#the blank eye is originally from where her flower grows but since me not know how to mod i make do

[whogavemoththerighttohyperfix]

ALL MY HERMIT DESIGNS

None of this is official it’s more just HC for my more family centric hermit au so like none of this is meant to be taken seriously Heh

BdoubleO100

Bdubs is a glare hybrid for the very simple reasons of 1. I like glares and 2. Moss. The stuff covering the top half of his dead is kind of like fluff but it’s also a mix of feathers his bandana is mainly for separating the hair from the fluff because they tend to tangle together. Like glares he can locate places with zero light but darkness also tends to make him grumpy.

Technically he can float a tiny bit but it’s mostly uncontrollable so he keeps weights in his shoes to keep him to the ground.

Cubfan135

originally I was going to make Cub some sort of hybrid of an animal from Egypt cause Targét is one of my favourite builds but I didn’t end up deciding on anything and just made him a normal human but I’m more than willing to change that if I find an animal I like

Docm77

Dom is the tallest of the hermits, he is actually taller than he is in the photo cause he’s sitting down in that. He’s a creeper hybrid with some robot modifications he is actually massive. I love the centaur idea of creepers so of course I had to make him a type of centaur.

He says he refuses anyone to ride of his back but in reality basically everyone has gotten a ride almost once off his weather he was willing to go r not

EthosLab

Etho being a Phantom hybrid is honestly such a fun idea for me I saw it once and it’s not like completely canon in my head, also since he can sense when someone’s got a lack of sleep he just fucks with them endlessly until they eventually sleep and it’s no fun anymore.

Sunlight actually burns him so if he deciders to go out in the sun then he either has to wear a hood or if it’s a ridiculously hot day a sun hat

FalseSymmetry

False is also just a human but she’s stronger than most of the hybrids there, she’s also got roller boots! It’s not that important my god I absolutely love roller boots! False is literally amazing cause she can somehow skate everywhere with them.

She also gave Her goggle adjustments so she can see peoples health and injury status on them. It also shows her plans for building so she can get stuff done faster

GoodTimesWithScar

Scar is an elf! His hair is naturally long, if he cuts it it will grow back by the next day. He does practice witch magic though. The crystals in his hair link to his magic, his wheelchair turns into his elytra when he presses a button on it, it originally was never able to but it was too much trouble to get out and into his elytra every time.

His wheelchairs also got a perch on the back of it cause Grian kept landing on the handles and breaking them

Grian

Grians a parrot hybrid but his flight feathers have a tendency to fall out when he’s stresses which is often now a days. Ever since the Rift had been growing he’s always been cold and blanking out often so he’s been flying less.

His eyes nose and mouth have been leaking purple stuff as well since he found the rift. It’s not bad yet but it’s just the beginning of the rifts side effects.

GeminiTay

She’s a deer centaur!! :D lots of flowers, lots and lots of flowers like if you’ve been around her like at all you’ll find flowers in your hair, in your clothes hell even in your house, no one knows where it comes from though, if you scare her she will literally just act like a deer in headlights, honesty one of the strongest people on the server, she could practically lift everyone and one kick could break a bone.

Although that she could she would probably never do it,she’s intk done it like once or twice and those were whole different situations.

Hypnotizd

Hypno is technically just a human but he can keep up with other hybrids and hold his own, he’s known most of them since the hermitcraft was discovered, his coat is made of gold in some places and his watch is pure gold, which also makes it really funny when he lobs it at peoples heads when their trying to fly

iJevin

Slime hybrid! He’s honestly quite squishy but will punch you if you decided to hug him without his permission,as much as you can you shouldn’t take his bones out his body , one time he took it out as a joke when he was little and was bed ridden for days in pain. Which means if he ever got caught in trouble his best option is just to book it if it gets too bad.

ImpulseSV

The hermitcraft is actually surprisingly hot yet Iskall still wears winter clothes, he actually had a thing where he feels the cold much more than other people, a small breeze can feel like he’d been dropped into the Antarctic. He also keeps quite a lot of amethyst shards hidden in his coat he always had some on him.

Iskall85

Iskall is also just another human but his robot eye does give him some advantages, it shows heath, hearts and any potential weaknesses or places that are hurt, while it does help with fights it can also help with the other hermits because they will literally go to any lengths to hide injuries, he just makes it so he gets notifications now.

Honestly if you’ve been around him at all you will find leaves in you hair for the next few weeks, no one knows where it comes from not even him

JoeHills

Joe is probably the least accessorised off the hermits, he has been tackled on a number of occasions to add more clothes cause in everyone else’s opinions “he has no sense of style” but he’s happy with it so he’s willing to survive a few tackling of he got to wear what he wanted

Keralis

Keralis is probably the most strongest on the server despite being a human, under his clothes he’s actually fucking ripped as hell, despite that though he’s honestly one of the nicest guys there, if you sick he is the type to bring you soup without even having to tell him that your sick he just knows stuff like that.

MumboJumbo

Mumbo is a red winged Moth Hybrid! They tent to get attached to redstone and redstone items, usually to their colour but the texture is a,so appealing to them, he’s naturally good with redstone and can fix basically anything despite not actually knowing how redstone even works, usually the others will have him double check for anything major wrong,

He can also technically make redstone but it’s kinda gross so he doesn’t mostly

PearlescentMoon

Pearl is a Moon Moth hybrid! She cycles with the moon, her sleep schedule fluctuates between being normal and being nocturnal, sometimes her instincts keep her awake at night despite being awake all day so she has to be wrestled into bed, usually by botem but everyone’s had to do it once or twice. No one dislikes her for it though she can’t help it

Her wings also tend to change with the night sky you can spot constellations in them if you look hard enough,

Rendog

Rens a Werwolf but he wasn’t exactly born it he was bitten by another Werwolf hybrid but he honestly has no problem with the guy that bite him, the guy was hiding away so he wouldn’t hurt anyone till Ren wandered in at the wrong time, the guy even helped him get a safe place to transform on full moons.

The other Hermits know they should leave him alone on full moons but they end up just going “PUPPY” instead. Ren surprisingly doesn’t have any intent to bite them when transformed he just lies down in his house so it leads to break days. No need for them to overwork themselves on the days he’s transformed because transformed Ren wouldn’t stand for it if he saw it.

StressMonster101

Stress is a fairy hybrid! She can actually turn into a smaller version of herself which can be honestly helpful in snooping or literally anything. It does also mean there is a small chance she can be stepped on but she does her best to avoid that (it has happened before though)

She’s also the type of fairy that will literally just fuckin die if you don’t believe in fairy’s but it’s not that bad since she’s right there’s so there’s no reason for people to not believe

TangoTek

Tango is a blaze hybrid, he dosent have the rods that most hybrids come with for some reason though, he can still light himself on fire though. He also tends to set himself on fire when he gets scared it he gets too excited which can be an issue sometimes since ya know fire kind of burns other people

They’re all fine with it though they can usually tell when he’s about to set himself on fire

TinFoilChef

TFC is basically the server grandpa in the best way possible, it does mean though that sometimes he’ll just come home to find random people camping out at his house, it’s gotten to the point there he had to build a guest room for when it happens

He was born without one of his legs so he usually just makes his own leg, right now his leg is just diamonds to flex how rich he is

VintageBeef

I sadly probably have the least to say about Vintage Heh, hes just a guy! But I love his design. He constantly is changing his apron but it always ends up dirtied to the point that he shouldn’t even try and wash it at this point

He only really gets annoyed when the blood gets on his face though anywhere else it’s fine

WelsKnight

Wels is a human but I was originally going to make him an angle hybrid or something like that but i can always change it if I want to. His armour is honestly mostly decretive but it’s also cause he’s in a server with either extremely strong people or people that can use some sort of ability on him.

xBCrafted

XB is a Guardian hybrid he’ll honestly die if he dosent get water, so it’s usually best for him to have about 5 buckets of water on him so he dosent ya know die, it also means he’s invincible to water bucket pranks as it literally just helps him.

He can also control water just not well, it’s extremely hard but he can move it on his own

Xisumavoid

Xisuma is an admin hybrid, which is one of the rarest hybrids. You cant meant to be an admin you have to specifically be born to it you can create worlds, championships, you can become a god basically. Which is why most Admins tend to become corrupt, But Xisuma isn’t evil enough for that, the Hermits are his family so why would he want to hurt them?

if TinFoilChef was the server grandad then Xisuma is the servers dad

ZedaphPlays

Zedaph is a goat hybrid which can be kinda annoying when he comes running full force at you and barges you with his horns, he has accidentally killed people on multiple occasions but it’s all fun and games he means nothing by it. He’s also broke so many goggles with his horns so he’s got a full drawer of them

ZombieCleo

Cleo is of course a Zombie hybrid! But she also has some Medusa elements, her snakes won’t turn you to stone but they can turn you to zombies! It makes Zombie villager stuff easier though since she can just do it herself, but being undead also makes clothes shopping a bit difficult cause clothes tend to rot away on her, she can just patch it up though.

She’s also the only one that can fight in high heels other than tango but she prefers army boots

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 12: Family

A big, blank spot on the wall of the Borel manor parlor wouldn’t normally bother her on another day, but Dia, still recovering from a near-fatal injury she sustained in the last treasure hunt she went on, suffered from intense boredom. Her day seemed wasted to her by sitting around, doing nothing. The books that surrounded her helped, as well as the free company linkshell, but her fellow adventurers were busy adventuring, and one could only bury herself in fiction for so long after spending years firmly planted in reality. Thus did the wall become painfully obvious.

To her, it wasn’t an exaggeration to say it seemed wildly out of place. Many works of art neighbored this new thorn in her side, yet there did that spot sit empty, lifeless, only showing the wallpaper. Why wasn’t there another work of art? Why couldn’t there have been one? Was he so busy that he forgot to hang something new there? Was she so busy that she never thought to ask?

No, that space simply wouldn’t do.

She cautiously stood up from the settee, taking great care not to reopen her abdominal wound, and found a different perspective. It helped little to ease the discomfort the blank wall was causing. There had to be something to place there. She would sneak off to the Jeweled Crozier and shop around herself if the act of even standing wasn’t so painful. Now that the quandary had revealed itself, she pondered what would hurt more to withstand.

“Oh, Mistress Sito, my lord will be rather upset that you’re not resting your wounds”, cautioned the steward, Angelbert, from the doorway to the parlor.

“The man fought off a terrorist cell hours after being stabbed; he can deal with me standing here staring at a wall”, she snarked. The steward frowned at the remark. “May I ask why you choose to stare at a wall, mistress?”

“Angelbert, do you know why there’s a blank spot here?” The old man stepped towards the spot she stood in, and examined the wall. “Running a house near singlehandedly has made it a bit hard to pay attention to wall decorations, I’m afraid, but I’m sure my lord has his reasons.”

She hummed in consideration. “Well, what might he think of filling it with something else, I wonder?”

“Such as?”

“Well, look at the rest of it- there’s art abound. Why not fill that spot with another work?”

Angelbert took a moment to think. “Well, the basement does hold several paintings that remain unhanged.” Dia brought her attention to the steward. “Really?”

“Plenty of them. That in mind, he has precious little time to spend thinking about house decorations.”

“Angelbert, I have nothing but time, at the moment. Why don’t we look through them and see what we can find, then when Aymeric gets home, we can ask what he thinks?” His white eyebrows lifted at the suggestion. “Hm, an interesting proposition. I suppose if my lord’s opinion is weighed as equally as yours, it could be a splendid idea.”

She grinned, and stated, “Well, we can’t stand around here, then. Let’s take a look!”

“Er, Mistress Sito, with all due respect, I would rather not aggravate your wounds further. Why do I not simply bring up the collection myself?”

“Angelbert-“ she was about to dispute it before she took a step ahead of her, and felt as if her core was tearing itself apart. She clutched her wound and strained to get out, “That’s a really good idea, you should do that.”

“Please drink your health potion, mistress! Shall I call the chirurgeon?”

She took her place back on the settee, held up a hand, and answered, “I’m a healer, Angelbert. I’ll take care of it. Just please, grab the paintings.” He bowed and left to find them while Dia examined her wounds and applied pain relief for herself, then drank the health potion as was recommended by the chirurgeon she was brought to, as well as Aymeric, her free company friends with whom she sought the treasure, the Scions, and now Angelbert.

A few minutes passed, and the elder steward returned with artwork in hand. “I found the collection, Mistress Sito.”

“Perfect. Here, sit down and we’ll look through it together.” The steward smiled and sat down with the portraits, ready to examine them together with her.

“This one’s just fruit”, she remarked at an unimaginative bowl of fruit topped with grapes, apples, and a banana, “Doesn’t go with anything up there, don’t you think?”

“I tend to agree.” The steward set the portrait to his side of the settee. “What of this one?”

“Oh, that’s a pretty landscape. I wonder where that is.”

“I’d recognize it anywhere: that’s Providence Point before the Calamity.”

“Aww…” she cooed, “Let’s add that to the ‘maybe’ pile.” Angelbert handed the portrait to Dia, who set it to her right side. “Uh…it’s just a splotch of blue…” she described confusedly of the next option.

“I believe it’s an abstract piece, up for interpretation.”

“I’m interpreting that it’s not a good fit up there.” The painting was placed in Angelbert’s ‘no’ pile on his side of the settee. The next portrait made Dia gasp in excitement. “Is that—“

A realistic portrait portrayed an elderly couple with a young boy between them wearing a green coat, green matching pants, and black dress shoes-typical of Ishgardian fashion- and sporting wavy black hair with similar bangs on his forehead, all parties with a neutral expression on their face. “There’s my lord as a lad with his parents. I remember when this portrait was taken, too. He couldn’t sit still, heehee.” Angelbert fondly reminisced of the time when this would have been painted.

“He’s adorable here! Look at him”, Dia marveled at the painting, “What’s this doing here with the rest of this collection?” Before Angelbert could theorize, he heard the sound of a key attempting to unlock the front door. “Ah, there’s Lord Aymeric now! Give me just a moment.” He stood up and quickly darted towards the front door, ready to greet him as was custom.

She kept searching through the rest of the collection, running into a flower vase, an abstract dining room, and an elezen woman holding a cat before she noticed the sound of his footsteps moving towards the parlor. “Ah, there you are!” she greeted cheerfully and attempted to stand up to meet him.

“Don’t you dare get up”, Aymeric ordered calmly, moving quickly towards the settee. She slumped back into her seated position and said, “Fine, then I shall simply sit here and waste away.” He kissed the top of her head from behind her. “‘Tis good to know you’re not being dramatic.”

She feigned a gasp. “Dramatic? Me? I’ve never been so insulted in my life…minus all those times I’ve been horribly insulted”, she teased. Aymeric laughed at her silliness.

“Now, if you have not been waited on hand and foot, I shall have a word.”

“Oh, don’t blame Angelbert. You’ll need more staff for that level of service.” Dia remembered the first time she visited Aymeric for dinner. The steward mentioned that House Borel employed the fewest staff members of any house of Ishgard, the amount being countable on one hand.

Aymeric pondered the suggestion. “You have a point.”

Dia’s eyes widened. “Well, hold on, I don’t actually want to be waited on hand and foot.”

“Neither do I, but Angelbert could certainly use the help. He’s not as young as he used to be.”

“He was young?” Dia joked. Aymeric gave a cautious laugh.

“Careful, Mistress. You’ll find yourself in a similar position one day”, Angelbert remarked as he carried tea and a new health potion. He placed the teacup and potion bottle on the table before Dia continued to joke, “I’m sorry, I refuse to believe you didn’t simply appear in the world anything less than fifty summers old.”

“Well, at least you’re generous with the age, Mistress Sito. Now, have you told Lord Aymeric what you had done before he came home?” he asked before promptly turning away to return to business.

“What did you do?” Aymeric asked Dia concernedly, “And does it have anything to do with all these portraits lying about?”

“Nothing bad, don’t worry. And yes, it does. I came up with an idea.” She pointed to the blank spot that kicked off the process. “That spot has been an immense bother to me since I first noticed it this morning. To that end did I bid Angelbert to help me fill it. He told me you had a bunch of unhanged portraits in the basement, and I asked him to bring them up here and we were trying to decide what to go with. I wanted to see which you would like.” She grabbed the family portrait and held it up so he could see it.

“Now I’m a big fan of this one. I’m not sure why it’s not up there now, but I’m sure there’s a reason, and if you don’t want it up there, you don’t need to put it up there…but you look adorable here, my love! At least consider it.” She set it back to it’s original spot and grabbed the landscape and explained, “This one was in the ‘maybe’ pile. It’s pretty, but it might also bring back some unwanted emotions about pre-Calamity times, so I understand if you don’t.” She set the landscape aside and grabbed the flower vase. “Now at first, I saw the flower vase and thought it was kind of boring, but now that I look at it again, it’s growing on me.”

Aymeric blinked and asked, “You were rather bored, weren’t you, dear?”

“Insanely so. Point is, I think we should fill that blank piece of wall with something, and there are some options here to do so. I know that you’re a bit too busy to think about stuff like decorations regularly, but your opinion matters to me, and I want to know what you think.”

“I would prefer we didn’t fill it at all…at least, not yet.” Dia raised an eyebrow in confusion to that statement. “What? Why?” Aymeric walked towards the empty wall space and stared at it.

“That family photo you adore so much was the original portrait that filled this gap.” Aymeric let out a sharp breath through his nose. “I took it down after the new government was formed.”

Dia carefully stood up, and slowly stepped towards him. “But why?” she whispered.

He hesitated to answer, but finally explained after a moment, “‘Tis silly, but…it transformed itself into a reminder. It reminded me that I was once an object of gossip and scorn, that generally, I was rather disliked by many of the other houses due to those origins of mine. In a way, it mocked me. I couldn’t be burdened with those memories as someone who needs to lead such people into a new age. Yet, that portrait served as something that would yank me back into the old and antiquated, into a position that I care not to relive. As such, it served no purpose sitting there, and so, I had it taken down.”

Dia frowned. She didn’t want to bring back bad memories with that. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, my dear. I never told you this, and simply hoped you wouldn’t notice. It worked for a while.”

“It did. Well, if that’s the case, why do you not want to fill the spot?”

Aymeric brought his gaze to her and responded with a raised corner of his lip, “In truth, I would like a new family portrait to hang here…one of you and I.”

Dia’s mouth went agape and after taking a moment to process what he told her, she let out a breathed laugh of delight and confusion. “Isn’t that more for married couples, people with their own children?”

“Is there anything traditional about the two of us, about what we’re doing here? I’m a bastard leading a country that detests bastards so, unofficially courting an outsider as she unofficially lives in my family manor. But a few years ago, such thoughts would be unthinkable. Yet here we are, living these thoughts as truth, and rather happily, if I may say so.”

Aymeric stepped towards her and gently gripped her hands. “You are my family, whether that is seen in the eyes of Halone and Ishgard or not, and if you would entertain the idea, I would like to commemorate that soon. You need but say the word, and I shall find the time and artist.”

Dia didn’t know quite what to say. There was no other thought in her head, no conflicting emotions to tell her it was a lie, not when he looked to her with such sincerity. Strangely lucid, yet hazy, lost when she was so clearly found, the only thing she felt was adoration. Her ardor for the man seemed boundless, ever growing, and in this moment, it swelled gloriously.

Not that she was ever capable of vocalizing such emotions.

She kissed his cheek, then brought her forehead to his and asked softly and half-jokingly, “Do I get to choose the outfits?”

“You will have full control over anything you’d like, my love.” She liked the sound of that, so much so, that she met her lips with his, and they enjoyed their warm embrace for all it was worth. Like coming in from a cold winter’s night, their company was the hearth they sat near for warmth. The fire easily burned brighter. This was the most stimulating activity Dia’s experienced since she sustained her injury, and Halone knew Aymeric dealt with the House of Lords far too much to not feel the least bit greedy at her touch. He pulled in her closer, and she happily obliged.

Her wounds did not, however.

She yelped in pain and backed away.

“Are you all right?!”

“Give me a moment, I’ll be fine!” she strained through gritted teeth. Dia started preparing healing spells for herself while he quickly darted for the coffee table to grab the health potion Angelbert prepared and returned to her side with it. Slowly, the tension she exuded began to melt as the pain was being relieved gradually. She passed the worst of it, and gulped down the potion as required.

Godsdammit, she thought.

“I’ll just sit down then”, she announced meekly.

“A good idea”, he affirmed as he took her shoulders to stabilize her and make sure it wouldn’t reopen as she walked.

“Was this how you felt after our experience with the True Brothers of the Faith?” he asked her as he helped seat her.

“Ha! Not even close. You’ll need to feel completely baffled that someone could just stand up and fight off four people hours after being stabbed on top of abject fear for my life.”

Aymeric shook his head. “Well, I, for my part, will attempt to avoid doing anything so reckless again. I realize that danger tends to follow you regardless of what you do, but it still hurts to see you so.”

Dia folded her arms and sarcastically responded, “Hm, and I’m just so thrilled about it.”

“Must you be sarcastic about this?”

“Sorry, it’s the pain talking.”

He stayed silent. She nudged herself closer to him and rested her head on his pauldron. “You sure that this is what you want as your family? A snarky witch who teases you constantly?”

He removed his pauldrons and pulled her in with one arm so she could rest on him easily.

“Without a doubt in my mind.”

[stories-by-rie]

Chapter 1 - Heart of Silver

Evelyn turns to the infamous curse-broker Ariel for help, after she got cursed by a dead granny’s fork.

words: 3763 || masterlist

Despite the late summer, the air had grown cold with the night’s storm. The wind was blowing the rain drops harshly against Evelyn’s coat and the persistent noise of its dripping onto her hood mixed with the ringing sound in her ears. With the anxiety that threatened to overflow, she shivered. Even if her hood saved her from the worst, she had to hold it in place with one hand so the wind wouldn’t blow it off. Now, that hand was wet, cold and shook even more than the rest of her body. Tripping from one foot to the other did nothing to bring her warmth or to disperse the gnawing threat of doom inside her chest.

    Once again, she pulled out her phone. The fourth of September, 22:34, a Thursday, no new notifications, battery at eleven percent. Raindrops landed on the bright screen and distorted the picture of a flower field in irregular splashes. From the upper right corner, lines like spider legs drew through them. 

    Frustration settled in her, taking coin-sized bites. Her eyes flicked over to the doorbell again -- she had rung two times already -- maybe a third time would be all right? She knew that Ariel was home, so if they hadn’t opened the door after two times, a third ring wouldn't make them either. 

    Still.

    Just as Evelyn was about to press the bell again, the door opened slightly, barely enough for her to make contact with one eye. 

