talked pretty loudly and I took off back when you I saw the agency car coming.”

“But why help me?”

“Figured I owed you are fuckin’ up your little hospital’s reputation. Plus, you believe Will ‘bout Hannibal right? Can’t let him slither away without righteous punishment this time.”

Her words seemed odd to him, that she somehow was so aware of the claims of the other man and so seemingly dedicated to the entrapment and destruction of a fellow killer. That she was in the area recently and was seemingly watching Will Graham's house to notice his arrival also seemed unusual. Clearly the woman was as fascinated by the man as he was her, and he wished yet again he could have heard such things from her back when their positions had been reversed.

“I did not realise serial killers were so invested in the outcomes of one another’s work.”

“I’d have to be a serial killer for that theory to hold up. Now c'mon we’re almost there.”

As the pair trudged through the snow banks, Fredrick could feel the path give way and the tree roots space out more and more as they approached the roadway near Will’s house on the other side of the woods, a light blue Camaro pulled to the side of the road and the blonde’s smile was as unsettling as the last time he saw it as she gestured him towards the passenger seat.

A passenger was what he was now, a passenger to his own life and a passenger to whatever bloody madness had swept around his life since Hannibal covered his mouth with the chloroform soaked cloth - sinking into the leather, he finally gave in to the madness with a sigh. Nothing could be as bad as being eaten by Hannibal and the FBI alike.

—

The sun slanted through the windows, the warm golden glow of the sunset catching the dancing dust motes in the air of the waiting room. Will rarely found himself having to wait since he had begun returning to the other’s care after his hospital stay. It had taken a long time before Will had decided it was better to keep his enemies closer than he had, that Hannibal’s friendship was something he was better possessing than not. That Hannibal’s attention could be dangerous if it was not properly focussed. Dealing with Randall had been just that - dangerous - and that had been after returning. Since then though, Will had felt the dark stag forming inside himself to fight and buck against Hannibal’s formed darkness, had seen the two dark figures prowling around one another, feathers and ink pouring behind them as they circled the pair.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the door open to Hannibal’s office finally, a beautiful yet closed woman emerging with the doctor’s hand on her back.

“I will look forward to seeing you next Thursday, Margot.” Hannibal’s voice was whisper soft and like roughened silk, expecting it to be smooth but a hidden rawness beneath it. His eyes caught Will’s momentarially, as he nodded to his next patient before returning into his office.

“Yes, perhaps you will.”

It was the woman’s quiet response that caught Will’s attention as she appeared to shrug her coat on. It was the same he had crossed paths with a handful of times previously and had been greeted with her visiting him the previous month to discuss Hannibal’s treatment process. Sometimes she would smile at him, or he would nod to her, or they would just not acknowledge the other’s presence - the impact of whoever’s session heavy like a cloud over that party. Today it seemed was a smile, the tiny twist of her lips as she adjusted her coat would have been stunning to anyone else.

“Good evening Will, looking forward to our witty friend’s company?”

“You could say that.” Will found himself replying, shrugging his own worn olive jacket off and tucking it under an arm as he feigned a smile back at her. “How goes determining if Hannibal is the correct person to handle your... private carnage?”

“So far, he tells me what I wish to hear. Perhaps that is wrong to enjoy but-”

“-we all like to hear what we desire is not so disasterous after all?”

“Very astute.” Margot’s response came with another small smile, the almost laughing tone to her voice sounds wrong to his ear - laughter not frequent around him unless it is the one that haunts him, and this woman’s does not sound the same at all. Not as beautiful, not as raw and genuine. Too closed, too forced yet clearly not, too polished and prepared to be drawn upon when needed. She continued talking over his thoughts, the twist of her red lips still in that small, secretive look. “Perhaps I will see you again before too long.”

“I am sure you will.”

The pair brushed past one another, the brief conversation much the same as the few other chance meetings but over within a minute and behind him, out of his mind, as soon as he shuts the door behind himself entering Hannibal’s sanctum.

The doctor himself was already near the small wine cabinet, pouring each of them a glass of wine as had become a custom for them - even if most nights Will would not touch his, and Hannibal’s would remain untouched aside from the first sip before the end of the session. If they were meeting over Hannibal’s table, the glasses would be refilled twice over before the night was concluded, but this was the other half of Hannibal’s performance art. The half that required more focus on the words, the flow and the beat of their dance, rather than the focus upon swallowing the taste of flesh that Will was slowly growing accustomed to.

“Good evening Will.”

“Hannibal.”

There’s a long, stagnant beat between them after the greeting - Hannibal’s thoughtful look as he took the one and only sip of the deep red for the night, a sangiovese that night from Montaclino, and Will’s silent patience awaiting that evening, awaiting the doctor’s determination for that evening’s conversation topic.

As he sat his glass down on the side table, Hannibal relaxed back with the smooth flow he did all things into his chair, hands on either arm rest. There was a pace before he finally spoke again, “We have discussed before the dangerous games you have began engaging in, have we not?”

“At quite a length I would say.”

“And yet I find that the discussion is not over yet.”

“The discussion or the topic?” Will found himself closing his eyes rather than staring down the other man this time. It had been a savage time the last time they spoke of this - after the deconstruction and reconstruction of Randall Teir. It had been the start of his unfurling and right during the madness of missing. Hannibal Lecter had been a balm, a replacement to the gap left by her disappearance, and Will may not have felt remorse at that time but now he wondered what she would think of his actions, his presentation skills, his muted flair for the effect that he could never come near either man nor woman’s skills for. “From what I recall, we concluded that one kill did not a serial killer make.”

“That is not the dangerous game for tonight.” Hannibal’s voice would have been soothing to others, to Will it felt like a scapel being dragged across his mind, cutting and cutting until it opened up and shown what secrets were within. “Jack Crawford expressed a concern regarding the number of dangerous persons that appear to have taken an interest in you lately.”

“Ah.” Will opened his eyes to the ceiling, he knew this was a conversation overdue by a week or so since Chilton and Joanna alike escaped into the woods. Jack had staggered his way back to his house, the trail of blood stark against the crisp white snow covering the ground as Will had called in for help and assisted with holding pressure to the gunshot wound through the side of the man’s neck. It was a precision shot. One that the doctor’s had all crowded about exclaiming could have very well killed him had he released the pressure at all or the wound mere milimetres further across his neck. A dangerous game - being intwined with a dangerous woman and the suspected Chesapeake Ripper. “That game.”

“Perhaps there is an argument to be made that those with alternative pathologies are simply attracted to your presence. You do seem to collect more than simply your stray animals.”

“That would require those dangerous individuals to have alternative pathologies to begin with.”

“You believe they do not?”

