#there is something magical in using the same indentation for repeating

[quilveor]

the woes of making a piece of text that breaks the typical word positioning

is that it won't look right in everything that is not my .txt file

my demons

. culling white space

. fonts that aren't

. monospace

. wrap around

. [i'm using those spaces

. thank you.]

i will have to screenshot it

. i wonder if the dots help

...............i don't trust this site. so i'm checking.

[svjetllost]

Cabinets opened haphazardly as he maneuvers around the tiny kitchen. It is more to distract himself, less because he is actually hungry or is excited to eat whatever they have lying around. They had their roles, and Granger was always the one out of the two who was certain, even when she wasn’t sure, it was this steel understanding of self and what she needed to do, maybe she was not sure how to accomplish what she wants, but she knows what that is. And now, what is to happen?

The first two weeks he had refused everything, to talk, to help, to clean, to do much of anything. He would either be in the small bed, the mattress way too soft, his body forming an indentation where he was, or outside somewhere, walking by the edge of the protection charms she had put on. He had never had to really take care of himself, let alone anyone else. Fingers move through different colorful labels, but all he wants is to start hitting the counter until either his hand breaks or the wood, and he maybe doesn’t care which comes first. But her comment makes him stop, turning around to look at her.

If it had been anyone else, he would have wondered if this was some kind of rouse. Maybe an intricate plot to fool him, disarm him? But she isn’t pretending, and with all those endless emotions filtering across her face, it is hard to look and more difficult to look away. But he walks forward, eyes glued to the hand that holds the wand. They have made it weeks without touching each other, they had gone out of their way to avoid brushing against one another. His chest is rising up and down rapidly and before he has more time to think, he acts.

“ Move your hand like so. ” Fingers wrap around her her wrist as he slowly repeats the movement a few times. “ And you say slowly, wingardium leviosa. ” He can feel the magic from her wand as the same pile of books hovers above the table before gently plopping down. “ Your parents are not in England…” He had never asked for details and she didn’t seem open to divulging information, probably wondering if he would use it against her. “ All I know is that they are somewhere safe. ”

Unlike mine, he wants to add but doesn’t. Finally letting go of her hand, much later than he should have. “ I believe that you were interested in…” Does he want to share that information with her? Her thinking better of him could help him, so he bends the truth. “ Finding a way to keep yourself safe, regardless of who you did it with. But I had no idea that you had such great taste, Granger, finally, something we can agree on. ” There is a small spark, like a preview of a person that existed before, that was still there before it went away. As quickly as it appeared. “These are the basic spells, the one we tried is there as well. You can focus and practice with these. But you won’t be able to do it yourself, I will help you with that. We don’t want you blowing anything up. ”

HE'S ONLY CONFIRMING WHAT SHE'D DEDUCED FROM THE JOURNAL. Though this other Hermione had written pages and pages of facts and feelings and errant thoughts, she'd been surprisingly scarce on any real concrete information. And with what he's told her now, she wonders if that's a precaution, in case this journal ever got into the hands of the wrong sorts. The ones that were after them.

There's no time to vocalise this thought before he's casting the spell and the books lift elegantly from the table, lingering there momentarily before settling back in place. Hermione practically feels her eyes light up in awe and wonder; is helpless against the stretch of her lips into a smile and the thrum of her heart racing as she sees this display of magic. It sparks something in her. It does. She can feel it. But before she can wrap her fingers around it, it disappears like smoke and the delighted smile that she had been focusing in his direction falters, the brightness dimming in her coffee-coloured eyes. She shakes her head and feels the pang of loss over not knowing.

It's odd the way he oscillates between admitting that they're not friends and then sharing what is clearly a conspiratorial look between them or joking with her about the other connections in her books. "No wonder my writings about you are so vexing," she murmurs, rolling her eyes a little at his boasting, though she's smiling all the same. Because he's shared personal things about her. He's told her of friends, of how she loves to read. These are pillars of an identity that she doesn't know and potentially never would know (there's an ache in her chest over that thought).

Fingers trace along the books in front of them, reading the titles with equal measure interest and confusing, not understanding the context of plenty of the words. The well of knowledge that had been robbed from her feels insurmountable, but somehow, despite it all, determination sparks within her. She looks to the wand he'd left on the table. Her wand.

"What about my parents? You said we had to flee school? We can't be older than eighteen, then. Do they know I'm off traipsing on a life-threatening camping trip with a cute boy?" she asks, too distracted to fully focus on her question as she reaches out for the wand. It's like the first time, when she'd first woken up with no idea of what was going on but had felt the innate connection to this object. Hermione can't help herself, she focuses it at the same pile of books and attempts to mimic his movement and incantation.

"Wingardium Levio-sa," nothing happens.

[saphirered]

I Don’t Hate You (Vagrant pt3.)

The lady at the front desk gives you a dirty look as you come straggling in, leaving a wet trail behind you, boots sopping with an equally disgruntled expression on your face. You toss her a coin, if only to be done with it all and go back up the stairs. There you see, Fjord is no longer sitting in the hallway and probably either has gotten himself a room of his own or Molly’s taken mercy upon the half-orc and let him sleep peacefully and undisturbed in their shared room. A sense of dread still lingers as you approach your door and you take a sip from the opened bottle in your hand, hoping to find some courage to push you over the edge and just get it over with. You can see the hint of orange light bleeding through the small gap. 

When the door opens Caleb looks up from his book, or well, your book. You look like an absolute mess and he knows you know you do. It’s an unspoken agreement to not comment on this fact made in that brief moment of eye contact, for both of your sakes. 

“Do not question my terrible life’s choices, Widogast.” You grumble as you let yourself fall backwards on your bed. You don’t even have the energy to magic away the remainders of the rain that kept you company from your soaked person. Well, that or the fact that the droplets rolling down your skin hid the tears from the panic attack and brief existential crisis you had on that rooftop before you came down. 

Caleb puts down the book, gets up from the bed and slowly and carefully inches over to your side of the room. He hesitantly sits down on the edge. You have half the mind to kick him off just because but can’t find the energy to do so. Despite your distaste for magic users like him, being alone after your mental breakdown you just experienced, really sucks. Caleb pats your knee awkwardly in an attempt to comfort but not wanting to cross any boundaries. It’s pathetic, he knows because one can hardly fix a stab wound by slapping on a bandaid. His own past experiences have left him a tad bit at a loss when it comes to comforting a person in pain, especially one so stubborn and crass as you have been towards him. 

Still, Caleb has figured out your hatred isn’t directed at him personally. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s people with abilities like him that have played a part in your past causing you pain and suffering and the wound is still very fresh, hence your trauma being reflected onto him, despite his complete lack of involvement in your before the moment you met. It may not have helped that your hostility towards him hasn’t exactly encouraged him to try and build a proper relationship with you. He hardly even knows you yet still he feels as if he knows your tells, the things you go through and why you act like you do. He may not know the details of your life but he feels safe to say he knows you better than any of the others. 

It’s not his lack of knowledge and insight into your life beyond what’s surface and what he can read off you that holds him back. It’s the fear of what he might find within you that will tear open wounds of his own he’s worked so hard to cover up. It’s the fear you might be one step ahead of him in a similar story and there is no hope for people like you and him after all. It’s the fear those you run from are the same people he has tried so hard to escape. It’s the fear of you, that you might be each others’ salvation, or undoing because he knows what he has the capability to become, what you could become. 

But here you lie, upon your bed curled up, traces of tears long since fallen, possibly even ran out, tightness in your throat, indents of your nails in your palms from clenching too much, frustration and anger in your eyes is still overwhelmed by pain and hopelessness and a wish the void would just come and claim you, where you no longer fear the consequences of running and will be able to obliterate those who caused you so much hurt, or die trying in the process. Caleb is reminded of himself in that cell of his own, for years, a broken mind piecing itself together from the shambles it was left in, barely a shell of what it used to be. 

When he promised himself he would do anything and everything in his power to take down these tormentors and their accomplices so no one would ever have to suffer like he had, still is suffering, Caleb didn’t expect to find you. He still remembers himself begging, praying, screaming just to not be alone, to have someone tell him there is still hope and not all is lost. There’s still good in this wretched world and if the world turns bleak, it’s up to you to be that good despite everything. Those were the pretty words and empty promises of a dreamer but does that make them a lie? 

“Don’t patronise me. I’m not some fragile broken child in need of mothering.” Caleb retreats his hand, clasping them together in his lap as he studies your face. Your eyes are cold, your expression matching. A mask, he knows. A way to protect yourself. 

“Good. Because I have no intention of doing so. I want you to be blunt and truthful and I don’t want you to hold back. I want you to humour me and answer some questions.” You raise an eyebrow expecting there to be something behind Caleb’s request but his stare is unreadable, like a practiced mask of his own. 

“You want me to be blunt and give you a peace of my mind?” You humour. You’ll tell the asshole okay. You’ll bicker and fight and quarrel if that’s what he wants no problem. Maybe a battle of wits and words will get you back into your groove. 

Little do you know that is in fact not what Caleb is looking for. Not exactly. He isn’t looking for a fight. He’s looking for answers, how to help you despite your differences because no one deserves to go through this, especially not alone. So because of that, he will not humour you in turn with his usual reply to your attempts to push him. He doesn’t intend this to end in another futile empty argument. Not now. So he’ll drop the game and go straight for the jugular. 

“Why do you hate me?” You freeze at the abrupt and sudden question. Caleb knows you don’t really hate him personally but coddling you won’t work and some things you’ll have to realise by yourself first. Finding the strength to lean up on your elbows you tilt your head at him as a half smirk creeps upon your lips.

“Because you’re an egotistical self-serving bastard who cares for nothing but himself and the people useful to him, until they outlive their usefulness.” The words are meant to cut like knives and usually you’d get a rise out of Caleb by such a statement but when you don’t see any response to your words, nothing but those blue eyes staring into yours so… unbothered, it feels as if those knives are turned onto you instead. You’re not quick enough to get rid of that tiny hint of guilt slithering across your features. 

“Why do you hate me?” Caleb asks again, voice still calm like it’s the most unremarkable question ever. He could have asked you about the weather with that tone. 

“Because you’re an asshole.” 

“Why do you hate me?” 

“Seriously? I already gave you an answer. Was I not clear the first time?” That guilt in your stomach starts growing, festering. There’s something in your mind pushing through but you try to fight it off, not liking the thought of being faced with those emotions. You’ve worked too hard to push them away. 

“Just answer the question. Why do you hate me?” Caleb sees you struggle. Your first answers where in the blink of an eye, a defence mechanism slipping into place. That works, for a while, until it doesn’t, until you start questioning it and give yourself a moment to think.

“Because…” Because you’re a coward. Because you run from your problems. Because you leave other people to swipe up the mess for you. Because you’re a monster to blame for the pain of others. Because you’re to blame for your own pain. Because you couldn’t save them. Because. Because. Because. Those are not reasons you hate Caleb. You take in a sharp breath, clenching your jaw in anger, nose scrunching holding at bay the curses from passing your lips and the threat of all your emotions from spilling out like a breaking dam. 

“Why do you hate me?” The words now, do not sound void of emotion, but instead are filled with a warmth and pity. Damn him! Damn him to the hells and abyss! When you don’t answer he repeats it again. Caleb gives you amicable time to answer, leaving a long silence to give your mind the time and space to think for itself, analyse and process and you hate every second of it because you can’t stop it. The cracks in the walls you’ve tried to hard to build become more apparent by the second. He asks again. 

“I don’t bloody hate you!” You shout, pretty sure you may just have woken up the entire floor. The silence after the words leave your lips is deafening. 

“Then what do you hate about me that causes you to act the way you do?” Your hands clench back into fists, your nails pressing down again in the still tender skin from but minutes ago. You don’t want to say it. You really don’t but that pain raging through your body wants to get out and you feel the floodgates opening inch by inch despite your efforts to fight it. Then there’s that voice in the back of your mind; maybe speaking the unspoken will give you some peace. 

“I don’t hate you! I just hate what your remind me of. It’s like you’re here to personally torture me so please just leave me alone to suffer, get over it and move on.” You don’t want to remember the last time you pleaded for something, and had hoped to never plead for anything again yet here you are. 

“I am going to give you a choice and I’ll only offer it once, so listen very carefully.” You’ve never seen Caleb look so intense, so genuine, and so determined. You can’t do anything but listen so you nod, signalling him to continue and that you’re paying attention to his every word and not to twist them for your own amusement for once. Whatever previous relation, or rather lack thereof you’ve had is gone now. There’s only you two, in a place of vulnerability and without judgement. 

“You’ve got two options. One; you tell me to piss off, like you usually do. I’ll go back to bed, back to sleep and leave you alone. We will never speak of this again, never mention this and go our separate ways. We will remain cordial when interacting and won’t let our own grievances get in the way of the others.” You take in the words, nodding to confirm you understand. 

“Or two; you and I are going to talk. You are going to tell me what you wish, and can tell me provided it’s the truth and I will listen. If you wish to tell me your life story I will listen. If you wish to tell me all your troubles I will listen. If you wish to share your pain, I will listen. And know that I will help you if you’ll allow me to. Because if you keep doing this on your own, let the guilt and grief and pain swallow you whole, I know exactly where it will lead. Do not allow it to be your undoing, or turn you into a person beyond your recognition.” Midway through his offer your eyes have closed and your brow furrows. You bit your lip and that combined with the movement of your eyes behind your eyelids are the only indication to Caleb you’re still listening to him. 

Caleb gives you time. He doesn’t expect an answer right away. That’s not how this works but he does study you, attempting to get an inkling of what’s going through your mind. He feels warmth wrap around his wrist, glancing down to notice your fingers have wrapped around it and hold on tightly. You’re holding onto a lifeline and he knows it. 

“Why?” Your, words a pained choke, you don’t dare open your eyes, don’t trust the look in Caleb’s eyes to tear down what last defences you had up and turning you into even more of a broken mess. 

“Because despite what people might have you believe, there is still good in this world.” You’re unable to stifle a sob, feeling a tear slide down your cheek. 

“I’ve not known much kindness in my life but I feel confident in saying this is the kindest thing anyone has ever offered me. It’s why my pervious actions and words towards you make me feel like an absolute ass even more. I hope you find it in yourself to forgive me.” You release Caleb’s wrist, feeling grounded once more despite the buzzing in your head and twiddle with your fingers awaiting a response, the tense air slowly lifting as you sit in peace and silence. 

You nod, wiping at the corners of your eyes before you open them, a bit more red and puffy than they were before you entered the room. You finally look at the wizard and take in a deep breath before nodding again. If it were anyone else, any other moment you might have said no. You’d even have laughed at whoever tried this emotional shit on you. But it’s time. You’re not getting any better nor can you repress everything forever. It’s time to face some of these troubles head on. Luckily you won’t have to do it on your own. It will take time and effort and it’s going to hurt like hell but it has to be done. You have to move on and learn how to live. You owe it to yourself, if not the people you’ve left behind. 

“Now this doesn’t mean we’re going to be best friends from now on. You’re still an asshole and so am I so don’t think I’ll let you off easy for your comments and the trouble you cause.” The corner of Caleb’s lips turns up slightly as he speaks and you mimic his expression.

“I don’t think anyone else could handle it, so I’m sorry to disappoint but you’re definitely stuck with me, Widogast.” You muster a smile, exhausted. It’s mutually understood the conversation as per your agreement won’t happen right here, right now but instead when you’re both ready. For now, at least you won’t pretend to hate each other anymore and start over. 

“Hey, Caleb?” You ask.

“Yes?” He answers but before he knows it your arms wrap around him and pull him into your embrace. Caleb’s form goes rigid shocked by not only the gesture but by the physical touch itself. After a good few moments he finds himself ease just a little, enough to return the embrace lightly.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

[scarletaire]

homeland (Chapter 6)

A/N: Here we are at the end! And Cardan isn't quite done surprising Jude just yet.

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

“This is a stupid idea.”

“Have you known me to have any other kind?”

He has her there. Jude tugs at the blindfold around her eyes. “Where are we even going?”

“To the beginning and the end of all this.”

“What does that –” Her voice cuts off as the boat rocks precariously beneath her. “I really don’t like the sound of that.”

“You like very little, Jude, and that is a problem of yours.”

I was stupid enough to like you, she almost says. Instead she asks, “Why did we have to take a boat? More importantly, why are you the one rowing? You’re the king.” The boat rocks again, and Jude finds herself thinking longingly for a ragwort steed. Steady, secure, reliable — or, well, as reliable as Vivi’s magic allowed them to be.

“Crossing the water myself proves a fine reminder of my position to those who yearn otherwise.”

“A power play? That’s what you woke me up so early for? Cardan, there are a thousand more things that need my attention back at the brugh.”

It was still light out when she’d felt lips behind her ear, nuzzling her awake. They had probably been asleep for a mere few hours at most. She’d woken up slowly and sweetly, like dragging a spoon through thick syrup, with Cardan curled around her — arms, legs, and tail — and his mouth soft on her neck. It was such a stark contrast to how she’d woken up the previous night that Jude melted right back into his embrace, her body heavy and worn out in the best way possible.

But then he was pulling away, coaxing her to get dressed, murmuring into her skin that he had something to show her.

Promising that she would like it.

The fae cannot lie, but that last part has yet to come true.

“I’m taking this blindfold off.”

“Jude –”

She can hear the petulance in his voice and that just makes her rip the stupid thing off even faster.

It turns out that “crossing the water himself” doesn’t much include actual rowing on his part. Instead, iridescent, aquamarine scales flash across the surface of the water underneath them, their movement rippling and propelling the boat forward.

Merfolk.

Pulling their vessel on his whim.

A power play, indeed.

Jude raises an eyebrow at him, impressed despite it all. He continues to pout at her and the blindfold in her hand.

Then, something catches in her mind.

“Salt and seafoam…”

“Hm?”

“Your nightmare.” She’s staring at him now, understanding how it fits together but not quite believing it. “You said that when you dove into the sea and couldn’t find me anywhere, it was because there was nothing left of me but ‘salt and seafoam.’”