    “Why didn’t you text me that you’d come?” 

    “I did. You haven’t read it yet.”

    Ariel pulled out their old flip phone, dipping their glasses into bright white reflections, and skimmed through what had to be a real handful of messages. 

    “Ah. Oh. Hm.” They stared at a message for a while before they looked up to Evelyn again, opened the door a bit wider. “There will be a sale for winter tyres down in the old factory on the main road next week.”

    Evelyn was too stunned to answer anything but, “Ariel, you don’t drive. You don’t have a car.”

    “That’s true.”

    “It’s summer.”

    “Are you sure?” Ariel looked at the rainy night sky, and squinted their eyes. 

    “Listen, Ariel. I wrote in my message-”

    “Yeah, I read your message. So what?” They looked up at Evelyn again, closed the door a bit more to shelter from the rain. 

    “I didn’t know who else to ask.” Her voice sounded a bit thin to her own ears then, the uncertainty growing with each passing minute. But she had held on for hours now, and it didn’t feel like she had it in herself to hold on for much longer. 

    Ariel scoffed. “Yeah. Obviously, asking anyone but me would be foolish, but I am really busy, you know? A curse is a curse, you should just let it run its course. I am not some sort of all-purpose antidote.”

    Evelyn managed to put her foot in the door before Ariel shut it. 

    “Please? Listen, no one knows curses as well as you do. I am afraid I don’t have that long and I absolutely can’t do this by myself.”

    With both hands against the door, the wind had enough freedom to rob her of her hood, so it drenched her within seconds, stung on her skin like a hundred little needle pricks. 

    “There’s just a handful of curses that more or less kill. You want me to believe that you got one of those? Do you know how hard that is? What would be in it for me?” Ariel eyed her suspiciously. All Evelyn did was to pull up her sleeves as far as possible. Where the skin was thinner and fairer, the black veins stood in sharp contrast to her body, shimmering in a dark grey. Ariel’s eyes widened in surprise and excitement.

    “A Heart of Silver? How far has it spread?” They grabbed her wrist. 

    “It’s in my whole blood-stream,” Evelyn replied and pushed her hair from her temples where her veins were just as black. Ariel looked up with an ‘ah’ on their lips and then let go of her wrist again. 

    “So, I’d get the reaping?”

    “It’s all I could offer.”

    “Say, if we fail and you’ll be a silver statue, can I keep you then? Put you in the corner of my kitchen?”

    “This is not funny, Ariel.” 

    “That’s a yes then. Fine. Come in.” They opened the door enough for Evelyn to step through. Instantly, they were caught in this different world of theirs. She was quite certain that Ariel had put a curse on their own apartment somehow that captured the people who walked in, but so far she did not have evidence to support that theory.

    Books towered against the walls everywhere. There was a pot with an enormous fern right in the middle of the hallway. Not a single lamp was lit, and Evelyn could not shake the feeling that it was to hide the shadows of some ghosts living there as well. Perhaps it was the people the not-yet-proven-curse trapped inside of it.

    “You must tell me everything,” Ariel mumbled while pulling out a few books out of their stacks, seemingly randomly.

    “So, I got an unexpected call from a granny in the morning. She asked me to help with a haunting. I thought I could just handle a simple ghost. You know that I am good with ghosts.” Evelyn tried to follow them, focusing more on not tripping over most likely enchanted vases, gemstones, and one array that hopefully was not used to curse the apartment.

    “I am quite aware, that’s why I don’t like you coming over.”

    Or maybe the array was drawn to specifically keep her out, who knew.

    “So, I drove over in the afternoon. Just one old granny and a ghost. There is a nice magnolia tree in the garden. It’s next to the old school that’s half covered in ivy and the neighbours complain about it all the time because they think it’s weed, although ivy is very useful with old houses for climatic purposes-” Distinctly, she noticed how she started to ramble, her tongue too fast for her mind to catch up on. 

    “Please, for the love of the currently absent blood in your veins, cut yourself short,” Ariel thankfully interrupted and pushed the door to the kitchen open. Evelyn tried very hard to calm herself down with a few measured and calculated breaths, focused on the red lava lamp on the windowsill instead. Multiple candles were lit on the table and next to them slept her black cat whose name Evelyn had never learnt. She only knew her as a beast, my evil gremlin, an annoying menace, YOU!, and the apple of my eye. Currently, the proximity to the candles was once again anxiety inducing.

    Ariel pointed at one of the chairs, so Evelyn sat down and forced herself to keep talking, wiped some of the rain out of her face, along with her sticky bangs that hung in her eyes. 

“The granny didn’t have money to pay, which is fine, you know I like to help where I can, right? And she had this very evil looking set of silverware in her kitchen drawer, so I started to work on it and she kept rambling about how I had a heart of silver -- which was already a bit weird, I guess, since usually it’s a heart of gold, right? -- but at that moment, I thought she was just old and confused because I was working for free, right? Well, until I poked my finger on a fork and that’s when it happened.”

    “Was that the short version?”

    “I left out a lot of detail.”

    The coffee machine beeped and Ariel filled the matching cups. They slid one with big bold yellow letters over to Evelyn that read Best Curse Victim, and kept the one with Best Curse Broker In The Whole Wide World. 

    “Did you custom-make these?” Evelyn asked and Ariel set down the two cups with a grin. They knew that Evelyn preferred tea, but, Tea is for curses and rituals, you can’t make me drink hot water with leaves, they liked to argue. 

    Ariel raised an eyebrow at her quizzically. “I assume the granny then turned out to be a ghost?”

    “She apparently had died over three months ago, yes.”

There was a deep sigh coming from Ariel as they put up their feet onto the table, dangerously close to the candles.

    “And never once while working on silverware and getting praised for your silver heart did you consider the option that perhaps you were getting cursed?”

    “Ghosts get better at hiding themselves each day, Ariel,” Evelyn replied with multiple glances to the shadows. Ariel only offered a weak smile and nodded while they pushed the books into the middle of the table, tapped on it with their sparkly painted fingernails. 

    “I have fourteen books on the Heart of Silver, all very rare collections from back when curse-brokers still thought that this classy beast was curable. I also have read all of these fourteen books.” Ariel took a sip from their coffee and grabbed another pair of glasses that were tucked into a pot of parsley on the windowsill next to the lava lamp. They pushed their former golden glasses up into their soft pink dyed hair. 

Last time they had met, it had been deep purple. They had tried to make her believe once that it was tied to their moods, like those 90s mood rings of which they wore three. “Obviously, I read all the books you can find in this apartment, I wouldn’t keep anything that just took up space.” They opened the right page on the first try and slid the book over to Evelyn. The pages were blank.

    “The pages are blank.”

    “Ah, right. I put a curse on them. No one steals books you can’t read, am I right? Here,” they slid over the glasses to Evelyn, and once she put them on, black letters appeared on the blank pages. Just none she could read.

    “I don’t speak that language, Ariel.”

    “Ah, it’s just encrypted.”

Evelyn sighed deeply and put the glasses down again. She warmed her icy fingers on the coffee cup in front of her, the bitter smell of it made her jittery enough.

    “Please, can you just tell me what you know about it? I am certain that you know your curses, you don’t have to prove anything by showing me book excerpts I can’t read anyway.”

    Ariel smirked openly then, their eyes clearly tracing the black lines on her skin where the liquid silver was running through her veins.

    “The Heart of Silver is a curse that dates back all the way to the sixteenth century. That ultimately makes it a curse of the black night level, because we don’t know its origin anymore, so understanding it has become as good as impossible. Legends say that it was just another love story, though. Why it is a heart of silver and not of gold is equally unclear. Perhaps they didn’t know any better. Then again, a Heart of Gold curse already exists, so. Anyway, the story says that one woman, got  jealous of her maid. The maid, being kind-hearted, was just too lovely to her husband, you see. So when that woman died she cursed her maid on her deathbed and said something along the lines of With your heart made of silver, you still won’t be worth enough to appeal to him. Maybe you could feed his greed by turning into actual silver instead.” They took another sip of coffee, taking out another book from the stack on the table and flipping a page open. “How the curse is passed on is totally unclear as well, although, as you might have noticed, contact with silver seems to be one determinant, as well as someone actually cursing you, also known as a ghost. But why and how? No one knows.”

    “Not even you?” Evelyn asked, feeling punched out. She pulled the new book closer, putting on the glasses again, and there they were. The photos with the evidence that this curse existed. That it was more than just a rumour, a scary story told to teach children not to steal. Proof that her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her; that she had understood the situation of her own doom correctly. 

    A silver statue of a man, the face too realistic to be art, distorted in a scream. His arms were outstretched, all around him scrolls of parchment. 1982, Vienna.

    A silver statue of an old woman, sleeping in her bed. She looked much more peaceful, but her brows were drawn together, giving her discomfort away. 1864, Kuressaare.

    A teenage boy, locked inside a dark room with handcuffs tied to the walls, screams on his silver lips. 2003, Hildesheim.

    Evelyn didn’t need to look at more of them. It just made her picture herself as one more of these photos. A corpulent young woman, the face silver but clearly pleading for her life-

    “Does it hurt? Do you know?”

    “Not sure, sorry. Would it help if you knew?” Ariel looked directly at her then, the soft pink hair glimmering red from the lamp, the candles’ lights dancing on her glasses.

    “Probably not.”

    “Then let’s try to make it so that you don’t have to find out. But just to be clear, I will take notes on the curse’s progress, for scientific purposes.” They pulled a notebook out from under their coffee cup.

    “Sure.”

    Ariel grinned and drummed with their golden painted nails onto the table.

    “Soon I will be the first curse-broker to have dealt with the Heart of Silver. Everyone will know my name. Maybe someone will finally publish my book. My google reviews will skyrocket!”

    “You always say a truly good curse-broker gets only bad reviews. And that book doesn’t get published because you describe for three hundred pages how to create various curses. ”

    “That’s because if you want to deal with curses, you need to understand them from the inside out first. Also, creating curses can be fun, I promise.”

    With a glimpse to the shadows, Evelyn nodded in slight agreement. Unease found its way back to her, like an intrusive thought stuck to her skin. The more she listened to her body, the more she felt like it had changed. She was sure to feel the silver in her veins, believed that her body had gotten heavier – was silver heavier than blood? She was sure that her skin had gotten harder where it ran through her.

    “You still there?” Ariel waved before her eyes, nearly poked her, but Evelyn flinched back before they got to. She finally took a sip of her own coffee. The bitterness made her squirm but at least she was able to still taste it.

“So, if the books are all useless, as you say, then where do we start?”

    “Well, as I said, if you want to deal with curses, you have to know them from the inside out. Only if I know how you got it in the first place, I will have a chance at extracting it and exchanging it for a different one. A curse is a near-living thing, after all. If I just rip it out, it might do more damage than aid. I need to know why you fit in its scheme, how it develops inside of you. So I would say we should start with the ghost who put that curse on you, since that granny might be able to answer those questions, but I assume you hunted the shit out of that ghost, didn’t you?”

    Evelyn froze as she remembered the exchange, the prospect of a new curse. She gave her best not to tremble too much as she asked, “The new curse-”

“I can’t tell you what it will be yet.”

“But how-”

“Okay, I’ll give you the short explanation. Any curse corrupts its host. Your body lets it nest inside of it, and usually you will let the curse run its course until it’s fulfilled or withered and the space will grow back. More or less. If I have to extract the curse, the space will be hollow and harm your body and mind. It leaves room for possessions, diseases and much more. So instead I extract the awful curse and give you a new one that is slightly less awful. But in order to do that, the new curse needs to fill out the same space. I need to understand both curses to the T, so that this procedure works. That’s also why I can’t tell you anything about the new curse yet, because I need to understand the Heart of Silver first. Got it?” 

Evelyn nodded, a little as if in a daze. 

“So, the granny?”

“Gone, yes.” Evelyn sighed deeply. “I didn’t think that she would be of help. I just saw her as a ghost and sent her off.”

    “The mark?”

    “Just the silver veins, they started in the hand with which I touched the fork.”

    “Mn. It looks like it has spread completely since then. That doesn’t need to mean anything, though.” Ariel wrote down notes in a book, the pen’s ink invisible to Evelyn’s eyes.

    “When exactly was this?”

    “Somewhen between five and six, this evening.”

    Ariel wrote down more notes, far more than Evelyn had said, so she could only assume that those were some curse related conclusions. After a few minutes, Ariel had emptied their second cup of coffee. At this point, they looked up again and pressed their lips together.

    “I would like to see the curse medium then. You don’t happen to still have that fork?”

    Evelyn shook her head, “I assume it’s still in the house, though. I saw the police wrapping everything up as well, so we should be alone there.” She forced the rest of her coffee down her throat, ignoring how it upset her stomach just a moment later. Ariel nodded and got up, carrying the two cups over to the sink.

    “Well, then. Let’s get going, shall we?” They nodded towards the door and Evelyn went to follow them. Before Ariel closed the kitchen door, she looked back. “Shouldn’t you blow out your candles? Your cat is so close and-”

    “Oh, I cursed the candles, don’t worry. They don’t burn anything. I feel a little bad for doing it, though. Imagine being a fire and then the only thing you can burn is candle wax. So sad.”

    They reached the door and Evelyn stopped once more in her tracks.

    “Do you really want to leave like that?” she asked and looked down Ariel’s onesie with ghost-print.

    “Oh, right, shoes,” they answered, fetching a pair of run down converse, not bothering to tie the laces. They tucked them in and pointed to the door. “Now?”

    But Evelyn still felt like they had forgotten something important. Something they needed to consider before they left. Maybe it was just her fear of entering that house again where she had gotten cursed in the first place, the fear of not finding what they needed to. The fear that she would so utterly fail in the quest of saving her life, of destroying the curse. It was too close to past memories, perhaps. The image of the old lady dissipating into thin air as she sent her off still lingered in her mind, and she couldn’t help but see herself in that place.

    “Ah, of course,” Ariel mumbled, pulled out a single hair from Evelyn and burnt it in the candle standing next to the door. “My mistake.” They waved to the outside, and finally Evelyn found the strength to walk again.

    “So you did curse your own apartment!”

    “Nonsense, I never said that,” Ariel replied with a grin and the rain poured down on them once more. Like needles, it pricked on her skin. If she turned into a silver statue, she would never feel it again. They ran to her old Corolla, parked so very badly in line.

    “You know, those winter tires are really cheap now. You should get them as long as they are affordable. I bet they will be much pricier once it’s winter.”

    “Gotta make it to winter first,” Evelyn muttered and turned on the motor. The radio gave white noise – a side effect of getting cursed, or maybe just a coincidental break-down.

    “So pessimistic. Really, you’re insufferable.” Ariel started to play snake on their phone. 

The way to the old house was quiet except for the occasional white noise when the radio came to life unasked. The road was mostly deserted at the late hour, some street lights only blinked yellow already. It was not until she turned on the road to leave the small city that Ariel shifted in the front seat.

    “Where were you the whole last year, Evelyn?” Their voice was softer now. The phone tucked inside their pocket. With a quick glance, she could see that they looked outside. Of course, they would ask. Evelyn had known that. Despite this, she still didn’t know what to answer. How to say the words to Ariel that she could hardly think to herself.

    “I just… I was not so well.” A kind euphemism for lying in bed all day, ignoring her calls and living off of pizza and instant noodles.

    “We could have really used you then. There was that Undine in the sink of that favourite restaurant of yours. Took three of us to get her out of there. You could have probably managed her yourself.” A harsh way to say that she had been missed. A nice way to say that Ariel was hurt.

    “I’m sorry.” Lousy words. They would not make up for letting her friends down. Not really.

    “It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize.” She had to, though. She really had to.

    Evelyn pulled into the street, the utmost street of the small-town. One could see the forest behind it from here. At the end of the street stood an old house, next to the old school that was covered in ivy.

    “I just wanted you to know that you’re needed, even if you think you aren’t. Or I don’t know… Ah, you know.” Words were hard for Ariel, too. But Evelyn thought she understood them, and nodded with a slight smile. It had been like that between them from the beginning, somehow.

----

WIP intro || masterlist || next chapter

[beautiful-bau-beau]

helloooo!! I have a Spencer request :) Could you write one where Spencer is injured (maybe like when he broke his leg or something like that) and he stays round yours and you look after him, help him shower, comfort him and stuff :)

Anonymous said to beautiful-bau-beau: could u do a soulmate au w spence where you feel the share pain with your soulmate, i think it would be interesting since spencer seems to be shot or nearly killed in almost every episode 

Sticks and Stones

fem!reader/Spencer Reid

masterlist

[Set in season 5 when Spencer gets shot in the leg but makes references to Maeve]

----

To the average eye flowers are soft, simple little things. They spark romance in the hearts of budding couples, they aid the grieving widows, their beauty inspires the masses in forms such as poetry and art. For some, flowers only caused distress.

Few were "fortunate" in the world to have soulmates. Once twelve years of age, a soul bound to another would feel the pain, to a lesser extent, as well as receive a flower at the sight of the intrusion. Small purple blooms grew at bruises, at a cut, the flowers would mimic the length and size. Any other type of pain was indicated by large, red blossoms. As each wound healed, the flowers would wilt and die.

You were among the many to few flowers as flimsy nuisances, only serving as reminders of the pain you had to go through.

Before turning twelve you often wondered if you had a soulmate. You had spent many days vividly imagining who your soulmate was, what he looked like, what he did for a living, choosing to ignore that if you indeed had one, a lifetime of pain was sure to follow.

Lifetime of pain indeed.

Your soulmate must have been a stuntman, a police officer, hell- even a lion tamer with the amount of pain he seemed to put you through. The occasional bruise and scrape seemed to hit you up until your early twenties, that's when the real pain began.

Every other day it seemed that you were doubled over, screaming in agony. You were an ugly vision of purple and red, but hell, it seemed to strike up a conversation with you and your patients.

You served as a private duty nurse, taking care of patients in the safety of their own home. You enjoyed the one-on-one with your patients, and it was decidedly better than working in a crowded hospital with a difficult schedule.

You had just finished a job working with an elderly woman, as her granddaughter had recently decided to move in with her to take care of her. It was a sad departure, but the job had finished and it was now time for you to find another patient in need.

You were employed through a small local medical office and received career requests through their office website.

One particular request caught your eye that morning from a Ms. Penelope Garcia. A friend of hers had recently been shot in the leg and needed to quickly recover before returning to his job.

You eyed your own leg, sighing heavily. It still seemed to throb harshly every once in a while.

A week ago, out of nowhere, an extreme pain radiated through your leg, causing you to drop what you were doing and scream. Thankfully you hadn't been on the job but the look of pity your neighbors gave you the next day felt just as awful. Every time you glanced at the offending appendage you could swear you saw another blossom grow.

"You and me both, buddy." You mumbled, picking up your phone. The job seemed simple enough, and hopefully you would be able to bond with this new patient by shared leg pain.

-

"You ordered a nurse for me?" Spencer hissed into his cell, turning to look over his shoulder. "I can take care of myself!" He eyed your figure, currently unpacking a medical bag. You had entered his apartment mere minutes ago, not understanding his confusion.

"Are you Spencer Reid?" You asked, greeting his wheel-chair bound figure. "I'm Y/n Y/l/n, the nurse your girlfriend Penelope ordered." You were met with a blank stare. "Is she uh.. here?"

"I'm going to have to make a phone call." Spencer blurted, wheeling himself inside. He left the door open so you took it upon yourself to enter.

"Spencer, I love you but are you listening to yourself right now?" Penelope replied, twirling a pen around her fingers. "You were shot a week ago, you're in a wheelchair. How are you going to shower? Replace your bandages? Sweets, this nurse will help you. And before you even have to ask I already checked and your insurance covers this!"

"Garcia-"

"I won't hear anything more about it as I know I'm right! Goodbye, dear!" A heavy sigh came from the man, and he placed his cellphone back in his pocket. He turned to look at you again, wheeling his way over to you.

"I apologize for earlier. I wasn't exactly informed that you would be coming here." He placed his hands on his lap, awkwardly.

"That's alright!" You chirped. " You’re low-risk so I won’t invade your space too much by staying overnight with you. I'm here to help with personal medical care, bathing, trimming nails, and making you comfortable.... as well as urinary and colostomy care." His eyes widened and you simply waved him off. "I get it. It's weird. But from what I read through of your medical reports, the bullet went clear through and you'll need a crutch in two weeks! At least you're not hooked up to a catheter?" You tried to joke. You were met with another simple stare.

"Let's uh, change your bandages, shall we?"

-

It had been a few days since you started working with Spencer. He was a nice man, a little awkward, and seemed to be more of an introvert, so you respected his space. He seemed to take to staying in bed, simply asking for books every once and awhile.

"There's no way you're able to read all these so quickly. You'd have to be superhuman..." You teased, bringing him a stack of his latest requests.

"I have an IQ of 187 and can read 20,000 words per minute." Spencer replied, catching your eye. He flushed under your surprised glance. "...Not to brag."

"Well... that'll do it." You set each book in your arm down, one by one, a particular title catching your eye. "The Narrative of John Smith?"

"Have you read it?" He asked, trying not to sound too eager. He hadn't originally pegged you for an Arthur Conan Doyle fan.

"Uh, no." You scratched behind your ear sheepishly. "But a few friends of mine have, they all highly recommend it. What do you think? Does it live up to all the hype?" Spencer opened his mouth but shut it almost immediately, causing your brows to furrow.

"I can't tell you what to read... it's just a very special book to me."

"Did someone special give you the book? Penelope?" Spencer let out a chuckle, hissing as he adjusted himself on his bed.

"Garcia is just a friend but you're correct, someone special gave me the book."

"A soulmate?" You asked, immediately regretting your choice of words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed. I'm just the nosy nurse that asks too many questions." You knew it was a sensitive topic for some, with or without the soulmate.

"No, it wasn't from a soulmate... but I wish she was." Spencer's voice grew soft. You felt as if you had stepped too far, intruded upon a fond memory.

"I do have one though." He continued, noticing your unease. "Sometimes I worry I imagined her but every once and awhile, I'll notice some flowers by my legs, the likely result of a cut from shaving or bruises." You let out a laugh, leaning against his door frame.

"I would love a low-risk soulmate like that. He must jump through flaming hula-hoops or something. I could make a decent living as a florist." You murmured.

"That's got to be tough." Spencer observed, noticing no flowers on your arm.

"I guess he's a lot like you." You lifted up your pant leg, crimson petals on display. "His reason can't be nearly as heroic as yours, though." Spencer couldn't suppress the smile that grew from the compliment.

"Well I guess you'll have to find him and ask."