Will let out a bark of a laugh, shifting in his position to return his gaze to the other man’s. Hannibal’s face was almost as cold and unreadable as blank glass, but he knew how to see him now. They had been doing this dance for so long, Will could see even if he could not understand. The other was unprepared for his responses - or at least for half of his meaning. That both men knew Fredrick Chilton was innocent for the crimes laid against his name, guilty only of being arrogant and incompentent, was not the surprising part to the doctor.

That Will Graham was defending and reflecting upon the woman so favourably was what had caught the psychiatrist unprepared. Having watched the interaction of the two so many weeks ago when the blonde woman had thoroughly insulted and rebuked Hannibal completely, it didn’t surprise Will that such a notion of her being something worthy of reflection other than disdain had not crossed the other man’s mind. Hannibal had not seen what Will had, had only seen the very surface of her and took her deeper contextual comments and claims as farce. After seeing the tapes in Chilton’s office, the dark haired man knew thaat there was nothing farcical about her.

“A tilted perspective is still a perspective, and may well see the world straight on just as easily as we could see it at a tilt - it is all down to the positioning. If I told you that the sky was red, and at one point of the day you would agree with me.”

“That is still an alternative position, Will.”

“But is it dangerous?”

“Perhaps not to some,” The doctor appeared to pause over the words, mulling the train of thought over in his mind as each man surveyed the other. Will could feel the slice, his grey matter being spread apart by the scalpel before being held open for the other’s inspection by the retractor, as if if he dug deep enough, Hannibal may be able to find the piece he was so desperately after. “Though danger is subjective as well. Some would say being the treating physician to a man who craves for your death is dangerous.”

“Some would say being the patient to a friend could be.”

Hannibal’s eyes focussed in, lips pursed slightly catching the dying sunlight where they were wettened. Will felt his eyes drawn to them, unsure exactly what had caught the other man’s focus so but determined not to be drawn into the intoxicating stare down that he knew may well be coming. The other’s words were rough and tight, sharply edged like a knife as he questioned him, “You long for friendship with danger?”

Will froze at the question. He could feel the meaning behind it, the intent of it and the coiling draw into the darkness Hannibal intended for it to mean, but he could not acknowledge that as his eyes drew away from the other man’s face as the sight of movement behind his chair.

The flutter of white fabric in a breeze that did not exist in the darkened room, the pad of a bare footprint as she approached the other. He could see her, pale white in the fading light through the heavy draped windows, as she made her way behind Hannibal - fingers wrapping out and closing tightly around the other’s throat, blood soaked hands wrapping around the tight muscle of the doctor’s neck, her fingernails coated in dirt and grime that would never be allowed to marr the other man in any other situation. His bloody angel was dripping, her hair wet this day as if from melted snow - he wished he could have seen her and not just her aftermath this time, the little flecks of white dusting and crowning her like the wild goddess she was and her cheeks flushed pink from where the cold had bitten at her and lost - and her hands and dress slicked with the blood he knew to be Jack’s blood this time, not just the nameless faceless victims she’d leave in her path.

Rather than continue to choke the other, she left her marks in his mind - red lines and dark dirt patches wrapped tightly above the crisp white shirt collar of the well put together man. Will found himself stiffening, jaw clenched and throat swallowing dryly as the apparition moved around the other man’s chair, and her feet padded heavily across to him bloody footprints following along behind her on the dark wood floors. His fingers clenched into the arms of his seat, restraining from reaching, grasping, pulling and yearning for her as she approached him. His tongue flickered out against his will across his lip as his angel reached him, bloody fingers trailing from his forehead down to chin tilting his head up to her as she sank onto the seat across him. ‘Do you long for my friendship?’ He heard the words, nails digging into the leather of his chair as she leant down to his ear, blonde hair filling his vision and through which he could see the stagman staring across at them, eyes wide and white, devouring the spectacle. Her lips were on his cheek and her hands in his hair. ‘Do you ache for danger?’ The stagman appeared to rise, hand outstretched as he moved towards them, fingers barely from his angel-

“Will? Will, did you hear me?”

“What?”

“I asked, do you long for friendship with danger, Will? You froze.” Hannibal was closer now, standing where the stagman had been, hand outstretched as if to shake him, and Will couldn’t help the resentment that he had stolen away the moment and the scent of her from the vision. “What were you seeing?”

Will’s lips twisted into a smile, the dark reflective smile he had begun growing to know so intimately, as he shook his head at Hannibal’s concerned look, waving his hand away.

“What were you seeing, Will?” Hannibal insisted again, voice sharp and demanding an answer.

“Danger. I was seeing danger.”

---

[accidentally-logince]

Deadly Red - Chapter 2

A/N: In this chapter, there are a couple of references to a one-shot I wrote titled ‘Side Effects’ (that takes place in the same universe). If you want to read it, the link is there, or, if you are unable to read it due to the content (or just don’t feel like reading it, which is fair enough), basically all that you need to know is that Patton takes a sort of mind-space specific antidepressant- they aren’t quite antidepressants, that’s just the best word I could think to relate it to- that the other sides don’t know about. The short story itself is obviously more in-depth and has more to it, but I’m not gonna tell anyone to go read it if they don’t want to but anyways I’m rambling I’ll shut up now

If you missed

Prologue

Chapter 1

Warnings: Minor food mention, blood mention, mentions of medication

(If there are any more, PLEASE let me know!)

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairings: Royality

---

I’m back on the path in the morning, now with a coat and bag- with food and a change of clothes, thankfully- that Elaine and Isabelle had given me. I hadn't wanted to stay for much longer, but I had to know what Isabelle was talking about. 

I'd learned that Roman had come into his room a week ago, and the shadows- as Isabelle called them- showed up very shortly after. That seemed to be about the time that the kingdom began referring to Roman as the King, as opposed to the Prince, which he'd always been- inside and outside his room- up until now. But why did he change his mind so suddenly? 

Elaine also told me that- despite the clear sky now- the blizzard I'd walked into when I came into the room was a common occurrence during the war. 

And from what I've heard, it sounds like Roman is losing.

---

The forest is surprisingly quiet. I'd expected it to be full of animals- birds, squirrels, rabbits, and the like. This is Roman's room after all. But the only sound is the wind- the snow doesn't even crunch under my feet- and even that is barely making a sound. It's... depressing. Roman's signature style has been drained of its usually flamboyancy and colour. 

He would be able to make winter comforting; decently warm and beautiful. But here, the cold permeates through even my coat, and the snow looks packed and dirty. The sky is grey, birds are silent. There's no trace of the usual Disney-like elements.

My legs get sore after an hour or two of walking- there's really no way for me to tell how long I've been out here- and I look around for a place to rest. A familiar clearing in the trees catches my attention, and I push back branches as I walk down the path. 