“Yes.” The word is like water on burning coals.

“You –” The sentence is inconceivable even when she tries to form it in her mouth. “Have you… have you been reading fairytales? Human fairytales?”

He scoffs. “Nothing Faerie about them.”

A yes, then.

“So –” She’s known about him reading Alice in Wonderland and even wondered at the way he had kept the mortal book in his rooms. It boggles her mind like this next thought does. “So…” How does she say this? She has no clever ruse with which to coat her words, and so she gives up and goes for direct. “The Little Mermaid. That’s what caused your nightmare?”

He cuts her a look, like she’s being stupid. “No, Jude, your kidnapping and prolonged torture at the hands of my brother and the Undersea while I waited powerless and unable to help you was the cause of my nightmare. And many more of its kind before it.”

She doesn’t much like how he speaks to her like he’s explaining something to a child, but she holds her sharp tongue and wields her silence against him.

“But fine.” He doesn’t meet her eyes. “Yes. The mortal tale about the moronic mermaid and her wayward prince may have… exacerbated any woes I may have already been carrying. Don’t know why I bothered,” he grumbles under his breath. “I hate stories.”

“No,” she says, thinking of the way he fancies himself a villain even though he hasn’t truly been one in a long time, “you don’t.”

He looks pointedly over her shoulder. “We’re here.”

And Jude turns her head to see where it is that he has brought her this morning.

She has to shield her eyes a little from the amount of sunlight that refracts off the massive stretch of sparkling sand in front of her.

No, not sand. Ash.

She knows where they are.

Insear.

The beginning and the end of all this, he said.

When they disembark, Cardan holds out his hand to guide her from the boat.

She doesn’t need his help.

She takes his hand anyway.

There is still something of last night humming underneath their skin, and so if they lean into each other’s warmth and stumble across the shimmering shores of the Isle of Ash, a little lovedrunk while they walk — well. There is nary a soul to see.

It’s somehow even more beautiful in the daylight. And with Cardan here, the island seems to unfurl even further, coming alive just a little bit more the moment he steps onto the soil. The air turns sweeter the farther inland they go, the blues and ivories and blacks of the native flowers populating everywhere they turn. When Jude looks back at their footfalls upon the ash, she sees little sprigs of myrtle springing up from the indents they leave behind.

“There’s something I want to check on,” she says when they reach the thicker parts of the forest. “I’ll come find you again.”

“As you like.” Cardan’s gaze is caught on something up ahead. “Dally not, wife.”

When Jude returns to the clearing where they had encountered the fallen falcons the previous night, she finds no trace of them save a single, tawny feather in their wake.

A token.

She pockets it with a smile.

That same smile fades far too fast when she comes back to find Cardan reaching out a hand towards a shrub of suspiciously familiar, dark-petaled flowers.

She’s between him and the shrub in seconds, pushing him away a little too violently.

In that moment, she was more seneschal than queen. And in the next, when her fingers tighten around his lapels out of their own accord, she is more wife than seneschal.

“Did you touch it?” Panic raises her voice. “Did you get any of it on you?”

“No. I didn’t recognize the flora –”

“Idiot, that’s probably the flower that poisoned me.” She’s checking his hands, his clothes, for traces of shimmering, black pollen.

“Is it?” He plucks one and raises it to his face before she can stop him.

“Cardan –”

“Peace, Jude. It cannot harm its maker.”

And Jude pauses, because it’s true. This flower, this island and everything on it, is Cardan’s creation. He is the root, and as he has proven last night, he is also the remedy.

A beat passes between them, and then: “Did it really have to take a noxious, mood-altering flower for you to tell me about my brother?”

Jude scowls at the insinuation. “I was going to.” She weighs the next sentence in her head. “It’s just… easier to talk to someone when you don’t give a crap what they think.”

The human word is out of her mouth before she can reel it back in, but Cardan nods.

“Yes, I think I can understand that.”

She watches him twirl the flower in his hand. With his dark hair and eyes and clothes, it is without the shadow of a doubt that he created it, that it sprung forth from him and his magic. It belongs with him; it is him. She can imagine it pinned to his collar, petals of black glitter, an extension of his essence.

“We should inform the Bomb. Tell her that an antidote won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Cardan grins at her like they are old friends trading a secret joke. “I can think of a few ways that an antidote could be useful.”

And Jude feels a thrill up her spine, because there is something conspiratorial in his voice, like he’s letting her in on his plan, like they are in it together, and maybe she enjoys that more than she thought she ever would. Having a partner.

“Scheming, are you?”

“I learned from the best.”

He is always more than what she thinks he is.

“That flower is connected to you. This whole island is, actually.”

“To us,” he corrects immediately, and she marks the strange note in his voice. “The island is connected to us.”

“Me, by extension,” she concedes. “But you raised this island with your own magic.”

He sighs then, as if a great burden has befallen him. “I suppose it now falls to me to name this flower, doesn’t it?”

“Well, you don’t have to name it now. We can always come back later –”

“Bitterblack,” he pronounces solemnly and somberly, and with a swiftness and surety that couldn’t possibly be borne of extemporization.“This bloom, flourishing upon the Isle of Ash, the land raised from my own bitterness, shall henceforth be known as bitterblack.”

“Um.” Jude blinks at his pomp. “Okay. Raised from your bitterness?”

“The birth of Insear marked the moment I deemed the crimes of the Undersea – against you, and against the crown — unforgivable. It was a bitter heart that sowed the seeds of this land. Perhaps it is only fitting that it was a full one that healed its poisons.”

Cardan casts her a sidelong look. He has a way of almost smiling, like the edge of moonlight peeking through the spidersilk canopy of their bed. A gossamer thing, but the light shines through.

A shame that this island will have to go belong to someone else, when she will forever remember Cardan here with her, looking at her like that.

“You brought me here to show me something.”

“Yes.” And oddly enough, his smile freezes a little. Jude narrows her eyes at it.

He leads her towards another clearing among the birches, tucking the bitterblack behind one pointed ear. There is more space here, and the air is crisp and clean, threaded through with the scent of salt and sunshine. The birches stand tall, but the sun reaches high enough to set the ash dusting the tops of the trees afire with crystal brilliance.

“What is this?”

His tail flicks once behind him. “The solution to the Insear claim.”

“What? Wait. You mean you knew how to resolve it all along? Randalin was right. You have been putting it off.”

“Not putting it off, waiting for the right time.”

“It’s been going on for weeks.”

Cardan shoots her a look. “I was supposed to ask you during the revel.”

The events of the revel — and the way it had ended, with Randalin bleeding in her chokehold — play out in her head. “Oh.”

He waves his hand. “No matter. It wouldn’t be the first time you caused a scene in front of the entire kingdom anyway.”

Jude crosses her arms. “Alright, let’s hear it, then. Tell me now so that we can put this whole thing behind us.”

He hesitates.

“Come on. Explain your solution.”

“This isn’t how I planned for this to go.”

“Planned for this to – Cardan. Just spit it out already.”

“Alright, fine,” he hisses. “I want to build a home with you. Here, on Insear.”

For a long moment, Jude wonders if she heard him right.

“Are you drunk?” Even though he couldn’t possibly be.

“I wish.”

“But the claim –”

“Is ours. Rightfully.” He raises his brow at her. “This island is connected to us, raised by my own magic. Isn’t that what you said?”

She stares at him.

“You know how this works, right?” Exasperation is clear in his voice. “I ask you to make a home with me on a new magical island, and you set yourself upon me, your acquiescence falling delightfully from your lips –”

“I do nothing delightfully, Cardan.”

“Oh, I could make a good argument otherwise.”

The entirety of last night, every sordidly delightful detail, flashes behind her eyes.

She clings to any rational thought she can find. “We already have a castle.” She thinks of the brugh, the entire sprawling mass of it. “A really big one.”

“Yes. And the Palace of Elfhame is the first place the High King and Queen should be. But often, it is also the last. A royal castle is just as much a royal warground.” He gives her a meaningful look. “As you and the rest of my family are well aware.”

Jude swallows. “What are you saying?”

“Our brugh will be the first place we make a home of, as monarchs. But it doesn’t have to be the only one.”

He turns her to face the clearing. His arms come around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder as they gaze out into a landscape stolen straight from the pages of a book.

“We could build something. Right here, in this glade. Where we don’t have to worry about anything. Where nothing else can touch us. We’ll close it off. We’ll come whenever we want. No spies, no interruptions, no watching our backs.”

And Jude recognizes the way he is holding her, because it’s the same way he held her in their secret room behind the throne, confessing the truths of his nightmares. “This is about protection.”

She feels him shrug. “A part of it, yes. Mostly I just want us to never be interrupted again. But there is power in protection. Wouldn’t you like that, Jude?”

Her head is swimming, because he’s put ideas into her brain, of waking up to the smell of birchwood and of walking along a glittering, moonlit shore — and they’re wonderful, damn him. If she’s being honest, those ideas came to her the moment she first stepped foot on Insear, like something in her had taken root in its sparkling soil, but she hadn’t let herself linger over them, knowing that the land would soon be treatied away.

But now, it’s like Cardan’s words have opened the floodgates, and her entire being, connected to Insear through his magic – their magic – thrums with the song of I could live here, I could thrive here, I belong here, and she aches with the rightness of it all.

“It’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” she admits, and doing so feels like she’s left her flank vulnerable during an open duel. She twists around in his arms quickly, before she can dwell on it. “But let’s get one thing clear.” Her fingers fist into his collar. “This nonsense about my being your weakness, that’s your problem. Not mine. I refuse to be held back by your fears.”

He nods with more gravity than is probably required. “And I could never ask it of you.”

“Then what do you ask of me now?” And because so much has changed between the two of them, because of everything that has led up to this moment, she adds, “What do you ask of me now and forever?”

He cups her face in his hands even as her fingers tighten on his shirt. “That you stay by my side. Through it all.” His mouth crooks self-deprecatingly. “And that you do not begrudge it too much that I miss you when you’re gone. That I worry. That I fear. Not because you are human, but because I hold you in my heart.”

She hates how swiftly her breath leaves her.

“Okay,” she says, more to steady herself than anything else, because this is a lot, and she’s never been good with dealing with a lot of feelings all at once. “Okay. I –”

“The rest of the kingdom belongs to the crown.” He presses closer, as if he can see her weakening. He takes a breath. “This… this could be ours. Just for us.”

“This island is too big for just the two of us.”

“No, Jude.” The look on his face is a little pained. “Us.”

A breath. A slice of time separating this moment into a before and after.

He isn’t talking about just the two of them. He’s talking about –

“Oh,” she breathes. “Us.”

“Only –” He’s scrambling a little now, she can see it. “Only if you want them.”

Them. Plural.

Jude sways a little. She’s not prepared for this. He should’ve warned her or something, because she doesn’t know how many surprises she can take in such a short amount of time.

Cardan is looking at her funny and she realizes she’s been quiet for too long. Something moves at the corner of her vision, and she realizes it’s his tail, flicking back and forth with the nervousness that he doesn’t show on his face.

“I want –” she begins, and he stills immediately, as if he could live or die on the next words that leave her mouth. “Okay. I don’t actually know what I want. I haven’t really had time to think about it. I want to talk about this. I do. And we’ll have to talk about it one day. But today, I don’t know if — if I know how, today.”

“Very well.” He says the words like he’s learning the shape of them on his tongue for the first time.

“It’s not a ‘no,’” she says quickly, before he gets the wrong idea. “It’s a ‘someday.’ Someday, you can ask me about children again. And in the meantime, I’ll think about when I can say yes. Deal?”

He touches her cheek, gentle, too gentle. “Deal.”

And all too late, she remembers the rule that she’s lived by all her life, the rule she’s broken time and time again when it came to this bewildering, beautiful boy that has made a place for himself between the stained-glass shards of her heart — never make a bargain with a faerie — because really, really, he shouldn’t be smiling like that, not like she’s given him the world when she’s barely even agreed to anything.

“Did you really plan a revel just to ask me about all this?”

“Yes. And you ruined it by taking a slice out of the Minister of Keys.”

Jude can’t help it. She throws her head back and laughs. “You’re a disaster.”

He glares, but there is no heat to it. “Only because you render me into one.”

Then something clicks into place. Something Tatterfell said while lacing her up in the dress he designed for her. For the king’s sake.

“Tatterfell knows.”

“She was most knowledgeable in your living preferences. How you like your room. Your furnishings. Your floors. I decided that I might know them, too.” He glances at the open space before them, at the sheer potential of it all. “Just in case.”

“We’ve been married for months. You could have asked me.”

“Would you have taken me seriously?”

She changes the subject, because he has her there. “How long have you been planning this?”

“A while.” Another shrug, less carefree this time. “Almost as long as the nightmares have come to me.”

Something hard glints in his eyes, and Jude recognizes the sharp lines of revenge if only because she has worn it too many times on her own face.

“All of this was as much a scheme,” he admits, “as it was a proposal to you. For to take a land borne of bitterness and remake it into a land of bliss, it would be –”

“The ultimate power play,” Jude finishes for him.

He grins down at her. It is heady, the realization that only she knows the true, full depths of her husband’s wickedness.

“I don’t have a lot of experience with blissful homes.” She feels the sudden urge to make sure he knows this. That he understands. It’s as much of a promise as she knows how to make. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about keeping one.”

“Nor I. We’ll have to learn together. Knowing you, there’ll be plenty of knives involved. But I think it starts,” he says, gathering her closer, “just like this.”

And when Cardan kisses her, Jude is sure that this is what conquerors must feel like. Because for years, she has fought for her place in Faerie, fought and bled and killed to belong somewhere.

And here it is.

Here it is, and she could dream entire worlds in his arms.

But she doesn’t have to. She has a whole world spread out before her already.

It’s a land of magic, raw and untested, ready to be discovered. A land of possibility, of infinite potential, waiting to be shaped by their hands. A land where sunlight grows and wayward falcons find peace. A land where the future blooms in full color, one amongst the thousands of flowers.

And it is theirs.

Their homeland.

______

Chapter Visuals:

Myrtle. (Love and partnership, marriage.)

End Links:

Everything: an edit.

His Door. (Cardan POV drabble, post-homeland.)

_______   

End Note:

This fic represents a lot of firsts for me: my first completed multi-chaptered story, my first time (heh again) trying my hand at smut, but most importantly, my first time encountering some of the nicest, most thoughtful people as readers.

If you’ve read and followed this little fic of mine up until the end, let me thank you from the bottom of my heart. It’s been an absolute honor to have readers like you. ❤️ I've learned so much from writing this little fic that could, and I hope to continue to grow as a writer. Thank you for coming along with me on this journey and bringing so much value to the fic writing experience – kudos, comments, and your wonderful insights and all. 

As always, you can find me and my open ask box on tumblr. 

Much love to you, always!

________

Tagging: @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks​

* Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future fics (Jurdan or other fandoms!) and it would be my absolute honor to do so!

[roseofithaca]

Consequences

Follow-up to What She Needs, because who doesn’t love make-up fluff.

*

She wakes to the sound of eggs sizzling on a frying pan, the greasy smell of bacon wafting over her. Her stomach rumbles but she’s not ready to get up just yet, snuggled into the sofa beneath the shirt that’s been laid over her.

It’s not a bad position to wake up in but it leaves her a little disoriented.

What time is it? If she’s on the couch then it must be the afternoon but...they wouldn’t be having fried eggs and bacon this late - not that either of them gave a fork about eating routines, it just wasn’t usual. She doesn’t recall practicing walking or swimming earlier, her hair isn’t damp, her calf muscles aren’t cramping...

Ten seconds is all it takes for the time to rearrange itself properly in her head, for the barrage of memories to slot in place like a magical jigsaw and recall why she’s waking up alone, on the sofa, in the morning. And why she shouldn’t be calling the nearby chef over for a good morning kiss. He doesn’t deserve one...not yet. So she stays quiet, pretending to stir and mumble to show she’s awake, but keeping her eyes and mouth shut.

At least he left a nice, warm indent for her to lay in for as long as she wants to stay there and let him wait on her.

She barely remembers the nightmare that forced her to seek out Michael’s comfort, it’s been dissolved by the peaceful sleep and sanctuary she slept through until a minute ago. When her mind attempts to recall it, against her will, all she catches are the worst sensations of fear and loneliness, absence of all hope, her skin crawling as if covered in dung beetles. Again. Eleanor inhales, letting the scents and sounds of the beach house return her to the present.

Michael places her mug on the coffee table. Fork, she’s gonna have to give in and sit up now. She’s prepared to wait until she hears him move back to the kitchen. Then his fingers stroke some of her hair from her face, then brush against her cheek. Forking...

“Y’know I could bite your hand right now.” She murmurs, eyes still closed.

“It’d be worth it.” Michael tells her, softly; “Plus Janet would just grow it back.”

“Ugh, gross.” Eleanor wrinkles her nose; “You’re like a lizard.”

“Oh so it’s fine when you call me a...” She opens her eyes in time to see him bite his tongue as he kneels beside the couch; “Never mind.”

Indeed. She’s glad to see he’s smart enough not to dig his hole even deeper than it already is.

He gives her a humble smile; “How you feeling?”

“Still annoyed with you. I’ll update you when that changes, bud.” Eleanor pushes herself up and yawns.

“I figured that. I meant after...Last night...”

Oh.

“You can just say ‘nightmares’, man, it’s not a forbidden word.” She accepts the coffee when he passes it to her; “And I’m okay...Don’t even remember it. Just is what it is.” And it sucks; “It’s not like you can take them away or anything.”

“I could. I mean...” he takes a breath, “I could always...take the memories away...It’s crossed my mind more than once.”

She takes a sip of her drink, studying the conflict on his face.

“...Could you do it without erasing our time together?”

Michael shakes his head.

She shrugs; “Then it’s not an option, dummy.” Her eyes harden when he dares to look touched by that; “And don’t assume that means I like you again!”