"Well you're in the FBI right? Let's formulate a profile and find him so I can give him a piece of my mind. You in?" You teased.

"Sounds like a worthy use of all my newfound time." He let out a small huff of amusement, eyeing your figure. He appreciated how lighthearted and casual you were. He noticed the space you gave him and your little efforts to make the apartment easier to maneuver around. Although he hadn't seemed motivated at first, something told him he should get to know you more.

-

"Y/n?" Spencer asked, drawing your attention away from one of the books you had borrowed from his shelf. "Is there any way we can wash my hair?" He had procrastinated in asking, too embarrassed for whatever your plan was for showering.

"Of course! I could cut it too if you'd like." You offered, standing to wheel him into the bathroom.

"Are you saying you don't like my hair?" He faked an offended tone which he knew would make you laugh.

"I think your hair is beautiful, right at that perfect length before it gets too weird for any man to wear." You snorted. You moved him to a stool, not too difficult a feat as he was able to support the majority of his weight on his good leg. "Alright, the shirt has got to come off."

"Isn't against a code to try and seduce your patients?" Spencer teased. Since your conversation the other day he had grown to feel more comfortable with you and a friendship ensued. You took care when treating him and told stories of past patients. It was clear you loved what you did and cared for the people even more.

"Oh please. If I was seducing you, which I'm not, you'd know." You rolled your eyes, waiting for him to lift his arms before peeling his shirt off of him. He leaned back, long tresses falling into a pool in the sink.

He was extremely handsome, you couldn't deny it. His sharp cheekbones and jawline, his full and enticing lips, the way his hand flexed as he read.... you didn't notice any of that. You especially didn't notice how wonderfully intelligent he was, or how kind. Not at all.

Besides, it would never work. You both had your respective soulmates and he seemed to still be carrying a torch for the past relationship he was in. Not to mention the most important factor of all, he was your patient.

You carefully stepped around him to grab a large and small towel, snickering as you found a familiar design on one.

"Star Trek fan?" You asked, hanging the fabric on the shower rail and turning the tap on to warm water.

"Typically I'm not one for fiction but surprisingly there aren't that many scientific errors in Star Trek, especially considering how long ago it was made. There are certain improbabilities, but not that many outright errors, which make it so enjoyable to watch."

"Eh, I've only seen the film from 2009, and I was mostly paying attention to the deliciously handsome cast." You knew that would agitate him. "And not just for Chris Pine but Zachary Quinto as Spock? Oh, he is gorgeous, even if he is gay. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay, and not that I had a chance with him anyway." You laughed.

"Y/n, I am not one to comment on the education of another but you are seriously missing out! Star Trek: The Next Generation is one of the most influential series of it's time. the new film doesn't even have Data! Data, y/n, Data!" He grumbled as you washed his hair.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next you're going to tell me that the 1996 Doctor Who movie is better than the series?" He opened his mouth when you raised your soapy hand. "Disregard that statement, I can't afford another argument, I'm already too emotional from our last one." You faked a sniffle.

"You know, most females I talk to don't watch Star Trek or Doctor Who."

"I'm just that amazing, I know." You sighed, moving to grab the washcloth and dousing it with water, handing it to Spencer so he could wash himself. You grabbed the Star Trek towel and started to dry Spencer's hair.                                           

"You're something alright." He retorted, drawing a gasp from you.

"I could have let you sit with greasy hair, you know!" Just for extra measure you rubbed his head a little harsher than before but miscalculated your aim, accidentally hitting your wrist against the marble sink.

Spencer felt pain radiate through his wrist and time seemed to slow. It suddenly seemed to dawn on him all at once. You experienced constant pain, pain he gave you because he was often injured on the job. Not to mention his gunshot wound on your leg and now the purple blossoms forming on his wrist.

 He wanted to shout, yell, jump up, wrap you in a hug. He had finally found his soulmate! However, he remained silent.

When you spoke about your soulmate the other day you seemed angry and forlorn at the amount of pain you had to endure. There was no doubt in his mind that if you knew he was your soulmate, you would walk right out of his life, but not before giving him a swift kick to the ass.

So he stayed quiet.

-

You weren’t sure what changed between you and Spencer. After the shower he mentioned he didn’t feel too well so you guided him to bed. Since then he stayed in his room, barely calling you to his side.

It was weird. If it was any other patient you would have paid no mind and kept to yourself but you thought you had made a connection with Spencer. You enjoyed the banter between you both and finding out your shared interests. It must have all been in your head. You brought yourself out of your thoughts to prepare Spencer’s tea. 

“Here you are!” You called, stepping into his room to hand him the mug. “I’m about to head out, do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you.” You stayed by the door, waiting to see if he would even spare you a glance. When he made no motion to move, you gave up, spinning on your heel to grab your purse and coat. 

“Ah!” You heard Spencer hiss from the other room before feeling a sharp sting on your tongue. Your hand came up to cover your mouth, brows knitting together in confusion. Was he…? Did he…? 

Spencer was your soulmate, he had to be. There was no possible way that him burning his mouth and your pain that followed were coincidences, right? Spencer was your soulmate! So why did you feel your heart drop into your stomach?

You shut the door, racing down the stairs and out of his apartment building, letting the cold air sweep over you. 

There was nothing special about you. You were just a simple nurse and he was your patient. Besides, how were you deserving of Spencer? You weren’t. 

He couldn’t find out, he just couldn’t.

-

You didn’t know if it was just because you knew that Spencer was your soulmate but the tension between the two of you was… palpable. 

“Hey!” You popped your head into his room, his figure jumping in surprise. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!” You exclaimed.

“Hi?” He greeted, trying to seem calm. You were leaving tomorrow and he was panicking. The past few hours were spent debating about whether he should tell you that he was your soulmate. Could he really just let this opportunity pass by?

“I just wanted to know if you needed anything? I figured you probably ran out of books by now. Everytime I think you’ve reread all the books in your library I keep finding new ones.” You tried to joke. 

“I… Yes. Yes, please.” He mumbled, hiding his gaze. You sighed, wondering for the millionth time what you had done wrong to make him so distant and reclusive. 

“Alright, I’ll take the stack.” You bit your lip to keep from sighing once more, groaning as you picked up the books littered around the room. “God these are heavy.” You whispered under your breath, trying to waddle into the other room as you quickly realized you were losing your grip. It seemed as if it was too late, the pounds of literature falling on your feet.

Both you and Spencer let out a groan, heads snapping towards each other in surprise. 

“Did you- did you feel that?” You asked, even if you knew the answer.

“I did.” Spencer’s voice seemed small. “Y/n, I am so sorry.” You were taken aback, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“You’re sorry?” You questioned, pain forgotten as shame radiated through you. “Am I that bad of a soulmate?” You whispered, clenching your fist to keep tears from pricking your eyes.

“No! No, no, no!” He tried to sit up as straight as he could, internally cursing at how hurt you looked. “I only apologized because… I can’t help but feel like I disappointed you! I am an FBI agent, I’m always going to be in danger therefore putting you in danger. When you first mentioned your soulmate you seemed so… upset. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be able to make you happy.” He admitted, the tips of his ears turning red as his gaze fell to his lap.

“Disappointed? Past-tense?” You cried. “Did you know about this?” He didn’t move.

“Well… I guess I can’t be angry with that.” You sighed. “I knew too. I just thought that… you wouldn’t want me. You still seemed so in love with whatever woman gave you that book. And out of my league. And my patient.” You let out a wry laugh, sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“Are you kidding me? You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever met. You make me laugh and you are so kind and caring. I am proud to be your soulmate.” He swallowed thickly.

“Spencer you are selfless. You dedicate your life every day to helping others. You are handsome, sweet, and hilarious.” You reached for his hand. “And I am so happy you turned out to be my soulmate.”

Your eyes finally met and before you knew it, your lips smashed against his. 

“I don’t know if you know this… but I happen to get injured on a lot of missions.” He uttered as you pulled apart. “So I have a feeling that I’ll need you around more often.”

“Well Doctor, I think you just might be right.” You giggled, drawing him in for another kiss. 

-----

Feedback is always appreciated!

[mae-gi-writes]

Let it Be Me (Part One)| Kevin Moon Imagine

soulmate au! x badboy! Kevin.

 In which soulmates find each other on their graduation day and Kevin gets the growing suspicion that his is just as artistically inclined as he is. Let the competition begin. 

Thank you @aniyawoos​ for giving me such inspiration, and for always listening to me rant about how perfect Mr.Moon is. 

Genre: fluff, lil angst, soulmates 

Part one | Part Two (Coming soon)

----

Kevin was pissed. 

He glared at his canvas, now caked with bold dark lines that mimicked a caricature of an unfamiliar face that he'd never set eyes upon. The girl's deep set eyes were furrowed into a frown, eyebrows perpetually pinched together in constant permanent thought, lips pursed as though silent protests were lingering along her tongue. But while Kevin would've normally been proud of mastering such a face in such little time, this did not negate the fact that this was definitely not his work. 

Because the fact was that Kevin did not draw caricatures. He did not use dark tones. And he did not recall having seen such a girl, for he was sure that it would've sparked a memory if their meeting had been so significant. 

"Why is this so dark?"

Kevin let out a snort as footsteps walked up beside him. He caught a glimpse of caramel coloured hair, a flash of too-white teeth. 

"That's not your style," Jacob remarked as he leaned in close to inspect its details, "where are your watercolours? And your sceneries?" 

Kevin's grip tightened impulsively onto his paintbrush. His jaw clenched in silence. 

A fresh canvas, wasted just like that. His hand was still throbbing with a familiar tingle that had spread through him the moment his brush had touched the tip of the blank page, and the entire process was like a dream that he had stumbled through only to wake up disoriented and dizzy.

"I don't know," the raven-haired man muttered as his fingers combed through his locks.

"Not bad though," Jacob remarked with a whistle, "not bad at all. Who is she?"

Kevin's shoulders lifted in a half-shrug, though annoyance spiked through him at his friend's curiosity. Today was not one of those days where he could tolerate human beings, especially when nothing seemed to go right.

"Where are you going?" Jacob called out when he stood up abruptly from his seat, chair squeaking in protest as he made a grab for his rucksack and strode out of the room, mind still reeling from the confusion which had come with that sudden artistic turn of events.  

Maybe it was his just off day, he concluded mentally, as he tried to ignore the soft tingling sensation thrumming through his fingers, as though a ghost of a presence was still present.

The second time it happened, he was in the middle of reproducing one of Monet's famous water lilies when his hand tingled with that familiar warmth, electricity dancing up and down his arm and numbing it so that his limb took a life of its own. He watched, horrified, as his beautiful lily pond turned into another stranger's face, flowers transforming into dark orbs staring back at him, the water trail twisting into a bold nose, a vine curling to form a cupid's bow mouth. 

What in the actual fuck. His mouth moved soundlessly over the muttered words, hands fisting in his lap with the sudden urge to throw his artwork --could he even call it his?-- against the wall. 

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Jacob said once Kevin complained about his artwork getting ruined by bold strokes. This was the fifth time this week and the latter’s growing collection of portraits was both alarming and fascinating at the same time. While Jacob understood the artist’s growing frustration with the manhandling of his artistic talent, there was nothing to be said about how beautiful they all turned out to be, even though they weren’t originally part of Kevin’s vision. 

“A sign of what?” Kevin picked at his fries, mood still sour from the thought of his now empty wallet that was now scraped dry, his savings all flushed down the drain from having spent it all on the last pieces of canvas that were now deemed useless unless he painted them over with white and started again. 

But that would take ages and a lot of layers, and a lot of paint. Kevin wasn’t sure whether he was ready for that. Not that he had a choice, considering that these works would count for his final portfolio. 

He couldn’t help but let out another exasperating sigh at the thought. 

“There are theories circulating,” his other friend, Chanhee, piped up from behind his roast beef sandwich, earrings catching the light of the lunchroom as he spoke, “that a few weeks before your graduation, you might get a few hints about who your soulmate might be.” 

Kevin allowed the information to sink in, “why haven’t I heard of that before?” 

“Maybe because you spend all your time holed up in the studio,” Chanhee sasses him, “and when you’re not in the studio, you’re doing that.”

Kevin’s eyes find the joint in his hand when Chanhee gestures towards it, before he puts it to his lips and takes another puff just to insult his friend, “it keeps my creative juices flowing.” 

“You don’t need that to be creative, Kevin.”

“Stick to your account books, Chanhee.” 

“Alright time out," Jacob interrupts before the pair can get into yet another brawl, "Kev, Chanhee's right. You can't keep depending on that to keep going." 

The raven-haired man shrugged but kept quiet nevertheless. He knew, deep down, that Jacob was right. But once he started, he found it was hard to stop. It gave him everything he needed; the relaxation, the creativity, everything. Ever since his life had turned upside down, ever since the school had turned its back on him for apparently dealing with heroin when he'd been completely innocent, Kevin had suffered with the aftermath of rumours and the countless amounts of gossiping about his whereabouts. Jacob and Chanhee had stuck with him, but they were the only ones that had. The rest of his so-called friends now deemed him too weird to talk to, as though a foreign body had invaded Kevin's body with a bright red alarm sign to indicate that he was off bounds completely.

It was one of the reasons why he spent most of his time in the art room in the first place. He wasn't going to entertain their stupidly, made - up stories about who he was and what he did.

If there was one thing that Kevin hated the most, it was tattletales. And there seemed to be lots of them around here.

After that, he decided he wouldn't be bothered by the fact that his artworks were not technically his, and instead just used them to his advantage. If Chanhee was right and it really was his soulmate, then all the more reason to do so. If they were using his hands then he was allowed to use their artsy prowess. 

All was fair in love and art.

It was on the last day of his final submission, as the art prodigy was finishing his final touch-ups of his now so-called portrait series of weirdly strange people, that he got the sudden urge to just stitch. His fingers shook with desire even though he clamped his hands into fists and gritted his teeth, forcing his limbs to continue working. Pins and needles shot up and down his arms like alarm bells, tearing at his muscles and nagging at Kevin’s subconscious. The more he tried to ignore it, the more the sensation pricked, until it actually hurt.

He dropped his paintbrush and gave in to the sensation. His body reacted on its own, dashed over to one of the unused sewing machines and grabbed a piece of cloth. Five minutes later, he was busy stitching his life away on the machine, the only sounds perforating the air being the loud drumming of the needles piercing through cloth.

Twenty minutes later, barely two minutes before he was to drop his artwork to his teacher’s office, Kevin leaned back in his seat and stared, wide-eyed, at the donut plushie he’d just made. 

What astounded him the most was that he didn’t --for the love of god-- know how to sew. He never took any sewing classes and had never really been interested in the field anyway. 

So how in the world had his hands worked on their own? He gazed down at his hands with growing horror and apprehension twisting his stomach into tiny knots. Why? Why why why? 

“Kevin? What are you still doing here?” 

The said young man’s head whipped up at the sound of his classmate’s voice, only to see the ginger-haired girl blinking at him with confusion etched across her features. 

“Are you--stitching?” her frown deepened. 

Kevin rose without as much as a wince when the metal of his chair scraped against the cement floor before dashing over to gather his paintings. He jostled out of the classroom, ignoring his classmate’s questions while lumbering down the hall as quickly as his artwork would allow him towards the teacher’s department. 

He wished he didn’t have to meet his soulmate. 

------

“Can I tell you something?” 

Kevin looked up from underneath his beanie at Jacob, who sat on the other side nursing a cup of tea. The hot chocolate in his hand was steaming, its delicious scent already wrapping around him like a warm hug, giving him that sense of comfort he craved so much.

Prom had gone and passed without much that was memorable enough for Kevin to be deemed as important. As per Chanhee’s predictions, people started discovering their soulmates in the strangest ways possible, though the group of boys guessed it had something to do with what you were good at and what your soulmate’s passion was. For instance, a girl had found herself going for a midnight swim, only for her reflection to be of a young man living just a few weeks ago from hers. Another boy had the sudden urge to take a ballerina class and was entranced by a picture of his soulmate hanging on the wall of the ballet studio.

As of yet, none of the trio had caught any glimpse of their other halves, and Kevin hoped it stayed that way. After all the incidents that had occured in art class and the countless whims that had taken over his body like he’d been possessed, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to know who held the other part of his heart. 

What if she was a psycho? He asked himself as he gazed at his drink, what if she was completely not like him and they’d made a mistake from the very beginning? 

“What is it?” Kevin prompted his friend. Jacob’s eyes were downcast, the muscles in his jaw clenching as though haunted by his own thoughts. 

“Jacob?” Kevin’s fingers toyed with his unlit cigarette. He’d been craving it for the past thirty minutes and now that Chanhee was gone, he was free to do as he pleased. He fished for his lighter and started flicking a flame over the cigarette butt. 

“I found her.” 

Kevin almost did a double-take. He dropped his cigarette, “what?” 

Jacob nibbled on his lower lip, “I found her, I found my soulmate.” 

There were many things Kevin wished to say. He decided to keep quiet.

Jacob continued, encouraged by his silence, “I was cooking, the usual. You know I love cooking. So I was making this dish of grilled vegetables and grabbed my knife to cut them all. And then I--And then, I--she--she appeared. In the knife--in it’s reflection, I mean.” 

Still, Kevin stayed quiet. 

“She’s--She’s not bad looking,” there was the tiniest of smiles, barely visible, on his friend’s face and though Kevin wasn’t an expert on reading emotions, it was pretty obvious that Jacob was already smitten for that girl in particular. 

“How do you know you like her?” he asked so abruptly that Jacob blinks in shock.

“Well--I don’t know I--I just do. I think?” the latter scratches the back of his head, “I don’t know, Kev. There’s just--something about her. I can’t really explain. You’ve gotta see for yourself.” 

“Hm” was all that Kevin managed to sputter out as he picked up his cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag. 

“Chanhee won’t like that,” remarked his friend.

“Chanhee’s not here to tell me what to do.” 

“Did you even try to stop?” there was a tinge of desperation in Jacob’s voice, “we’re not in school anymore. You don’t need that to cope, you know.” 

The raven-haired man exhaled in response, smoke billowing out of his perfectly cupped lips.

He wasn't into his soulmate. Had no interest whatsoever in knowing who laid behind the magic taking over his fingers every time he found himself in the art room. It hadn't occurred since his last deadline and for that, he was glad, because while it clearly hadn't been his style of drawing, his professors had been so touched with emotional depth that they gave him a distinction with passing colours. 

Needless to say, Kevin hadn't set yet another foot in the studio.

He really didn't feel like knowing who had messed up his entire style for the sake of her own artistic endeavours.

The summer went by and grades were up. People shouted with excitement at the prospect of last minute freedom before college would take it away this coming September. Kevin had enrolled in Mathieu's School of Art and Design as a Printmaking major -- his dream was to work in textile and fashion-- while Jacob had decided to take up an apprenticeship with the local Culinary School in town. It wasn't the best, but it would do for his first few steps into the culinary world.

As for Chanhee, who was going down the safe route, he was registered to complete his ACCA certification for chartered accountants.

"Keep in touch guys, yeah?" Chanhee had tearfully stated on their last day of summer, where the trio had taken to drink at their local pub. 

Kevin clinked his beer with his, his spirits quite high at the prospect of starting a new life, turning over a new leaf, "worried you might not make friends?" 

Jacob shot Kevin a look, then said, "relax Chanhee. You'll be fine. You'll probably be the only one making friends." 

"Shut up guys, you're not helping," Chanhee sniffed.

It was a somewhat bizarre sensation to be walking to school without Jacob and Chanhee at his side. Kevin's bag felt a little heavier upon his shoulders, his traveling a little longer than usual albeit the fact that his college was barely two minutes away from his high school, just across the street. Kevin's nervousness racked up the back of his throat, practically choking him as he made his way to his first class: illustration design.

Comprising only ten chairs, the class was round, its walls painted a sheer white and the spotlights illuminating the room casting long dark shadows across each head already seated. Kevin quickly hurried over to the back where he took his place.

The girl beside him shifted slightly, but he preferred not to acknowledge her existence. Instead, he slid his sketchbook from his bag and started doodling on the corner of the page, next to where he wrote the date. 

It was only when the teacher walked in and the girl's pen suddenly dropped to the floor, and Kevin swooped in like muscle reflex and gave it back, that his eyes caught her face-- he stared.

And stared. 

And stared.

She stared back, unblinking. Unflinching. 

"Who--Who are you?" Kevin breathed, all air knocked out of his chest in surprise.

Her hand darted out, whipping the pen out of his hold and turning back to the professor without a backward glance. Astounded, Kevin hadn’t realized his mouth was still hanging open until he felt the warm trickle of saliva dribble down his chin.

He snapped his jaw shut and quickly turned back to focus on the class at hand, all while trying to ignore the weird buzzing that seemed to take over his entire nervous system. His body was heated, as if lit by a wildfire that raged through his insides and swept along his bloodstream so that he was left in a constant state of exhilaration, senses too alert and fingers prickling with the innate desire to just touch, touch her, no matter what. 

Stop it, he told himself off. His mind raged back like an aggressive, untamed horse. 

It took him so much of his energy not to do something stupid that he only came to attention when the sound of scraped back chairs reached his ears. Whipping his head up at the flow of people leaving the studio, he realized a little too late that the said girl in question was already halfway to the door. 

He scrambled up so quickly he banged his shin. Cursing, he ignored its protesting throb as he raced towards her figure, “excuse me--” 

Either the girl didn’t hear him through the throng of introductions being conversed by a group of students by the entrance, or she didn’t want to. Kevin pushed his way past students milling about the corridors, excusing himself as he went, before he finally caught up to her at the library door entrance. 

“Wait--” he called, practically choking on his own breath. Jesus, he should really work out more. Pressing his hand over his side upon feeling the familiar cramp pinch in, he tried not to collapse in front of the girl, who was now gazing at him in a mixture of fear and confusion.

“Is there something you want?” she asked tightly.

“Well--I--Didn’t you--” Kevin racked his brain and wondered, for a brief moment, whether this soulmate thing was one sided, “didn’t you feel it?” 

“Feel what?” Her eyes were growing more and more alarmed.

“You’re my soulmate,” the words left Kevin in a rush, “didn’t you feel the pull?” 

Her mouth shaped itself into a silent ‘o’. Her eyes glanced at the floor for a few beats of silence. When she looked up at his face, her jaw was set and her eyebrows furrowed, “so?” 

“So?” he gaped at her, “so?” 

“Look, I don’t know how they treat people with soulmates in your country,” she shifted uneasily from one foot to another, “but in mine, they’re definitely not something to be proud of.” 

He blinked, “you’re not from here.” 

“No.” 