The fallen log is still there, covered in snow. The pond in front of it is frozen, but it's void of any patterns in the ice. Usually, during the winter time, Roman would make the water freeze over in delicate swirls and snowflake formations. The ponds would look like something out of a fairy tale, which I suppose in some ways, they were. 

I wipe snow off of the log and sit down, my feet sitting on the ground. They don't sink down into the powder; the snow is hardened. Everything that changed about Roman's kingdom has made it feel unwelcoming. I remember when Roman and I used to come into this clearing all the time. Whichever season it was, he would go above and beyond trying to impress me.

"I don't think there are a lot of pink leaves that show up in Autumn," I joke, picking up a rose-tinted leaf and twirling it. 

"Do you like them?" Roman asks. Even though there's a sure smile on his face, I can hear the longing in his voice. I lean over and rest my head on his shoulder. 

"I love them," I reassure him, still admiring the leaf between my fingers. It's surprisingly soft for an Autumn leaf. Roman's shoulders relax, and he puts one of his arms around me. 

Above us, a flock of strikingly red birds flies into the clearing, all chirping the same song in unison. I look on as the lead bird flies forward, twisting and looping around- almost as if performing- as the other birds follow his lead, perfectly synchronized.

"They're so beautiful," I mutter, a small smile spreading across my face.

"Would you like to join them?"

My head lifts off of Roman's shoulder, and I turn to look at him. He has a knowing grin on his face. 

"Join them?" I ask. I cock my head, my eyebrows pulling together.

Roman stands up, holding out his hand. I grab it, and he pulls me onto my feet. Before I can ask what happens next, two huge red wings sprout out of Roman's back.

"Woah," I say, my eyes widening in awe. Roman grabs my other hand and flaps his wings, and our feet lift from the ground. 

"Why don't we just..." Roman readjusts his grip, pulling me up so that I end up sitting bridal style in his arms. I wrap my arms around his neck and look out into the trees, letting the soft breeze ruffle through my hair. 

"It's really pretty up here," I half-whisper. "And the clouds look so fluffy, like cotton candy." 

"I'm very glad you like it."

I tilt my head up and squint. Behind the clouds... it looks like...

"Why is the moon so clear during the daytime?" I ask, pointing up into the sky.

"It helps me keep track of things."

I cock my head and wrap my arm back around his neck. "What kinds of things?"

"Well, I can only stay in here for so long. You know that. So when the moon becomes full, I know that I've been here for too long." Roman looks down and gives me a lopsided smile. "Luckily that's never happened."

"Luckily," I repeat, smiling back at him softly, feeling my eyelids drooping. "I love you, Roman."

"I love you too, Patton."

The moon!

I crane my neck to look up. The moon should be visible from here, but the sunlight is harsh despite the cold, and I find myself shielding my eyes. I look back down and put my hands on my hips. "Should I..." I walk up to a tree and grab a low hanging branch, tugging at it to make sure it's sturdy. If I get higher, maybe I could find the moon and get a better idea of how long I have. 

I hoist myself up, branch after branch, until I'm clutching onto the middle of the trunk. I stand tiptoe on the branch so my feet don't hang off the edge, and to get a tiny height boost.

The outline of the moon is just far away enough that I can't make out whether it's a crescent or quarter, and I lift my hand to climb higher for a better view. A loud crunch comes from underneath my feet, and the next thing I know, I'm on the ground.

Nothing is broken, but my leg hurts to the point where I don't think it would feel too nice if I tried to stand on it. My knee is scraped too, and a steady stream of blood soaks into my pants.

"Ah, shoot," I groan. I pick up my glasses from where they fell beside me. It's a wonder they didn't break from the fall, though there is some dirt on the lenses. No big deal, I just need to be able to see the contents of my bag. I could probably clean up my scraped skin with some water.

I grunt, pushing my torso up a bit more and twisting to find the bag. It didn't fall far, but it's just out of my reach. 

"Not a problem," I mutter to myself, leaning over to grab at it. I catch one of the straps with a finger and pull it toward me, revealing a black rat that had been sneaking around in the pockets. I can't see too clearly with the dirt on my glasses, but I can tell there's something in its mouth.

"Watcha got there, buddy?" I ask, pulling the bag into my lap. The rat lets out a squeak and falls onto all fours. I'm glad to see there are actually animals here at all. I rustle around in my bag, opening each pocket. "What did you take, huh?"

All my pockets seem to have what they're supposed to, until I reach into the little hidden compartment in the back. My pills are gone. My eyes widen and I turn to look at the rat. Sure enough, if I squint through the dirt, I can see that it has my little pill bottle in its mouth, dragging it across the forest floor.

"Oh no," I say. I lean forward a bit, and the rat steps back, regaining the space between us. "C'mon buddy, I need those." The rat starts to turn. "No, no no. Oh jeez. I-I have food. Do you want something to eat? Oh, jeez, no don't-" I reach my hand for the bottle, and the rat turns tail and scampers away.

I shove my bag off of my lap and push myself to my feet as quickly as I can. I ignore the pain in my leg as I run, trying to follow the rat, but it darts off the path and through a patch of bramble. I part the branches and rush through, the thorns scraping at my legs, making it harder to move. The rat is nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, no... no no no..." I whisper. I feel tears stinging at the back of my eyes. I blink them back, sinking to my knees. The pain in my leg has worsened from the thorns and running. 

Those pills gave me my drive. Without them... I usually can’t even get out of bed in the morning.

But then... why is there still that feeling in my chest? That confidence that’s barely there, telling me to ‘get up, get up, you need to find Roman’? 

I could brush it off as the last of the pill’s effects, almost worn off. But that explanation feels defeatist. I’m in Roman’s room. One of the positive effects has always been enhanced confidence. I can work with that until Roman and I are out of the room. I can get new pills later. But they’re not as important right now as my real goal. 

Even thinking that seems to make the barely-there confidence become stronger.

Enduring the pain in my legs, I stand up and go to find my bag.

---

My Other Fics

Tag List: @lilbit-gay @succanegg69 @emi-loves-them @logicaltimeink @thelogicalloganipus @monikastec @misstallip @aikogumi @pastel-patton123 @caffeinated-casper @confinesofpersonalknowledge @crofters-junkie @well-love-has-failed-me @callboxkat

[bill-pxtts]

Polaroids

Request: Hi! Can you do an imagine with the twelfth doctor where the reader is his companion and they're always really optimistic and happy and stuff and the docor, being rather grumpy and sarcastic, always acts like he's annoyed by it but he secretely loves their optimism and it makes him happy? Thank you!