They don’t say another word to each other until she’s nearly finished her breakfast, sat the kitchen island, stomach ravenous after eating nothing but Janet-delivered snacks with her drink instead of dinner the previous night. Michael sits opposite, slowly making his way through his hash browns, eyes cast downwards, almost unnaturally quiet.

He nudges a couple of baked beans with his knife, looking pensive. He takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Eleanor glances up, still chewing her eggs. Wow, was that really so hard? To be fair, she’s hardly one to talk. It was hardly a word she was used to saying in life, unless it was something along the lines of ‘Oh I’m sorry you can’t handle how hot I am’ or ‘Sorry...not sorry, psyche!’. 

Michael puts down his knife; “I don’t think of you...Of any of you guys as cockroaches, not really. Humans have always astounded me with how...resilient you guys are. You’re like rubber, everything that hits you just bounces off...I’m sure there’s some kinda great intellectual saying with that analogy...” He waves his hands; “Anyway...Truth is, I’m never been good with handling anyone being better than me...It took me two hundred years of being an apprentice until I got my own neighbourhood. Do you know that’s the longest any demon was in training for? Most fly solo after the first fifty years or so! And even before that, no matter how good I thought I was at torturing, there was always another demon wo was better and getting more praise...I was never strong enough to compete so I would take it out on...” His jaw clenches with shame.

Eleanor swallows the last of her food. She keeps watching, not saying a word, letting him get out everything he’s been clearly rehearsing in his head as he cooked.

“Having someone be better at my old job was one thing...But when there’s someone better at being what I truly have always wanted to be...and never will. Someone who also gets to spend more time with the woman I love...Who knows how to be a better...person,” Michael reaches to sip his own coffee; “The truth is...I’m the one who feels like an insect between the two of you. I feel...scared...” he clears his throat; “Scared that I’ll always fall short of the rest of you...I don’t have anything that compares to your strength or Chidi’s wisdom. Fork, I don’t have Tahani’s confidence...even Jason seems to understand some lessons more than me, with those inane stories he tells which always seem to somehow be on point!”

It’s true, every nonsensical ramble about the DJ’s life seemed to neatly tie in to some ethical thought experiment. He had a talent for it. That and firing spit balls around the chalkboard. 

Michael manages a smile, his cheeks turning pink to match his shirt; “You’re not small and gross to me. You’re...magnificent. And gigantic. Like...mammoths.”

Eleanor snorts.

“That the best you can do?”

“Oh c’mon!” Michael scoffs; “Mammoths are awesome! They....Oh, I forgot, you haven’t seen one. Would you like to? I can get Janet to-.”

“No, no....Well, maybe later, I’m sure Jason would love to ride one, but...” She sighs and slides off her stall.

It’s impossible for her to resist those puppy dog eyes anymore. She moves around the island and shifts her butt onto his lap, throwing her arms around his neck. He blinks, stunned, as she moves in close. One of her hands unhooks to run her fingers across his soft, white hair, smiling as her nose touches his. Michael dares to put his hands on her middle, holding her tight and secure.

She presses her lips to his, lightly at first, before cupping his jaw and moving her tongue to massage her demon boyfriend’s, sharing the taste of bacon between them. It’s been over a week since they’ve had a chance to hold each other and kiss, properly, like this. Having to hold off on the good stuff out of keeping to her newfound principles and to teach him a lesson was not easy. 

But totally worth it.

Eleanor hums as she pulls back, holding onto his shoulders; “Apology accepted. And as for that whole, ‘having nothing that compares to us’ schtick...You know that’s bullshirt, right?” 

Michael looks puzzled. What a dingus. Eleanor touches his face, thumb stroking across his cheekbone. 

“You care, dude. That’s your virtue. It’s why I’m so in love with you, even when you drive me crazy. None of us taught you that...It was right there, locked away inside of you, but you brought it out and you cared for me when I needed to....And you kept on doing it, even when you could’ve stopped...You tried to sacrifice yourself to save me and my friends....You keep putting your neck on the line for us...Don’t ever think that’s worthless, okay? We’re all super grateful to have the most caring, if a little immature and arrogant, demon on our team.”

There’s a wetness growing on his blue eyes, making them shine behind his glasses. She should really add ‘sappy’ to that list. Eleanor kisses his cheek as one tear leaks.

“Maybe that’s why you sucked at torturing. You only went so far to prove your worth. Your heart was never really in it?” She wonders.

He shrugs; “Possibly...Mostly because I don’t have a heart.”

She slaps his chest, lightly; “Y’know what I mean. Do I have to make you one like you’re the forking Tin Man just so you get the point?”

“...Yeah, okay.” He seems excited to have another trinket for his collection.

“Well, I ain’t crafting shirt that’s more complex than another paperclip bracelet, so ask Janet for one.” Eleanor smiles, leaning in to hug him tight around the neck. He squeezes her back, no doubt feeling the same relief as she had, to be back in each others arms without a worry for the weekend.

He hesitates before asking the next question.

“Am I allowed back in the bed tonight?” He says, sheepishly.

“Well....I suppose it will save me the walk if I have another bad dream.” She slips off of his lap; “...Only on one condition of course. You apologise to Chidi.”

His face falls, like a little kid who just had his candy snatched away.

“What, today? He’s not even here! How am I gonna...Can’t I just repeat what I said to you to him?”

“No, that’s cheating.” Her voice turns stern, ‘tutor’ mode activated; “You gotta think of a way to say sorry to him in a way he’d appreciate.”

Michael sighs and taps his fingers on the surface.

“I...I suppose I could...write him an essay on Consequentialism, drawling parallels it to this whole situation?” He suggests, looking to her for the go ahead.

“That’s....actually brilliant. He’d love that! Go for it.” Why are the two men she’s closest to in this afterlife the biggest dorks?

And, worse, she’s pretty much one herself now.

Michael grins, perking up from her approval; “Oh, great! I’ll get right on it and...Then what, do you want me to go back and read it to him?”

“No, just say it to Janet and she can repeat it to him back at my house.” Eleanor waves off; “...But you gotta have her disguise herself as Chidi while you’re reading it, so it feels like you’re saying it to him.”

“That’s gonna be disturbing as well as awkward.” He shifts, frowning.

Eleanor kisses his head before whispering; “That’s consequences, baby. Now get to writing. I’mma gonna go ask speedboating with Janet on those waves until you’re done. Then we can have the couples getaway this is supposed to be.”

As he gets up to put the dishes in the sink, she makes sure to give his butt a good slap, just to add in that incentive. She adores the startled, giddy look on his face that it always leaves him with. Damn it’s tough to stay mad at someone so cute.

After changing out of her PJs and into her bathing suit, sunglasses resting on her head, she goes to head out the patio doors.

“Hey, babe...” Michael stops her, having finished washing up. She turns to see his smile; “...Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Chidi’s gotta accept your apology so don’t half-ash it.”

“I wasn’t just saying thanks for that...” He stares at her, adoringly; “....I mean for everything, Eleanor. Thank you.”

She tilts her head to the side. Then a smile.

A quick skip towards him, leaning up on her toes, hands on his shoulders to reach that mouth of his again. Fork, it’s more effort to reach him when he’s upright. She gives him another kiss, a little motivation, something to remind him of what he misses out on when acting like a deck.

“You’re very welcome...Now make your hot girlfriend proud by doing your homework.” She smirks, one hand stroking down his chest; “Then come fork me into the sand, ‘cause I’m horny as Here - and if you don’t, I’m gonna get Janet to make me a clone of Jason Statham to spend this weekend with.”

If that doesn’t force the dumb demon to get his ash into gear then nothing will.

[jackbabewang]

Genre: Veeeeery slight angst, Fluff, Best friends to lovers

Word count: 3,050

Being together is that—

No matter how many days, weeks, months, or years go by, keep every promises made.

a/n: heavily listened to coming home while writing this, maybe you should too

When we first met

Jaehyun was the kind of person who endeared himself to everyone who knew him and you were swept off your feet the first time you saw him, roaming the corridors looking for your new classroom where they’d been relocated in the beginning of each year. The school personnel had this system going on ever since the dramatic increase in the number of students and to suit the new batch of each grade, or simply cause of the Pungsu-Jiri (Korea’s Geomancy or Feng Shui) thingy. Yeah, it was kind of unnecessary. 

Given plenty of time to break away from each other’s gazes if you wanted to, but neither did even with your feet continued walking yourselves in the opposite direction. 

How could anyone have such warm brown eyes as those? It was virtually impossible! 

Jaehyun changed your whole life as you knew it. You became best of friends, and whispered to each other on every occasion possible.

Twenty minutes into the class you spent sipping your Coke with your head bent, under the desk, behind the erected textbook to shield yourself. 

History teachers were obsessed with things that weren’t there any more. They lived in the past and expected us to want to live there too. You couldn’t imagine that any history lesson can be a thrill a minute, but with Mr. Lee in command, the expression ‘to die for’ took on a whole new meaning. Mostly everyone sat there sighing and thinking, “Why are the clock hands moving so slowly, has the battery committed suicide?” Mr. Lee was a very boring teacher. You meant very boring. He looked boring and sounded boring and everything he said was boring. He was Mr. Boring-Boring, Sir Boringest, Lord Boring of Boring-in-the-Brain. He droned on and on and on about nothing you wanted to know, then wrote it all on the board and told us to copy it down, or write an essay on it, or ask him questions. He didn’t get many questions, mainly because no one had been listening or trying to read his crabby handwriting.

SLUUUURP— 

Reaching the bottom of your cup, though not too loudly, just loudly enough so that Mr. Lee, standing in the front, a few feet away, could hear you. 

“Who was that?” he roared, his eyes darting everywhere, scanning everyone, until they settled on you. 

Instinct was not about being the smartest, but it was about being in tune with your inner drive and you turned to your only friend. He first eyed you with confusion, then gave a questioning look over the top of his glasses

“Jung Jaehyun!” 

At the call of his name, his jaw dropped, eyes widened with disbelief, frustrated and full of rage at being your scapegoat. This girl! She’ll be the death of me. 

In the end, you compensated for your mistake by flashing him the widest smile in your footlocker collection of smiles.

The beginning: Promise of the youth

During the summer holiday, you secured a part-time job at a rental record store. Jaehyun would sometimes visit and you would play the newest music out dancing and clowning around when there were no customers in the store. 

“Hey, tell you something. That guy at the counter-” 

Jaehyun tilted his curious head to the direction of the said individual, not caring that the man would notice the two youngsters were openly discussing him. 

“Don’t be so obvious, idiot!” Your nudge turned him back to you, “He’s the store manager. Apparently he first met his wife here and they’ve been together since then. Believe it or not, it’s been fifteen years! Isn’t that amazing? I can’t believe anyone can fall in love for such a long time!” 

“You sure are a mathematician. And nosy.”

“I’m an expert when it comes to this.”

“Should put it into good use instead. Like, what? Education?”

“Shut up.”

When you met them, you didn’t understand what held them together. You remembered thinking, This is really an odd couple! After spending some time with them and learning their story, it all made sense. He was her anchor, and she was his ultimate challenge; but more than that, they genuinely seemed to love one another. 

“Gosh, I can't imagine how I'd be like when I'm thirty…” 

It was always the future—a perfectly vague, indefinite future that terrifies you. You wished you could stay like this forever, young forever, happy forever. Your needs are simple, far more so than the needs of an adolescent or adult. Just think of a child, laughing at the least thing that catches its fancy, the image of himself or herself in a mirror, or the way a family pet behaves. 

Here you have Jaehyun, the secret source of your happiness. 

His voice broke in upon your thoughts, “Thirty-year-old unmarried woman… There're tons of them!” 

“Thirty— I don’t want to be that—” You shuddered, fighting back waves of panic at the image of an old lady alone with too many cats. “If I’m still single at thirty, you have to marry me.” 

Your abruptness caught him off guard. He didn’t speak for a moment but there was a glint of mockery in his eyes, a mischievous smirk played on the corners of his lips, as if he wasn’t taking you any less seriously for it. 

“What kind of reaction is that?” So you nudged him in the ribs, laughing all the more when he made an overly dramatic wince. 

“I want to have a Harry Potter themed wedding… A sunflower bouquet… Ooh, and you know what? I’m gonna abandon the heels, they’re going to kill me!” 

He chuckled. What a lady. 

“How about you? Tell me about your dream wedding.” 

“That would be marrying the love of my life.” Then he grinned. The indentations in his cheeks called dimples, making his smile heart-meltingly sweet. His eyes crinkled almost closed when he smiled, too. 

“You’re boring.” 

“What were you expecting? Dyeing my hair blonde or pink or purple?”

“That would be nice too.” 

She fell in love

“Jung Jaehyun!” You shouted his name and started waving frantically. He recognized your voice immediately despite the muffling effect of your scarf. And his heart dropped to his feet when you barely checked the road for cars before you went streaking across it. 

Next to him was a guy you’d never met before. He was about the same height as Jaehyun, his right ear a bit pointed like an elf’s, and with a face like that, you damn sure would’ve remembered.

Grinning broadly, “This is my classmate, Sicheng.” 

“Hi.” As he spoke Korean with his delicate Chinese accent, the words dripped from his lips like honey. 

“And she is-” 

With a warm smile and you introduced yourself, interrupting whatever Jaehyun might have added. Though you’re already telling him of information which was much not needed.

“Oh… You both are-”

“We’re besties!” 

“We’re heading to the cafe for awhile, do you want to join us?” 

“Sure!” 

Then you fell for him and discovered that when it comes to romance, intelligence takes a back seat to stupidity. Jaehyun half agreed, half disagreed. To him, you’re always the latter even before your blind infatuation.

Cupid, that little rascal, had already fired his arrow into your heart and had no intention of letting you escape this magical feeling. And that’s how you described the whole theory of ‘Love at first sight’ to Jaehyun, who’d probably known it better than you did.

Then, she had her first heartbreak. 

“We broke up…” You showed up unannounced on his doorstep crying bitterly only for him to drag you to the courtyard, away from his dormitory where you wouldn’t be seen or heard wailing like a toddler who had lost her lollipop, where you wouldn’t be causing disturbance to the neighbouring students, and where he wouldn’t be mistaken for the one that shattered your heart into fragments. 

“He said I never stopped talking, said I talked too fast. He pretended he couldn’t understand Korean and talked shit about me in his Ching-Chong language. He said I’m annoying and loud…” You paused long enough to take a breath, and felt more tears streaming down your face. “Am I... Am I really that annoying?” 

Something about your current state made him want to pick you up and tenderly wrap you in a blanket of protection. It was laughable to hear you whining about ‘the Chinese guy’ you once fell head over heels for. He was trying hard to control his smile that wanted to show on his face, and shook his head instead. “No, not at all.”

“Am I loud?” 

Though afraid to fuel your outburst, “Sometimes…” It was a fact. 

“I am not loud…” You spun around and stomped toward the bench, your lips pouted in misery and your head placed in the south right now. 

When he patted your back in a futile attempt to calm you, you moved after his hand in double time. “Stop patting me…” A few incoherent mumbles of him being the annoying one instead, then, “Jung Jaehyun! If I’m still single at thirty, you have to marry me.” 

“You always say that.” 

“You need to swear it this time.” Wanting him to stay true to his words, you held his right hand up.

“Swear, what?” 

You rolled your glossy eyes and exhaled a breath in exaggerated impatience. Was he dumb or dumb?

“If I’m still single at thirty, Jung Jaehyun will have to marry me!” 

As he repeated, “If I’m still single at thirty, Jung Jae-”

“No!” You scolded and whacked him on the arm. “Idiot…” 

An uncontrollable smile stretched across your face as you slowly relaxed. He stared at you for a moment, grinning faintly, an amused glint in his eyes. There was magic in you, he decided. 

You slumped back into the bench, your eyes staring into space, your mind numb. Unshed tears blurred your vision and you caught the warm drops that slipped past with the backs of your hands. Naturally, you reached over and rubbed them on his jacket to try to wipe away the traces of madness. He never complained, of course. 

“You know… You do have a superpower…”

“What is it?”

“The superpower of making my tears disappear…”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. Talk about being a charmer. “That’s gross…”

Chill crawled down your spine and he mimicked your shiver. “You are gross.” 

Long time no see

At eleven o’clock, files for the meeting laid in front of him that he probably wouldn’t even notice his phone buzzing. He looked down at the familiar caller ID flashing on the screen. 

Without thinking twice he picked up the call. 

Immediately connected through the line, your piercing cry blasted his ear. “He said he wanted to break up with me…” Unbeknownst to yourself that it was so loud the people next to him could hear you. He smiled at his colleagues apologetically and quickly excused himself from the room. 

He found what he guessed to be an unused room, hidden away down a relatively quiet corridor. Then he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and one ankled hooked over the other. Even though he couldn’t see your face at the moment, he could paint a perfect picture of tears streaming down your face, snot hanging on your nose. 

“Okay, okay. Stop crying.” Jaehyun was laughing. You took no notice, but went on crying. The more you cried the more he laughed. Your sobs, like fulminations, were thunderous. “You’ve gotten stronger, you know that?”

“Huh? … What?”

“I said. Your howling has gotten stronger.” 

“No, it didn’t. Bastard.” 

“I’m in the middle of a meeting right now. Talk to you later.” 

Though the phone call was cut short, it made you feel much better. Instead of hogging him on, you decided to leave him a text message, saying, “Thanks for making my tears disappear.” It was that corny line again, that he couldn’t help but grin upon reading. 

“Hangout this weekend?” He replied.

Saturday of that week 

Jaehyun offered to pick you up at your place. 

“Hey.” 

It still hadn’t completely sunk in that how much you’d matured in the last few years. Medium height, you had long dark hair, which you’d forego your full bangs, soft romantic curls looked shiny and healthy, as did your skin. He could tell from the way your outfit moved along with your body that you had a woman’s figure with lots of curves. 

“It’s been awhile,” you started. 

Staring at you too much would be creepy though, awkwardly he put his hand up with a smile, he ushered you into the passenger seat and got behind the wheel of his car and drove off. 