“Where are you from?” 

“Look, if you’re talking to me just because of that soulmate bullshit--”

“Can’t you feel it?” Kevin cut her off, hating the fact that his voice sounded so desperate and needy, “can’t you feel the bond?” 

God Kevin. You sound like a wimp, his mind screamed at him. Get a hold of yourself.

“No,” she looked at him dead in the eye, “I don’t.” 

And leaving him to deal with the aftermath of the shock, the girl turned and walked away, her soft footsteps echoing down the hallway like the beats to an ending song.

--- 

STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO! :) Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist <3

[bffsoobin]

Windflower

01| 02|03|04|05|06

↳ after a heartbreak you find yourself in a small town looking for purpose. you find employment with Choi Soobin and his impressive ancestral home. when you start to fall in love again, there’s no way for you to predict what you find in the depths of the home and Soobin’s mind.

➤ hanahaki au, fluff, angst

Word Count: 2,438

Warnings: Light swearing, Soobin being a cutie pie, me not proofreading. I think that’s it??

A/N: This does include the writing that was part of the preview post I made, but it is the first official chapter of Windflower! Please know that genre and warnings will change with every chapter I post! I also don’t quite have an upload schedule, sorry about that!! Hope you all enjoy nonetheless! 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Your car groaned in protest as you turned into the parking lot of the quaint diner. Giving the dashboard two loving yet harsh hits with the palm of your hand seemed to do the trick. Now silent, the beat up blue car seemed to quietly thank you as you settled between the white painted lines of a parking space and shut off the engine. It was a gray, overcast day but humidity hung in the air wherever you went, making your hair puffy and the back of your legs stick to the cracking leather of your driver’s seat. Heaving a sigh at the uncomfortable stickiness, you pulled down the mirror from the roof of your car to survey the reflection staring back at you. 

It’s a startling thing, to look at yourself in a mirror and barely recognize your face. Your skin was dull and starting to break out, the bags under your eyes had seemingly never been more prominent than they were in this moment. Your fingers danced over the darkened skin, wondering at what point of your trip you began to look so worn down. Was it the moment you left your apartment? The twelve hours of mindless driving with no destination in mind? Or had this degeneration begun the moment you found yourself completely alone in life? 

You snapped the mirror back up against the roof and rubbed your hands over your face. Mindlessly, you pushed through the items littering your passenger seat until you clasped the familiar quilted fabric of your wallet. As soon as you stood up outside of your car, a wave of dizziness sent you grasping at the top of your car for support. You needed food more than you had originally estimated. Your legs were still a bit shaky from disuse as you walked toward the small white building. Portions of the paint had peeled off in jagged strips to expose the tightly stacked brown bricks waiting underneath. The simple clear door displayed a sun-faded open sign with handwritten hours of operation. As soon as you pushed the door open, the smell of grease and fresh apple pie invaded your senses and your face involuntarily shrunk up in disgust. Another thick paper sign attached on a tarnished metal stand boasted a cheerful cursive that read “Please Seat Yourself!” You could hear a radio playing faintly from somewhere in the building.

Almost every booth in the rectangular dining area was vacant, save for one elderly couple sharing a plate of fries. The floor was sticky under your feet as you made your way to a booth, and whether the texture was a result of the humidity or a lack of cleaning, you couldn’t tell. Sliding into the booth was familiar, almost comforting as you thought back to all of the times you had slid into booths with your friends at dinner, or slid yourself into a booth at the coffee shop near your apartment to work on a paper. Well. Your old apartment. The thought of adjusting to past tense created a scowl on your face as an unsuspecting waitress approached your side. She cleared her throat and caught your attention. To your surprise, she was fairly young, maybe in her late 30s; and she stood in her bright blue blouse and skirt uniform with a cock to her hip and a serving tray tucked under her arm. 

“Hi, hun. My name is Melissa, what can I get ya?” the woman’s tone was deceivingly cheerful, given the slow restaurant and heavy air. You heaved a sigh and looked down at the thin paper menu. It wilted in your hand as you picked it up and you soon abandoned the idea of even trying to read through it. 

“Hi. A vanilla milkshake and fries, please.” The order was so simple that Melissa didn’t even write it down, just nodded and turned to head into the kitchen to relay your order. A dull buzz warned you of the beginning of a headache but you expertly pushed the feeling aside and decided to ask for a glass of water when she came with your order. Mindlessly, you began searching your phone for places to stay in the tiny town you had stumbled upon. This hadn’t been the kind of place you expected to end up for the summer, but you were never one to plan anything. Enthralled in your scrolling through motel listings, Melissa scared you as she set your order down in front of you. She caught a look at your phone and your face flushed in embarrassment. How much of an obvious tourist could you be? You asked for a glass of water in an attempt to shoo her away, but when she came back with a glass covered in condensation she didn’t leave. 

“Not from around here?” it was a rhetorical question, but you gave her props for trying to ease you into the conversation. You shook your head, not really caring to elaborate on where you came from as you shoved a few fries into your mouth. 

“I don’t usually talk to customers like this, but; well, we’re dead today and I saw you looking at places to stay on your phone. I don’t recommend any of them. Especially not to a young pretty girl like you. Most of them are way too pricey for their rooms. And the Moonlight motel is literally run by a druglord. He’d gobble you up,” she shivered at her own words. 

“Well, where should I stay, then? Unless I missed a Best Western on the way in, I don’t have many other choices,” you deadpanned, hoping to hide the nervousness that was rising in your stomach. If you didn’t stay here, where would you go? But then again, why do you want to stay here so bad in the first place? You took a slurp of your milkshake as you contemplated. 

“Look, it’s sort of a town secret, but you remind me of my niece, so I’ll just tell you now. There’s this estate- gated, two story house, old timey stuff, gorgeous garden” Melissa waved her hands around as she spoke, chipped red fingernails putting on a show of their own. “It’s called the Flower House, actually. It’s been passed from generation to generation, since the town was founded. The boy who owns it now is just about your age, but he’s been living there alone since his cousin moved away for college years ago. He’s a lovely boy, we love when he comes into town, it just isn’t often.” you raised your eyebrows at her, trying to figure out how this mysterious boy and his ancestral house had anything to do with your housing predicament. “Long story short, he came around a few weeks ago looking for anyone who would be willing to help him keep the house and yard clean. No pay, but it’s free living in a beautiful home. And he’s not bad looking either.” she winked suggestively. “If you want, I can give you the address and you can go talk to him?”

You looked into her eyes, sparkling with hope of giving you a helping hand. “Okay, yeah. Sure, what have I got to lose?” Melissa hurried away to get writing materials as you continued eating with renewed vigor. 

As Melissa cleared your minimal dishes away, she set a ripped piece of paper in front of you that simply read;

“Choi Soobin, 476 Gardenia Dr.”

After paying and being sure to leave your helpful waitress a generous tip, you hopped back in your car and began your journey to discover the mysterious Flower House.

The drive through town was oddly peaceful, even with the grumbling of your car to accompany you alongside the pop songs on the radio. Air whipped into your windows as you drove by houses, small restaurants and one single chain grocery store where everyone seemed to be shopping. Stopping at an intersection with a single blinking stoplight, your phone instructed you to turn left. You passed the town’s schools, elementary and highschool; all huddled onto one campus with a large parking lot separating the two. The electric sign posted reminders of the last day of school for the students as you sped by. The farther you got away from the school, the older the houses became. Some were rotting apart, others covered in creeping vines. The street gradually slanted upwards as you continued to drive towards your destination. At the end of Gardenia Drive stood a towering home with a multitude of windows circling the entire building. A large chimney stood out on the top, one of the only signs of the home’s age; as the outside was wonderfully kept. The most impressive feature was of course the garden, for which the house gained its nickname. Your mouth hung open as you tried to fathom the sheer amount of flowers that were in full bloom on the front lawn. Blues, pinks, purples, reds and whites all stitched together in a beautiful quilt of florals. Some ivy was growing up the old wrought iron gates and the trunks of a few towering trees. While the growth made other houses look dated and worn down, the ivy here only added to the elegance that took your breath away. With your car parked on the road right outside, you exited your car to approach the gates. 

Fumbling with your hands, you navigated over the brick path leading up to the intimidating 10 foot tall gates. Despite the obvious history of the metal, a modern doorbell buzzer and camera system was installed just to the left of the entrance. It was harder than you’d like to admit to raise the courage for pressing the button. Your mind blanked as you performed the action, not knowing what to expect. A voice crackled through the speakers and made you jump. 

“Who’s there?” a smooth voice inquired. Suddenly you were unsure of what to say.

“I, uh. I’m Y/N. A waitress at Russ’ Diner told me to come talk to you about an um.” your mouth was suddenly going dry. “A living arrangement?” A small exclamation of understanding was music to your ears. 

“Okay! Hold on, I’ll be right over to the gate!” The static disappeared with the voice. You looked down at your phone out of habit and realized you had no reception. Figures, as you were sort of in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t matter right now anyway. You put the device in the back pocket of your shorts just as the gate began creaking open and welcoming you onto the property. You could faintly make out the shape of a body making its way toward you through the dense trees. 

When he stepped into your line of sight, sunshine managed to peek through the thick blanket of clouds that had been permeating your entire visit and bask him in a wash of gold. He was tall, with long legs covered in the material of light wash skinny jeans. The knees were a bit dirty, and you recognized the stains as a mix of grass and dirt. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt that clung perfectly to his wide shoulders and showed off his defined waist. 

Not only was he dressed in a way you definitely didn’t expect, but his looks threw you even farther into surprise. His face was evenly tanned, and not a single blemish could be found. Suddenly, you became all too aware of the dismal state of your own complexion and fought the urge to bring a hand up to cover your face from him. Dark, hooded eyes examined your form as you stood awkwardly on the path and waited for his next words. He seemed amused by your lack of introduction, and chuckled a little as he asked, “Y/N?” 

Hearing your name broke the spell that his beauty had put you under and you nodded. His face lit into a smile as he beckoned you further onto the land with a waving hand. You followed him closely and caught his words as they floated in the wind back to you. “I’m Soobin. This house belonged to my great-great-great uncle and his wife. Well, wives.” He chuckled to himself as he led you into a gazebo. Soobin settled into one of the wooden chairs situated around a matching table and gestured for you to sit in the one across from him. A pit of nervousness built in your stomach at the close proximity between the two of you. The table was only three feet wide, and Soobin’s long leg stretched in front of him and decreased your distance even more. Up close, you could see the permanent upturn of the corners of his mouth, and the sparkle in his brown eyes.

His honey brown hair ruffled in the breeze that passed you by and he closed his eyes at the feeling for a moment. “So,” he began suddenly, “you were at Russ’? Who sent you my way for the job?” He clasped his hands together and rested his chin on the new structure. He blinked owlishly as you took a deep breath. 

“Yeah, I just came into town for the summer. Melissa served me and she told me that all of the motels here are pretty shit,” Soobin laughed and nodded at that, and your heart skipped a beat. “So she gave me your info. Said you might be able to give me a better place to stay if I helped you out.” 

“Ah, I see. Melissa is right, though. Those motels are awful. I definitely wouldn’t want to see you staying there.” He appraised your face for a second while he paused. “If you want the job, it’s yours.” He stated as if it were the most casual thing in the world. You sputtered. 

“Wait, what? That quick? You don’t even know anything about me! I could be a murderer!” He laughed openly at you now, and the sound stirred an emotion in your stomach you hadn’t felt in months. 

“Well, are you? A murderer?” 

“No! Of course not.” Soobin nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“So, can you clean? Cook a decent meal? Drive to the city for groceries? Water some plants?” You nodded at every question he raised and watched as his smile upticked more with every bob of your head. 

“Then you’re perfect. Welcome to the Flower House.” He stood, frame towering over your still sitting being and offered you a strong looking hand. Ticking his head toward the massive home behind him, he grinned. “Tour?”

[acrowamongsparrows]

Day 4 Accomplished/Macabre

His hand ran through the tall grass as he walked through the wood, a slight smile on his face as he felt the dew drops of early morning sticking to his fingers to slide among the scars of his trade.  He was hunter and trapper, but not in the sense that many thought.  When someone called for a hunter they expected a tall, meaty man covered in furs who spoke little and always had something monstrous to show of his prowess.  David was different.  

A beard was clear on his face but that only was due to the weather and how much Sara had been enjoying to play with it when the babe was in his lap.  Margaret would roll her eyes and smile at her husbands as she busied with their quaint home full of a mixture of hand-me-downs and furniture from Lan Exeter.  He was particularly proud of a looking glass he'd bought from a merchant ship from the south, there was something incredible of looking into heavens on a clear night.  His family was poor in the eyes of the city but in the eyes of Markhor he was quite the upper class, to almost the extent of Buckenhall if he really wanted to be.

But there was the differences again, David was content.  Not in a way that spoke of a man accepting his life, but true contentment and happiness in his small cabin with his girls.  He was happy with his steady trade of hunting game and bringing it to the small market or Alina.  He was happy to spend an evening in the Leaf, hear a wild tale, and go home to Margaret's arms or walk home hand in hand with Margaret when her mother could watch Sara.

Adjusting his half cape about his shoulders, David began to slow his pace as he peered between the weeds for his catch today.  They said he had sixth sense for where the game was hiding, but truthfully he knew he was just patient and could be quiet.  His gait grew even slower as he listened, no breeze which was good for him as it meant his scent stayed put.  A shake of the grass to the right would bring him to a stop, slowly easing himself down to one knee and breathing in softly through his nose.  With well practiced silence, David would slowly pull his crossbow from around his back to hand a bolt already held in place by a clip he'd imagined up himself.  He was lucky Candell could forge such a small item and for little cost.  

A finger gently moved the metal knob to the right and unlocked it before setting a bolt to the fire lane.  David let his breathing grow softer and tell her near held it, craning his ears to the sounds nearby that he knew was his quarry.  Speed and efficiency was the key if he hoped to bag his deer today, but knew that any false start or move could be just as disastrous.

Patience.

Patience was his power and he knew how to control it as he waited for one more move to pinpoint the exact spot of the deer's bed.

One breath.  Two breath.  Three breath.  A shift in the grass as autumn decided it needed to let forth a sigh as much as him.  A flash of yellow, a blink of black, and now he was pushing up to his feet.

One breath.  Two breath.  Three breath.  The deer was rising, two short antlers rising as fast as him as the black glassy eyes of the deer locked with his own.

One breath.  Two breath.  Pull.  The bolt flew straight and true, the skilled bowman's shot driving deep into the broadside behind the front let.  Three breath.

The deer in panic and pain flew, it's heavy legs pulling it straight up and bounding into the tall grass as it caught the flecks of crimson from it's wound as it stumbled back toward the wood.  David smiled as he followed the trail of blood, reaching back to reload his crossbow as he walked along behind it.  Today was a good day.

Blood flecked the crushed weeds as they grew thinner and broke into the forest edge into the woods.  Tuft of grass and scrape of dirt from a drug horn was only a few yards further, the beast was putting up quite a fight as he followed the trail of his prey.  The blood was falling faster as he walked, thicker, and more frequent as he sped up his step further into the wood in fear of losing the thing to some other predator.  Further he traveled that began to seem more likely what happened as he noticed the darker it grew the deeper he went after.  

"You gotta slow down by now," murmured David as he stepped over a large rock and pressed on, noting a torn bit of fur to match the splatter of blood nearby.  Still warm.  "Where the hell are you going?"

The trees broke again as he marched onward leaving a soft clearing before a copse of trees loomed ahead.  David came to slow halt as he looked up at those trees, they sat tall and still.  Much like the air around him as he licked his lips and tried to hear something out there in the open air.  Nothing.  A feeling of dread sat in the pit of his stomach as he stood there staring at the trees.  He should cut his losses and go home.  They had plenty.  Plenty of skins, meat, and money this wasn't worth it.  But human nature was an animal unto itself as curiosity burned brightly through logic, springing forward with his loaded crossbow to investigate further.

The yards to the trees took seconds to reach, but the smell in the air hit him far before.  Rank and earthy, like rotten meat as he coughed and lifted his sleeve to his mouth in hopes of saving him from the stench.  It was like a tide of putrid ilk that was awful and familiar as he wandered these woods for years to know the smell.  

Death.

It felt far to poetic to put it in terms like that in his head, but the thick air of stench made him want to vomit as he entered the gathering trees.  His eyes falling over the trunks of the trees as he noted a strange tangle of dark veins rising from the earth to dig deep into their bark.  They pulsed with an eerie almost breathing motion as he thought better of touching one, knowing his curiosity could only push him so far into this adventure.  But he needed to find out what was going on, the village needed to know.

He should have turned back but the blood trail lead into the enclosure.

The circle of trees wasn't large but it felt thicker by the strange rooted trees surrounding the perimeter as David let his eyes move swiftly about for signs of the deer or the thief who had drug it so far.  Maybe a wolf or a bear, it was the logical idea of what was out here.  His booted feets gently slid through dead leaves, going silent and quiet as he could be in the face of this unknown foe.  The crossbow resting in the crook of his shoulder as he looked about in the silent shadows, sweeping the area as he followed the trail.  Crimson were dashed by brown and yellow leaves as the blood shined in the dark but were also framed by strange purple fauna.  

Crouching down, David let his finger brush the face of one of the violet flowers but never picked it.  It felt like any other flower but for some reason he recoiled from it's touch, as if there was something ready to bite him in the face of plain beauty.  They felt wrong.  Blooming, season, and abundance as he stood back up again to follow his bloody trail again.  It felt like hours since he'd begun and by the deep shadows around him the sky was doing little to aid him in reminding it was only maybe early afternoon.  Night ruled here.

The trail ended at the base of a tree, violet flowers spread about in a blanket of bright ground stars as they stared at him much as the eyes ahead of him did.  So many eyes.

Crows rested in the many empty branches above, their white staring eyes regarding him in silent judgement at his presence within their hold.  Where once leaves of green or even red and gold had sat now were the many feathers of the birds.  Black and beyond counting, David could already feel his mouth growing drier and chest tighter as he felt a great warning coming from them as he stared up at them.  

Run away.  Run away if you can.  Run away.

Swallowing hard, David pressed on the last few feet in the face of the carrion nightmare that guarded from above and let his eyes settle upon what they surrounded.

His kill lay on the ground before that great tree, but it had not even made it halfway here on it's own thanks to his original bolt.  No the thieves were to be thanked for that.

Twisted, crouched, and eyes much like the crows above stared at him from now from below where they surrounded what he hoped was their meal.  But that would need mouths.  Teeth.  Tongues.  Taste.  Only the blank broken animal skulls with black empty sockets leered at him with their flickering empty witch light.  Hands like warped branches wrapped in thorns and vine to hold them split into what appeared as claws had obviously only been random bones split.  The bones were clearly just as good to do their work as they carved and ravaged the carcass of his kill, splitting the fur and skin like a ripe tomato to spill the precious dying life of the deer into the soil beneath it.  Greed was clear in that earth's hunger as the blood seemed to disappear as quickly as it spilled into the loose dirt.  His deer was not the first to litter these monsters table as the jutting hunks of bone and sinew lay strewn about with purple flowers growing in the bed of corpses.

David found he was gasping now, the thick putrid air filling his lungs as his legs grew weak to the sight of the graveyard of the macabre.  He wanted to look away from the eaters of the dead but only found his eyes widening as he looked beyond them to the base of the tree.

The picked apart face of men and women sat pierced and hung by the roots of the tree, their bodies splayed for all to see who could see.  There was no blood left among those dried husks of humans as their bodies were twisted and pierced by the foliage all around only to leave the slow succor of their bones.  Mouths wide in silent screams to match the holes of sharp beaks.  An offering to those above still.  There were to many faces in that tree.

One breath.  Run.  Two breath.  Run.  Three breath.  David was running.

The black leaves above moved as one and the collective caw of their hunger rang like thunder to match an ominous high pitched hollow roar from the lungs of some long dead being.

The flowers continued to bloom.

[aros001]

First time read through light novel vol. 8. Random thoughts.

...So...does anyone else feel a little uncomfortable with that cover image between Reinhard and Felt? I mean, I know he's not going to do anything sexual to her and she's not as young as I originally thought she was (I think vol. 1 said she was 15, while ever since the anime I thought she was like 10 or something), but she still is underage, being forced into wearing and doing something she doesn't want to by a grown man, and I think just the way he's got his hand holding her bare thigh makes it feel more sexual than it should be.

Also, is Wilhelm floating? The heck is he sitting on?

Subaru was afraid of death. Dying constantly trashed his life with an unbearable sense of fear and loss. He thought it was like that for everyone; he assumed that was how it had to be. Subaru, who had experienced death more than anyone via Return by Death, didn’t want anyone else to know what it was like.

I'm definitely seeing more similarities between Subaru and Ferris here than I did in the anime. I like how they both have a more unique perspective on life and death than most people would; Subaru from his Return By Death and Ferris from being such a powerful healer (to the point he can even regenerate himself from near death, I guess). Again, for a series where death can be undone so easily, it really knows how to use that premise to show just how weighty and serious death is. While the two will and do kill, it sits with them more than it does for others because they know just how awful death can be.

Something I've really enjoyed when reading through various LN series after watching the anime first is that I end up liking certain characters that I didn't in the anime. I didn't hate Ferris but the cutesy way he talked really bugged me and I didn't focus on him much. Here though I'm definitely getting a better feel for his character, especially with how much he values life, cursing at the suicidal witch cult members for tossing theirs away so easily. He and Subaru's back and forth makes the ending feel that much more heartbreaking when Ferris has to mercy kill the possessed Subaru.

Also, just to clear up any confusion I have, is Ferris in drag or does he identify as a woman? I don't have any problem referring to him from now on as a "she" (I never had that problem with Magne in My Hero Academia) but I'd prefer to get my facts straight. Ferris also makes a joke about Subaru swinging over to his side of the fence but I'm not sure if that means he's gay or not. It's a little hard to tell how far his affection for Crusch runs, for example.

Similarly, there's Julius, a character I never disliked in the anime, but I can definitely see more of a path to him and Subaru becoming friends here. It is funny that a comment from Ferris got me thinking how something to two have in common is how easy it is for them to get others to immediately dislike them just by talking. For Subaru it's because he too often talks without thinking, shoving his foot into his mouth, and for Julius it's how unintentionally snobbish and "better-than-you" he can sound. It's also nice that the story is getting Subaru to try and work through his issues, acknowledging that he's being unfair towards Julius, whom really has done nothing wrong aside from unintentionally pricking at Subaru's inferiority complex.