Requester: @just-a-smol-squish

Pairing: Twelfth Doctor x Optimistic!Companion!Reader

Warning: None

Words: 1344

*~*~*

"DOCTOR, DOCTOR LOOK!" 

The Doctor didn't look around from his position behind the column of the console, the only trace of him being there the swish of the bottom of his jacket occasionally poking out. As more of your cries and shouts echoed around the metallic framing of the TARDIS he sighed, a hidden smile on his face, and peeked around to see what commotion you were squealing about, his signature frown scrunched back onto his face. 

"What?" He asked sharply. 

You were leaning out the TARDIS, your only anchor to staying inside being one foot on the frame and a hand holding the door. You twisted around to show the Doctor a bright grin as you frantically pointed towards a slowly incoming white planet, your hair blowing gently in the soft atmosphere the TARDIS provided. A smile twitched at his mouth but he smothered it with a deeper frown. 

"What did I tell you about opening those doors? Can you get down from there?" His tone annoyed as he shuffled over, wagging a finger at you and gesturing you to come back, "I'm not catching you if you fall." 

You giggled at his scrunched up face and leaned further out just to watch him flinch and reach for you, making you laugh harder. 

"But look at that planet!" You said wondrously, turning your attention back the growing larger ball. You could just make out the shapes of snow-covered continents and swirling clouds in its atmosphere. 

"That's Chione, named after the Greek Goddess of snow. The planet is in constant winter but isn't cold because of its position in a binary star system." He explained monotonously, watching your face become more fascinated and your smile growing wider. 

"Can we go?" You asked excitedly. He grumbled, muttering about how boring it was, and you whined, still unable to wipe the smile of your lips, "Please!" 

"Fine." The Doctor gave in dramatically. You squealed in delight before your eyes widened. 

"Let me just grab something!" You bustled off into the Tardis, manoeuvring through the familiar corridors and ducking into your room to rummage around under your bed and pull out the small yellow camera. Hooking it around your neck, you quickly checked you had a satisfying amount of film left and, smiling excitedly, making your way back to the console room. 

"Ready to go?" He proclaimed, crooking his elbow sarcastically. You beamed, naive to his mocking gesture, and looped your arm in his. 

"Ready!" The camera bounced comfortingly against your stomach as you slowly exited the TARDIS. 

As you entered the snow covered world the breath was sucked out of you. Glistening ice crystals flaked across the bare branches of the trees, frozen dew stuck to the purple blades of grass beneath your feet, statues littered the suspected park you had landed in, dusted with the soft frozen power, adding a sharper element of gleam to their shining metal forms. Ripping your arm from The Doctor suddenly, you sprinted over to raise your camera to your eye and snap a picture of the idyllic scene, waving the photo as it spat it out before placing it in your pocket. 

From there The Doctor couldn't have stopped you if he tried. He watched you bolt around the area, snapping pictures of anything you could find. The laughter that followed you, as you rushed back past him to take a picture of a snow-sprinkled TARDIS, was the most difficult reason he had against smiling. The most he allowed himself to show was an amused small smile on his lips. You turned back to him when he was looking away at the doubled sunned sky and smiled at his appearance. Particles of snow powdered across his messy grey hair and a rare smile was sculpted on his mouth; you slowly lifted to the camera to your eye and, fiddling with the focus so it was just right, snapped the photo and caught it seeping out, wafted it gently, and, with a tender stare at the remaining real moment, slipped it into your pocket. 

A couple of alien lifeforms wandered into the clearing you stood in, and, spotting them, you wasted no time in happily asking them to take a picture of the both of you. Skipping back towards The Doctor to where he was stood in your previous shot, you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

"Say icicles!" You whispered and quickly kissed his cheek, feeling the wrinkles in his skin to reveal his smile. The lifeforms jumped and laughed at the clicking noise and the subsequent mechanical noise of the exiting photo, as you grinned and thanked them, taking the camera back. 

Tucking the photo in your pocket, you suddenly shivered violently. Their second sun had finally begun to set, shades of blue and purple reaching across the darkening sky, the surrounding temperature dropping rapidly. Letting go of your camera to feel it bounce against your stomach, you gripped your arms, teeth chattering wildly. 

"You okay?" The Doctor looked over his shoulder as he noticed you had gone silent. 

"Y-Yeah." You shivered again, hair whipping around your face from the icy wind. He turned around fully to see the pink blossoming fuller on your cheeks and nose, and fingers clutching your arms. "It sure g-gets cold here, h-huh?" 

He shuffled closer to you, shrugging off his blazer to place it around your shoulders, "The neutral temperature only lasts for as long as one of the Suns are up," He explained, tightening it around your arms, pulling you in for a hug and rubbing your arms. You rest your head on his chest, grateful for the warmth, "The good news is night here only lasts for an hour or two depending on the time of years, but temperature can drop to -20 degrees sometimes-" 

"Doctor, as much as I find your ramblings adorable, I like being being warm a bit more right now." You cut in, teeth chattering around your syllables. He jumped in recognition and gently led you quickly back to the TARDIS, a warm arm around you, and the light of the twilight projecting kaleidoscopic shades of indigo to pink onto the winter wonderland scene, following you. 

A few moments later you found yourself wrapped up in a comfy blanket, fingers clasped around a mug of a hot drink and a pleasantly warm hot water bottle in your lap as you sat on the floor of the console room, the photos you had taken spread around you on the floor. All now completely developed, you sorted through them to discard blurry and other unsatisfying ones to leave a handful of photos you were happy with. The Doctors feet stepped into your peripheral vision and you looked up with a wide smile, patting the spot next to you. He groaned as he settled down next you. 

"These ones are my favourite." You said softly, a satisfied smile lingering on your lips as you passed him the two top photos: the one of the two of you and the one of him. He peered at them, emotion clouding his eyes for a moment before he sniffed deeply. 

"They're nice." He said a little hoarsely. You laughed lightly, leaning to rest your head against his shoulder. 

"This one," You took back the one of only him and placed it back on your pile, "Is for me. To remember you with. And this one," You pointed to the one of the two of you, "Is for you." 

"Well, thank you, but I don't know where I'd put it." He said harshly but still handled the photo tenderly. You looked up at him to meet his eyes with a sleepy smile. 

"I'm sure you'll find somewhere." You murmured, standing up to go back to the kitchen and wash up your empty mug. 

He watched you leave, blanket trailing behind you, before standing up and stepping over the rest of the photos. The Doctor looked back down at the photo in his hand, smiled lightly for a moment, and tucked it into his inside pocket. 

To remember you with. 

[gaynger]

Short Stories Formed From An Even Shorter Attention Span

An Intro To College Writing Assignment.