“Broke up again?” 

“I’m okay. It’s not the first time for me.” 

He glanced over at you a time or two, perhaps worried, but you didn’t seem to be mad or crying. As he was about to speak, your cell phone’s high-pitched ringtone crashed into the conversation, shattering the moment in an instant. 

Incoming call: Jerk

“It’s him- He’s calling! Should I pick up? Should I?” 

“If you want to-” Once again he got interrupted as he was trying to talk some sense into you.

“Hello?” “What is it?” “Didn’t we break up already? Why are you still calling me?” ”You’re freaking weird. Why are you apologizing all of a sudden?” 

During your phone conversation, Jaehyun cast a rather wary glance at you before dragging his eyes back to the road. 

“Alright… I’m not mad anymore…” 

Upon listening to whatever you’re saying, though piece by piece, it sounded like you’re back together and things would be great again. After all, it was just the typical bickering between a couple. 

With a final assurance to your not-an-‘ex’-anymore that all was well and you really weren’t mad anymore, the call ended. Just as if reading your mind, Jaehyun shook his head in disbelief while you only grin at him sheepishly. At least the rest of the hangout could be enjoyed with none of pouting and sulking, you thought. 

Another six months

Jaehyun’s phone alerted him to a text, it was frank 

I’m getting engaged soon

Will hand over the invitation card when we meet next time

Two sentences of such simple words—as something bound to be, and bound to happen. Yet it left an impact on him. He swallowed to alleviate the tightening in his throat, but the feeling followed him, peaking and then fading, falling as petals fluttering from a dying bloom. For a second prior, he was really, truly happy for you. 

Somewhere on the other side, you felt a tremendous emotional effect after clicking your phone shut following the message delivered. Something ran over your head, and maddeningly ran through again and again. What was wrong? 

In a disoriented state of mind, you began rummaging through drawers and cabinets until you found the box you wanted. You pulled it out and opened it, revealing a stack of picture squares, a two carrot ring, and finally a limited edition Hamburglar figurine that both you and Jaehyun were lucky enough to redeem. The set of eyes stared dumbly at you as you silently gazed at the little thing that managed to hold such fond memories. 

Meanwhile, Jaehyun had always had the figurine with him, laid on his workstation somewhere visible so that he continued to be reminded by it. Too, he was fixated on the pair of acrylic painted eyes in remembrance of the past. 

The day before 30th 

Jaehyun had been waiting for you inside a cafe situated a block from the deadly intersection, sipping on a glass of iced latte, though the weather was nothing sort of a torrid summer. 

Upon agreeing to the meet up, he had sorted everything out in his mind and promised himself to confront you with a good-natured congratulation on your marriage none other than a dear friend should. 

Less than ten minutes later, you appeared on the other side of the glass, waving and smiling brightly. Pitter-patter of the rain drops hitting your umbrella steadily intensify as did something else… 

“Hi,” he greeted with a dimpled grin, and then wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, a smear of coffee on his chin when you snatched up his glass and took a long swallow. Again, he said nothing about your behavior that he had gotten used to, only glaring at you with the ever same expression of This girl! She’ll be the death of me. 

“Invitation card,” he said, reminding you what all this was about in the first place. 

But so nonchalantly, you uttered, “We broke up.” 

Your eyes caught the slight lift in the right corner of his lips, Jaehyun unable to stop a small smile from making it onto his face. Simultaneously, his brows raised in surprise. 

“You didn’t cry?”

Almost proud of yourself, “No.” 

“Lies.”

“Really,” you continued with the realization of the fact that, “Liking and loving someone is different.” 

Jaehyun convinced himself, to the bone, that you’re okay. Assimilating that you’d indeed matured to understand how relationship works instead of diving in blindly on the spur of the moment by acting upon emotional states like a teenage girl in love. Emotion comes and goes, rises and falls. Certainly, love doesn’t last forever. But the foundation of love is commitment, and he wished you’d learned that as well because… 

“Do you remember what day it is tomorrow?” your calm voice interrupted his chain of thoughts, as you stared at him in anticipation. 

“Of course I do. It’s your 30th birthday tomorrow.” 

Grinning and beaming with unbridled glee, for once you bet on your bold self saying that, “So, you still remembered our promise then.” 

As if he had been waiting for years, thought he was ready, but was somewhat embarrassed and gave you a warm, shy smile. The once dying bloom came back to life, thriving, lush and flourishing. The pent up feeling on that one, great heart, burst forth in an uncontrollable, deafening shout. 

“Tell me,” you coaxed his trigger to give his word of honour. 

“If you’re still single at thirty…” Nervously, he gulped and avoiding your intent eyes. “I’ll have to marry you.”

“You must keep your promise, Jung Jaehyun.” 

[written-adventures]

Holy Ground

Except for the freshly swept floor, the Fallen Gate and the recess of the necropolis it rested in, looked ready to crumble any second. Kuna didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be head priest. After all, how could someone who’s terrified of the undead be the head priest for a nation of necromancers?! But the king decreed the title on him so what could he do?

“W-what did Prince Arro do differently?” he asked Minru again. It was hard to focus on her words with the clattering bones of the forgotten dead behind him. Twice now one had brushed past him and it had taken everything in him not to sob as Minru shooed the dead away.

“Everything,” Minru replied, kindly pretending she couldn’t see his knees shaking. “He refused to wait for the ceremony or purify himself with water from the font.”

Kuna’s head snapped up. “Font? What font?” He followed her to the small fountain set off to the side. Water trickled down the wall of the Necropolis into a small bowl, seven stars lined the basin. 

“Jian said the waters would purify the travelers as there’s no place more holy than the Necropolis,” she explained.

“Maybe for the dead, but the living?” Kuna shook his head and leaned closer to the basin. He ran his finger along the edge, feeling the indent of each star and repeating the names in his head as he did. He stopped just before the star representing mortal life. Something was covered up, caked in dirt. He had to use his nail to chip it off and stared in horror at what he revealed. 

“Is that…” Minru looked over his shoulder in shock at the image of a black hole sucking in an eighth star. Kuna nodded, sharing her horrified look. 

“The symbol of the Teritus. Drinking from this will stain the soul and infuriate the gods.” He pushed back from the wall. “I have to find the king. We have to… have to…” What could he do? The damage was done. Jian had defiled their attempts to save Apura and he couldn’t fathom why.

“What are you doing here?!” Jian cried from the stairs, shocking them both. He clutched a strange bundle to his chest and stared at them in horror. 

“We’re doing our jobs. What are you doing here?” Minru demanded. “I’d think a disgraced priest, one who apparently performed a dark ritual, instead of a ritual of purification, should be hiding away and not stomping around holy places.”

Jian didn’t seem to hear her. He paced the foot of the stairs and muttered to himself. “It’s not a holy day. There wasn’t supposed to be any living down here. I can’t go back now. She’ll kill me if I fail again.” Whatever he was thinking as he turned back towards them, Kuna knew it was bad. There was a hint of madness mixed into the fear in his eyes.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he said to Kuna, his voice breaking with remorse. “No one living was supposed to be here. “I’m sorry. I can’t turn back. This is my last chance.”

He stepped into the torchlight, and Kuna finally knew what he was holding. His heart dropped into his stomach as he stared at the largest cask of Kheman flash powder he’d ever seen. One spark could destroy half the Necropolis. 

Minru recognized it at the same moment. It was like all air had escaped the Necropolis as its queen spotted the danger. The forgotten stopped their wandering, each turning towards Jian in smooth movements, like marrinetes claimed by a master hand. Had their finger bones always looked so sharp? Had the walls always been so close? Kuna couldn’t tell if he was imagining the changes, or if Minru really was changing the very rock the Necropolis was built from. What ever magic made her look alive melted away, leaving behind a furious, half-decayed, corpse in flowing robes.

Kuna was a coward. He’d always been a coward and until the moment it mattered he thought he’d always be a coward. As Jian raced past him for the gate Kuna grabbed him around the middle and used the momentum to throw him off course. Jian hit the wall hard and screamed as a spike of rock that hadn’t been there before pierced his side. If only that had stopped him.

In one fluid motion he rolled the cask towards the gate and threw himself at Minru when she tried to stop it. Kuna ran for it as it rolled into the empty gate. The ancient runes flashed and spit out it’s rejecting wall of power. As the cask shattered and that first speck of powder lit, Kuna shut his eyes, threw up his arms to shield himself, and turned from the blast. He wasn’t ready to find the peace of death, but there he was, facing it with the comfort that he wasn’t a coward afterall. 

[inventors-fair]

Let’s Talk Flavor: Commentary

I would say overall that most of these cards were fantastic and a great number of the story ideas were good. There will be parts where I suggest edits, and the thing about story edits is, well, it doesn’t impact game design. That’s the thing about the Fair and the thing about Magic in general: the whole thing could be replicated with number systems and program lines and it would be the exact same. It’s the fact that a creature has Flying, or that a spell is made of Lightning that makes the game exciting. This was an interesting experiment. 

Let’s talk about cards!

@ace-hobo​ — Captain’s Wrench

This is a perfectly fine card. I like the “fixed” Voltaic Key style, the moderate power level. It’s a card that someone would probably be middling in artifact decks but fine in budget builds. I’m sort of feeling an Ixalan vibe, maybe with a little steampunkishness. I get that the wrench belongs to De, but it’s a little confusing regarding why they have the wrench. If they’re the captain and they’re not in the engine room, why is the card depicting a tool that would suit them better if they never left the engine room? Maybe the story should be about how DESPITE their captain status, they spend time in the engine room. It’s an easy enough tweak.

@cas-420 — Boiling Blood

The card is pretty good. It’s very aggressive and has synergistic potential. I really don’t see where the flavor is tying into it. I am favorably inclined towards your text, in concept. I can see where you were making the pun on “execution.” The wording is clunky with the repeated syntax, and could have just used the execution line. But what does that have to do with the card? The flavor evokes dissent, protest, retaliation. The flavor of the card evokes speed, purpose, initiative. It’s not a perfect tonal match. I would save the text for a different card with a clearer purpose

@dabudder​ — Wisdom of the Tides

In terms of card wording, I believe you’d be looking for something like Mysteries of the Deep, where you have an “instead” wording — unless you’re supposed to draw an additional card after? It’s a little confusing how you have it now. Still, Flourish is a fine mechanic, executed well. This was pretty close to being a runner-up. I like the nod towards crabs. We’ve been having a crab mood lately. Overall, not bad. Might need to be four mana, but that’s me being cautious.

@deafeningsandwichpeach​ — Jyska, Artificer Overlord

The name is probably the best thing about this card, and it’s fair enough for a legendary creature. Considering that this is essentially the Nim ability from original Mirrodin and that it’s a vanilla creature otherwise, I would contest that you’re severely overestimating the power level of this card. It’s not as strong as it seems. In terms of flavor text, this is basically exposition. I won’t dissuade you from story-rich cards, but there’s too much information presented in a manner that overloads the reader. Simplify, punch, beat, punctuate. In terms of presentation, the whole block should be in quotes, and you don’t need to attribute the quote if the character’s on the card itself.

@demimonde-semigoddess​ — Thaw

Great name, great snow flavor. I can see this in the tundra wastes, something emerging from the snow, bursting out. I had to do some digging. As it turns out, “gelid” is a real English word I had no idea about! I thought from the shackles and your flavor text that it was some Coldsnap lore. In terms of the text itself, it’s not bad. It’s just that the two statements are somewhat disconnected. They work both on their own, but together, they don’t gel well. Still, bonus points to mechanical flavor for an anti-ice feel.

@dimestoretajic​ — Phytotemple

The card is pretty funky for an uncommon, pushed but not busted. I’d call it a pain in the butt but no more than Wayfaring Temple. Ah, I see, the wayfarers, an homage. But there’s a lot I don’t understand. Who lost the wayfarers? Who’s saying this quote? Why did the phytotemples start appearing in general? Did the original wayfaring temples break into them? What does Selesnya have to do with construction crews? How is that related to the phytotemple’s physiology and motivation? Most importantly, why is there a street named after a Selesnya dissident? I think you should have focused on one specific area of the card’s backstory.

@emmypupcake — Bloom Nurturer

I was really surprised that there wasn’t a card already named this. In terms of card wording, look at High Tide or Bubbling Muck; I think it would read “Until end of turn, whenever you tap a Forest for mana, add an additional G.” The quote doesn’t light my world on fire, but it fits well and reads well. Just remember to indent the attribution with shift+enter. Overall? Good enough.

@fractured-infinity​ — Shara, Skalla Vengeant

I had to do a little digging, but I like how you incorporated Vivien’s lore in here. That said, Skalla is also, well, destroyed, presumably forever. Where did the spirit come from? Is it wandering around Skalla? In that case, did Vivien go back? Why? That raises a couple questions. In terms of this card, it’s broken. In anything but the most pushed Commander formats, it’s three mana to deal seven damage to any creature you want with minimal repercussions. Any prevention makes her impossible to deal with. In limited, she would sweep unfairly.

@ghost31415926535 — Man-Eater Wurm

Firstly, I would like to apologize for the flavor bar being in the middle of the line. That’s my bad. Let’s talk about the rest of the card. In concept, it shouldn’t be too overpowered. But deathtouch and trample together create complex rules baggage that many casual players simply don’t understand. Nine times out of ten, they’ll never be printed together. Seeing that this is exactly how you submitted it, consider for next time: Only the first keyword needs to be capitalized in a string. Something like Unearth needs its own line. The flavor text is standard enough. Just remember that quote attribution also needs its own line.

@gollumni​ — Gives You Hell

I love the name here. I got that All-American Rejects song stuck in my head now. Remember that one? Anyway. Firstly, you don’t need to put “target” there; “Enchant creature” implies it. Secondly, and least importantly, don’t forget you can add watermarks in MSE! Thirdly, the flavor text. I get it, but it doesn’t flow great. If there was some wordplay to be done on fire-spitting and whatever turn of phrase you used, like, “spitting poison” in the literal sense — I don’t know, I just expect something a little more concise. It’s a great concept and has the potential to be very funny, so points there. Also, the card itself? Fantastic.

@greensunzenith​ — Decorated Demon

Liking the name. I don’t like how this card has to be a rare. It’s more of an annoyance than anything. It feels like a card that prevents decisions. It’s not aggressive, nor is it particularly interactive. Conceptually it works, but I’m not in favor. The flavor text is a bit of a head-scratcher. The real question is: who is giving demons sigils? How do they become redeemed? On what world CAN demons become redeemed? This isn’t a Bant thing, is it? I’m a little lost as to the specifics, since it doesn’t play into any tropes and doesn’t inform the world in a recognizable way.

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes​ — Goblin Decorator

If the flavor text had simply been, in quotes, “Earwigs would go so well with that wallpaper!”, then this card could have been a runner-up. Also, this should definitely be an uncommon. The effect is awesome and powerful and annoying and plays into a variety of strategies. Still, the flavor text is just...too much. It’s a lot of text that tells a story that doesn’t really need to be told. We get enough from the name and that last sentence, combined with a fun ability that matches the card. That’s all we need! Gotta simplify.

@ignorantturtlegaming​ — Dust, Revenant Force

For future cards, I would highly recommend reading up on design philosophy, what Magic’s colors are about, and how cards come into being. There are a lot of questions that this card raises, and a lot of things that need to be edited.

Green doesn’t get first strike, certainly not mono-green.

Why does this card cost five green mana? What does it provide for the limited/constructed environment?

It should be “Fox Warrior.”

The first thing about the flavor text is that there is far too much of it. It’s exposition for exposition’s sake. Fine in a high fantasy short story, but not on a Magic card.

The second thing about the flavor text is that Dust appears to be a white-aligned character through their actions and themes. I don’t feel anything green about them.

@juggernaut-is-a-metalhead — Devil’s Payment

I’m going easy on card art attribution since, well, it’s Disney and they are indeed evil, but in the future, please attribute it to the show itself and/or the director/copyright holder. So, the card itself. Is it supposed to be a common? Is it an homage to Cruel Bargain and Infernal Contract? This certainly isn’t a common effect, and for one mana, well, I don’t know what to say about this card. In terms of the flavor text, why is everything separated in lines like a poem? It’s way too long to fit into a card with three lines of rules text already. I don’t really understand what it’s even trying to say. The devil asked for the MAN’S youth. What does that has to do with his own? And why is it only sometimes capitalized? I don’t really understand this at all.

@koth-of-the-hammerpants — Hidden Bombardier

Great name. For the card text, it’s powerful, arguably fine in the right format, but very strong regardless. It also needs to say “It deals 3 damage” instead of just “Deal.” Gotta get past the 90′s, erryone. So now, the flavor text... I kinda get it? I just don’t understand what makes this card a shapeshifter. I don’t understand the world in which shapeshifters exist. This card feels like a Goblin. It’s an interesting kamikaze take, if a little too flowery and on-the-nose. It doesn’t exactly inform me, and it doesn’t exactly excite me.

@mardu-lesbian​ — Ballynock Adoptee

I had to look up to make sure that there were dwarfs on Lorwyn, and by golly, you’re right, there are! In RW hybrid in Eventide, anyway. And that brings up to a major story problem. By the introduction of dwarfs, the world has already plunged into Shadowmoor, and the thoughtweft has already been replaced with the mindweft. I’m stealing this from the wiki, so berate me if I’m wrong, but I always got the sense that the kithkin were highly xenophobic regardless of where the Great Aurora was. The jarring question that remains is: how does a non-kithkin creature become part of the thoughtweft/mindweft? It goes against what we know about the Kithkin and the world in general. If there’s a good explanation, I’m all ears, but I’m not convinced at this point in time.