Like Subaru, I thought demon beasts and monsters were just so common in the world that a barrier around a lord's domain was a very common thing. But from how the other characters in-story are talking, it sounds like Roswaal deliberately put his domain and the village in the center of (or at least nearby) a demon beast habitat. Even in the anime I always believed he knew more than he let on but here he feels like a straight-up mastermind with everything he's been pulling behind the scenes and all the things he's done that, as of yet, have no explanation or reason behind them. Just what is he up to?

One thing I'll say about this series in comparison to some others I've seen/read; the dark magic here, like with the Witch of Envy, Return By Death, the White Whale, and the Unseen Hands, really feels like DARK magic. I've seen series that have their own version of dark magic that'll make bad things happen or summon demons or sacrifice people, but this? Everything to do with the witch feels creepy and unnatural, like it's not or should not be part of the world. With how much suffering it's caused, the mystery behind the gospel, just how unhinged Petelgeuse is and his body jumping, it all feels like stuff you should really not be messing with. Even at the end with Subaru running off and Julius finding him, getting no response at first from Subaru, feels like something out of a horror movie.

Subaru keeps getting asked if he's Pride, to which I'm assuming they mean if he's the one to become the Archbishop of Pride. Personally, my theory is that because of how much the witch seems to "favor" him, Subaru is Envy, like, well, the Witch of Envy and the only one of the seven sins they never mention to have an archbishop, given Satella destroyed the other witches. If that's the case, I can only imagine how much that's going to piss off all the other archbishops, that after all their shows of devotion some schmuck came to their world out of nowhere and became Satella's favorite.

“Lending one’s strength does not mean merely swinging one’s sword. It means challenging the same foes, worrying over the same obstacles, sharing the wounds and the weight of the burdens. This we can do. This is the lesson I learned in the past.”

Obviously this is meant primarily for Subaru but I can't help but think it can apply to Rem and Emilia as well. With the exception of Puck, Emilia tends to go out of her way to avoid involving others in her problems or having them feel they owe her anything when she helps with theirs. Rem dedicated a good chunk of her life to live as her sister's replacement after Ram lost her horn and tried to kill all the demon dogs on her own after Subaru was cursed saving her. They both seem determined to bear the weight of their burdens solely on their own, like they're the only ones who need to suffer. Subaru goes back and forth on how much he involves others in his problems, but while he's more than willing to help ease the burdens on others, his problem for the longest time was that he was so fixated on "swinging his sword", as he thought fighting and strength was the only way to help (probably because strength would honestly solve a decent chunk of his own problems).

“Two days ago, the forest around the mansion became unnaturally calm... to the point that even my eyes could catch nothing. Thereupon, an armed group appeared bearing the crest of the House of Karsten, which had declared war with the blank letter... Surely you cannot blame my little bird’s heart for being on the verge of breaking?”

Ram, I had no idea how much I missed you until you came back.

Namely, that someone out there had swapped his letter of goodwill, aiming to turn Emilia and Crusch against each other.

I don't think a line or speculation like this was in the anime, which it probably should have been. Without it, it just seems like Subaru's an idiot and made a stupid mistake, but now it seems like someone is directly manipulating events behind the scenes. Personally, I'd say my money's on Roswaal if I didn't have terrible luck when it comes to gambling.

“Silence! Cease your prattle! Give that book back, right—”

“Hey, don’t shout. If you get too angry, you know—your brain’ll shake.”

...

“G...gah...! How dare you, dare you, dare youuuu! My disciple of love!!”

“Don’t gimme that, you’re the one who mixed us up! Tunnel vision! What, are you lazy?!”

HA!

Overlord was the first light novel series I read (the only other LN I'd read before was Death Note: Another Note - The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases and that was years ago), so naturally it's the series I tend to make the most comparisons to for the other series I've been reading. In this case, something I really like about both Ainz and Subaru is that, despite how they're presented sometimes, neither is actually stupid (though they too often suck at reading the room). They're both just in situations way over their head and they have no frame of reference for how to deal with these fantasy world situations. Subaru, like with tricking Sloth into getting attacked by demon beast or figuring out what was up with the flowers, has plenty of times where he shows he can come up with decent plans or quick thinking that can pull off a win. His flaws are based more in his own immaturity and need to grow more as a person.

Honestly, Ainz and Subaru are fun to compare because, of the LN MCs I've read so far, they both seem to get every break the other doesn't. Ainz is obvious. He's got actual power, tons of resources, and numerous people whose faith in him is absolute, while Subaru has almost nothing save for the curse and the clothes on his back and has to continuously struggle to make any difference. On the other hand, Ainz has no one in his life he can relate to or be his real self around, making him feel incredibly empty and lonely, while Subaru has attracted a surprisingly wide web of people around him whom, despite some hiccups, do genuinely believe in the real him.

I am 90% certain Emilia and Puck fighting Sloth wasn't in the anime. Well, no wonder anime-only fans have trouble liking her when you cut out nearly all of the character's best sh*t! [Edit: I was wrong. Another post pointed out it was at the end of ep 23. Like I said, it's been a bit since I saw the anime and I remembered none of this fight. Though I still stand by that LN Emilia is better than anime Emilia] Like I've said before, it's not like anime Emilia could just be replaced with a sexy lamp and nothing would be different, but compared to the LN version she really didn't get a lot to do in the anime outside of the first arc. She wants to be queen and sometimes heals people. Otherwise she was mostly off-screen or serving as Subaru's object of affection (and sometimes obsession). Just being able to fight isn't everything but Emilia here certainly feels like she has a lot more fire to her personality and does more when she appears. She's not just a nice, pretty girl for the MC to fight for.

Somehow, he’d died again. He’d probably lost it all once more.

He surrendered everything to the abyss. This was the familiar embrace of failure after he pathetically lost his life.

Look back at the world.

Look back at your failures.

Don’t forget. Don’t forget. Do not forget.

Ferris’s tear-filled voice. Wilhelm’s lament, shaking with regrets. Julius’s resolve and remorse, so great he probably gnashes his teeth over it—Don’t forget, ever. No matter how low you are, don’t ever let go.

Is this Satella saying this to Subaru? I'd assume so since it ends with the "I love you" line Subaru's been getting before he RBDs. But if so, why is she saying this to him? One theory is that she has her own regrets from her life and is giving Subaru a chance not to have the same. That assumes she is a good person and that the stories around her are wrong. Another theory, given the Witch of Envy title, is that she's insisting Subaru never let go of what's his. It's his (and hers, since he is hers) and no one else can have it. I mean, that applies more to greed than envy, I suppose, but stretching a bit you could say she'd be jealous of a world moving on without her.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/Re_Zero/comments/gwjfwy/novels_first_time_read_through_light_novel_vol_8/

[scarletaire]

homeland (Chapter 3)

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart to each and every one of you reading thus far! Your support of this little fic of mine means the world ❤️

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Genre/s: Contains Fluff, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Smut

Rating: E

Tags: Post-QON, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Protective!Cardan, Bewildered!Jude, Jude and Cardan discuss the Undersea, but they get a little Distracted

Description:

Cardan’s eyes flash open.

“Why?” he repeats, and Jude feels the power shift between them. “Don’t you remember, wife?” he croons. “It was the Undersea who stole you away from me.”

And Jude has only enough time to think, danger, before he lunges at her.

or:

Cardan and Jude work on removing their armor. Taking off this particularly stubborn piece happens in varying states of undress.

Links: Masterlist | AO3

Fand is waiting for them outside the royal suite. The knight bows at the sight of the king and queen.

Jude nods her head in acknowledgement, even though she’s not entirely paying attention. The heavy weight in her stomach has only worsened now that they are outside the dreamy confines of their bedroom.

In truth, she’s not exactly sure what she’s guilty about. Cardan doesn’t know what Balekin made her do in the Undersea. What she let him do. What she had to do. But she would have done it again, if it meant that she would be exactly where she is right now.

Cardan stands tall with a hand at her back now, awaiting her cue.

“Report,” she says to Fand, because routine is something she doesn’t have to think much about.

“Your Majesties.” The knight salutes. “There have been sightings of falcons flying close over Elfhame. Not an unusual number, to be sure, but…”

“Falcons.” Cardan wrinkles his brow beside her. “Not the ones you punished, for participating in Madoc’s coup?”

Jude remembers. For those who do not wish to atone, become falcons in earnest.

“Too far to tell, sire. I reported it in case there was cause for suspicion.”

“You did well, Sir Fand,” says Jude. Then she sighs. “That should be checked, at the very least. I can assemble a team and leave within the hour.”

Cardan pouts immediately. “And throw me to the mercies of the Living Council?”

“There are no mercies as far as you’re concerned.”

“Well,” he says, something secret in his eyes, “I suppose you would know better than most.”

She resists the strong urge to kick him. Fand’s face goes carefully blank.

“Why don’t you just move the meeting, then?” Jude says, a little hurriedly. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Cardan shakes his head dolefully. “With great regret, I already told Randalin’s little messenger to scurry along and tell them we’re convening within the quarter hour.” Petulance creeps into his voice. “Even though the last thing I want to do is listen to them squabble over Insear.”

At that, Fand frowns.

“What is it, Sir Fand?”

“My queen.” She seems to stand even straighter. “That’s where the falcons were sighted. Flying low above Insear.”

Jude pauses. That’s close. She catches Cardan’s eye, sees her concern mirrored in his.

“How many?” she asks.

“Last count was two, Your Majesty.”

“A pair.” Her mind is churning. It’s almost a blessing, to be thinking about this. She knows this: tactics and strategy and risk management. She knows too little of handling guilt and conscience and the feeling that she has left something important undone. “One could be an accident, two could be intentional. Cardan –”

“Yes, I understand. I will handle the Living Council.” His expression has sobered. Cardan makes a graceful king when he wants to. He gives her a gentle tap at the small of her back. “Go.”

But something roots her to the spot a little while longer. Maybe it’s because her back now feels cold without the weight of his palm on it. “I’ll be back in time for the revel,” she assures him.

“You’d better. It shall be a great creative achievement.”

Jude almost scoffs. The idea of a revel as a summit for a land treaty is certainly creative, she’ll give him that. “The greatest of your life?” she teases. She realizes she doesn’t want to leave him. Not just yet.

“Of course not. Becoming me was the greatest creative achievement of my life.”

She does scoff this time. “One of these days, my eyeballs are going to roll right out of their sockets because of you.”

He smiles, then, a gentle and precious thing. The sight of it burrows into her heart. He places a hand on the curve of her cheek. “I’ll be waiting for you. Be careful.”

Her breath trips a little in her throat. Fand stands stiffly before them, her eyes trained on the nearest pillar. Affording them some sort of privacy, in her own knightly way. Jude tells herself to get it together. “Aren’t I always?”

“No, Jude.” The way he shakes his head is almost mournful. “You’re really not.”

She frowns, but before she can say anything, he’s reaching into his pocket.

“Here, take these with you.” He produces a pair of honeycakes stolen from their food tray, wrapped in an elaborately embroidered handkerchief. She hadn’t even noticed him take them. Spots of glaze have already stained the intricate whorls of thread. “I was planning to share this with you during the meeting, but alas. My plans are foiled. Again.”

And there, that look. He has only just dressed her, but his eyes are promising the exact opposite. How is it that he’s able to go from wishing for her safety, to throwing her dirty looks beneath his stupidly long eyelashes?

He’s making it incredibly difficult to leave now.

“I need to go,” Jude says gruffly, if only to convince herself to get moving. If she sounds a little more irate than usual, it’s his damn fault anyway. Besides, the faster she clears up this falcon business, the faster they can wrap up the revel and the Insear headache, and the faster they can –

He’s full on smirking now, as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking.

Jude snatches the honeycakes out of his hands with more force than necessary.

“Goodbye,” he says, amusement clear in his tone. She huffs at him, already turning. “And Jude?”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

Jude pauses. It could have been the sincerity in his voice. It could have been the fact that she hates that there’s something she hasn’t told him. It could be the fact that she just doesn’t want to leave him right now. She turns right back around, just in time to catch the soft smile lighting up his eyes.

It strikes her clean through the chest.

She had once promised that she would be better than all of the fae. Right now, though, she is no better than them. She is no less a cheap manipulator of secrets and deceit and pretense.

He’s got one up over her. He was brave enough to tell her about his nightmares. She’s still scared to tell him about his own brother.

How strange her life has become, that being honest with her husband is how she wins the game.

Except it’s not a game. Not really. There’s nothing she wants to play with when she looks at the open affection plain on his face.

She makes a new vow in her head. Later, she thinks, as she pulls him down by his ridiculous cravat to press a kiss to the middle of his cheek. I will tell you everything later.

“Bye,” she whispers, her nose tracing his jaw as she settles back down to her heels.

The wonder she leaves on his face carries her all the way to Insear.

 ___________________ 

The island has grown.

In truth, Jude has only seen Insear once since returning from her exile, and it was as she had first seen it that day Cardan had faced off against Orlagh and raised it from the sea. Small, because it had been used to imprison Nicasia. And grey, because the lava and the ash that it had been named after had blanketed the soil like granite snow.

Now, the Isle of Ash is large enough to hold more than just a disgraced princess. At almost the size of Insmoor, it can fit two sprawling palaces and have room left over. It’s not entirely grey anymore, either. When their little boat makes landfall, Jude notices that the lava and the ash have crystallized on its shores like sparkling sand.

Diamonds, she thinks. They look like tiny diamonds.

The whole island is covered in it. It dusts the tall, white birch trees and low, sprawling underbrush that have rooted themselves as far as the eye can see. It sparkles from the petals of the flowers that dot the moonlit landscape: there is a range of blue irises, turquoise roses, and an elegant bloom of cool, black petals that Jude has never seen before.

Cardan did this. Cardan made all of this.

She is no stranger to his power, not now. But seeing the island he made, with nothing but the wave of a hand, makes the full breadth of his power suddenly unthinkable.

“I think I get it now,” she says, voice hushed a little by awe. “Why the Living Council and the High Courts are in such a frenzy over Insear.”

The Bomb whistles in appreciation beside her. They stand on the sparkling sand while Fand secures the boat behind them. “This is old magic. The land probably hasn’t felt anything like it since the three original islands of Elfhame were created.”

Jude shakes her head. “How is this possible? The island is still growing.”

“All of Elfhame thrives on the king’s lifeblood,” says the Bomb. “The island he raised himself most of all.”

“I knew Cardan had magic, but not like this.”

“He’s never been more powerful, and as a consequence, his blood more potent. He’s young, for one thing. And he’s happy.”

Jude’s head almost snaps off. “What?”

The Bomb throws a pointed look her way. “Not many of the old rulers were. Didn’t you notice?”

All Jude can remember is how distant and untouchable Eldred had been on the throne. What did it matter if the ruler was happy, as long as he was king? “But Eldred was –”

“Resigned. He had long accepted his life as king, but he derived no true joy during his rule. It’s different with Cardan. There is contentment, but there is more than that. Hope. Light.” The Bomb bends down, lets her fingers sink into the glistening sand of Cardan’s own making. “You can feel it in the soil.”

Jude thinks of how Cardan looked earlier tonight. The untouchable bending to her touch.

“And it’s not just Cardan, you know,” continues the Bomb. With the white of her hair, she looks like she belongs here. “It’s also different with you.”

“Because I’m human.”

“No. Because you’re happy, too.” She flashes Jude an impish smile. “Even though you’d be the last to admit it.”

Jude frowns. She doesn’t know what to make of that. “But I had no hand in raising Insear.”

“As queen, the land feeds off of you in turn.” The Bomb tilts her head back, and breathes in deeply. When she exhales, there is peace in her eyes. “The king and queen are happy, and it shows.”

Jude’s mind scrambles for an answer, but in truth, she is thrown. She has never really included happiness in her long-term plans for herself before, and now that it is a possibility – more than a possibility – she finds that it’s the slightest bit mythical. Something that’s as beautiful and as impossible as the fae.

And yet, here she is, the human Queen of Faerie.

She’s saved from replying by Fand coming up behind them. “The boat is secure, Your Majesty. And there’s no sign of the falcons.”

“Good. It’s possible that their presence was just a coincidence,” Jude says, “but let’s check further inland to be sure.”

The island seems to grow richer in foliage the deeper they go. There are flowers everywhere now, seas of deep blue and turquoise blooms, dotted with the occasional black. She leans down to pick one glittering obsidian flower, and brings it to her nose. It smells sweet. Black pollen dusts her fingertips and stands out against the metal of her chestplate. The shimmering ash crunches a little underfoot, and Jude’s golden cape swishes against it as she walks.

Even the air is different here. It feels lighter and cleaner, as if there is nothing that could possibly weigh it down.

A bird shrieks in the distance.

The three of them freeze.

Jude draws Nightfell. Fand and The Bomb close ranks on either side of her.

“Up ahead,” she says.

“It was close,” says The Bomb, “and low to the ground.” She wrinkles her brow. “That’s odd.”

They find the falcons not long after that. Find, because one of them is laying on the ground, chest rising and falling in shallow breath, and the other is in a nearby birch and makes a half-hearted attempt to fly over their heads only to land, visibly weakened, beside his comrade. They rest, defeated, against the glistening landscape borne of the new king’s power.

Both are marked by a blood-red crest on their chests. Redcap red.

“Traitors,” murmurs Fand.

“What’s wrong with them?” Jude asks. But the answer comes as quickly as she speaks.

You will not have your own true form back until such time as you hurt no living thing for the space of a full year and a day.

Jude sheathes her sword.

But how will we eat if we can hurt nothing?

She takes a step forward. One falcon emits a small cry, meant to intimidate, or perhaps to implore.

“My queen,” warns Fand.

“Peace,” says Jude, to her knight, and to her punished.

She kneels when she reaches them, her golden cape pooling against the ground.

“I do not rescind my judgement over you, who sought to overthrow the crown and wreak chaos upon the kingdom,” she tells them. And it is true. She regrets nothing of the way she had handled justice that day. “But,” she continues, “I once promised that kindness would sustain you, and today it is kindness I shall give.”

She reaches into her pocket and draws out the honeycakes that Cardan gave her. She holds it out to the once disgraced soldiers, and they – starved to the brink of death – fall upon it like a benediction.

The High Queen of Elfhame feeds those that had once sought to unseat her, and Fand and The Bomb bear witness in solemnity. When they are finished, she speaks again.

“Fly on,” she says. “When we meet again, meet me as yourselves.”

 _____________ 

The minute Jude sets foot back in the palace, she knows that something is wrong.

Her body feels the slightest bit off-kilter, like she’s taking a step in the wrong direction. She can’t pinpoint what it is exactly. The Bomb makes her leave to return to the Court of Shadows, and Fand falls back into step behind her.

She wants to see Cardan.

The meeting with the Living Council was moved to a dusty antechamber on the opposite side of the brugh where the usual Council Chambers are. Jude suspects it was pure spite on Cardan’s behalf that led to this unnecessary change in meeting venue. She recalls with a vague satisfaction the clear distress on the messenger’s face earlier.

She can just imagine Randalin’s reaction, and it’s almost enough to make her smirk. If she were in the proper mood for smirking right now. A pounding is starting behind her eyes.

Jude catches the tail end of the dreaded Council meeting as she rounds the final corner.

Over the past few weeks, the Courts of Elfhame have been in a much aggrieved clamor over ownership and land rights to Insear. Each individual court seemed to present reason upon reason as to why they have a right to a piece of the island. Jude had understood why, in the vaguest sense, having not yet witnessed the current state of the land in question. It was technically free for the taking, having freshly risen out of nowhere, and was thus primed for the next inevitable round of political ladder climbing.

Now that she’s seen it, though, she can admit that there’s a part of her that would hate to see it go to the greedy hands of a faceless court. That would like, on no small terms, to have Insear all for herself.

It’s the nature of magic, she supposes. To create something so beautiful that no one can have.

As it stands, the island has served as a recurring headache for the king and queen, with two courts coming dangerously close to an armistice more than once. The revel that Cardan is hosting tonight is supposed to serve as neutral ground for interested parties to present their petitions, and for the monarchs to come to an amicable decision.

It seems like Randalin and the Living Council have a better solution.

“And to whom shall the money go, oh Minister of Keys?” It’s Cardan’s voice, and from his tone alone, it sounds as though the meeting is going as well as anticipated. Which is not at all.

“Sire?”

There’s a guard at the door that jolts into attention the second he sees her. His mouth opens to announce her, but she holds a finger to her lips. She wants to listen first. With a nod at Fand, Jude steps into the shadows.

“You suggested that the Isle of Ash be bestowed upon the court that can offer the greatest tithe,” Cardan says to Randalin. He’s seated at the helm of the long table, and the Council is arranged before him, with the Minister of Keys seated the closest to him on his left. “So let me ask you again. To whom shall the money go?”

From her vantage point, hidden by the door, Jude see’s Randalin’s horned face blanch. “Well, it will of course go to crown and kingdom, my liege.”

“To crown and kingdom?” Cardan rests his chin in his hand, pulling the words through his mouth as if he is playing with them. “But I didn’t ask for it.”

“What the Councilor means to say, sire,” Nihuar, the Seelie Minister, says quickly, her small green lips curved into a placating smile, “is that the funds will benefit all endeavors in the name of Elfhame –”

“So you mean to say,” Cardan drawls, “that the money will go to you.”

The Living Council erupts into a cacophony of sputters and indignant justification. It’s in the middle of rolling his eyes at the table in front of him that Cardan notices Jude hiding in the shadows by the door.

He sees her. Even though she does her best to hide herself, he always sees her.

He’s leaning sideways on his chair at the head of the table, so much so that half of his body is practically spilling over into her empty seat at his right. It’s such a familiar sight that a pang goes through Jude’s chest. She’s missed him.

Cardan stands. The Council falls silent in confusion. The drumming in Jude’s head begins to pound in time with her heart.

He keeps his eyes on her as he walks. All the way down the long table. All the way across the room. Until he is standing right in front of her and the Council is scrambling to their feet because the Queen of Elfhame is here.

Cardan holds out his hand. Jude is powerless to deny him.

She’s pinned to the floor by his expression. She’s only truly been gone for the better part of an hour, but maybe it’s possible that he’s missed her, too. He must see something in her face, because when he speaks, he addresses it to the Council frozen behind him, his eyes never once leaving her.

“This meeting is adjourned.”

“Your Majesties.” Randalin’s voice is strained. “The solution to the Insear claim has yet to be finalized.”

“I find myself tired of the lot of you,” Cardan says, something of his old impetuousness in his tone, “and my wife has just returned. Leave us.”

It’s Nihuar who tries next, once more in vain. “My king, if you would only review the –”

“Desist.” The ember of a threat sparks in his voice. “Now.”