Short Stories Formed From An Even Shorter Attention Span

A Burning Curiosity

Leah gingerly picked through the stack of sticks that she found in the corner of the park. They were all slightly damp and fresh. They bent easily under the pressure of her young fingers. She cursed under her breath that she hadn’t found any dry twigs yet.

“Hey! Are you done yet? Come on!” A teenage boy’s voice called from far away.

Leah’s head swiveled, the snow that had landed gently on her long blonde hair was flung away with the rapid movement. Her fingers moved quicker now, searching through the pile frantically for something that would burn. She didn’t want to bring back bad sticks again or Kurt would do something much worse than twist her arm. Her eyes grew wide as she crawled along the frozen ground of the forest that lined the little park. Tiny frozen fingers dove under the leaf litter to try and find something that would satiate her older brother and his friends. Standing up, she looked through the icy wind and landed her gaze upon a small tree. This tree was only about half her height, and being only eight and one of the smallest in her class, even she towered over it. The larger tree whose branches swayed in the wind next to it had shielded this tiny sapling from the snow. Squeaky yellow boots went crunching excitedly through the slush as she ran toward the young tree.

“Kurt! Kurt! I found one! I did it!” her small voice raised as high as it could go to call back to her brother and his friends.

In no time she heard the thundering footsteps of four teenage boys rushing up behind her and eventually catching up. They passed the small girl, almost making her lose balance and fall. As she regained herself she looked up and saw all four of the boys crouching around the tiny sapling. One of Kurt’s friends had a Zippo lighter that he had been flicking about their faces all day. She saw the sunlight glint off the silver surface as the boy flipped the lid off and exposed a small branch to the hot flame.

“Hey! Wait for me!” Leah shouted as she neared the scene, huffing to a stop.

The tip of a delicate branch was dancing with a small flame beginning to engulf the whole plant. It took no longer than a few seconds before the entire two feet of the baby tree was no more than a crackling red hot object that danced in the wind. Tiny embers shot off the ends of the beginning branches. Leah’s bright blue eyes turned almost violet with the reflection of the flames.

“That’s so cool!” The Zippo’s owner breathed.

“Way better than just burning old shop receipts.” A friend chimed in.

“Go ahead and touch it, Leah.” Kurt beckoned softly.

“No way! I’ll get in trouble!” she squealed defiantly.

“Naw, nothing will happen! Watch.” he brought his hand closer to the flames and waved it over them without a flinch. “It’s easy.”

Leah’s curious gaze grew wider as she slowly approached the burning brush. Lifting her hand toward the flames she could feel the warmth that pulsated from it. Her hand was so close to the fire now, it was useless to turn back. As she neared the searing flame she felt a hand reach out and grab her shoulder. Kurt flung her back before she got a chance to feel the flames lick her fingers. As she was thrust backward, her foot slipped out from underneath her and kicked the inflamed branch, sending embers flying through the air. All of the youths watched in awe and dread as the bigger tree caught flame, and the tree next to that. Soon the forest they knew and loved was no more than a dancing mass of amber light, and the kids were no more than specks in the distance as they ran away from the havoc they had caused. Alone in the flames, with light glinting and dancing off of its shiny surface, laid the silver lighter. The only witness to what the unaided curiosity of a child may cause.

My Own

           I sat speechless, sunken into the old leather lazy boy chair that sat in the corner of our living room. My son… my son? The dingy white phone fell to the shaggy tan carpet.

           “Ma’am? Mrs. Reeves? … Hello?...”

The distant voice calling from the phone was slowly drown out by the thoughts swirling through my head. My hands gripped the leather arm rests with the strength only a mother in distress could produce. My son… My son… My son is dead. He’s not dead, he can’t be, he’s only been missing for a week. The detectives told me over and over that young boys run away all the time, it was only him acting out. He was just acting out. Of course I got suspicious when days flew past and I hadn’t heard a thing from him. But, my son was different, he was resilient, he was resilient. No. He is! He’s not dead, there’s no way. What could he have been doing down by the lake anyway? He knew he wasn’t allowed down there. No! He knows! Stop talking as if this is real! It’s not real! They’re lying, this has to be some horrible joke!

I stopped and looked around the room. I was standing now, hunched over a desk, using all my strength to hold myself up. Looking up I saw posters, and picture frames all torn to shreds around the room. I fell to my knees and picked up the picture of my son at his first little league game. My hands trembled and my fingers seemed to refuse to work as I scrambled to find the right pieces of glass to piece back together the frame it was in. Tears and blood from the broken frames leaked in between the wrinkles of my hands. Damn, I’ve gotten old.

I miss James

My brother James was in the Navy. He was. A few years ago his life was going in all the wrong places. He was homeless, he was using drugs, he was suicidal. And then all of a sudden, one day he came to us and said he was joining the Navy. We were all so proud of him. He was beaming with excitement. He really worked for it too. He lost the weight necessary to join and began the training regiments before he even went to boot camp. Everything he did now was for the Navy, it was his goal and he wouldn’t stop until he reached it. I still remember the day he came and visited before he left for boot, he was glowing with excitement. We got him baptised at our church and he was gone two weeks later. I didn’t see him again for almost a year after that. He came back to check in with us and to tell us he was going to be based in Hawaii. I was so excited for him, who doesn’t want to live in Hawaii? He looked great too! He looked like he had a purpose. So again he left, with hugs and kisses and good wishes.

           See, James wasn’t my legitimate brother, but he grew up with my older brother and our family. He lived just a couple doors down from us. He was my Brother from another mother if you will. His parents always kept us in the loop of his life. A couple of months after he began his adventure in Hawaii we got a call from them. It was a great day, we were leaving a concert that had been held at our church and we were standing under some pretty trees at the end of the church property. My dad suddenly collapsed and was sobbing, I had never heard him cry like that. I knew. I just knew that when he answered the phone with a greeting to Jamie’s parents that it just wasn’t good news. And that’s when I realised my brother was gone.

           I know it’s rude to say, but I almost wish the honor of battle had taken him instead of how he passed. He had been partying too hard with some of his buddies at the barracks and fell off a second story balcony. You’re supposed to break a leg when you fall from the second story. But no, he hit his head. He died in the hospital. And that was the worst day of my life.