@mistershinyobject​ — Phenax’s Messenger

Bonus judge trivia time: I studied Latin in high school and a little in college. From what I can tell about The Callapheia from other cards bearing it’s flavor text, it is meant to evoke classical poetry from Greek and Latin epics. The lines are written four at a time, indented carefully. HERE is a link to all cards with “Callapheia” in the flavor text. The gist is, this card does NOT evoke that. There’s a lot of text, a lot of quotes, a lot of forced story that could have been way punchier if you just had stuff about a snake eating a prophet. I love the card as a limited filler. But yeah, gotta do more research into what it means to have certain aspects on your cards.

@nicolbolas96​ — Unpredictable Betrayal

You know, it’s hard to evoke Nicol Bolas well in flavor text. He’s one of Magic’s major villains, a huge face of many sets, with years behind him. And honestly? You didn’t do a half-bad job in this flavor text. Props! That said, this card is way busted. For one, double strike doesn’t affect fighting at all, so that’s...something. For two, it would need to be three sentences; you did a run-on for that last one. For three, mechanically? This is a two-mana spell that eight times out of ten will absolutely destroy two creatures you don’t control. In limited, that’s insanely powerful. In any format that plays creatures, that’s usually amazingly good. There’s a reason spells like Blood Feud and Clash of Titans cost what they cost. Getting two creatures you don’t control to fight is powerful.

@nine-effing-hells​ — Cairn to Athusis

Actually, this card was one of my favorites from the contest. I’m a heavy Gruul player when I’m not playing cruel control, and I think the gist of this card is super interesting. You made it an enchantment artifact AND a shrine, giving flavor there as well to your new world. The only thing I would have changed is erasing that first sentence from your flavor text entirely. The second is so powerful that it stands on its own. It’s poetic without being overwrought, specific to the world and building off of known tropes. Also, it tells us that “orcs are RG in this world” which is a great mechanical touch. Just needed that little bit of trimming.

@real-aspen-hours​ — Deflect Consequences

Now this is an interesting card!... What practical use does it have? I’m curious what this has on something like Harmless Offering. I don’t believe that cast triggers will be affected. Maybe it would specifically go against things like “counter target spell you don’t control” or something, but if control changes... I’m uncertain of this card’s applications past the gimmick point. That said, it would be fun to cast a Leveler and have it enter the battlefield under an opponent’s control. I’m not in love with the flavor text. It’s fine. Doesn’t light my world on fire. A touch wordy. But it’s fine. Fits the name and the ability well, so that’s nice.

@reaperfromtheabyss​ — Inconquerable Alseid

Besides the fact that “Hope” should be lowercase and separated by a colon, the flavor text is really cool! I don’t like this card much. It’s honestly fine, and it’s an interesting commander card that could lead to some cool consequences, but there’s a reason Undaunted has reminder text. It doesn’t look good floating there by itself. There are some abilities that just need reminder text all the time, and Undaunted is on so few cards that it significantly needs this. I think I was a little too harsh on this card on my first go-around, but I haven’t warmed up to it yet. I think the great flavor could have been used on a simpler, more protective card.

@scavenger98​ — Kadalla the Scornful

I’m 99% sure it should go “First strike, deathtouch, haste.” Order of keywords is weird sometimes. So are creature types. I don’t really understand the world on which an Elf can be Mardu colors. It’s a stretch of the imagination to say the least. The card itself is...fine? I’d honestly make her an uncommon in today’s world. Yeah, she’s powerful, but she’s a 2/1 for three with all different mana symbols. Regarding the flavor, it’s well-worded, but it’s lengthy and doesn’t actually tell us anything about the character or the world. It doesn’t inform the card, and that’s its major misstep. Again, though, good writing.

@shandylamb​ — Multani’s Offspring

A fine card, a funny flavor. Just so you know, though, “Saproling” is pretty much only relegated to the token, and this card would probably see print as a plant or fungus. And additionally, as nice as the pun is... What’s this card even trying to say in the story? Multani’s only known child is Muldrotha, and that’s deep lore as-is. As funny as this card might be, it really doesn’t mesh with a Magic feel.

@starch255​ — Unscrupulous Horpske 

There are only two things I’m concerned about. Firstly: what about this creature makes it “unscrupulous?” What scruples does it have normally in its species? Secondly, this card is trying to make potato salad canon in the multiverse, and I don’t know if such a travesty would be allowed to happen. Potato salad is an affront to taste, no offense to the horpske.

Literally everything else about this card is a 10/10. I would also encourage you to work on a set symbol. Everyone should!

@teaxch​ — Hidden Seers

Interesting. So what timeline is this? Is this supposed to be, like, a return to Tarkir? Cool concept, I think, although I’m not entirely sold. After hearing the shaman’s whispers, why is Surrak’s first instinct to assume that without dragons a human would lead the clan? Wouldn’t the thought of a world without dragons evoke other thoughts and fears first? That’s my main hand-iffy-motion reason. This is also a supremely petty nitpick, probably the pettiest thing I’ve ever said about a card, but if this is the Dragon timeline then wouldn’t the watermark be the Atarka one instead of the Temur one?

@tmstage​ — Apostasy

Everything about this card is good...individually. Great name, but what does that have to do with the ability? What is it trying to depict? What does shuffling your library have to do with religious dogma? And the flavor text feels overbearing. Nykita as a character is someone I’d like to know more about, but this card doesn’t tell me much about her. It’s mostly that the mechanics and the flavor don’t mesh in the least, and, well, it’s not a good mechanic. Shuffling is time-consuming, game-prolonging, and has no discernible benefit to the game outside of incredibly niche cards that mostly don’t affect you as the player. And the more I read the flavor text, the less it makes sense. “Allow the world to deform your flawed notions?” It sounds awesome, but what does it mean?

~

Thank you all for your submissions. New contest tomorrow. 

[feel199x]

TO PROTECT OUR DISTRICT; CH. XIII - THE FOUNTAIN OF PURIFICATION

m.list

I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII

warnings; none, i think, although there is angst and drama

a/n: sorry this is short! i wanted to post something. the next chapter will be more aligned with mafia stuff, but i thought it’d be best to break it up. 

The air smelled of ash and smoke as you woke up, careful, and doing your best not to stir, you tried to get up. Yugyeom, however, was already awake. His arms tightly on to you, like he was grasping at straws. You turned, to look at him in the eyes, and there he was staring back at you. Wordlessly, he pulled you closer, and with your face buried in his chest, he kissed the top of your head. Yugyeom felt warm, like a hearthfire. 

 “It’s time to get up, Yugyeom.” you murmured against his chest, “We got to get moving.”

 He pressed his lips against the top of your forehead again, and rested his chin in the same place. “Do you have to go in? Can’t you call out or something. Let’s have a day in, watch some movies, cook.”

“Can’t.”

“We could run away, _____. We could do it. You don’t have to keep doing this.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if I knew that he was still out there, That he was treating people like he does. I have to do something, I can’t turn a blind eye.”

 “I think you’re a much better person than I am.”

 “You’re good too. We can both be good.”

 He traced lines on your arms, making the hair rise where he touched and chills split down your spine. “Okay,” he murmured, “Let’s get to it.”

 Yugyeom’s touch lingered, hesitant for the both of you to part. He moved first, and you rose from the indent on the bed. You moved quickly, scared of yourself and what would happened if you paused, even for a moment. In record time, you were prompt and proper, prim to perfection, and ready- more or less, to start your day.  

 The world was coming alive again, the green and brown of the earth coming back to it’s own, relieving itself of dullness. Spring was a season to be admired, proof of rebrith. Still though, you weren’t convinced. Can anyone truly recover from death, death of their will, death of their love? Isn’t it, at it’s foundation, a flesh wound half open? You were raw and open, healing but not quite healed. The world still seemed so off, so discolored. 

 Yugyeom’s hands held yours, resting on his lap, his thumb tracing the outline of your hand as he hummed. You were pretending to stare out the window, but instead, you were taking in Yugyeom’s future. You thought you’d be used to being around someone so pretty all the time, but even Yugyeom doing mundane things seemed like magic. His crow colored hait and his sharp features always struck you as otherworldy.

 You looked away, finally, feeling heat creep into your cheeks.

 “I think it’s your stop soon.”

 Yugyeom huffed, “I think you mean our stop. Anyway, I don’t want to go.”

 “You have to, I’m trying to come up with a better alternative, but that district’s pretty much a ghost town. It’s not even good as a meeting place.”

 “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

 You squeezed his hand, “I’ll be okay if I know you’re okay.”

This area of the city was completely discarded. It was a sunken place, like the depths of someone’s memory. Something someone would make sure to forget. The large brick building were boarded up, and broken glass literred the streets. It pained you to leave Yugyeom in a place like this, left to his own devices. 

 The building in which you worked never failed to give you chills. Something about it just seemed looming, like a prophecy you didn’t want to come true. It made you feel miniscule as you stood in front of it, in front of the grand glass doors. You always felt like an outsider, an alien that held true to its definition. It never got easier to walk through those doors, take the elevator to your designated floor and walk and stay in your little cubicle, playing fetch for all the men in the office.

 You were early, as you tried to be most days, and there Hyunjin was, tapping his fingers against his dress pants. He met your eyes, and softened his face, looking at you with sad, furrowed eyebrows. 

 “_____.”

“Yes, Hyunjin?”

“I got you these,” he paused for a moment, reaching into his pocket and pulling out dangling car keys, “so you don’t have to take the bus anymore. And you can go anywhere, whenever you want.” Hyunjin looked like he would cry if he looked at you any longer.

“Okay, thank you.”

“They don’t have any tracking devices, nothing’s bugged. I didn’t modify it at all.” he continued, “I’d like to take you to lunch, please.”

“Okay.” 

 He gave you a pained expression, but you couldn’t completely dechiper why. You mustered up a smile, and your face felt like it was a contortionist in a circus. “Yeah,” you spoke again, “I’d like that. It’d be nice.”

 Hyunjin’s face wrote something that you couldn’t read. “I love you, _____. And you can come into my office whenever you want, okay? We don’t have to talk or anything. I don’t want you to feel alone.”

 Alone. The word repeated in your head, again and again. Alone. Alone. Alone.

 “I’ll come in there a little later, I just need to set everything up.”

 Hyunjin reached for your hand and then pulled back, his hand remain slightly up in the air, his long fingers longing for touch. Your fingers met with his, and the touch felt the same. FAmiliar but distant.

 “I’m okay, Hyunjin.”

Alone, alone, alone.

 Men began to stream into the office, flooding and then trickling. You saw Chan, and then Changbin. You looked at them in their eyes, afraid what it would mean if you didn’t, afraid they’d know something you didn’t. 

Afraid.

Nothing you chose to do seemed right. It was a slow day, there didn’t seem to be any messages left in the voice mail. So, you took your stuff and sat on the loveseat in Hyunjin’s office. You realized that you had never actually been in his office. It looked painfully rich. His name sat embroidered in gold on a plaque that sat to the side of his desk. On the other side sat a large marble chess piece.

 The Queen.

You stared at it for a moment, the ornate features and the gold detail seeming hard to ignore. You turned your head and looked at the sun peeking through the lace curtains that spilled across the floor. Hyunjin’s face was caught in the sunlight, and you had almost forgotten how pretty he was. Up above him though, was a glass chandelier. It decorated the walls in floor in rainbow prism light, the dangling iridescence a comforting type of ethereal. You closed your eyes, and started to bathe in the light too. 

 There were your parents, ashened and black. Like dried, cracking molten lava. They were screaming at you, angry nonsense. In their hands they held wilting flowers, and the marble chess piece. You were apologizing, and felt like you were aflame. You could taste gasoline and you smelled like corr

 “_______,” a voice crept into your dreams, “______.”

 You jolted up, breathing hard and it was only when you actually opened your eyes that you realized you were holding Hyunjin at gun point. You heard the gun clatter on the floor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at it. “I’m sorry,” your voice cracked, “jesus, I’m so sorry, Hyunjin.”

 “It’s okay,” he said softly, “It’s lunch time, we were gonna go out. Or, we could order something and stay in.”

 “Stay in, please.”

  Hyunjin smiled at you, and tucked your hair behind your ears. “Alright, it’ll be here in a little bit. You should nap a little more.” Hyunjin fixed his tie after he stood, and you swore this was the most Hyunjin had ever been himself since that night in the rose garden. You closed your eyes and thought about it again. It played fresh in your mind.

 It was the kind of summer night that you craved in the winter time. Where there was a slight breeze to cool you off from a sun you couldn’t see in the shade of dark. A divine, dreamy day. You could smell the roses, the deep aroma you would swear was artificial if you didn’t know any better. 

 He was right, nothing would ever be the same. Hyunjin seemed like a husk of the person he once was.

  As if he could read your thoughts, Hyunjin turned his attention from the order to you, stealing looks at you as he spoke on the phone. He looked sof to the touch, so familiar to the lover you once knew. Your eyes started to mist, so you looked at his shoes. 

 You pulled your knees close to your chest, and rested your chin on top. You tapped your fingers on your arms. The silence was uncomfortable, but then again, what comfort did you search for in the noise? It would all be vapid. You held your breath, feeling your chest tighten as you held in tears. 

 You felt the weight in the couch shift, Hyunjin’s knees touching yours as he sat by your side.

“Food’s coming in twenty.”

 “What’d you order?”

 “Little bit of everything.”

 Hyunjin placed his hands in his laps, tapping rapidly against the leather of the couch. “I’ve missed you. Being near you. Sir Hwang, ______-,”

 “It’s okay. I know.”

 “It’s not. I’m morphing into him, he’s seeping into every part of my being. And I,” his hands balled into fists, “I let him. But after seeing what he put you through that night, it killed me. I never want to get to that point. I wanted to protect you, but I was hurting you. I though he would leave you alone if I acted like I wasn’t interested in you anymore.”

 “The interrogation, you saw that though, Hyunjin. You saw.”

 “I know that’s what it looks like, but did you ask anyone else what was happening behind the scenes? No one let me get to you. I broke into the room where they were watching you, they wouldn’t let me in. I only saw the end. I know, I know I should’ve done something at that point.”

 “Chan, and Changbin? They did that?”

 “Yes, but you have to understand, ______. Sir Hwang, his influence is still here. Sure, I’m coming into my own, but isn’t dead. He’ll have power as long as he’s alive.”

 You kept quiet, and nodded, burying your face. Your head was throbbing, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, feeling like you were playing a game where you didn’t know the rules. Hyunjin didn’t say anything, but pulled you into his lap and stroked you hair.

 “I’m never gonna leave you alone, never again.”

 You turned to look at him, tears staining your face. Alone, the word repeated, alone, alone, all alone. He leaned his face towards you, and the scent of his cologne swept in and made you dizzy. It smelled just like the garden of roses. “Can I kiss you?”

 Before you could finish nodding, he started to speak and press kisses soft kisses on your lips. “Never,” he punctuated with a kiss, “am I ever, ever, ever gonna leave you. I promise.”

 You could taste the saltiness of your tears on his lips, but it felt like every night before. It felt like Hyunjin was finally back, like he understood and come back to you. He was himself again, not the product of a corrupted metamorphosis, and for however long this would last, you would believe that he would never leave. 

 How could you give up on him like he had on you? 

 The both of you sat there until the food arrived, sitting in a more comfortable silence as he stroked your hair and smoothed the tears off your face. The salt of your tears was still on your tongue, the aftertaste of consequence. 

 “I love you, _____.” Hyunjin said quietly, “If you believe nothing else, please believe that. You are the most brilliant person to ever walk this planet, and I would follow you to the ends of the earth. I love you, I love you, I love you and only you.”

 Oh, how you believed him.

 Hyunjin laid out the food, unsure of how to place it all on the small glass coffee table. He sat criss crossed next to you. Hyunjin caught you up on his life, keeping it light and superficial. You didn’t have the energy to respond, and he didn’t ask you to at all. You hugged your legs, knees pressed against the edge of the table and thigh pressed against Hyunjin’s own. 

 You slept for the remainder of day, covered by Hyunjin’s large trench coat. You didn’t know you could sleep for so long. You couldn’t understand why you were so tired either. The sun had reached the west, and was falling down by the time you came up. You rubbed your face, spreading the warmth of sleep all over. Hyunjin put down his pen when he glanced at your area.

 “You should go home. I can drive if you want?”

 “No, I’m okay.”

 “Okay,” he looked down, and reached into his pocket, “these are your keys. And your phone. Call me if you need anything,” he stood up and walked over to you, “I love you, ______. Be careful.”

 His hand cupped your face, and his touch lingered, like he had forgotten the feel of your skin and the curves of your face. “I love you, Hyunjin.”

 His eyes watered, and he handed you everything. “I have to stay to finish up some things, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 You sat in the car, hands sitting in your lap as you stared at the skyline before you. You could just drive off the front of the building. You sighed, shaking yourself. You were crying before you realized, slamming your hands against the wheel. It was pathetic, you felt pathetic. You gasped for air, choking on the inhalation, like you had smoke in your lungs. You pressed your head against the seat finally, took a long breath, and reversed the car.

 The car drive was uncomfortable, the music that played in the stereo unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Hands on the steering wheel, you felt the blood spread thin around your knuckles. Your mind was blank, eyes only taking in the mistiness of the sky and the pavement ahead. The road looked slightly different from this perspective, aiding you in a new experience. You could feel tears betray your eyes, coming down and breaking the persona you were trying so hard to keep up. How much longer could you keep up this appearance? You could feel air getting caught up and lost in your lungs, like there wasn’t enough air in the world. The cars behind you began to beep and your foot pressed against the gas, jolting your body forward. You weren’t yourself anymore. But how could you feel like yourself if you weren’t even sure who you were? Everything was wrong, wrong, wrong. 

 You parked the car in the shadows, hands shaking 

 “You’ve been crying.”

 “No, I haven’t.” you took a breath in, “I’m fine.”

 Yugyeom looked at you, but decided not to press on, “Want me to drive?”

 You nodded, words feeling too heavy to speak. Entering the passenger seat, you sat, hands folded against your lap. Yugyeom started the car again, and words fell from your mouth.

 “Do you know how to get to the beach from here?”

 “Like, in my hometown?”

 “Yes, yes please.”