Jude hears the sound of chairs scraping back and feet shuffling out of the door. The Council members most likely bow as they pass, but she isn’t looking at them. When the room is empty, she hears Fand murmur “Your Majesties,” from behind, and then the door is groaning shut. They’re alone.

Cardan sighs, and she can see the tension leaving his shoulders. He pulls her in closer by their joined hands, and when she’s near enough, his tail winds itself once around her hips. He rests his forehead against hers, stooped just enough to reach.

“So?” he says. His entire demeanor has shifted. Gentled. Jude feels the slightest bit dizzy from the sudden change. Or maybe she’s just dizzy. “What of the falcons at Insear?”

Jude swallows. She tells him everything: how Insear has changed, how they discovered the fallen falcons, how she fed them from a kindness that was more human than faerie. All the while, he listens with his forehead against hers and his hands at her waist.

When it is over, Cardan takes her face in his hands. “Look at you,” he breathes. “You are queen of us all.”

And Jude –

– blooms under his gaze. Under the sincerity of the adoration she finds there. Like the flowers she saw in Insear, black, shimmering petals unfurling under the tender moonlight. Like a drop of inky poison, spreading and spreading without control.

She sways a little.

There’s something she needs to tell him. There’s something he needs to know.

He might hate me, she thinks. He might truly hate me for it.

“Cardan,” she whispers.

“Yes.” His eyes have dropped from her eyes to somewhere lower.

The next time she sways, she sways a little bit into him, unable to stop the tilt of her body. His fingers tighten into the shining gold cape at her back, holding her against his chest.

“Cardan,” she says again. Their lips are so close, she almost brushes his name against his mouth. She is finding it hard to see anything but his face.

She thinks about how the last time she held off on telling him something important, he turned into a giant snake and she had to cut his head off.

He leans in.

The words tear themselves free from her throat.

“I kissed him,” she says.

Cardan stills. “What?” The confusion is clear in his voice.

“I had to,” she babbles, and this is how she’s sure something’s not entirely right with her. “He couldn’t know I was resistant to glamour. It was the only thing I had left. The only thing.”

“Jude.” There’s worry now, and a little bit of alarm. She could be wrong. The edges of her vision are going blurry. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Balekin,” she whispers, because his name is almost forbidden, because she has little of her strength left. She's near enough to see the shock widening his eyes. Shock, and something else. Something sharp. Something that can cut her.

“I kissed him,” she confesses, “and then I killed him.”

Jude’s world goes black.

____________

End Note: 

This chapter is the final puzzle piece needed for the, ahem, tension relief to begin. The next chapter is the one I've been looking forward to writing the most, so that's something to look out for!

In the meantime, I have updates, inspo pics/moodboards, and an open inbox on my tumblr!

Thank you again for reading, and I would love to know what you thought of this chapter ❤️

(P.S. There’s also a The Magicians reference in there if you’re familiar with it 👀)

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong: Chapter 12 Thicker Than Blood

Chapter 11

Read on AO3

Claire and Jenny were once again sitting in the grass near the mill, watching the children play. This time, Kitty was running around with them, and yelling as well. She was starting to speak in one word sentences, much to Jenny’s relief, things like “up,” “Ma,” “Da,” “jam”. More often than not, in chasing after her siblings, she toppled over, but after the first three times, Claire and Jenny stopped expressing concern. She was perfectly fine.

The little life inside Claire was growing more and more restless by the day. It was nearing the end of August, just over a month since the baby had started kicking.

Claire cried out softly, her hand flying to her stomach.

“Ye alright?” Jenny asked, looking up from the shirt she was mending.

“Yes, I’m fine…just a strong kick, is all.” Claire shook her head in disbelief. “Strongest one yet.”

“Sometimes it feels like they’re trying to bruise ye,” Jenny said, laughing. “Kitty was brutal to me. Though I’m sure that’s no surprise.”

Claire chuckled. “He seems quite eager to get out of me. I don’t know what the rush is,” she crooned, looking down at her swollen abdomen. “You’ve still got three months to go in there.”

They both chuckled at that, and then another thought crossed Claire’s mind.

“You know…” she absently stroked her bump, unable to take her eyes off it now. “He’s already further along than Faith ever was.”

“That’s a good thing, is it no’?”

“Of course. I thank God every time I can feel his life, even if it feels like a personal attack sometimes.” She gave a tiny smile. “It’s just…strange. I never actually got this big, her kicking never got this strong.”

Jenny put down her sewing for a moment to take Claire’s hand. “There’s no shame in celebrating what ye have wi’ this bairn, even though ye couldna have it wi’ the first.” Claire nodded silently. “Faith will always be the one to make ye a mother. Yer first born. But this one will be special to ye in his own way.” Jenny placed a hand on Claire’s belly. “D’ye ken what I’m trying to say?”

Claire nodded. “I do.” She covered Jenny’s hand on her stomach. “Thank you, Jenny.” Unexpectedly, her eyes filled with tears. “I wish…” She took a shuddery breath. “I wish she could have been buried here. And I wish we could have laid her father beside her.”

Jenny’s eyes swam with tears as well. “They’re together now, sister. Ye ken that.” Claire nodded, wiping her eyes. “He can be the father he always wanted to be. To Faith.”

Just then, Kitty shrieked, and both of their heads whipped up to see Jamie haphazardly holding her by the waist.

“Jamie! Put her down!” Jenny called. He released his grip, and she unceremoniously thudded into the grass, popping her head back up in no time and toddling away from Jamie.

“Christ…” Jenny groaned, but Claire started laughing.

“What do you suppose he was going to do with her?” Claire asked.

“Throw her into the stream I’d expect. He’s still angry she wasna a wee brother.”

Claire laughed out loud at that, wiping away the lingering tears that remained on her face.

“Auntie Claire!” Maggie’s voice squeaked, scampering toward them. She was clutching something in her wee fist, and she presented it proudly to her. “Flower. Fer yer garden.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” Claire beamed at her, taking it from her. It was a blue thistle, likely plucked somewhere near the mill. “This will be lovely with the rest of my herbs and medicines, Maggie. Thank you.”

Maggie smiled a wide, toothy grin, twisting her skirt in her hand.

“Give yer Auntie a kiss, Maggie,” Jenny said, knowing she needed it.

Maggie immediately obeyed, throwing her arms around Claire’s neck and planting a kiss on her cheek. Claire laughed joyously, returning the embrace and holding her tightly. It was hard to believe that come November, it would be three whole years since she had delivered this little girl. 

Maggie pulled away and bit her bottom lip excitedly before speaking again. “See baby?” she asked, looking down at Claire’s stomach.

“You’d like to see the baby?” Claire said, and she nodded, her strawberry blonde curls bouncing. “Come here.”

Claire took her hands and put them on her bump, and Maggie’s eyes lit up.

“If you are very patient,” Claire said, whispering to emphasize the importance of her words. “He may say hello.”

“Patient!” Maggie repeated, nodding again.

She practically bounced up and down, though she kept her hands glued to her Auntie’s belly the whole time. When the baby finally decided to kick, Maggie squealed. Claire and Jenny both laughed out loud.

“See?” Claire said. “There’s your wee cousin.”

“Hello baby!” she called, practically shouting at Claire’s stomach. “Baby cousin! Hello cousin!”

“You’re going to be so very helpful when he’s born, aren’t you?” Claire said, tickling Maggie’s own stomach.

She giggled. “Yes! I’ll help! Help baby!”

Claire kissed Maggie’s cheek. “Good girl.”

Jenny pulled Maggie over and covered her face with kisses, causing her to squeal all the more. “Run along now, make sure yer brother doesna damage wee Kitty.”

Giggling still, Maggie ran off to rejoin her siblings in the open field.

“Ye canna use that fer anything, can ye?” Jenny asked, picking up her mending once more.

“Not like this,” Claire said, smiling. “But I’ll cherish it nonetheless.”

She tucked the flower into a pocket in her skirt and picked up the sock she’d abandoned mending several minutes ago. Her cheek still felt warmed by the kiss that her darling niece had given her.

“Your children are so special to me, Jenny,” Claire said. “I can’t imagine what it will feel like to have my own child kiss me like that.”

“There are days when I take it fer granted,” Jenny admitted. She looked up at her children again, seemingly getting along for now. “But no’ today. The love ye feel fer yer child is…well, it’s the strongest thing I’ve ever felt. I look at them and I’m reminded I’d do anything fer them. Anything.”

Claire nodded in understanding, but she was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. Would she really do anything for her child? If that were the case, wouldn’t she have let Jamie send her back through the stones? This was a volatile world to bring a child into, with or without the dangers awaiting them at childbirth. If she’d truly do anything for her child, wouldn’t she have set aside her own wishes to bring her to a safer world, even if her heart would have died?

“Claire?” Jenny prodded, noticing she’d stopped sewing again. “What’re ye thinking?”

Claire swallowed thickly. She couldn’t tell her. Not right now.

“Just…worrying, I suppose.” Claire shrugged.

“Look at Maggie, Claire,” Jenny said pointedly. At present, she was holding Kitty’s hands and circling round and round with her. “The beautiful lass who just gave ye a flower and a kiss. I thought she’d die, Claire, honest to God I did. The second ye told me she’d be a breech baby I started accepting my own death as well as hers.”

“I remember.”

“Look at her now. She’s braw, she’s happy. During those hours and hours of agony, I never could have imagined this. This moment, now.” Their laughter, all three of her children, was loud as ever. “It makes sense that ye worry. Sometimes our worst fears come to pass. But sometimes, they don’t.”

Claire nodded thoughtfully. Maggie’s birth could have been dangerous even in the twentieth century, and they’d survived it in the eighteenth. Perhaps the same could be said for the little one that she carried now. There was really no way to know, and there was only one way to find out.

Another swift kick came, causing Claire to exhale sharply. Claire smiled to herself. She could practically hear Jamie admonishing their baby, telling him to stop beating his mother so.

“After all the work of carrying him around, this is the thanks he gives ye?” he would say. And Claire would assure him it didn’t hurt so very badly, and she would kiss him, and he would kiss their baby, rub his hands over her belly, quietly pleading with him in Gaelic to be kinder to his mother.

God, she missed him so.

——

August wore on, and Claire found herself settled in a comforting routine of breakfast, then gardening, then helping Jenny with whatever task, like laundry, mending, cooking. The herbs they’d planted back in June were doing quite well, and she now had a healthy supply of dried herbs for medicines and teas. Jenny had set aside a section of an old barn where she could properly hang things to dry, then come back to collect them and add them to her medical box.

Tending to her plants, taking little cuts and snippets, drying them, crushing them, mixing them, brewing them…it was cathartic for Claire. She was very grateful that Jenny had insisted she start doing this all those months ago. Her work was diligent and therefore mind numbing, and yet she was not working herself to the bone. She was getting the fresh air, the distraction she needed, without bringing any harm to herself or her baby. 

Occasionally her blank mind would be forced to return to the present when her nephew would barge into the barn, or when her niece would bolt up to her as she tended the garden with yet another flower that she simply had to add. She’d scoop Jamie up, hold him as high as she could to allow him to tie up a bundle of herbs with the others to dry, and thank him so very much for being so helpful. She’d take the flowers from Maggie and “plant” them beside the herbs, promising her that it would turn into a wonderful medicine that she could use one day.

“Flowers, Auntie?” She’d toddle up to her every day to check on them. “Me’cine yet?”

“Why, I think so,” Claire would say. “Look.”

And she’d show her the exact spot that Maggie had watched her bury the flower, and watch as her eyes popped out of her head to see the greenery that had “sprouted” overnight, which was really only Claire moving a few things around. Indulging her in this way had proved more of a feat than Claire had originally signed up for, because the more and more Maggie saw evidence of her efforts proving helpful, the more and more she wanted to help.

After a while, she’d had to gently tell her that there was no room for any more flowers, but that since it was so full, she needed her help to take care of it. She’d wholeheartedly agreed, eager to help her Auntie. Claire had deemed her “my little garden faery,” her wee helper. And Maggie loved it. Claire also adored it. It touched her heart in a way she could not describe that she’d been the one to bring her into the world with Jenny, and now she seemed to be attached to her at the hip. It meant more to her than she could ever explain.

Perhaps someday, when she was old enough to truly understand, Claire could teach Maggie medicine, really teach her. Perhaps someday the tenants of Lallybroch would have two healers to go to.

Claire watched from her garden as Maggie plucked weeds and flowers alike out of the dirt around the porch and the goat pen, singing in Gaelic to herself.

Yes, perhaps someday…but why rush away the beautiful innocence she possessed right now?

September arrived, and they were now in the throes of harvest season. The potato crop had done splendidly again, and though there was always the lingering fear of unknown possibilities, everyone was certain that they’d survive the winter once more because of it. Game had been difficult, seeing as they no longer had any guns to hunt with. They’d taken to setting traps in the woods surrounding Lallybroch, and for most of the summer they’d been lucky enough to have rabbit on and off every couple of days. Fergus would march himself right into the kitchen, proudly brandishing the wee beast from the trap he’d set all by himself. 

Claire was enjoying watching him thrive here. In Paris, he’d been confined to one small building his whole life, not to mention how unsuitable an establishment it was for children. Then even after Jamie had liberated him, his free spirit was confined by the high, brick walls of the city, his lungs clouded from breathing in the slums. In Scotland, at Lallybroch, he was truly coming into his own; as much as Claire hated to admit it, he was becoming his own man.

Of course, he was still only eleven—no, twelve years old (just turned it), hardly a man by any means, not yet at least. But he was unencumbered here. He had a family to belong to, a family to protect and provide for using the wilderness that surrounded him. If it wasn’t for his obvious French-ness, in his manner and accent, one would not question that he was a Highlander through and through.

And Jamie would be so proud.

Today, September the twenty-second, Fergus was gone for a peculiarly long amount of time. On the days where he checked the traps, he was gone right after breakfast and back in no more than two hours. It was nearing a third hour, and Claire was growing anxious. Was it irresponsible of her to allow him to run off into the woods alone? No, he could take care of himself. She knew that. Or perhaps she overestimated him. Twelve years old was still a child, whether or not the people of this time believed it to be so.

Claire was working fretfully on her garden, unable to bear the worst-case scenarios that whirled in her mind for much longer, when she heard hoofbeats come up the road. She whirled around and breathed a sigh of relief to see her boy trotting toward the house. Ian had taught him to ride over the summer, and he was getting quite good. Yet another thing that would make his father proud.

“Fergus!” she called as he got closer. “What on Earth took you — ”

And then she noticed the enormous bundle draped over the flank of the horse, behind the boy in the saddle. Fergus was beaming ear to ear, slowing the horse as he drew nearer to Claire.

“Is that — ?��

“A deer, Maman!” he said smugly, sliding off the horse and surveying his work proudly.

“How did you—? You couldn’t have shot it—?”

“No, Maman, the poor thing was in one of my traps,” he said, and his pride briefly morphed into sympathy. “They are meant for very wee animals, as you know, so it did not kill her right away. Just hurt her leg.” Claire couldn’t help but smile at his use of the word “wee.”

“It was very sad to see her suffering when I came upon her, but I knew she would only suffer more if I let her free. So I gave her mercy with my knife.” He gave a curt nod, like a little soldier. “And now we have lots of meat for supper!”

Claire laughed jovially and pulled him into a hug. Her hugs had become quite awkward lately, having to careen him around to her side so they could actually embrace each other. Two more months, she thought to herself. Two more months of feeling like an absolute tank in the way of everything.

She tenderly kissed the top of his head. “Wonderful job, mon fils. Why don't you join your uncle in the fields and I’ll see about getting it butchered, hm?”

He nodded, stretched up to kiss her cheek, gave her swollen middle a pat, and then scampered off around the house. She briefly caressed the spot on her cheek that he’d so briefly kissed, smiling to herself. He would never know how much his affection, his love, meant to her. 

Claire grunted and clutched her abdomen, exhaling sharply. Speaking of affection, she thought wryly to herself, smiling in spite of the most recent, ruthless blow to her womb.

“Easy there, little one,” she said, rubbing the spot. “You’ll knock Mummy right off her feet if you keep that up.”

“Good Lord, what is that?” Jenny suddenly appeared on the porch.

“A deer that Fergus killed mercifully after finding her in his trap.” Claire smiled proudly.

“Mo Dhiah!” she exclaimed, crossing herself as she approached the horse. “His bounty be blessed!”

“We’ll eat like kings tonight,” Claire laughed.

“Kings indeed!” Jenny gave the poor beast a pat on her flank. “Let’s get it ready then, shall we?”

It had been a great struggle to carry the animal inside to be butchered; many of their servants had had to be let go in the financial struggle that had followed Culloden. They were more apt to let go of the men first, as they would be more likely to find other work, and most of the male servants were attached to the female ones, either by marriage or because they were siblings. The Murrays were heart sorry to do it, and of course they hadn’t officially let anyone go until they found other work, but they simply couldn't afford to live like Laird and Lady anymore. The only servants left were Mrs. Crook, of course, who had firmly insisted that they’d have to drive her away with the switch (which had been met with “we wouldn’t dream of being rid of you, yer one of our own”), Rabbie, though he’d truly become more of a foster-son to the Murrays despite his status as their stable boy, and the Donnelleys, a widow woman and her wee daughter, serving as maids.

And so, Mrs. Crook, Jenny, Mrs. Donnelly, and even wee Laura, had struggled to get the beast inside. Claire had tried to help, but every single one of the three women had accosted her into stepping aside; how dare she, a pregnant woman at great risk, even think of lifting such an enormous beast?

Despite Claire’s initial annoyance, she was grateful for their concern. She hadn’t realized, but she was already quite sore without doing any heavy lifting. Once the beast was laid out, they each pitched in for its butchering. Jenny fussed over Claire all the while, never letting her do anything she deemed too strenuous. Even as her hormones raged and demanded revenge, she had to remind herself that Jenny was only looking out for her best interests, and she really was right. Claire had been very good so far about sparing herself from anything that would overwork her, and at seven months pregnant was perhaps the worst time to start changing that.

So she begrudgingly wielded the smaller knives, did not engage in any large swinging or hacking motions that would bring any greater pain to her back. Eventually the butchering was complete, and they separated the useful bits of meat and other things from the disposable bits. Mrs. Donnelly and wee Laura went off to be rid of what they didn’t need and then went about the rest of their daily tasks, leaving the sisters and Mrs. Crook in the kitchen to prepare the meat to cook.

It certainly was an all day affair, but the joy on the children’s faces, hell, even on Ian’s face made it all worth it. It was perhaps the heartiest meal they’d had in months. Everyone was all smiles, laughing, children and adults alike. Even Claire. She allowed herself to become lost in the food, in the drink, in the laughter of the children she had come to love and cherish more than her own life.

“Catching a full grown deer in one of those wee rabbit traps was surely God’s grace,” Ian said toward the end of supper, raising his glass to Fergus. “Either that, or our wee Frenchman is one lucky bastard!”

Fergus’s nose crinkled with the laughter he unleashed, and everyone else’s laughter followed.

“Sláinte!” Ian cried, and everyone echoed, even the children with their cups of water.

God’s grace…

Claire gave the table a glance over, her cheeks sore from smiling, her throat aching from laughter.

“Auntie,” wee Jamie pulled at her left sleeve, whispering.

“Yes?” She answered with contrived secrecy, leaning her ear closer to him.

“May I try yer whisky, Auntie?” he whispered, but the desired effect of quiet was not achieved, as everyone at the table burst into laughter.

Claire’s head fell back with laughter, before promptly covering the lad with tickles, kissing his head over and over.

“If big Jamie could have heard you say that…” Claire shook her head, still laughing.

“He’d surely give it to him!” Jenny said rolling her eyes at the thought.

“Uncle Jamie? He’d give me whisky?” 

“Aye, and I’d box his ears fer it,” Jenny said firmly. “No whisky until yer grown.”

“Fergus isna grown!” Jamie pointed across the table accusingly. Fergus put his hands up in surrender.

“Tell ye what, lad,” Ian said. “When you bring an entire deer home fer supper, ye can have all the whisky ye want.”

Without another word, Jamie sprang out of his seat and scrambled out of the room.

“And where d’ye think yer off to, and no’ excusing yerself?” Jenny called after him.

“I’m gonnae set a trap! Fer a deer!”

“Lord ha’ mercy,” Jenny sighed, exasperated. Ian laughed so hard he started slamming the table.

“Best be stopping the wee huntsman before he becomes a drunk at five years old.” Jenny stood up from the table, and Claire could see the glimmer in her eye as she followed after her headstrong boy.

“When can I ha’ whisky, Da?” Maggie suddenly piped, rising all the way onto her knees.

“Never,” Ian said, taking another sip of his own drink.

Claire chuckled to herself at Maggie’s adorable wee pout. “Oh, don’t worry, Maggie, my little garden faery,” she whispered into her hair. “When you’re old enough, Auntie Claire will share her whisky with you. Our secret.” She put a finger to her lips to emphasize discretion, and she copied, making an adorable “shh” noise. Claire laughed and kissed her forehead, overwhelmed with love.

God’s grace indeed, she thought, that these people are my family. 

Family in a conventional sense had been lost on Claire for most of her life. Both parents dead at five years old had left her traveling with Uncle Lamb for her childhood and adolescence. Then she was flung into Frank’s arms, then Jamie’s. Jamie had felt the closest to family she’d ever imagined, but this was different. This was a whole family, an entire wee clan that welcomed her with open arms.

My own family.

[kaypeace21]

Will created the Mindflayer (Theory revisited)

After, watching all 3 seasons I believe the upside down/mindflayer is not only an allegory for Will and El’s (cannon) ptsd/ and trauma but also (because of their powers), has become a physical manifestation (with a life of it’s own). I previously talked about how El made the upside down/demorgorgans and how Will created the mindflayer and demodogs (before s3). However I wanted to add more details to this analysis and  focus on how the Mindflayer represented Will’s darker emotions and thoughts in s3 . So let’s get started.

The original title for Stranger things was “Montauk”- in reference to the Montauk Project. It was about experiments conducted on psychic children, where the scientists would “break” them psychologically to strengthen their powers and to program them.  In one of the stories there was a boy named Duncan who could “open portals to other dimensions and periods of time” . However, one day “Duncan let loose a monster from his subconscious.” 