Bitter Sweet

Powdered sugar sprinkled all around the tiny, dough-man’s body as it fell delicately from little Mandy’s tiny finger tips. She gazed down lovingly at the tray of overly decorated holiday cookie dough. This was the first batch of cookies that she had ever been allowed to make all by herself! Hearing the murmurs of the adults just beyond the kitchen door, she blinked at the sight of the oven looming over her. Mother had just told her to holler when she was done decorating so she could place the tray onto the rack in the oven and start the baking process. But, Mandy wondered how hard it could be, just simply placing a small tray of shapes into an oven. She puffed out her chest and decided to prove once and for all that she was old enough to do things her way! Five years on this earth had earned her a place amongst the adults, surely. She snatched the tray and balanced it gingerly above her head in one hand, and began to pull on the oven door handle. The door was hard at first but then it swung down fast and hard, making a huge BANG as it burst open. All at once a wave of heat blasted from the machine and blew little Mandy’s blonde bangs back with a warmth that stung her eyes. The kitchen door swung open and she could hear her mother shriek her name in a tone that she knew would warrant her a time-out. Turning to face the punishment, the tray suddenly tilted and put the smal girl off balance, making her fall backward and her tiny hand grabbed for the only thing she could reach to sturdy herself. She propped herself up and glared down at her fist confused. Her eyes opened wide and she squealed, removing her hand quickly from the oven grate and waving it wildly at her mother for guidance and comfort. As she was tucked safely into her mother’s arms, sobbing and clenching her tiny scorched fist, she heard her father in the corner of the room mutter just loud enough to hear, “Bet you won’t ever do that again.”

Itchy Stitch

           Walking through the endless rows of women’s active wear is all I seem to do anymore. Hanging up loose pieces of clothing that mindless shoppers throw around willy-nilly is honestly  the highlight of my day. Not. For instance, the shirt that I’m holding right now (a medium tie-dye halter top with a turquoise beaded neckline) has been passed through at least fifteen pairs of hands today as people lift it up and shake it around. They hold these pieces of cloth close to their bodies and look in the mirror. They’re not actually trying it on (that would be too hard) but just imagining the tight fitting cloth clinging to their bodies. Then, instead of even attempting to fold and replace the shirt where they had found it, they carelessly toss it onto another rack or simply let it fall to the floor! I have folded this shirt as many times as I have seen it be thrashed between the grubby, sweaty hands of these obscene shoppers. This is the last time I will fold this shirt, the last one! Because if I see one more hot-headed, maniacal window licker ask their friend whether or not it’s “them”, and then let it tumble to the dirty carpet, I will snatch it right up off the ground and ring it up myself! I will buy this ugly top if it will end the needless suffering it and I are going through today.

[hiruma-musouka]

Okay, I've been reading the otherworldly comics of charminglyantiquated and all I've got going through my head is like this AU where Senju family lives close to the border of a forest. A deep woods, where the further in you travel, the stranger and more otherworldly things seem. Don't leave the path, Butsuma tells his sons, and don't look twice at the things you see. Their mother tells them of tricks to ward off any unwanted attention; salt water, iron, bamboo blossoms are said to repel them...

Lavender allowed them to find you easier, and their mother destroyed any lavender plants found growing near the home. Butsuma take his boys out into the woods only once when they’re older. He shows them the burn marks on the trees and the ground. He points out the sweet smell of camellia that lingers in the air even with no flowers around. He tells his boys that in these woods wanders spirits, beings born of fire and heat and smoke. They will lure you in with innocent guises, human at first…

glance. If you look deeper, though, you can see the fires in their eyes and the smoke in their hair and the burn of embers under their skin. Do not ask anything of them, he tells his boys, not even their name. For they will ask things in return, and will not stop asking until they have everything that you are. Do not look into their eyes, he tells them, for their eyes can strip you of the world around you, until only they remain as the single, solid point in all of existence. Most…

importantly, he tells them, do not love them, and do not seek out their love. For if they give it to you, they will never let you go, and you will never return from the forest. So the Senju brothers grow up, with their mother sewing charms into their clothes and their father forcing iron tools into their hands until they stank of metal. Hashirama had a close encounter, once, with a boy-child like heat and fire and smoke, but Butsuma chased the boy away with bamboo flowers. Tobirama had always…

been drawn to the forest, though. It was deep, and dark, and held more secrets than even his books could teach him. He’d followed Butsuma out that day, when his father had chased the boy away. He’d looked into eyes like fire and those eyes haunted his dreams, taunting him with all that he did not know. So he’d looked through all the books he could find. He’d found their name (“… the Uchiha, a fire spirit who prizes feelings of love and passion above all else…”) and what they were (“it’s…

… thought that Uchiha are born from the fire that ignites from trees struck by lightning…”). He spends years searching for every scrap of information he can find until, finally, he packs his bags and sets out into the deep woods. Hashirama, Kawarama and Itama are all still asleep in their beds, and he feels bad that he didn’t leave them more than a note, but curiosity gnaws at him, a siren call that invades his dreams with dark eyes like fire and dark hair like smoke and skin like embers…

Tobirama steps into the woods, and then he steps off the path even as he leaves a trail of brightly colored string behind him. He sees things that his father warned him of, things that twist in the corner of his eye, burns on trees and rocks that smell of camellia with no flowers around. Eyes follow him, but he ignores them. Tobirama comes across a clearing. A man who is not a man greets him, with eyes like fire, hair like smoke, skin like embers, and a smirk like a secret. (Sorry for the spam!)

No need to apologize, I thought this was fun to read. (You might enjoy icarus_chained‘s works, btw.) Have a short story as thanks for the inspiration.

Title: gleam as mosses and fireflies do [AO3 link]

Rating: General Audiences

Summary: There are spirits that live in the woods. If you manage to see them as themselves, they will burn as bright and as beautiful as stars and hope and adventure and pyres. They might look like you, talk like you, and even love like you, but remember to be careful.

“That’s foolish of him,”Hikaku murmurs, flashing from his hiding spot inside a berry bush to underneatha tree root as he observes the white-haired human leaving the path and headinginto the forest.

Izuna laughs quietly, voicecrackling like burning leaves. “Foolish humans are the best kind of human,Hikaku. Although this one isn’t quite stupid enough, I think.”

Hikaku’s red flame flickers inquestion from the root shadow he’s hidden in and Izuna slides out of his hidingspot in the canopy. His black smoke curls down the tree trunk, purple embersflashing in the darkness of the night as the older spirit surges over theforest floor, slipping through shadows until he reaches the point where thehuman had left the road. Hikaku follows in his wake, dimming his own brightnessfrom brush-fire to candle flame and quickly hiding the remainder of his lightwithin the protection of Izuna’s smoke as he follows his elder out from underthe concealing cover of the bushes.

The human doesn’t appear to havenoticed them yet. He’s still walking onwards, a ball of bright blue threadunraveling steadily in his wake.

“Look Hikaku,” Izunahisses, nudging his cousin with a lick of flame. Once Hikaku’s attentionshifts, Izuna reaches out towards the thread at the edge of the path with atendril of transparent smog. He curls around it, igniting a purple flame withinthe muffling haze of his body.

The thread, rather than burning asit rightfully should, begins to let off a small amount of steam.