 The car ride was longer than the train ride, but the view was just as scenic. Maybe nostalgia really was a killer. Spring was coming back, the earth was coming alive again. Yugyeom was driving, and it seemed like something he missed doing. Your mind clouded with daydreams and imagination. You wished you had met Yugyeom in different circumstances, a nicer meet-cute. Maybe in a coffee shop, or a library. He’d take you on real dates, he’d be nervous and you’d check your hair and wonder if you had put on too much perfume or not enough. You looked at the reflection in front of you in the tinted window, the side of your face and Yugyeom’s face, arm outstretched on the wheel. You felt your cheeks heat up once you realized how long you had been staring at him. 

 “What’s your favorite local place?”

  You knew he wanted to ask you why you were doing all of this. You looked at him, or more his reflection, through the window. You wanted a taste of a normal life, the average life of someone in the area. He smiled at you, holding your hand in his and pulling your face towards his. “I’d love to show you everything I can. Let’s have a real date, yeah?”

 He drove to a pizza shop, the name slightly faded. Both the car and the beach sat across from the shop, the car hidden in a small pocket of the beach that Yugyeom pointed you to.  “You should probably stay in the car.”

 “Oh,” his smiled faded partly, “yeah. You’re right.”

 You tilted on your heels and on the balls of your feet, shifting back and forth as you waited for the order to be ready. And while on the heels of your feet, the photo wall caught your attention. Yugyeom from a variety of ages sat on the wall. The man who took the order was just a little older than the one in the picture. Your heart grew heavy. You put your finger on top of the picture, biting your lip and sniffling. 

 Your order number was called, the man smiling as you came up.

 “Is that your son in the picture? He’s very handsome.”

 His smile grew sad, “He was very handsome, and I’m sure he would’ve liked you very much.”

 “He’s alive,” you blurted, “He is. I can’t let him see you right now, but I’ll bring him back. He’s safe. I’ll keep him safe. Don’t tell anyone.”

 You dropped the money on the counter, and spoke fast, “He’s in that car, with me. I didn’t know until now. I’ll bring him back, one day.”

 You nearly ran out of the store, clutching the food like it was made of pure gold. Yugyeom didn’t meet your eyes. You knew. He knew. 

 You and Yugyeom sat on the roof of the car, sitting criss-cross across from one another, with your knees touching his. The food sat in the bare space between your legs, but your attention was turned to the crashing waves. The tide was high and rain was coming, you could smell it in the air. The air was getting cool and the air was quiet, the birds’ chirp had gone silent. The wind was picking up, your hair blowing slightly, pricked up like dandelion seeds floating through air. The sea was a sharp blue, and the current was a foamy white that sprayed against the rocks. The tongue of the waves rolled back and spoke in the sound of crashing.  The leaves rustled, as a soft murmur. You closed your eyes, the salt so strong you could almost taste it on your tongue. 

 Yugyeom pressed his lips against yours, and you let out a small gasp. He slipped his taste into your mouth, and you felt the sea salt seasoning on your tongue. His touch was soft, even as held your face close to his, rubbing his thumbs against either side of your cheeks. The rain started to pour, you could feel the droplets staining your clothes, and Yugyeom’s hair was wet, pressed against your forehead. You leaned into him, his hands moving from your cheek to your hips. Your fingers tangled in his hair, both of you hungry for touch. You were the one that had to part for air, Yugyeom still holding you and smiling against your lips.

 “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “you just looked so pretty like this. I think I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since I’ve met you, even when you shot me in the foot.”

 Your cheeks felt warm and you looked down. “Food’s ruined.”

 “I tasted something better.”

 “Gross!”

 He shrugged, looking up and closing his eyes and feeling the rain against his skin. You turned, looking at the waves. It was more violent now, the sound of the waves screaming as it crashed agasint the shore and the sharp edged rocks. 

 You knew you could drown, and the tide could pull you under if that’s what the ocean wished to do. 

 “We should get going.”

 “No,” he held your hand in his, “we shouldn’t. Breathe, _____.” 

 You slid down the side of the car and ran to the railing that seperated seers from the sea.

“______,” Yugyeom called after you, “Wait up, jesus, I haven’t done cardio since I’ve met you.” You slammed your body against it and stretched out your arms, feeling the water spray on your face like you were one of the rocks below. You were drenched, in part due to the rain, in part due to the stormy sea. The clinging of the fabric and the heaviness of your dress held all the parts of you together, from dissolving into the spring sea. You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the emotion of it all. You felt Yugyeom by your side, and he stretched out his arms too, wrapping his pinky around yours.

 You hoped he couldn’t tell you were crying. 

 You climbed the little rocks that separated you from the sea, over the railing until you could feel the splash of the tides against your clothes. Your hands were sliding, fingers strained as you leaned over the ocean. “____?” Yugyeom yelled over the crash of the waves, “_____! What are you doing?”

 “Swimming,” you said. But you weren’t sure he heard you before you jumped.

[sorceress-coffee]

Wherefore Art Thou, Witch?

AO3 Link

As the group entered Trollmarket for the first time the boys were lost in wonderment, running from stall to stall, greeting as many trolls as they could while Toby snapped pictured of them on his phone. River sighed, keeping her burnt hands close to her sides as they went, peering into different caverns, wondering how far Trollmarket truly went, trying to ignore the shocked stares and gasps their group received. Pausing behind the group, River found what appeared to be a giant formation of sapphires, as she was turning to approach the crystal structure it began to move. As it turned River came face to face with a large sapphire troll, their eyes matching the giant fire like crystal in the middle of Trollmarket. She raised her burnt hand in a small wave as the troll snarled at her, eyeing her palm before letting out a huff. River shrugged the reaction off, choosing to follow after the group only to find a crowd had encased them.

 Struggling to get through the crowd, River barely made it to Jim and the others when a deep voice brimming with irritation roared out, causing the crowd to part quickly. “What is all this?”

 Blinky froze at the voice, wary of who it belonged to. “Ah… Draal. Always happy to see you. I was just getting to that” He stammered out quickly.

 River turned to see the troll from the cavern, now known as Draal, was looming over her, snarling down at Jim and Toby as Blinky greeted him. “Human feet have never sullied the ground of Trollmarket!” He growled out. Getting in Jim’s face, “What are the fleshbags doing here?” He snarled, refusing to address said fleshbags. River snarled, pushing her way between Jim and Draal, glaring up at the troll. A startled look flashed in his eyes before he huffed from his nose, the steam pushing River’s hair back a bit, though she refused to back down.

 Blinky sighed, “How do I put this delicately…” He hesitated, gesturing towards Jim when he finally found his words again. “This is our new Trollhunter.” He winced as each toll in attendance let out a collective gasp, attention drawn to Jim.

 “He can’t be the Trollhunter! He’s not a toll!” Draal yelled, slamming his fist into the ground next to River, trying to scare the humans.

 River looked from Draal’s face to the hand indenting the ground. When she looked back up to him, she simply arched her brow before going to stand next to Jim. After Bular, there wasn’t much that could scare her tonight. “The Amulet called his name.” She said simply.

 Arrrgh nudged Jim forward slightly. “Amulet chose.” He said, eyes never leaving Draal’s tense frame.

 Before the others could get a word in, Toby spoke up, elbowing Jim’s side. “Show them, Jimbo?” He grinned.

 Jim nodded, saying the incantation, allowing the armor to envelop him again. “Cool right?” Jim asked, smiling at the crowd, hoping the armor was enough proof for them.

 “Bushigal!” Draal yelled, stalking towards Jim. “I am Draal,” he began, hitting a fist over his chest, “son of Kanjigar and the amulet’s rightful heir!” He exclaimed.

 “Uh, you’re his son?” Jim asked, distress evident, “He’s his son?” he turned to Blinky for an answer. Blinky winced, wringing his four hands together and nodding slightly.

 River looked from the Amulet to Draal, realizing what this meant for him. “That’s going to be a problem…” She trailed off. Toby wince, nodding in agreement.

 Draal stood at his full height over Jim, chin raised in the air as he glared down at him. “When my father fell, the honor should have passed on to me.” He grabbed the amulet, trying to rip it out of the armor. A bright blue light enveloped Jim and pushed him and Draal apart.

 Aaarrrgghh quickly caught Jim, holding him out slightly to Draal as if proving a point. “Amulet chose.” He stated again.

 Draal was staring at the amulet, shocked it had rejected him. Blinky ushered the group by Draal quickly, heading to our next destination in Trollmarket. Draal eyed them, standing up again. “We’ll see what Vendel has to say about this,” he growled out.

 Blinky nodded, “Of course, go ahead and fetch him then,” he said, pushing Jim in front of him, saying something about busy training.

 River paused next to Draal, bowing her head slightly for his father before heading after the group. Draal caught sight of her burnt hands as she left, humming to himself as he went to find Vendel.

 River finally caught up to the others in the Forge, eyes going wide and the sheer size of the underground arena.  “This is ‘The Hero’s Forge.’” Blinky exclaims as Toby took pictures of every square inch, mumbling about different minerals.

 Jim took notice of the statues and Blinky was quick to explain that they are the remains of his predecessors, including an empty pedestal for Kanjigar’s remains.

 River was walking around the perimeter of the Forge, hand ghosting over the markings and runes carved into the stone walls. “This is amazing,” She came to a stop next to Blinky as he was finishing his explanation of the Trollhunters.

 “A line of heroism that reaches back to the age of Merlin, he exclaimed, walking to a lever in one of the walls.

 “Merlin?” She asked, following him. “As in the wizard in the tales of King Arthur and Camelot?”

 Blinky nods, “The very same Lady River, I’m glad you’re familiar with your history. Especially after witnessing your magic tonight.” Blinky grinned.

 River furrowed her brow in confusion. “My history?” She stared up at him. “Wait, what magic tonight?

 “I assumed you knew, after all the spell you used to attack Bular takes years of training to control.” Blinky paused in thought.

 Before she could respond, an aged voice carried throughout the forge. “Blinkous Galadrigal!” Blinky quickly shut the forge down, obviously nervous about this voice. The blades retracted to reveal a goat-like troll walking towards us from the stone bridge. “Blinkous Galadrigal.” He repeated, walking up to the group quickly. When he was close enough you could see his eyes were grey though they sparkled as if they held a galaxy within.

 Blinky introduced the troll as Vendel, the elder, and leader, of Trollmarket. Vendel began to poke and prod at Toby, asking for the Trollhunter.

 Jim chuckled, “I think I’m the ‘fleshbag’ you’re looking for.” He pulled out the Amulet to show Vendel.

“Amulet chose,” Arrrgh quickly defended, standing next to Jim.

 Vendel hummed in thought, before bringing up Unkar the Unfortunate, the last Trollhunter Blink trained. River winced at the thought of being torn limb from limb, the burns she had sustained earlier were bad enough. Vendel tapped the center of the forge, a large statue sprouting from the ground. “The Soothscryer will judge the fleshbag.” He directed Jim on what to do.

 Jim paled when Vendel told him to place his hand in the mouth of the Soothscryer. “I’m going to get it back right?” He asked rubbing his palms.

 Vendel smirked at the hesitation. “That’s part of the test.”

 Jim sighed as Toby helped him reach the opening. As soon as he placed his in the mouth of the Soothscryer it clamped down on his arm. A panicked scream ripped from Jim as he tried to pull his arm from the Soothscryer. River rushed to him, grabbing at him as fast as she could causing her to snarl in pain from her burnt palms, pulling Jim as hard as she could. The Soothscryer released them, Jim falling back against River and River falling onto Toby.

 Once outside of Trollmarket River slouched to the ground with a groan. “What the hell did I get myself into?”

 Draal snorts, noticing that she stopped, “You threw yourself into countless hours of studying and training with the old goat.” He lifted her by the hood of her jacket to sniff the gashes in the back. “So, you fought Bular and lived, with no training. I’d say impressive, but it appears to be shit luck.” He dropped her and continued walking.

 River let out a growl at getting troll handled, “Oh really? Why should I care if you’re impressed?” she smirked watching him walk, “By the way, that path leads to school, home is that direction.” She stated, jabbing her thumb behind her.

 Draal growled, turning and stalking by. “I wouldn’t go the wrong way if you knew how to lead.” He was definitely irritated. River quickly fell in step beside him, heading up along the trail.

 They walked in silence for a while until a sigh escaped her, “I’m sorry, for your father and the amulet. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose both in one day.”

 “I don’t need a fleshbag’s pity.” He growled out.

 “I’m not pitying you Draal, I’m empathizing. Big difference.” She stated. Even though she could understand his reaction, she didn’t have to like it. River paused as they got close to the house. “It sucks okay? I get losing a parent, I understand that pain. But losing a parent and what you believe to be your destiny in one go? I can understand your anger towards Jim  and not the ‘he’s a fleshbag’ anger, but the ‘he took everything from me’ anger.” She explained, copying Draal’s arm movements as she spoke about him hating Jim.

 Draal watched her carefully, calculating how to react. “You are strange.” He finally says looking to the house. “You empathize… you’ve experienced the pain; you don’t just know of it.” He stated, watching the windows of the house.

 “Why do you think I live with my aunt and cousin?” River asked, shrugging slightly. “I don’t expect you to trust or like me Draal, but I have a feeling we will be seeing each other a lot, and I hope we can be on better terms than today.”

 Draal only hummed in acknowledgment.

 River nodded turning to the house, “Thank you for walking me home, even if Vendel asked you to. Be careful about going back home!” She called out, heading into the house with a wave.

 Draal lifts his hand in a slight wave before heading back into the trees, back to Trollmarket.

 River quickly shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket seeing her aunt Barbara. “Hey mom, sorry I’m home late, I was at the library!” Not a total lie, she was in a toll library.

 Barbara smiled and waved it off. “No worries sweetie, how are your hands though? Jim said you burned them during your science class.” She held out her hands expectantly. River winced slightly pulling her hands out so Dr. Lake could inspect the bandages.

 “They’re okay, the uh, nurse had stuff for burning, I’m supposed to keep them wrapped up though,” River explained.

 Dr. Lake turned River’s hands over, nodding after a moment, “The nurse did an excellent job. No painting tonight though. You’ll need to rest them.” She kissed River’s forehead letting her hands go. “Jim took your dinner upstairs, should be in your room.”

 River grinned running up, “Thanks, mom!” She quickly ran to Jim’s door, knocking carefully before entering and flopping on his bed.

 Jim chuckles, “It’s been a day.” He pulls at the black satchel. “What’s this?”

 She groaned, rolling over, “My new magic homework. Apparently, I’m a sorceress, and have to train or ‘risk becoming a threat.’” She mocked in Vendel’s voice sitting up, pulling out the books to show him. “So, while you’re stuck in the forge, I’m stuck in the Heartstone.” She teased, acting like it’s the worst.

 Jim rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah, because learning magic is oh so boring,” he teased back, picking up the books and looking them over. “How are you supposed to read these? They’re in another language.”

 River shrugged, “Vendel checked, apparently being able to read it has something to do with magic.” She pointed to the smaller book. “That one is about keeping King Arthur in line.”

 He laughs, picking it up and flipping through it. “How’d you get home?”

 She let out a snort, “Vendel had Draal, of all trolls, walk me home.”

 Jim groans at the name throwing himself back on his pillow, “He wants to kill me, I swear he does.”

 River smiled slightly, “He’s had a rough few days, give him time, I think you might end up getting along.”

 Jim and River stayed up for a while. She read him most of the book on ‘How to keep King Arthur in Line.’ River would have loved to meet Merlin if he was this hilarious in person. After a while they decided to try and sleep, training was going to be ruthless after all, and they needed as much rest as they could get.

 After school, as promised, Jim, Toby, and River headed straight for Trollmarket, excited to start training. They met with Blinky and Aaarrrgghh at the entrance and were quickly escorted inside. River broke off from the group as they reached the cavern with a glowing Daylight sign above it, waving as she headed to the Heartstone to meet with Vendel.

 “Hello, Master Vendel!” She greeted as she entered the cave.

 He chuckled, “River, are you ready? We will be starting with the basics of identifying and sorting spell materials.”

 She nodded, “Actually, as I was reading, I realized a lot of the basics for magic dealt with ingredient distinction, especially minerals. I’ve been collecting and identifying stones with Toby.” She pulled out a large black case, opening it to show Vendel the stones inside. “These are from my collection at home. I followed the classification guides and separated them accordingly. Toby let me practice with his collection as well.”

 Vendel took the black case and studied the stones and ingredients closely. “I’m surprised you haven’t cut these.” He hummed and nodded. “Well done, you have sorted them properly.” He paused thinking, his lesson going out the window, “Why don’t we check on the Trollhunter’s progress? It will give you a chance to assess how trolls fight.”

 River nodded quickly, following him as they took a different route to the forge. They came to a large opening and could hear Blinky and Jim talking. She walked over and looked down to see that they were in the stands of the Hero’s Forge. River pulled herself up to sit on the stone wall, legs hanging over the side as Vendel stood next to her, watching Jim get pelted with rocks by Blinky and a stray rock by Arrrgh.

 As Blinky was explaining the third rule of being a Trollhunter, hitting your opponents in the crotch, River caught a flash of blue from the cavern entrance, looking over to see Draal walking into the forge. “Ah! So, the Trollhunter’s training begins.” He states in an overly friendly tone, stalking towards Jim and Blinky, both growing nervous at Draal’s entrance. “I thought the great Trollhunter might accept my services as a sparring partner.” He bowed his head before hitting a fist against his open palm. “Part of your training regiment, isn’t it?” He asks, looking to Blinky.

 “In due time, perhaps,” Blinky states quickly.

 Vendel chuckled beside River, “Why wait?” He calls out, drawing everyone’s attention to them. River waved to Jim, Blinky, and Draal. “I am eager to see your charge demonstrate his mettle.” He states, leaning over the stone wall to peer down at Blinky.

 Jim lifts his sword looking over it, “Actually, the sword is really made of, like, daylight.” He tells Vendel. River facepalmed as he says this, shaking her head. Jim looks confused at her reaction, Draal smirking.