This is where Stranger Things comes in... El, opened the portal and created the demorgorgans, which represented El’s fears. Joyce and Nancy called the demorgorgan  a “man without a face”, or as El called them repeatedly “the bad men.” The bad men kill (using guns),  while the demorgans are attracted to blood. However, the one time they went after someone who wasn’t bleeding- was when it chased after Will, another psychic child. Brenner even says about the demorgorgan “it’s calling to you for a reason”. And right before El goes to the sensory deprivation tank, Brenner gives her flowers (resembling the opened face of the demorgorgan which resembles a flower). In the Stranger things novel, Suspicious Minds, a psychic character named Alice, even says “ “Monsters...of course my brain has them.” As long as they stayed in there, everything would be all right. “Wouldn’t it?”

The upside down/ opening of the gate/demorgorgan is even described as something that  grows and spreads, “like a cancer”. And something that will eventually kill her, if not confronted (and analogy to suicidal thoughts?)

In s1 Dusting even asks, Eleven “Do you have cancer?” In a literal sense no, but the buzzcut ( which makes people assume she has cancer) represents the abuse she’s been through. And if she doesn’t confront her trauma it will slowly eat away at her until it kills her .  Or the physical manifestation of it will.

The name El is the name of a Canaanite God, which means “god of creation.” When El said in s1 “I’m the monster”, only for Mike to correct her and disagree. In a way they’re both right, it’s not her who is in control. But the monsters (who has a life of its own) represents her darker emotions and fears and is affected by her feelings- and this is why they were mirrored to each other visually.

So the fact that the Mindflayer shows up for the first time when Will is experiencing his “anniversary effect” relating to his ptsd, may not be a coincidence. Don’t you find it strange when Will’s dog died between s1-2, the demorgorgans become demo-dogs?  And once again,  the vines ( put inside Will in s1) and the shadow monster/Mindflayer - are also described as spreading, and we are told that it will kill Will. Will even says “ the more he spreads the more connected to him I feel.” And if I’m right about Will becoming number 12, it’s interesting to point out that 12 is a numeral symbol for “God of creation”, as well.

The other Drs/scientists are extremely callous and say they need to continue the burn (even if it kills Will). However, Dr Owens even says after this “You’re putting a bandaid on this.”  Meaning they aren’t addressing the real problem- Will & El’s trauma.

And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if I’m right- this also implies Will was m***sted as a kid (probably by Lonnie), who always called him homophobic slurs. The demorogorgan represented ‘Brenner/ the bad-men’ to El. And the Mindflayer initially represented Lonnie, to Will . Will is even the first to call the Mindflayer a “he”, instead of an it- even though in d&d cannon Mindflayers are “sexless hermaphodites”. 

Also,Will doesn’t initially call the Mindflayer a “he” but an “it”.And if you only take out certain pieces of dialogue between Joyce and Will, when they first talk  about the mind flayer, where they only refer to it as an ‘it’ … and if you put  [‘he/him’] pronouns there instead… then the rest of the discussion about the mind flayer literally sounds… questionable.

Will: “It all just went blank and then you were there”

Joyce: “Will I need you to tell me the truth.”

Will: “I am!”

Joyce: “But …  But I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. So you have to talk to me. Please. No more secrets, okay? Okay.”

Will: “ [*It] came for me and … and  I tried… I tried to make [*it] go away … but [*it] got me mom”.        (*he, * him,* he)

Joyce: What does that mean?”

Will: “I felt [*it] everywhere. everywhere. I- I still feel [*it]. I just want this to be over!”         (*him, *him)

Joyce: “LOOK AT ME! I Will never let anything bad happen to you ever again!”

And I’m not sure how seriously I should take the cannon spotify playlists. But, the cannon spotify character playlists  (which netflix and spotify worked on and published together after s2) alluded to this on both Jonathan and Will’s playlists. And the only songs about their dads hint at this fact.

Jonathan’s Playlist- We’re happy family: “Eating refried beans (poverty). Gulpin’ down Thorazines (pills for a mood disorder). We ain’t got no friends (s2 ref). Our troubles never end. Daddy likes men. Daddy’s telling lies.”

Enter sandman: “Don’t forget my son. Sleep with one eye open. Gripping your pillow tight, Exit light, Enter night. Take my hand, we’re off to never-never land. Something’s wrong, shut the light, heavy thoughts tonight. Dreams of liars and of things that will bite, yeah. Hush little baby don’t say a word, and never mind that noise you heard. It’s just the beasts under your bed, in your closet in your head.”

Will’s playlist- Creature comfort: “Some boys hate themselves spend their lives resenting their fathers…Some boys get too much, too much love, too much touch... look in the mirror and wait for the feedback”

And if the vines and the shadow monster represent his dad  the fact it enters violently through his mouth,  and the way he describes the Mf first possessing him further reinforces this analogy. Especially since Billy/MF lays on top of his victims, and  right before the monster puts a similar thing in their mouths says (To Heather) “Don’t be afraid. It’ll all be over soon. Just stay very still”, and (to El) “Don’t be afraid . It’ll all be over soon. Just try and stay... very still.” (May indicate Will might have have heard his dad say this  to him, and thats why the Mf says it to his victims.)

The entry of the vine, even causes him to spit out a slug, as he looks back in the mirror (like in the song lyric).

The experience of the vine/slug probably brought back traumatic memories, not to mention his time in the upside down invented new ones. The mindflayer first appears during Will’s ptsd “anniversary effect”. And in s2 when Joyce asked about the mindflayer drawing, Will  lies saying it’s for a story he’s writing . But maybe, unbeknownst to him... it wasn’t actually a lie ? The 1st time Will senses the Mf again in s3, is when he’s watching a movie about zombies (on a ‘date’ with Mike). And in s3, the monster the Mf creates is based “the thing” ( by  merging zombies bodies together)... and we see Will writing the d&d story right next to this ‘The Thing’ poster. The light at it’s head, indicating this whole story may be Will’s idea all along. 

So ‘the thing’, the zombies, defeating it with fire were all referenced to Will- and later showed to unfold in the Mf’s story. And even though d&d always foreshadows later events in the season,  I find it interesting that the one time in the series we see Will write the d&d story... is when it matches MF’s plans. The shadow monster stayed in the real world, after the gate closed (and didn’t do anything for 6 months)? And specifically choses to attack/possess a guy named William who also was abused by his dad and called homophobic slurs (internalized hate perhaps)? And don’t you find it strange that the shadow monster only decides to come out now, in the summer (despite it not liking hot temperatures) when Will is at his lowest point emotionally? Well, it’s because the MF is based on Will’s darker emotions and thoughts.

 S3 was the season that Will was feeling jealous over mileven, and probably coming more to terms with his sexuality -  and this is when the mindflayer/shadow monster decides to strike. Whenever the Mf is close and Will touches his neck relates to his romantic feelings for Mike. 1st time it’s on one of their ‘movie dates’, 2nd time when Mike and El walk off together down the hill, 3rd time right after he smashed castle byers after Mike says “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls”, 4th time when Mike asks him to go away so he can talk to El in the hospital waiting area, and 5th time when Mike says El loves El. 

And again it’s when Will smashes castle Byers that Will first says “He’s back”. Castle byers was built on a rainy night , the same day Will’s  dad left, when Will was 5 (the same age he met Mike). And lonnie called him a “queer” and a “f*g” and forced him to do “normal things” like baseball to have him “be more of a man”. And then on a rainy night, after Mike says “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls”… what does Will destroy castle byers with? A bat. 

Will drew up castle byers before creating it in the real world.  And the fact Will has a baseball bat (despite not liking baseball) in Castle Byers, surrounded by things he loves: drawings, d&d, art supplies, a microscope, comics- just shows what an impact Lonnie’s problematic conditioning and abandonment had on him. He used a baseball bat to destroy something he loves -castle Byers, and symbolically he was trying to reject his feelings for Mike using Lonnie’s old tactics of fixing him. So regardless of what Lonnie did or didn’t do, the correlation between the MF and Lonnie is there. He smashes up castle Byers with a bat (thinking of Lonnie) and then he feels “more connected to him (the Mf)” again, and says ‘he (the Mf) is back’.

The reason we didn’t get Willel, was for a narrative reason. We are shown that Max and El don’t know each other. It’s implied that El almost never leaves the house and just spends her time kissing Mike. So Will never got to have the opportunity to get to know her either. And for Will his resentment of El isn’t simply based on the fact he loves Mike. He insults El calling her a “stupid-girl” just like how Robin said she hated Steve and his “stupid-hair” because the girl she liked , liked him- and of course a lot of that redirected hate isn’t mere jealousy, but projected internalized homophobia. I don’t think a straight person could ever really understand how much hate queer people initially have for themselves when initially figuring things out- so his redirected anger is more than simple jealousy, but just hate for himself. He even looks at a picture of Mike after this and says “so stupid”,  4 times , while at castle Byers.

But honestly, that’s nothing compared to the hate he has/ how he blames her for ruining his life! El might have saved him twice (and it might of been an accident/ dr Brenner who’s really to blame). But Will knows she opened the gate . So to him, he spent a week in a place with no sunlight, food, or breathable air , having to experience that vine, dying, getting ptsd, being ostracized by everyone at school and being called “zombie boy” and a “freak”- being possessed by the MF, getting burned alive, killing Bob (the closest thing to a real father figure) and all those men (making him a murderer), and strangling his mom.Because of her!

And then that’s when s3 starts to make a lot more sense. Will might not want anything bad to actually happen to El but he’s probably had these dark thoughts before.  Will even says about the MF.

He says the real Mf is still in the upside down, but ‘the part that was still in him... was still in their world.’ And it flashes to El’s face as he says it. Essentially the Mf is motivated by his fictionalized story, thoughts/memories of Lonnie, and any dark intrusive thought Will has ever had about El , much to Will’s horror. 

He said in s3 that “I’m not worried about me, mom. I’m worried about you.” So the fact that he strangled her and almost killed her in s2, probably haunts him to this day- and he might of thought, ‘wish I strangled her instead’. And who does Billy/Mf look at right before grabbing her throat, and who is the first reaction shot we see when he starts choking her - Will’s horrified expression!

Maybe the Mf thought El was the most important, and that Will was nothing ( despite all the foreshadowing indicating the Mf held special intentions for Will), because he feels like he’s nothing compared to El? Will even says in s2 it wanted to kill everyone, but him, but now it’s saying that to El only? Maybe because Will wanted her to experience having such an entity say it to her too, and experience the same fear and isolation it caused him? In s2, why did the Mf chase Will and possess him at the school, when El (at the same time) was at the school as well (if it was always after her)? It’s because the Mf’s motivations are linked to Will’s feelings/emotions.

He probably also thought, how would you like a slug crawling/invading your body, huh?And although it doesn’t go to her mouth (probably because he could never wish that on anyone- if it symbolizes what I think it does). She still has a similar experience. And everyone is worried/horrified but Will is the only one sobbing (probably because he thought of this happening to her before).

After this he doesn’t even help move the car, he just stays glued at El’s side as if trying to protect her. And interestingly, this is when El loses her powers. Will may have even thought. If she never had her powers, none of this would have ever happened! Or ‘you guys wouldn’t think she’s so great without her powers.” So did Will accidentally steal her powers?!!!! Maybe. Will has always been associated with bears (along with 3 other animal symbols that El also has).  We see a zoom in shot of Will’s bear drawing right before the demorgorgan takes him from the upside down version of castle byers in s1. Bears symbolically represent  “wisdom” like ‘Will the wise’ and were associated with the demorgorgan/upside down in s1 and 2 as well . Max and Nancy both compared demorrgorgans to bears- and Nancy and Jonathan used a bear-trap to capture the demorgorgan in s1. So when El tries to grab Will’s teddy bear (it was shown to be his in s1) with her powers. And Mike says “they’ll come back”. They might actually come back, because Will and EL’s relationship improves. Mike even tried to give El a golden bear as a gift (so maybe that signifies the giving back of her powers in s4 ?)

Will was always hinted to have powers from the very beginning, so it would be incredibly stupid to just drop this plot point, despite all the foreshadowing. In the 1st episode, Will wins Dustin’s xmen comic in a bet- and Dustin later asks the gang “Do you think Eleven was born with powers like the xmen?” And also before he was sent to the upside down his password for Castle Byers was ‘Rhadagast’ a wizard character from Lord of the Rings. And in the ST prequel novel “Suspicious Minds”  the adult psychics were referenced to both the xmen and lord of the Rings characters. And in the comic, he keeps on saying ‘what would Will- the Wise do’ (his d&d wizard character). Also Dustin straight up called El a “wizard” in the last ep of s1, at Will’s bedside. Not to mention Mike in s2 called Will a “cleric” - and clerics get their powers from a god (cough the mindflayer), and in d&d the wiser the cleric the more powerful they are. And Will’s nickname is ‘Will the wise’? The fact that Will in s1 drew his character with lightning and fire powers- and the fact he barbecued 2 phones in s1 (just like El did to the radio at the school). In s1 was said he could “shadow walk” a wizard d&d power.  The fact he could control lights and manipulate electronics to communicate to his mom from another dimension (and in s1 only El could do that). The fact he literally created a portal through the wall of his house (just like El did at the school in s2). And just the many other hints in s1! The fact that he drew himself in s2 with a crystal ball (which is associated with the powers of scrying and clairvoyance) before being possessed, but just so happen to have those abilities in s2. Dustin also said the only way to defeat the MF is an undead army and Will’s nickname is “zombie boy”. So frankly, his fight with the MF (who is still in the upside down) may not be over. And that new demorgagan in Russia might be a symbol of El’s grief over Hopper’s (perceived) death.

This would honestly, be the only explanation that would allow me to forgive the Duffers . Like you can steal this idea from me! Please! XD

[sadsentinel]

ahh here’s that short story i wrote @stuffaboutwriting! thank you so so much for the interest, it means a lot ❤️ this story kind of got away from me and so the plot(?) took a turn i didn’t originally intend for it to ahh i hope it is good :)

The wind whipped through her hair, a chorus of whispers in her mind. It whistled through the trees, and the soft crescendo of birdsong enveloped the small, hidden glade.

“I know,” she whispered.

Nature was not happy. The creaking of ancient oaks crackled through the air, and for a moment, she worried that one would fall and crush her. But it simply wouldn’t do to kill the messenger.

A voice called her name from far away. Fear surged through her body as the voice grew closer.

The wind surged around her, like a tornado, sending her hair flying in all directions. Through the thick black curtain of hair that was plastered across her face, she could see him enter the clearing.

“No, please—”

He didn’t listen.

“Mara, it’s time to come home, there’s going to be a storm!” The man grabbed her wrist, axe firmly gripped in his other hand.

“She’s mad at you,” the girl whispered.

“What? We have to go now, come on—”

His body flew across the glade until it collided with a thick oak tree, and his body went limp. The axe he’d been carrying had struck the same trunk, only feet away from where he’d fallen. The gale grew even stronger around her, until all the fallen leaves in the glade were racing through the air.

“I know,” she said again. She turned her gaze to the village, barely visible through the thick brush. The whistle of the wind filled her ears, and as though her body was not her own to control, she walked across the clearing and grabbed the axe.

Please don’t make me.

Her plea was met with silence.

“I don’t want to do this,” she said it aloud this time, in hopes that maybe it would change her mind. It didn’t. One step after another, she began to wade through the thick wild berry bushes.

“Stop.” Her voice was firm, filled with finality. She hadn’t wanted to be the messenger in the first place. But she wasn’t, not anymore. Now she was the executioner.

As she approached the village, she passed the clearing of felled trees, of lifeless stumps torn from the wet earth. Rain had begun to fall heavily, so strong that some of the smaller stumps were washed away. Lightning split the air, touching down on the ground all around her. Fire burst up from everywhere she could see. Rain and smoke and ash filled the air.

This was the end.

***

“Where’s Ben?” I searched the crowd frantically. My voice cracked with tears as I searched the fearful faces for him. “Ben!” I cried out. There was no answer; only the terrified cries of the townspeople.

“Leliana, we have to get out. Now.” Everyone was evacuating the village. The lower areas of town had already begun to flood.

It took me a moment to realize that the person speaking to me was the mayor. He clutched a small cat in his arms, his eyes welling up with tears.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. She promised it wouldn’t happen.” He was rambling to himself, and although it panicked me even more, I remained rooted to the spot. A city guard ran up to us and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him to safety.

I climbed up onto the roof of a taller building to get a better view. I couldn’t see him. He’d gone to get his sister back from the woods, but I hadn’t seen him since. I turned my gaze to the forest I’d watched him disappear into earlier. There was no trace of him, but I saw Mara.

She was slowly approaching the village, his axe in hand. Her steps were leisurely. The expression she wore was blank, and her eyes glowed white. I watched as she drew closer to a wall of fire. Mara was terrified of fire.

I yelled her name, hoping I could snap her out of whatever was happening to her. It didn’t work. Closer and closer. I watched helplessly as each step brought her closer to the flames. She still didn’t react. It was as if she was in a trance.

At the last second, just as I was about to look away, the wall of fire parted for her. As soon as she was through, it swelled up again, and blazed further along the countryside.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. What was happening?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t normal. I yelled for her. Again and again.

Finally, she turned her white, ethereal gaze on me. There wasn’t a single trace of feeling in her face. What had she done to Ben?

“The wind is not happy. She,” Mara added, gesturing to the air around her, “is angry.”

“Who is?”

“Nature.” Her voice was loud, and carried as though it was coming from the heavens above. As if it were as powerful as the thunder shaking the earth.

I followed her gaze as she looked around the countryside. At the numerous trees that had been cut down, at the soil that eroded at their bases. Her gaze led me to the river, which had been growing more and more polluted as the town grew larger and more visitors passed through.

We had been destroying the once beautiful landscape. For centuries.

“She wants revenge.” Mara lifted her hand to the sky, and lightning rained down as if it were droplets of water. The wind picked up, and the sky, thick with heavy grey-black clouds, shook with the force of the thunder. I felt the ground rumble beneath me, and looked on in horror as the soft, wet earth began to split open throughout the town. Whole buildings were swallowed into the fiery depths. Screams split the air.

“This is the end,” Mara’s hollow voice filled the air, louder than any crack of thunder.

***

“Stop it!” Elise’s voice sounded, and she shooed her children away from the flowerbed. “I’ve been teaching you since you were born to respect this land.” Her two kids, who had been stomping through the flowers, let their gazes fall in shame.

“You two remember the story, don’t you?” I watched them with curiosity, still holding the flower I was about to plant.

The children remained silent, and Elise took that as an opportunity to retell the legend.

“Hundreds of years ago, there were people who lived here. Lots of them. They didn’t take care of their home,” she said sadly. “Your great-great-great grandmother was there. She almost lost her life when Nature rained down on them.”

“What happened again?” Her daughter finally looked up, her round eyes wide.

“Mara, The Messenger, brought the apocalypse with her. On behalf of Nature.”

“Wow.” Her son’s voice was filled with wonder.

“‘Wow’ is right. But it wasn’t cool, or fun. People died. The land was destroyed.”

Elise looked out over the rolling hills in the distance. Trees dotted the landscape, and crystal blue water flowed through the river between them. The rushing of a waterfall echoed through the gorge, reaching us from impossibly far away. Wild flowers filled the empty spaces of lush green grass, and birds chirped happily.

“That’s why we must take care of it now,” Elise said quietly, taking in the beauty of it all.

After a moment of silence, I spoke up.

“The wind speaks, and we must listen.”

[its-jwang2017]

Interlude 2: Jaebeom

JB had only agreed to move to Chicago for two reasons; One was because he wanted to leave his small hometown after his 14th birthday when he realized he couldn’t keep his technopathic powers hidden much longer. The second was because he wanted to get out of the small bubble his hometown provided, where everyone knew everything about everyone whether they wanted to or not. To JB, the relentless whispers about his peculiar personality and quick-to-anger characteristics labeled him as a freak in his hometown, with the neighboring kids bullying him relentlessly in order to see for themselves how easy it was to anger “the bull”.

Kids can be really mean sometimes.

Even though he was labeled as “aggressive” and “weird” by the people in his village, there were some aspects about him that showcased his gentler side like his odd love for photography. There was just something entrancing about the way life ebbed and flowed around him, something beautiful to be found in every still moment that could be portrayed elegantly through a single camera shot or, on the flip-side, many singular moments combined together in one video. Through all of the harsh words subjected on him by his peers, Jaebeom looked for the shots that captured the happier moments in life as a way to escape the present. Even when he was younger, he would constantly use his fingers to create a frame around anything that caught his interest, whether it was a flower tilting over underneath the weight of a bumblebee or his friends laughter as they swung higher and higher on the swing set.

For his thirteenth birthday (the birthday that he realized every moment has to come to an end where even a picture couldn’t save it), he received two things; an old Polaroid camera stocked full of film and a goodbye note from his father, who had written a short explanation that he had fallen in love with the neighbor’s daughter and had fled the town to be with her.

There was no note that said if he would come back.

With the absence of his dad and his mother falling into a deep depression, JB fell deeper and deeper into the art, trying his best to capture the fleeting moments of happiness in every shot and bringing the best ones back for his mom. At first, he had hated the camera that mocked and reminded JB of his father’s heartless abandonment; it was really tempting at times to burn the camera as one last rebellion against his traitorous dad. But the passion for art won over his hate for his father and JB reluctantly kept the camera (he could never afford another one anyway). From that point on, Jaebeom kept the camera like it was the most precious treasure in the world and even picked up some odd jobs around their small neighborhood in order to continue to pay for film.

This did not get past the older boys in his neighborhood at all, who upped their ante and began taunting JB even more by making fun of the ludicrous notion that photography was too feminine for a boy JB’s age to be messing around with. JB did his best to squash the growing feelings of hatred and malice for the neighbors whispering is he a fairy? , of the other boys’ relentless taunts, and for his father labeling him and his mother as a rejected “family” to everyone in their town. He was burdened with being ‘the man of the house’, a position his father should have stayed to fill, and his responsibilities increased tenfold with having to provide for both him and his mother during her debilitating depression. Then, dealing with the faux sympathy from his neighbors and bullying at school… without even realizing it, JB became full of anger, anxiety and rage for the way life had unflinchingly dealt him a losing hand.

It almost came to a head one day, when JB’s powers were still at their beginning stages, where one of his tormentor’s jabs hit a little too close to home. Sometimes during JB’s nightmares, he can still hear the disgusted sneer of one of the older kids with the scathing comment, “Your dad would’ve stayed if you weren’t such a huge disappointment!” ringing in his ears as the hairs on his skin stand on end due to static lightly crackling around him.

He remembers the weird feeling of sparks dancing across his fingertips as he balled his fist in preparation for a sucker-punch. He would have thrown it too if the power bubbling underneath his skin wasn’t quelled by his mother suddenly tearing out of their small home, having overheard the whole exchange, with venom in her words and fire in her eyes. This marked the first time that JB had seen her get out of the bed in months.