“Ahhh,” Hikaku whispers,“the human soaked the thread in salt-water to keep spirits from destroyingit.”

“Or untying it,” Izunaadds, motioning towards the end of the thread where it’s knotted tightly arounda loop of cold iron that’s stabbed deep into the road itself. “Come on, weneed to find Madara!”

“Shouldn’t we follow the maninstead?” Hikaku questions futilely as Izuna flows upward in a whirlingrush.

Hikaku sighs, forgoing Izuna’spath back up into the heights of the tree branches and diving down into theearth instead, following the ashy trails of burned roots and incinerated leaflitter that had been created by other Uchiha in the years and centuries before.

Hikaku might not be small enoughto be a ground fire - he’ll break the surface and become visible if he evertries to burn a new ground route himself - but he’s also not a firestorm likeMadara or a major wildfire like Izuna. Unlike the brothers who are just too massiveto move through the ground without ruining years of work, Hikaku can squeezehimself through the paths very quickly as long as he’s careful.

“—want to do?” Hikakuhears Izuna ask somewhere above him as he surfaces near the edge of a clearingflooded with Madara’s heat waves. Hikaku glances around to be doubly sure thatthe red-eyed human isn’t within range to see him and then rises up, shootinginto the canopy of the giant lightning-struck sequoia tree that both Madara andIzuna call home.

Madara hums thoughtfully atIzuna’s question, resting in human form on a thick tree branch with his backagainst the trunk as he cradles a blanket full of soft orange fire. Izuna’ssooty form pools over his brother’s outstretched legs, purple flames burningstronger and brighter and more freely within the thick, comforting protectionsof their birth-tree as he waits for his brother’s response.

“How old is the human?”Madara asks, eyes narrowed into the distance. Red swirls in his dark pupils ashe reaches out, brushing his power against different members of his kin andbriefly sharing their vision as he tries to catch sight of the human wanderingin their forest.

The new babe - Kagami, Hikakuthinks he was named - whimpers as the ambient energy flow changes with Madara’stechnique. He shifts restlessly in the older male’s arms, but the firestormspirit just tosses his own head roughly, throwing his hair over his shoulder soit brushes the boy’s skin.

Hikaku flickers uncertainly, aboutto offer to hold the young spirit if Madara needs to concentrate, but Kagamicoos happily. The little thing reaches out with licks of orange light, flamesbatting fruitlessly at Madara’s long black hair, and in fits and starts thetiny fire spirit pulls himself into human form so he can wind chubby handsaround Madara’s hair.

“I think he’s less thantwenty?” Izuna offers thoughtfully, smoke wafting up and out as he expandsseveral feet outward before compressing back down into the body of ablack-haired human that looks similar to his brother. “He smells difficult- iron on his skin and water in his soul - and he isn’t utterly stupid orignorant since he’s using soaked string to find his way back, but we couldprobably consume him with careful effort. Kagami could definitely use somethingsubstantial to feed on so that he can catch fire properly, and young humanlives burn so brightly, don’t you think? They’re much more vivid than theirelders.”

“I think I found… oh,”Madara breathes, blinking in surprise before an interested smirk crosses hislips. “I know this one.”

“You do?” Izuna perksup, shuffling sideways to get closer and ignoring his brother’s disgruntledcomplaints at having a full grown man sitting on his thighs. The wildfirespirit slips a hand under Madara’s long bangs, pressing his palm gently overhis brother’s right eye and holding his other hand over his own matching eye.

“What are you seeing that Ididn’t see?” Izuna asks, piggybacking off Madara’s borrowed sight toreexamine the man. “We haven’t had humans come in the woods from the eastin ages except for travelers, and I hadn’t thought any of those had caught yourattention before.”

“He’s a Senju,” Madaraexplains, affectionate exasperation and irritation in his voice as he stares upat his brother. Izuna freezes at the news, and Madara deftly grabs Izuna’sponytail away from a tiny waving hand, bouncing Kagami in his arms to distractthe pouting fire whirl from his lost potential plaything.

“A Senju,” Izunasavors slowly, a dark, hungry smirk sliding onto his face. “Well now… Ihad thought the man just ran across one of your trails or something and thatwas why he had a faint imprint of your mark on his heart. Are you saying thatone caught sight of you years ago instead?”

He runs his hand across Madara’sforehead, brushing aside his brother’s smoke-filled hair to reveal pale skinand old, shiny pink scars. Hikaku shifts his attention away from thefirestorm’s face as Madara’s fists tighten in Kagami’s blankets, but Izuna’ssmile just gets cheerful and sharp as a sheathed blade as he touches thedamaged skin.

“A Senju is perfect, Madara.They owe us, after all,” Izuna murmurs, tracing a fingertip aroundthe familiar bamboo blossom scars left on his brother’s face. It’s a real pitythat that human father had managed to escape their forest all those years agoafter throwing that damnable so-called sacred plant at Madara. Now therewas a human who had definitely deserved to be burned alive. It’s infuriatingthat he had managed to get himself and his brat of a son across running waterbefore any of their surface fire kin had caught up to him. He had deservedto be caught in an eye of fire and have his world stripped away until all thatwas left were the purest parts of him.

What kind of man attacked a kidjust for wanting to speak with and play with his son? Madara had been weirdfor being interested in a human boy, but asking questions and being friendly isno reason to come up and immediately assault someone!

Damn humans always have the mostviolent societies. If they’re all like that then it’s no wonder why the fewhumans who fall in love with an Uchiha never want to return to their homes.Izuna certainly wouldn’t return if he was in their place. Although…

“I thought the brat youplayed with once had been a brunet that smelled like iron and wood?”Izuna muses, letting Madara’s hair fall back to shade his face.

His older brother gives him asharp look. “He was, and don’t start getting vindictive, Izuna: this is adifferent human.”

“If it’s a different human,why do you recognize him?” Izuna chirps sweetly.

“Because I saw himhiding right before that man recognized what I was, now don’t do anything!”Madara orders, shifting Kagami to one arm and shoving his plotting brother offhis legs and onto the branch so he can get up. “Actually here, you need tohold Kagami anyway.”

“Wait, why me!” Izunasquawks, trying not to fumble the baby as Madara gently shoves the fire whirlspirit into his arms before coaxing the kid to let go of his hair. “Ithought you were supposed to be holding him today! I did it yesterday. Itshould definitely be Hikaku’s responsibility next if you’re skiving off early.”

“Except you’re better thanHikaku at holding a solid human form and someone has to cradle the boyat all times. He’s certainly not going to get the hand of turning human if theground fires try and teach him - their energy is nothing like a fire whirl.Besides—” Madara grins at him “—this will keep you too occupied tobutt in while I go investigate.”