 Blinky leans over to Jim, “He means your ‘mettle’: your ability to cope in the face of adversity.”

 “Oh,” Jim said, realization dawning his features. “Yeah, I’m still working on the whole ‘mettle’ part.” He chuckled, “Plus, you know, SAT words.”

 River smiled as Jim jokes about his misunderstanding. Vendel chuckles, standing at full height again, “Let them spar,” he announces.

 “No harm in it.” Draal stated, his smirk growing as he heads to the opposite side of the forge while Blinky glared at him. He took the side opposite of where Vendel and River were observing, grinning up at them.

 River leaned over to Vendel, “Are you two messing with Jim? I can’t tell if this is a joke or your way of getting him killed.” she frowned, worried.

 Vendel shook his head, “Draal will not kill him now, we must wait for the Soothscryer’s judgment, he knows this.” River nodded at his answer, relieved but nervous. “Though I cannot say he’ll walk away without injury.”

 She huffed, “This is not going to end well, Jim’s never been in a fight, let alone having actually punched someone.”

 Vendel chuckles. “Begin.”

 They watched as Draal charged for Jim. Jim was barely able to move out of the way as Draal curled into a ball, hitting the ground hard where Jim was a moment ago before rolling up the side of the wall near Vendel and River. As he lands, dust and debris are kicked up, obscuring the fight. Next thing River can see is Jim getting thrown out of the dust cloud, Draal stalking over to him. He punched Jim three times, knocking him back towards the ledge. Draal picked him up and holding him over the ledge, threatening to drop him.

 River’s blood ran cold, she looked to Vendel in shock, gripping the ledge tightly, her hands began to overheat and the bandages around her palms burnt away, the ledge she was sitting on shattered. Screaming as she felt the ledge disappear from underneath her, falling towards the forge floor quickly. She closed her eyes tight waiting for the impact.

 Something hard hit her, but it was from the side as if a boulder was lobbed at her. Suddenly she could feel all movement cease. River chanced opening her eyes and all she could see was blue.

 “River!” She hears Jim yell, the sound of metal boots running on stone. River looked up and saw the boulder that caught her was actually Draal.

 He growled before setting her down. “Are you an idiot?!” He roared. “I knew you were untrained, but blasting yourself off a ledge?” He growls storming out of the forge.

 River sat there in shock looking to Jim as he reached her. “What happened River?” He knelt next to her, worried.

 “I…” she trailed off, looking over to ledge Draal was threatening to drop Jim over. “I thought he was going to drop you…” She looked up at Jim. “I was scared.”

 Jim frowned, “Well he wasn’t going to, said he could wait till I fell in battle… When you screamed, he dropped me on the floor as he took off after you.” He sighed hugging her. “Are you okay?”

 River nodded slowly, standing with his help she let out a groan. “I’m fine, other than getting hit with a living boulder.” She tried giving him a small smile to ease his worry.

 Vendel came down from the viewing area, shaking his head as he approached them. “Maybe we should focus on controlling and channeling your magic instead. We don’t want a repeat of today during an actual battle.” He turns, waving for River to follow. “Trollhunter, you have much training to do.”

 Jim frowned, hanging his head at his lack of skill. River pats his shoulder before following Vendel out of the arena. It was going to be a long night.

 Once in his study, Vendel assessed the new damage done to her palms and rewrapped them while lecturing her on the improper use of magic. The rest of River’s night at Trollmarket, she and Vendel researched ways to get her magic under control. River was growing weary of reading about the great sorcerers of legend. Groaning she flopped back next to a pile of books. “The only thing these people have in common is some sort of staff or weapon. Even the types of magic they use are different.”

 Vendel tilted his head at her outburst and hummed in thought. “Interesting.” He began looking over the pictures and journals they had been reading for hours. “Each sorcerer forged their own means of channeling their magic.” He hands her a sketch of Merlin holding a staff with a giant emerald at the top. “All of which are accompanied by a stone, cut for power.”

 River took the picture, looking it over. “So, I need to make a weapon or staff with a giant stone somewhere in there. Just any stone?” she asked.

 Vendel shook his head. “These stones were made by the sorcerer, channeling their magic into a condensed form, similar to how water flows and turns to ice. This will take a bit of thought and preparation.”

 River nodded, thinking out loud. “I have to figure out how to control my magic enough to channel it into a crystalline state. The type of weapon will be important too, that could determine how I fight later on.”

 Vendel gives her a small smile and nods. “Yes, but for now, you need rest. It is late after all, and with your magic awakening not long ago your body hasn’t had enough time to adjust from your human habits, like sleeping.”

 River yawned before she could stop herself. “Also have to keep appearances up with mom. She’d lose it if she knew what was going on.” She grabbed her books and packed up. “I’ll be heading out then. Goodnight Master Vendel.” She called, heading to the entrance of Trollmarket.

As she reached the top of the crystal steps, she found Draal leaning against the wall that led to the canal, waiting. Waving to him with a smile “Hey Draal, um… thanks for earlier… you know, catching me and all.”

 He huffed, looking over her freshly bandaged hands. “Let’s go.” He shakes his head walking out into the canal.

 River stepped out, looking at Draal confused. “Vendel didn’t ask you to walk me.” She fell in step next to him as they headed for her house.

 Draal smirked, glancing over at her, “Would you rather I leave you defenseless at night with Bular running around?” he asked. “You shouldn’t use your magic after Vendel wrapped your hands.”

 River huffed crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly, “I can fight without magic just fine,” she stated, standing tall before mimicking fighting techniques she had seen in different animes. “though, I would need a staff or something to do actual damage.”

 Draal tilted his head at River’s demonstration, “Have you thought of training with a lance?” he asks.

 She hummed as they continued, “Actually, I’m supposed to start focusing on forging a weapon to lace with magic, do you think a lance is a good option?”

 Draal nods, “the motions you just used are lance techniques.” He explained different types of weapons, and how one would fight with each type until they made it to the house.

 River looked up at him with a tooth-bearing grin “Thanks Draal, your insight helped a lot, I think I know what I want to forge now.” He nodded, a small smirk on his face as he turned to leave. “Draal,” River called out quickly, he turned his head back slightly to look at her, “I really am grateful for your help today, with the weapons and for saving me in the forge.”

 Draal was silent for a moment before nodding, the smirk turning into a small smile. “Try not to launch yourself off any ledges for a while, I don’t think I’ll be allowed near the Trollhunter’s training after today.”

 She shook her head laughing, “Yeah, probably not. Night Draal.” She called out before heading inside, going straight to bed after a stressful night.

 Jim and River had gotten up early, Saturday morning was busy for both of them. He had his first rehearsal of Romeo and Juliet and River was going to go over her designs and ideas for her new weapon with Vendel. They headed out together and split in the canals wishing each other luck.

 River quickly ran down to Vendel’s study, waving to Draal as she passed him, excited to show Vendel what she came up with. “Master Vendel!” She grinned seeing him. “I know what I want to do!” River said, laying out drawings of a lance for him.

 Vendel picked up the drawings and studied them, “A lance?” he hummed. “What are these scribbles in the shaft?” He pointed to the markings she drew in the staff.

 “Crystalline veining,” River told him quickly. “that’s what I want to do with the magic I crystallize, grind it into a powder, and weave it through the entire lance. No other sorcerer has tried it before!”

 Vendel chuckled, “It would be very flawed, though I don’t see why it couldn’t work, you would be using a large amount of magic to do this though.” He continued to study the drawings before setting them down, a small smile on his face. “A flawed weapon, for a flawed sorceress, it’s almost poetic.” He states before nodding. “We will begin working on harnessing your magic to channel it into crystals.” He walked further into the Heartstone, waving her along.

 They entered the core of the Heartstone and he motioned River to the center. “Sit there, now explain to me how you pulled your magic to the surface, you’ve done it three times now.”

 River sat with her legs crossed thinking, “two times I was frightened, I thought Jim was about to die, the third time it was defensive when Draal met Jim and tried to pull the amulet out of the armor. Well… it was more of an overwhelming desire.”

 “A desire?” Vendel question, “What for?”

 River opened her mouth and paused, thinking for a moment. “To protect… I wanted to protect Jim, even if it meant getting involved in the fight,” she answered.

 Vendel simply nodded, “Try focusing on the desire to protect, shape that desire slowly, harden it, close your eyes and let it take form in your mind,” he instructed.

 River sat up straight, closing her eyes quickly. She recalled the moments she used magic in her mind, focusing on the feelings, the desire to protect. As she focused, she felt her flesh begin to warm. Slowly, she took a deep breath, keeping the feeling of fear from the events in the back of her mind, focusing solely on protecting. An image of a blue glowing stream weaving through her mind appeared, like water flowing from many pools to create a single flow. As she followed the stream it slowly led her to a large jagged rock, forming from the water of the stream. Instead of reshaping it, River let it stay jagged and messy. She focused on the stream, willing it to flow faster. The longer she concentrated, the faster the flow became, until the jagged stone was complete and overflowing, branching into more stones. She continued, allowing the overflow, pushing as far as she could go.

 Her eyes snapped open as she felt a shove. Looking up to see Vendel towering over her. “Did…” she frowned seeing a look of concern flash across his face. “Did I do it wrong?”

 Vendel chuckled and stepped back. “You did everything properly,” he states. “Though you’ve been in a trance for most of the day now. I began to worry when yelling wasn’t enough to pull you out of it.”

 River’s brow knit in confusion, “Most of the day? It only felt like an hour, if that.” She looked down hoping to see the crystal in her hands after all that, but she held nothing.

 Vendel studied her expression for a moment, glancing behind her. “River, as you adjust to using your magic, everything around you will begin to feel as if it’s racing by. You no longer exist in the humans’ concept of time. Your aging will be that of a Trolls’, Merlin is centuries old and still considered young.” Vendel explained her time-lapse, causing her to frown. “Though I can’t remedy time, I can tell you to turn around.”

 She looked up at him in question but decided to do as told. Turning, her eyes widened as they met the sapphire crystal she had seen in her mind, it ended up taller than her standing height. River looked around to see eleven smaller crystals as well, just as jagged and messy as the giant formation in front of her. “It was large in my mind but… I didn’t know it would be the same when formed.” She walked around it slowly, studying it. “Is it too much?”

 Vendel laughed shaking his head, “One of the smaller crystals you made will be enough,” he chuckled coming to stand next to her, “this just shows how much magic you’ve been storing. We can keep these here. We may find a use for them as your studies advance. Choose a crystal and we can begin work on your weapon.”

 River grinned quickly looking over all the crystals, as she walks through them, she chuckled seeing one that had a similar formation to the crystals on Draal’s back. “I’m taking this one home,” she stated before grabbing two more of similar sizes. “I’ll use one of these.”

 Vendel nodded as she packed the crystals in the black satchel, he had given her. “Come, we should choose a metal for the lance.”

 “How about steel?” River asked, walking with Vendel to a weapons forge. “It’s the strongest metal after all.”

 Vendel hummed in thought, “I don’t see why not, you’ll have to build your strength to wield it. We will have to treat iron to produce it.”

 River gave a quick nod in response. They began setting up the weapons forge, selecting the iron to create the steel, Vendel refusing to let her handle it before treatment. River focused on grinding the crystal she made into a fine powder. As they worked on the shaft hours went by. River texted Barbara to let her know that she was staying with a friend to help with a school project, not a total lie, Vendel was friendly enough, this was an important project, and she was learning a lot.

 Adding the crystal powder as Vendel instructed into the liquid metal took a lot of patience on her part. Working into the early hours of the morning they finally finished the shaft of the lance, cooling it off.

 River slumped down near the table they used to hold the powdered crystal, exhausted as it was now midmorning, a day later. Vendel extracted the cooled shaft and began to polish it, chuckling as River was nodding off in her corner.

 She awoke later in the afternoon, a long rod-like object sitting next to her, wrapped in cloth.

 “I started working on the blades, you have an eye for weaponry River,” Vendel said as he was carving glyphs into a large crystal war hammer.

 River groaned grabbing the wrapped weapon next to her, slowly stretching as she stood. “Thank you, Master Vendel.” She approached where he was working and saw several freshly made and sharpened blades on the table near the cooling vat. Each blade was slightly different, slightly flawed, and to her they were perfect. She grinned and hugged Vendel, excited about the weapon. Realizing what she just did she pulled back quickly, looking down. “Um, sorry… I’m just… I’m really excited.”

 She heard a chuckle, then a large hand was patting her head. “It is good to be excited about your accomplishments. Why don’t you try adding the blade to the shaft?” He nudged her to the blades before he continued to work.

 River nodded quickly, going to the table and looking over each blade carefully before choosing one. She unwrapped the staff, pausing to stare at it, seeing it fully polished, veins of glowing sapphire running through it, similar to the pools of magic she saw in her mind. Smiling she slid the blade into place and secured it with a black leather strap.

 “I added enchantments to the blades so the lance will collapse when not in use,” Vendel spoke. “Go test it on the Trollhunter, he should be here soon.”

 River thanked him again before running off to find Jim. She found Jim and Toby heading into one of the Troll bars a determined look etched over Jim’s face. As she walked in after them, she saw him challenging Draal to a rematch. She let out a sigh at the interaction. Something told her this wasn’t going to end well.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Sweet Fantasy (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Ethan and Naomi pull an all nighter to work on a case.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: NSFW. Literally office sex, the type of sex we deserve in book 2.

Tags: @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @choicesobsessedd @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @sparklinglilac  @cream-ray @perriewinklenerdie @barricades-of-freedom @dr-brianna-casey-valentine @doroshi-desu

~~/~~

“I’m glad we settled on takeout, because I cannot eat anymore hospital cafeteria food.”

Ethan looks up from the stack of papers on his desk and at Naomi, who’s sitting on the small couch in his office, happily eating her second slice of pizza.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying.”

The two doctors have been working in Ethan’s office for the past 6 hours, working on a particularly difficult case. A patient of theirs is in a coma, and no one can figure out why. So they raided the hospital’s library, pulling all sorts of books, journals, case studies, and files they could get their hands on in hopes of finding something, anything useful.

But it’s just past midnight, and they’re just as clueless as they were a few hours ago, and Ethan can feel his frustration rising. He’s no stranger to difficult cases, but he hasn’t been this lost since working on Naveen all those months ago.

“You know, one of the very first things I told you about myself is thatI’m a pretty observant person,” Naomi starts. “And I noticed that you’ve been staring at the same page for the last 5 minutes, so clearly, you aren’t doing any critical reading right now.”

He glances down at the page and chuckles softly to himself. “Honestly, I think I checked out around 30 minutes ago. And I’m getting a headache.”

“You’re on work overload,” Naomi says. 

“That much is obvious.”

She takes a napkin and wipes off her hands. “Let’s take a break.”

“We can’t afford to take breaks.”

“Would you rather take a 30 minute break now, or crash later on, thus being absolutely no help at all to our patient?” Naomi challenges with a slightly raised eyebrow. “Besides, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Ethan sighs. He hates admitting defeat, but she’s right. “So what do you suppose I do during this break?” 

Naomi gets off of the couch and walks over to Ethan’s desk. She runs her fingers across it, appreciating the quality of the aged light brown wood. This is one instance where their height disparity works well, because even though he’s sitting, they’re still eye-to-eye.Reaching out, she softly removes his glasses from his face, her fingertips just barely grazing his temples. “You won’t be needing these.”

Ethan tries to keep his composure. He and Naomi hadn't been this close to each other in 3 months, not since their last night together after her ethics hearing. Since then, they had been the ultimate professionals, careful not to fall down the very tempting rabbit hole of becoming lovers again.

“Close your eyes,” Naomi commands softly, her breath tickling his face.

He does what he’s told, and seconds later, he feels her warm thumbs gently massaging his forehead. “What are you doing?”

“This is one of the easiest ways to relieve tension. I don’t think you realize just how much of it you carry around.”

“Trust me, Rookie, I am acutely aware of just how much tension I have,” Ethan argues with a smirk. “You try being a department head in one of the biggest hospitals on the east coast.”

“So defensive,” Naomi tsks. “You should still take the time to unwind every once in a while. All this stress isn’t good for your health, you know.”

“I do know. I am a doctor after all.”

“Doctors make the worst patients. Always so stubborn and touchy.”

“I am not stub–” Naomi’s thumbs move from his forehead down to his temples, and the rest of her fingers tangle in Ethan’s thick hair. His argument halts right in his throat as his breath hitches at her touch.

“You are,” Naomi insists. “I don’t mind though.”

“Because you are just as stubborn.”

“It’s part of my charm and why you like me so much.” Ethan only snorts in reply, but he doesn’t retort. “How’s your head?”

“The throbbing isn’t as intense as it was a few seconds ago,” he says honestly.

“Good. I’m using my magic on you, and it’s working.”

“Is giving massages a superpower of yours?”

“Yes,” she replies matter-of-factly. “I’m a woman of many talents, Dr. Ramsey. Besides, I did this all the time in med school to keep my brain from exploding, so I’ve become a pro.”

Her nails gently graze Ethan’s scalp and his head drops against his will. A shudder passes through his body and a soft moan slips past his lips at the sensation. 

He opens his eyes quickly, a blush already forming on his cheeks. Naomi decides to stay silent, not wanting to draw any more attention to it or ruin the moment. Instead she just grips Ethan’s hair tighter, eliciting a sharper moan from him. 

She knows she’s playing a dangerous game, but she wants to see how far she can push it, push him. Her hands slide down the sides of his face, tracing his features – his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw covered in stubble – and settle on his neck.

Ethan locks eyes with Naomi and suddenly they’re trapped in a stalemate. Neither of them knows what to do.

Not breaking eye contact, Ethan reaches forward and grabs Naomi by the waist, pulling her closer to him. Her shirt rides up and his fingers slowly glide across the smooth expanse of her stomach, and she sucks in a deep breath in an effort to stay calm.