Even with her shorter stature, none of the other kids were willing to duel with a protective eomma (out of both deep respect and blatant fear) and JB’s aggressors fled the scene in a split second, leaving both Im’s standing outside on the grass breathing harshly and fighting to regain control ( like mother like son, JB always recalled fondly).

The rest of that day was a blur in JB’s memory, in that he faintly remembers having a real conversation with his mom for the first time since his father left. Apparently his mom had, without him knowing, submitted an application to JYP prep with the pictures that he had given her throughout the past months. The reason why she had regained some of her energy was due to the fact that, out of thousands of students in the world, he had miraculously gotten accepted on that very day and had an open invitation to join the school to study Photography and Film.

JB’s relationship with his mom didn’t magically repair in the months that unfurled between his acceptance notice and his first real day at JYP international prep. In fact, a HUGE part of JB wanted to stay and support his mother while the other part of him desperately ( selfishly ) wanted to get away from her and her haunted silences, her blank stares, her lifeless form mechanically going through the motions of basic hygiene and eating. As his powers grew and fired randomly, he also began to become afraid that he would hurt his mother in his desperation to breathe some life back into her aura and he was worried he’d shock her if he wasn’t careful. His worry became overwhelming as his control kept slipping and he became eager to separate himself from the person he loved most as fear threatened to overwhelm him again.

Jaebeom sometimes thinks back to that day , when he had first noticed the sparks dancing around his fists as the dam inside of him almost broke underneath the harsh words spewed out of the other boy’s mouth, and he faintly wonders what would have happened if his mom hadn’t broken up the fight in time. That fateful moment was when his powers first broke free from within some hidden compartment of his physiology, spurred on by the wild emotions overtaking him in that split second. He never truly understood what forced the powers to manifest, why that day and why that time, but he never got a chance to really ask anybody as he did his best to keep his powers under wraps. However, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it for long and only chose to accept the invitation to JYP Prep at the very last second when a spark from his hand almost caused a fire while he was preparing dinner.

The last day at home had his mother looking more like herself than JB had seen since he could remember. She was all smiles and pride oozed out of inn her ever pore as JB packed up his most treasured possessions and clothes into a tiny suitcase.

The last time JB saw his mom was standing on their tattered wooden balcony, her skinny form looking lighter every minute as if a tremendous burden was slowly lifting off of her second by second. He recalled her smiling toothily at him as he entered the cab that would take him to the airport, remembers her waving furiously at him underneath the dazzling sunlight until she thought he couldn’t see him anymore, her hair a beautiful mixture of grey and reddish brown and her hands worn by time.

In present time he can barely recall her face, but he remembers the split second feeling of foreboding as the cab turned the corner, the last sight of his mother standing on their porch looking angelic in the sunlight staying with him.

A week later he got the call that his mother passed away.

Since it's in the past, I kept up with the italicized theme Literally, gag me. I have major writer's block. I can't even. I wrote this MONTHS AGO!! Months! And I've just been waiting to post because I still don't know if I fully like it or it's placement within the story line. At least you know more about JB as my character in this story. ADHJADIOASIJASIOAIOOJSJAKNJAF = how I feel at the moment. Please look back through the story because the first interlude is now replaced with Jinyoung's origin story (again, wrote it months ago and am just now posting RIIIIIIP!)

Any comments or kudos would be lovely and sincerely appreciated!

[forgottenvoice]

I have finally finished finals this semester and will now try and do some more writing. To all of my new followers because of the HASO story, like I said before that was a one off story, however I think I am going to do a rewrite of it because I am not entirely satisfied with the state and flow of it at current.

Quick context for this one, I am/was an army brat and so this is half personal experience half an amalgamation of the experiences of all my friends. Dont necessarily take this as exactly what it's like for everyone as experiences may vary.

Also if any of you like a specific part of this story let me know. I can write at least this much on any subsection of this story alone. So if something catches your eye I am more than happy to write on it.

..........

I sit in a pool of memories slowly drifting from thought to thought. Moving time is upon us and in preperation it's time to purge all unnecessary items from the house. I flash back to when I was younger, my mom is holding up a cheap drive-thru toy. She looks at me expectantly waiting for a response to a silent question.

"Let go," I say as she drops the item in a box bound for good will only to hold up another object of mine.

In years past this process of sorting through all of my belongings was a team effort between my parents and I, but now since I am older and my younger brother needs the help, I am left to my own to sift through my possessions.

I tip over a box of assorted things and wonder through my past lives. Each object acts as a mile marker through my life and each move a save point. Any thing that I have kept until now, my 10th move in 16 years, has, if not clearly designed for enjoyment or play, held some significance to me. Almost nothing out of this box is discarded because as the years go on the importance of these objects only increases.

Not only is this process a reminder for me of all my past appearances, it serves a highly functional purpose. The first is that the government will only pay for so much to be moved and we typically own more than they are willing to pay for, so we cut back. The second reason is in acknowledgment of a harsher reality of the world, people don't care about kids stuff. Unless one takes great care to prepackaged or show that the objects in a child's room are fragile, everything from toys to trophies will all be haphazardly thrown into a random box.

I move on carefully looking over my display case looking for anything that could easily break if not properly stored. My eyes come to rest on a fake flower made out of fabric by my mom. The pain of high school love torn apart bites at my mind. This flower was the partner to the corsage that I gave to my date to prom. I remember being so excited to go with her because I am homeschooled and never thought I would get anything like a prom. But it doesn't matter now, her family moved in the opposite direction that we were going about 4 weeks ago. I almost leave the flower there, resolving to let fate decide if it is valuable, but as I am turning a away my hand reaches out on seemingly its own and drops the fake plant into an old cigar box for protection. I guess I will control fate this time

.......

The house is empty and clean. Everyone is doing one last walk through of this place to make sure nothing is left behind even though something always is. As I look for anything I also remember everything making sure to not leave a single memory trapped in the walls of this temporary home of mine. As I tramp down the stairs, in my head I am gliding gracefully on a piece of a box after moving in. Mom insisted on being safe and I can now almost see the pile of stuffed animals and pillows that my brothers and I had piled at the end of the make shift ramp to satisfy her worry. As I jump into the nonexistent pile, I drop into the living room, where, despite all the cleaning we did, I can still see the spots on the carpet from the feet of the sofa, a sofa my mom was confined to for the better part of our time here while she was busy kicking cancer's ass. A darkness sets at the edge of my vision slowly consuming all I can see as my head is bombarded by negative memories from those days. As I hit the door, the light from outside shatters the dark over my mind like a hammer through glass. As we pull away I want nothing to do with that house again, not even looking back one last time.

....

I lay piled under the stiff covers of the hotel. It is the night before we leave for the airport and I start to unpack the last few days. They have gone by like a blur but I know I will remember them for years to come. First there was my eagle scout ceremony where I reaped the reward of all my hard work over specifically the last few months but really the past 6 years. It was the last time I will see most of those people given that none of them were military and I plan on never ending up back here. Then there was chapel. The last service at this place where I tried to just act like everything was normal, just a regular Christmas sunday. I showed up 2 hours early just like every week, where I then took my place in the sound booth mixing the best sound that the chapel had in years or so I have been told. It all went wrong though when the preacher leaned his head into the booth telling me to turn on his mic for one quick last announcement, where I was called up on stage for a farewell. However, the one "last time" that I really will miss happened earlier in the day when I hung out with my friends for the last time. The group had shrunk considerably by that time due to a huge fallout between members and others were taken by the army but what remained was solid. As I left them I said seeya because you never know when the army will bring friends back together. Well for that reason and one other. In the days leading up to the move you see everyone at different random times and so you never really know when you will see them for the last time. It is always easier to say a casual goodbye everytime and never actually have a formal one than to treat every farewell like the last one and live the pain multiple times. However, less pain doesn't mean no pain. I blank my mind for the rest of the night gathering all emotions and putting them in a cardboard box to unpack later in more healthy time.

.....

On the plane something magical happens. You see noone but a select few get to rewrite their lives every few years. During transition, when the body and mind are free of the last place, a morph occurs. This change is unseen by all because your family already knows the real you. However you get to change yourself completely before landing at the new place. You get to change what information you share with everyone and by selecting how you act and what you reveal you can choose who you are to everyone. The best part is there is noone from your old life to mess it up and break the illusion and throw a wrench into the act. You can become whomever you want to be. It takes skill to execute properly, it requires that you craft a mask so intricate and durable that noone questions its authenticity and no shock can damage it, but I have had a life times worth of practice. Who will I become only I know and who I was is only stored in the memories of objects in boxes and the minds of people thousands of miles away.

....

It's been almost 4 years since that move yet it still sticks out in my head. I did not know it at the time but it was the last move I ever made with my family. My plans changed and I started my life before i had originally planned and now moves like that are a thing of the past, a memory held in objects. Unfortunately with growing up requires one last mask switch, this one more permanent. Hopefully my experience beyond my years set my up better than my peers at finding the correct one. Who knows what it will look like when it is finished. I have been working on this one for the longest time of any, nearly 2 years now, much longer than a single plane flight. It won't be done for at least another 2 but we will see. I can only hope I will be happy with this one because unlike the cyclic replacement of masks in my youth, when I decide to put this one on who knows when it will come off.

[rutanu2-blog]

Hits the dance floor with the Daffodils

My Cambridge, Massachusetts neighborhood, hard by Harvard University, is familiar with the most brilliant of formal attire, outfits, banners, flags; they all get the attention and help all our pomp is to remember an old kind and all our own. All things being equal, we take specific notification when the daffodils march, equipped in the lively yellow tones once held for the Chinese ruler alone. They are in every case sharp, chic, sensational,

their quality declared by its focal trumpet from which one anticipates Handel or Purcell at any rate and would not be astonished at all to hear them, sharp, majestic, ceremonious. The daffodil appears customized for this.

Throughout the previous a few days, house bound with a cool, I have been anxious to observe the courses of action progress, the tenacious development of the stalks, the swelling stems where, very soon, the yellow trumpet will rise to catch each eye.

There is fervor noticeable all around.

I feel it, and am happy to see these noble daffodils hard at their work... for they come yet once per year and yet so quickly remain. They are all in all correct to call to me and remind that their opportunity is approaching, and I should be prepared; prepared to view, to appreciate, to relish, their time splendid, critical, however consistently very short.

Named after the most excellent kid on the planet.

Daffodil is the basic English name for this snazzy bloom. In any case, it isn't its genuine name. Like aristocrats stepping cautiously in our popularity based days, daffodils have a feeling of when to utilize their basic name, while always remembering their actual family. They are in actuality Narcissus, the botanic name for a variety of chiefly solid, generally spring-blossoming, bulbs in the Amaryllis family local to Europe, North Africa, and Asia. The distribution "Daffodils for North American Gardens" refers to somewhere in the range of 50 and 100 wild species.

The tale of Narcissus originates from Greek folklore. There an attractive young people of top notch excellence turned out to be so fixated on his own retaining looks that, while watching himself in a pool of water, he fell in and suffocated. In certain varieties of the legend, the young passed on of starvation and thirst since he was unable to force himself to do anything besides wonder about himself.

We as a whole know such individuals. . . be that as it may, the divine beings didn't remember their entrancing looks and stupidity as they did Narcissus' by denoting the spot where he lay with the dazzling Narcissus plant.

The daffodils, mindful, touchy about Narcissus' silliness, relate this story (and their actual personality) to uncritical admirers just; they are only "daffodils" to all the rest. I am such a considered admirer, touchy; along these lines they have imparted to me, discretely yet with pride. It is uncommon, they state, to be so recognized by the lords of Olympus, thus it is.

Depiction

As each daffodil authenticates, theirs is a gorgeous appearance, a "shocker". It includes a focal trumpet-, bowl-, or circle molded crown encompassed by a ring of six flower leaves called the perianth which is joined into a cylinder at the forward edge of the 3-locular ovary. The seeds are dark, round and swollen with hard coat. The three external sections are sepals, and the three internal fragments are petals.

Obviously, while each daffodil knows these realities definitely (and some more), they comprehend that you may not be of a natural turn of brain. Accordingly, they request however one thing from you: inadequate deference. It appears to be sufficiently minimal to require for such a lushness of shading and delight. Should you challenge, they are not above reminding that all Narcissus assortments contain the alkaloid poison lycorine, generally in the bulb yet in addition in the leaves. A trace of this generally earns the conceded praise. Daffodils are inured to rich commendations, and are not above reminding you ought to yours demonstrate inadequate. It is frequently such with the richly, indulgently, radiantly lovely,Alex Kime Chicago continually commended. . . they have their elevated requirements to keep up, ensuring we follow. We give them inadequate regard; they cast the beatitude of their magnificence on us. We are happy to do as such; such excellence is uncommon and too early gone.

The relationship among daffodils and artists.

Artists, for whom a wonderful thing is a delight perpetually, have yet to see a field of daffodils to wax, well, lovely. In 1807 William Wordsworth distributed in "Sonnets In Two Volumes", words he had first written in 1807.

Each daffodil knows, and gladly as well, these sublime expressions of excellence, good faith, and happiness:

"I meandered desolate as a cloud

That glides on high o'er Vales and Hills,

At the point when at the same time I saw a group

A large group of moving Daffodils;

Along the Lake, underneath the trees,

Ten thousand moving in the breeze.

The waves next to them moved, yet they

Exceeded the shining waves in merriment: -

An artist couldn't yet be gay

In such a giggling organization:

I looked - and looked - yet little idea

What riches the show to me had brought:

For oft when on my lounge chair I lie

In empty or in contemplative state of mind,

They streak upon that internal eye

Which is the euphoria of isolation,

And afterward my heart with delight fills,

What's more, hits the dance floor with the Daffodils. "

Different writers, and those of cheerful, poetical propensities, have given the daffodils their endeavors, as well.

Amy Lowell (d 1925) was not as smooth and sharp as daffodils like; her words were overwhelming loaded in the Victorian way.

To an Early Daffodil. . .

"In spite of the fact that yellow trumpeter of loafer Spring!

Thou messenger of rich Summer's bunch roses. . . "

It isn't their preferred sonnet. . . in any case, they respect the

writer in any case. She had good intentions.

They incline toward Robert Herrick's (d. 1674) To Daffodils

"Reasonable Daffodils, we sob to see

You flurry away unexpectedly early. . . "

Herrick can make them silly and wistful. Dead unexpectedly early, they lean toward such ideas - and obsequies - be private. Continuously close to the outside of their excellence is the truth of death and too early blankness.

E.E. Cummings' (d. 1962) "in time of daffodils" is a sonnet of presentation and reason. It keeps them centered:

"in time of daffodils (who know

the objective of living is to develop)

overlooking why, recollect how"

They appreciate their history and all the artists who grow and shine it.

Still on any day of their too short yearly visit, they like this best; "April Showers" sung by Al Jolson (1921).

"What's more, where you see mists upon the slopes, You before long will see hordes of daffodils."

Also, consistently,

"also, the daffodils looked dazzling today

Looked stunning. " (From the "Daffodil Lament" by the Cranberries, 2002.)

[checkfortraps]

Tyrean Deities

There have been some requests for me to talk about the deities I homebrewed for my world Tyrea, and I recently found the time to sit down and write an overview, so here you go, folks. Under a cut to spare the poor mobile users.

A word of explanation first: Tyrea is a world that has been shattered by a legendary demigoddess called Leanor, who transformed into a titanic serpentine dragon after consuming the divine essences of several evil deities. The original gods of good, commonly referred to as the Prime Deities, battled her during three centuries now known as the Age of Bravery. After defeating her, they were too weak to maintain their physical form on the Material Plane, so they bestowed the remaining sparks of their divine power upon the Chosen, heroes who fought at their side during the war. The current gods are either the Chosen, or their successors, for the divine spark can be passed on and even taken by force, though few are powerful and daring enough to attempt the latter.

Bahamut, the Platinum Dragon

Bahamut is the last surviving metallic dragon created by the Prime Deities before they left Tyrea the first time. He is the sworn enemy of Tiamat, the Queen of Chaos, and acts as the patron god of protectors and heroes.

Holy symbol: the head of a platinum dragon in profile, often on blue ground

Dogma: Stand as a paragon of honor and justice. Smite evil wherever it is found, yet show compassion to those who have strayed from righteousness. Defend the weak, bring freedom to those without, and protect the ideals of just order.

Caestis, the Stormbringer

Caestis is an air genasi man with light blue skin, cloudlike white hair, and sky-blue eyes dressed in flowing white and blue robes and draped in silver jewelry, typically followed by a flock of birds. His portfolio encompasses the air, the sky, and the storm.

Holy symbol: lightning bolt above dark blue wave

Dogma: Cleanse the world like a storm. Be wind where there should be change and lightning where destruction is necessary, but rain where good things should grow.

Dun’Thyn, the Deep One

Dun’Thyn appears as a giant mermaid with long, midnight blue, seaweed-woven hair living deep within the elemental chaos of the oceans. They are the deity of water, the ocean and the tides. They are often depicted holding a cup of dice, for they are said to roll for the lives of sailors - both of the sky and the sea - who cross the ocean.

Holy symbol: set of bone dice

Dogma: Do not seek to conquer nature. Embrace the chaos and live in harmony with it. Slay abominations and other dark mockeries of nature who seek to corrupt the world.

Iastia, the Divine Judge

Iastia is a tall aasimar woman dressed in white robes, with flowing silver hair and her eyes hidden behind a blindfold, holding a scale in one hand and a sword in the other. She is the patron goddess of judges and paladins and represents divine justice.

Holy symbol: golden scale balanced evenly

Dogma: Embrace the company and aid of others, for the efforts of the individual often pale against the capabilities of the community. Stand true to your word even when it might do you harm. Do not let emotion cloud your rational judgment. 

Laciune, the Lie-Smith

Laciune is a changeling who favors the form of a person of varying race in their twenties with fair, freckled skin, flaming red hair, and golden eyes, either dressed in all black or the most colorful clothing you can imagine. They are the deity of deception and trickery, as well as the patron of thieves and travelers. Their nature is erratic - they are as likely to prank you as they are to bestow you with unexpected gifts, and they seem to pick and choose prayers to heed on a whim.

Holy symbol: Two snakes, entwined in the shape of an S, biting each others' tails

Dogma: Seize your own destiny by pursuing your passions. Let the shadows protect you from the fanatical light of good and the eternal darkness of evil. Walk unbridled and untethered, finding and forging new memories and experiences.

Lupeica, the Wolf Mother

Lupeica is a shifter with dark, scarred skin, short brown hair, amber eyes and wolf’s ears which betray her lycanthrope nature. She is the goddess of untamed wilderness, the hunt and legacy, often connected with ancestral spirits, and rules Wolfclaw Island at the side of her husband Zhaltor, with Magistra Minadora Petran serving as her stewart.

Holy symbol: grey wolf’s paw

Dogma: Accept the natural order and know your place in it. Do not seek that which you are not entitled to. Find your pack and defend it to your last breath, for only in unity lies true strength.

Rhonar, the Rune-Carver

Rhonar is a dwarven man of very old age, round-bellied and scholarly, with tan skin, long white hair with a matching beard braided with gemstones, and dark brown eyes, who’s most often seen wearing gold-rimmed spectacles and comfortable clothing in shades of purple and blue. He is the god of craftsmanship, knowledge, and invention, and the patron of artisans, scholars and tinkerers. Out of all gods, Laciune aside, Rhonar is the most sociable, often found studying or teaching in the great libraries of Stonehall.

Holy symbol: hammer and chisel

Dogma: Seek knowledge, yet hold firm to your convictions. Honor tradition while striving for innovation. Legacy is paramount; to create something that lasts the ages is to change the world for the better.

Saytara, the Lady of Luck

Saytara is a tall, fat kalashtar in her mid-thirties, with alabaster skin, dark pink hair worn in long and loose curls woven with flowers, and dark blue eyes. She’s typically wearing dresses in pastel colors combined with sandals, as well as heavy golden hoop earrings, bracelets and rings set with gemstones. Her portfolio includes divination, luck, good-natured trickery, and trade. She is the newest of the Chosen, having inherited the mantle of Lady Luck from Tymora about ten years ago, and serves as the inofficial leader of the Fairweather Confederacy.

Holy symbol: gold coin etched with a stylized exotic flower

Dogma: Luck favors the bold; grasp your own fate before others do it for you. Change is inevitable; the righteous can ensure that it is for the better. Rise against tyranny; fight for freedom of yourself and others when you can, and inspire others to fight when you cannot.

The Raven Queen

The Raven Queen is a tall and slender woman, with flowing black hair and pale, porcelain skin, though few people ever see her before she comes to claim their souls upon their death. She almost always wears a blank, porcelain mask. Those who have seen her without it describe her features as elven in nature, but with unsettling red irises. She dwells in her realm, the Shadowfell, and only ever appears to mortals in dreams and visions. Hers is the dominion over the souls of the dead, which she is rumored to have taken by force from the previous god of death, Kelemvor. As a result, she and her servants are often regarded with unease or outright fear.

Holy symbol: a raven’s head in profile

Dogma: Death is the natural end of life. There is no pity for those who have fallen. The path of Fate is sacrosanct. Those who pridefully attempt to cast off their destiny must be punished. Undeath is an atrocity. Those who would pervert the transition of the soul must be brought down.

Vinari, the Forgemother

Vinari is a tall, strong tiefling woman with brown, heavily freckled skin, dark red hair, and pale grey eyes, often wearing a leather apron over a simple woolen tunic. She is the goddess of the forge and the hearthfire, as well as of life and rebirth. Her divine spark has been passed down from mother to daughter ever since the Age of Bravery; Vinari came into power about a hundred years ago.

Holy symbol: an anvil wreathed in flowers

Dogma: Always strive to be the best version of yourself. Do not be afraid of the old you dying; this is how you grow. Remember that your actions have consequences, and that the tiniest spark can birth a wildfire.

Zhaltor, the Heavenly Father

Zhaltor is a githzerai of undefinable age, his head shaved bald and tattooed with gith runes and his eyes so black they seem bottomless. He is the god of the sun, the stars, and all other celestial bodies, and as such the lord of all light. At the side of his wife Lupeica, he rules over Wolfclaw Island, and occasionally joins ceremonies at his temples. Once per year, he journeys into the Astral Plane, though to what end is unclear; a popular theory is that he seeks out the guidance of the lost Prime Deities, which leads to him often being associated with divination.

Holy symbol: crown of stars

Dogma: Treat all beings as equal, for light and darkness dwell within all that lives. No matter how dark the night, dawn always follows. Trust in the guidance of the stars, for they shall never fool you.