“We should burn the Senju forfuel, Madara,” Izuna argues. “Madara. Madara!”

Izuna twitches as his stubborn assof a brother bursts into thick smoke, falling to the forest floor in a swirl ofashes and blue fire before reforming to walk across the nearby clearing.

“My brother is a stubbornidiot. I love him dearly, but he is a stubborn, optimistic idiot. Why ishe such an ass, Hikaku?” Izuna asks rhetorically, cradling Kagami’s headand wincing as the kid yanks violently on his hair. It’s really not fair thatthe boy never yanks on Madara’s hair. As far as Izuna’s concerned, his brotherabsolutely deserves to have his hair yanked on.

“I don’t think he can helpit,” HIkaku offers lightly, moving further down the branch as aprecautionary measure. “It seems like being an ass is something of adominant trait in this branch of our family.”

It had been wise to move. Hikakumight be one of the fastest fire spirits among the Uchiha, but even with theadvantage of the extra distance Izuna’s foot still nearly went through him.

“Just you watch,Hikaku,” Izuna promises with a handsome smile that foretells nothing buttrouble, “as soon as Kagami’s flames catch hold properly and he doesn’tneed our energy as kindling I’m going to teach him so many fun things.You’re going to love it. You’ll be perfect for demonstrations.”

“Don’t you think that’s adisproportionate response?” Hikaku asks weakly, flames shrinking down tothe size of a firefly at the thought.

Izuna just pats Kagami on theback, from all appearances in a much better mood as he gets to his feet andstarts carefully jumping between branches, maneuvering into a better positionto watch out for his brother.

… Hikaku should have kept hismouth shut. He really should have.

[AO3 link]

[raven1aris]

Rifty through the AU's chapter one part one

Rifty was heading towards Diamond Valley where she had planned to meet up with her good friend Raven Aris. Raven hadnt mentioned why, but nonetheless, the white mare was headed there anyways, her empty eyesockets drawing slight attention from other ponies on the path. She didnt have eyes anymore, but that didnt mean she couldnt see. Maguc had allowed her to still see perfectly fine, although due to that, the side effect of her eyes constantly bleeding had developed. Rifty continued onwards, and as she got closer, she could hear the sounds of fighting. Puzzled, she became slightly wary. But when she heard a scream, the scream of her best friend, she broke into a run. “Raven!” She screamed in her light voice, as loud as she could. She soon got to the valley, and what she saw appalled her. Her friend was a pegasus with white fur and a black mane, with five earrings on each ear. But right now, one of Raven’s wings had been torn off, and a ruby red dragon stood over the pegasus’ white and trembling form, the torn wing laying dejected and tossed to the side. Raven turned to see her. “Rifty! You, you need to get out of here, youll die!” “No, i wont leave you!” Rifty ran at the dragon, her hooves pounding the earth. She was the fastest pony in all of Equestria, she wasnt going to sit by and watch her friend die. She was a blur of white, orange, and teal blue as she charged the beast. Electricity began to spark as she ran, something that always happened when she went as fast as she could. She barreled into the creature, causing it to stumble back, but in doing so, its tail slammed into Raven, causing the pegasus to scream as she was thrown into one wall of the valley. Raven fell down to the ground, a stain of blood left where she had hit, blood pooling around her limp form. Rifty ran over to her friend. “Raven! Stay with me, dont you dare die!” She pleaded, laying next to her dying friend. The pegasus mare chuckled, reaching a hoof delicately up to Rifty’s empty eyes, where blood and tears still dripped down the earth mare’s face. “Rifty,” she breathed weakly, “im sorry. Take two of my earrings, remember me.” Raven took two earring off her ears, leaving four on each ear instead of five. She placed the gold loops into one of Rifty’s hooves. “Now, Rift Fire, take care of yourself, dont, dont……for….get……….me….” and Raven’s icy blue eyes went dull, her breathing stopped, and she moved no more. “No…” breathed Rifty, more tears dripping down her face. “No….” The dragon had regained its position and it roared to catch the pony’s attention. Rifty knew she couldnt fight it, that she couldnt win. She looked around, for any way to escape, finally catching sight of a strange portal. Had that always been there? She didnt care, making a mad dash for it, her friend’s earrings in hoof. She jumped through the portal. Weird strange colors swirled around her, making her feel dizzy. Magic seemed to move around and try to get her to go thousands of different directions all at once. Rifty was getting extremely confused. She didnt know where she wanted to go, so she felt through the magic for somewhere that felt safe, safer than home, and that felt welcoming. The portal spit her out into a bank of snow, small flakes being kicked up into the frigid air as it happened. Her head popped up, out of the snowy bank, her mane covered in small flakes. She shook her head to get them off, looking around. It was snowing. She looked up, she was, wait. Underground?!? How in Equestria was it snowing then? She stood up, putting the earrings on each ear quickly so she wouldnt lose them. She shook out her fur, shivering slightly from the cold. It had been summer back home, and she wasnt exactly prepared for this sort of weather. She heard the sounds of talking, and so decided to follow it. “Papyrus! Stop making awful puns!” Came a somewhat deep and energetic sounding voice. “Aw, but bro, i think they are real ribticklers!” Answered a slightly more shrill but laidback voice, followed by chuckles from that same voice and groans of annoyance from the other. “Argh! Be serious Papyrus! A human might come through here today! The other voice, Papyrus, chuckled again. “Alright fine, ill stop being a lazybones.” “Argh!!! No more puns!!” Rifty listened more, following the source of the voices, thinking to herself. Humans? Hadnt they been dead for more than a couple thousand years? So why was anyone even on the lookout for them. Not paying attention, she accidentally stepped on a branch. The voices stopped bickering. “What was that?” Came the first, deeper voice. “I dunno.” “Maybe it was a human!!” Said the first one excitedly, and footsteps began to head in her direction. Rifty looked up, unsure of who was going to come through the underbrush of the forest towards her. She was surprised to see a skeleton, upright and walking on two legs, in front of her. He, for it seemed like a he, was dressed in a light blue scarf, combat boots, grey pants, a t shirt and shoulder pads. “Youre not a human…” he said. “And ive never seen you before either.” The skeleton seemed shocked, most likely from her eyes, they did tend to draw a lot of attention to her. He kept staring at her. “Does, that, uh, um, hurt?” He asked her. “Not really,” she answered. “And i can see just fine. Who are you?” “Thats what we should be asking,” said the other voice, this one belonging to a taller skeleton, wearing an orange hoodie, shorts, tennis shoes, and smoking a cigarette. “So, who are you?” “Im Rift Fire, but you can call me Rifty, now who are you?” The shorter skeleton spoke first. “Im the Magnificent Sans! This is my brother Papyrus! It is nice to meet you Rifty!”