The air in the room is suddenly crackling with electricity, and Ethan is pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe. All he can focus on is how soft Naomi feels, and how good her sweet perfume smells.

His eyes flicker down to her full lips and he wants to kiss her. He’s never wanted to do something so badly, and there’s a physical ache in his chest at the longing. Thankfully he doesn’t have to make the decision as Naomi leans forward and presses her lips to his in a chaste kiss. It’s tentative and for the first time, she’s nervous and cautious around him, and before Ethan can even kiss her back, she pulls away.

“Damn,” he murmurs against her lips as she pulls away. He didn’t realize just how much he missed this — being close to her, kissing her — until now. It feels like a dormant flame has been reignited and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop it this time.

Naomi opens her mouth, probably to apologize, but Ethan doesn’t give her the chance. He takes her by the waist and pulls her back in for another kiss, the sheer force of it nearly knocking her over.

Scrambling, Naomi draws herself into his lap, her legs trapping him in his seat. She wants to gasp, hoping to get some air in her lungs, but it doesn’t seem like Ethan is letting her go any time soon.

His hand travels from her waist under her scrub rob until he feels the small of her back. His fingertips are on fire, every touch of her skin scorching him. Naomi moans at the contact and he takes the opportunity to run his tongue along her bottom lip before pulling it roughly between his teeth. Unable to do anything else, she grinds her hips against his, earning a groan from the older attending.

Eventually she breaks the kiss with a shuddering breath and rests her forehead against his. The only sounds that could be heard were their exhausted pants and heavy sighs.

“I’ve missed you,” Naomi whispers. Ethan’s chest clenches at the rawness in her voice, the vulnerability.

“I haven’t gone anywhere, Rookie.”

“You know what I mean.”

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss her as well. Not just the sex, but their shared intimacy. He cups her face between both of his hands, a thumb running across her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he assures.

And that’s all she needs to hear. Gripping his tie, Naomi pulls him in for another kiss, just as fervent, but much more desperate.

Her lips travel across his jaw, enjoying the scrape of his stubble across her skin. She traces the shell of his ear with her tongue before whispering, “Do you trust me?”

“Without question.”

“Good.” Naomi removes herself from Ethan’s lap and he groans at the loss of contact. “Stand up.”

“What?”

“Stand up,” Naomi repeats. Her eyes scan the room until she settles on the perfect spot. “Stand against the bookshelf.”

Ethan does what he’s told, despite the confusion. Where was this headed?

Once his back is firmly planted against the tall bookshelf, Naomi removes his tie, letting the piece of silk slide between her fingers. She then wraps it around her head, fashioning it into a hair tie, pulling her curls out of her face. “I hope you’re not too attached to this tie, because I kind of like it.”

“It’s yours,” Ethan says quickly.

Smirking at his eagerness, Naomi slowly unbuttons Ethan’s dress shirt, marveling at every new inch of skin that’s released with the adept work of her fingers. She rids of the offending material once it’s fully unbuttoned, throwing it behind her without a backward glance to where it lands.

“Ethan Ramsey, you are quite the work of art underneath all those pesky clothes,” Naomi says. She nips at his neck and collarbone, eliciting soft groans and grunts from the man. She loves the fact that she can do this, turn such a powerful man into a puddle of goo beneath her feet. 

Her nails rake across his chest and stomach, leaving scratches and tiny crescent shaped indents in their wake. She’s marking him on purpose, and Ethan is too far gone to care. “Fuck, Rookie–” Naomi’s hand gently grazes the front of his pants and the ability to form setences is wiped away completely. He doesn’t think it’s possible for him to get any harder than he is right now, but he had a feeling that Naomi was going to test the limits.

She makes quick work of unbuckling his pants, dropping them to the floor. “Keep your eyes on me, Dr. Ramsey,” she commands, and fuck, the use of his official title in such an intimate moment makes his knees go weak. Her voice is soft, but there’s a firmness there. He knows she means business. “Don’t you dare look away. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Good.” 

Naomi’s tongue darts out and she swipes it across his chest, taking in the taste of his expensive cologne, his sweat, and something that is just so uniquely him. His abdomen seized at the sensation, especially when she drops down to her knees and gets closer to his navel.

She pulls his boxers down at an alarmingly slow pace, and Ethan is almost certain that she’s trying to torture him to death.

He was uncomfortably hard at this point, dripping precum, but Naomi doesn’t seem to care. She’s humming quietly to herself, her fingernails tracing patterns onto his hips, which are taut with tension. He’s a whimpering mess at this point.

“Naomi…”

There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looks up at him. “Yes?”

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“How much more of what?” She’s teasing him now, wanting to draw this out as long as she can.

“This, this teasing.”

“What do you want me to do?” Naomi asks innocently. She kisses the area above his pelvis and hips snap against her involuntarily at the contact. “Use your words.”

“Stop torturing me,” Ethan pleads. “Please.”

At long last, she takes him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip. A growl escapes from deep in his throat and he throws his head back in satisfaction.

But that action makes Naomi stop her movements. “I gave you a very simple instruction, Dr. Ramsey. Keep your eyes on me.” Ethan struggles to open his eyes, but he manages. “Thank you.”

She resumes working on him, adding her hand to stroke his length simultaneously. Unable to look away or turn his head, Ethan grabs a handful of Naomi’s curly hair and pulls it roughly. She moans, the sound reverberating against him, heightening the sensation. “Fuck.”

He feels her tongue tracing something on the underside of his shaft. It takes a few times before he realizes that she’s spelling her name.

V

A

L

“Naomi–”

She ignores him, alternating between taking him fully into her mouth and teasing him.

E

N

T

I

The all too familiar tightening settles in his stomach. He’s close. He’s so close, he can almost taste it. His grip on Naomi’s hair only gets fiercer, his knuckles turning white at the force. His hips buck uncontrollably under her touch, but she doesn’t change her tempo at all, maintaining her steady pace. Ethan wasn’t the one in charge, she was.

“Fuck, Naomi, I’m gonna c–”

N

E

A string of expletives leave his mouth as he comes and Naomi hums in satisfaction. That was definitely a new record that she intends to beat in the near future.

Ethans pulls her up and slants his mouth over hers, kissing her hungrily. Hooking his hands underneath her thighs, Ethan lifts Naomi up with ease and carries her over to his desk, not caring about the pages of research he was pouring over just minutes ago.

Once she’s securely on his desk, Ethan tears her scrub top off of her body, admiring the lace covered hot pink bra she’s sporting. “You’re so beautiful.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself.”

“What do you want me to do?” Ethan asks, mirroring the words she spoke to him not too long ago.

“I want you to fuck me, right on this desk,” Ethan.”

“Ethan.”

“Ethan.”

“Ethan!”

Ethan’s eyes snap open and he awakes with a sharp gasp, trying to fill his lungs with as much air as possible.

He looks around and instantly relaxes when he sees that he’s in his office. There’s a hand on his shoulder and he looks up and finds Naomi staring back at him, a concerned look on her face.

“Ethan, are you okay?”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, I just heard you talking in your sleep.”

Ethan takes in his surroundings. His office is dark, lit only by a few lamps. He’s fully clothed still, and so is Naomi,

“Did I say anything?”

“No, it was just a lot of incoherent mumbling,” Naomi responds.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s late, and you’re tired.”

Ethan isn’t necessarily tired for falling asleep. He’s sorry for having sex dreams about his young mentee. It feels selfish, especially since he’s the one who’s been keeping her at an arm’s length.

“You’re right.” He rubs a hand over his face, trying to shake the thoughts out of his mind and hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks. It’s hard to look Naomi in the eye mere seconds after very dirty thoughts crowded his brain. “Why don’t we put a pin in this for the night.”

“Are you sure?” Naomi asks. “I don’t mind pulling an all nighter.”

“I’m sure. Go home and get some rest. We’ll tackle this with a fresh set of eyes tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.” Naomi tidies up a bit, stacking all of the textbooks and articles she was reading neatly on Ethan’s small coffee table. Before she leaves, she turns to Ethan with a slight smile. “Have a nice night, Dr. Ramsey.”

“You too, Rookie.”

Once she’s gone from his office, Ethan drops his head onto the cool surface of his desk and lets out a shaky breath.

He’s completely and utterly fucked.

[blindtaleteller]

Preferred Exerpts: DREAMS - CH.5  - STRANGE

Have I ever mentioned how much  love Wong and Steven’s relationship?

Chapter Five was actually my first time reaching for Wong at all past a brief mention, but I enjoyed it tons, and that section in particular; with the bonus chapters to preceding chapters filing in after. I knew Strange would have a pretty important role in Mixology early on. And why wouldn’t he, when the first time the multiverse and alternate realities and dimensions was thrown unashamedly in our faces with his appearance?

Doctor Strange is by far one of my favorite films out of the MCU, as well as the one I feared most for before it finally hit theaters and I got to see it, because I -was- a comics fan familiar with the crazy content they would or at the time could be touching: and was earnestly scared for them just being aware of the fact that if the formula had been the slightest bit off it would have been a terrible failure.

I kept away from teasers and trailers for that reason; but couldn’t keep from the art and promo pics.. which kept my hope up especially seeing an actor I was familiar with and excited to see (Cumberbatch) in the main role.

Don’t think I have to say it did way better than not disappointing. Enough that when it was available for purchase, I bought it instantly and regardless of the fact that it (irresponsible me) put me short on my phone bill due that same week to watch it about a half dozen times in just the first few days that followed.

Anyways! I ended that bit happy with the whole section? But I think out of it all this portion is probably my favorite for a lot of reasons; some of which touch on examples of Wong’s statement just after he reveals the Time stone for what it was..

“ You might have a gift for the mystic arts, but you still have much to learn. “

Enjoy!

                ~----LK aka blind

-------------------------------=================

“ The Ancient One. It was a common, oft repeated lecture.. Why are you looking at me like that? “  Was it, now.

                          “ Because I never heard it from  her . “ Pulled a very confused look from Wong as he picked up the Eye of Agamotto and opened it, examining the inside. “ I heard it from  Loki . It was a part of yesterday’s courtesy broadcast. The one they were listening to during the call, to ask them why he was in rural Missouri, instead of being kept under watch at the Crater. “ He turned it around, after looking through the inside. “ ..where the  hell,  is this stick. “

   “ What? “

       “ The macula; is the portion of the human eye at the center of the retina that processes sharp, clear, straight-ahead vision. A little indention at the inner back side of your eyeb-- “  What was that?  Wong opened his mouth, and Strange held up a finger; before tapping it at the back side. He flipped it over again, trying the same tap at the inside from the other direction. “ Has anyone ever taken this thing apart? “

       “  Stephen.  The Eye of Agamotto is  thousands  of years  old. It belonged to the Master who created our order, and the Sanctums; making it much more than a  pretty box  for a cosmic  glow-rock.  No.  We did not, and hopefully  will not ever  take it apart. “

“ Sorry but uh; did you just look at me, and basically say ... never?  “ Hand raised.  Crack, and:  ping-ping .

Wong closed his eyes at the ceiling with the expected look of agitation and intense exasperation, for all of maybe a second or two; when he finally realized there had been two tones to that back shiny panel coming off. Not one.  Yeah , he had just broken open a thousands of years old rock-locket and symbol belonging to the Masters of the Mystic Arts for  ages  and  generations  before even his great great grandad had been a sparkle in  his  daddy’s eyes. But  hey  , and “ Oh  gee , look. “ He held up the weird looking little polished flat stick with metal bits on either end: one a strange molded square hook thing, the other a loop on the end. “  There’s  the stick in our eye. See? “ was met with a sigh, before he turned it over. And over. “ O~kay. The hell kind of stick is this, Wong? Some kind of mini-wand, or funky faery poker.. What am I looking at here? “

It was Wong’s turn to rub his eyes, apparently. Doing a good job of it too. Steady fingers, dug right in there under his eyebrows.  Show off.  “ That isn’t a stick. It’s a key. “

   “ A  key?  Doesn’t look like a key.. “

               “ Maybe not to a westerner. But here in the  east? This what old keys look like. “  Wow. He totally could not help the look of disbelief on that one.

“ O kay.  Note to self;  never  hire an ancient asian locksmith, Stephen.  What?  It’s a stick Wong. With a  hook  on it. “ Nasty look. Temptation to screw with him a little, rising. “  Okay, okay; two hooks. This could be stuck in the right end of a tiny  popsicle, and no one would  ever know ��. My mom? Had a bag  full  of these in tupperware, stuffed into the side of her silver drawer next to the fridge when I was a kid. “

That was true though. “ Used to fill them with kool-aid, and just; plunk ‘em right in. Freezer for a few hours.. done deal. “ He couldn’t think of a damned thing off hand that this fit though. “ ..any ideas? “

“ Besides that it’s  a key, and not something you should be putting in your mouth unless it works some form of  silencing magic?  No. “

“ That one wasn’t bad. “ as he tapped the back in place as best he could and put the Eye back into its mount. And, we’re ignoring the fact that panel fell off as soon as he was around the pedestal.  Will fix later. Maybe. Probably, if I don’t want Wong hovering over me for the next ever giving me the stink eye.  “ Right. So.. ‘Beyonce never moves; always stays in the same place.’ Think we got that one but, we’ll see. ‘A stick in the macula.’ “ he hopped the boozy-pop handle between his knuckles as he thought mostly out loud. “  All that’s left is ‘Say hello to Mister Carroll.’ “

   “ You’re forgetting the horse. “ made him shake his head. He knew exactly what that was. Who, that was. “ Nope. I know that one. Don’t know that it’s great advice I’m giving me, but we’ll just have to find out. “

“ Care to share? “

   “ Soon enough. Do we have any Carrolls, among the new recruits? “

   “ No, definitely not. “

   “ ..that was fast. “

   “ Stephen.  Mystic Arts. Not, a  pottery  class. There are  seven. None of them are named Caroll. “

--------------------=======

Read DREAMS directly from chapter Five here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19248328/chapters/45906589

[thebatnook]

Red-sugar heart

M. Morris Cuevas

It’s 5 am and the world is still. The barest hint of sunrise through my window, growing slowly over the bag of sweets, almost empty, next to my pen holder. My eyes are gritty and the words on the page are a blurred painting of hieroglyphs. I’m supposed to be studying, have been for the past hour, but whatever rush I got from the last dregs of the coffee pot is quickly fading. 

I reach for another sweet, maybe the sugar will keep me awake, a candy heart, that I hold up to the light to examine, anything to not study. It’s rosy pink, and I squint at the inscription. Blue bird. Cute nickname. I throw it in my mouth. Looking back at the textbook. The French Revolution began on the 14th of July, 1789, the day revolutionaries stormed the prison of Bastille. 

I frown at the sentence. Looking back at my notes. Yes, right, already wrote that down. I tap my pen against the paper, crunching down another heart. Some fiddling later, I look back on the text. The French Revolution began-. My head falls onto the table, and I groan in frustration. This is not working. The time reads 5:30. Meh, late enough, my roommates won’t be that annoyed if I crash around in the kitchen, not if it is to prepare the elixir of mortals, coffee. 

Grabbing, the empty coffee mug, slamming the textbook shut. And why not, another candy. 

It’s a orange one this time. With a little extra bump. It’s light enough to read the inscription. Watch out. What? My body freezes, and in the same second, a loud thwack against the window. The coffee cup falls on the floor, an empty crash. And I stare in shocked numbness as  the blue feathers of a bird zip away from the glass. 

My limbs are locked into place, mind blank, until some primal thing kicks in, an zap of electricity, and I am scrambling on the floor to find that candy heart. I find it next to an old shirt, it falls from my fingers too many times as I get the candy under the lamp light. It’s love, it reads, in that slightly red tint. 

I huff in annoyance, I know it is the same one, the tiny bump is still there, but why would it say anything else other than the usual cheesy messages? I leave it there on the desk, picking up the coffee mug, frowning even more at the new chip on the edge. 

A step away from the door, I hesitate, hand still on the doorknob. This has to be in my mind. The lack of sleep caught up to me. The bird was nothing but a coincidence. But what if it’s not. What if the things actually tell the future. What if it is actually magic. 

I spin back, two skipped steps to stand in front of the desk again, looking for the rest of the candies. 

The bag is almost empty, a stripped thing in red and pinks, tearing easily as I spill the rest of the hearts onto the desk. A dozen or so tiny colorful candies, a light tang of sugar around them. 

One by one I read them, heart rate speeding up with each one I look over. Most of them are blank, and the ones with text have the standard phrases. Love me, text me, true love, kiss. Nothing unusual. What luck, I think, bitter taste in my mouth, not everything can be like a dream. 

I sigh, my body sagging, my arms dragging down, as if each weighed a ton. I blink at the candies again, one last search. 

And then is when I see a clump of three, arranged in a straight line, Roommate, awake, fall, they read. Blue, pink, pink. And just as a finish reading the last one there is the shrill beeping of Amanda’s alarm, followed by a muffled thump and the followed string of muttered curses. 

I whip my head back, but the words are gone. It can’t be a coincidence. Right? 

Maybe it’s not in my head. But I must be sure. Another glance at the clock. 5:37. I have to get going, don’t want to be late. 

But I need to know. Which is why the candies that are left are now buried in my pocket, as I pour the coffee grains into the machine. Just as Amanda wanders into the kitchen. 

“Morning Taylor.” she says, the bloom of a new bruise on her elbow. 

“Ouch.” I gesture towards it. 

“Not the worst, I just fell from the bed.” 

I nod along, fingers playing with the candies. The itch to try again like a mosquito in my ear. 

Amanda goes around the kitchen, preparing her breakfast. I just lounge on the single stool, watching as condensation builds up on the coffee pot. 

“Are you having anything?” she says, platting scrambled eggs. 

“In a second.” 

The curiosity is too much.  I wait for her to turn, and take out the candies, scattering them on the counter. 

Orange, blue, pink. Roommate, pan, burn. Sirens go off in my head, whipping my gaze up from the message to see Amanda, just as the still hot pan slips through her hands, right onto her feet. 

“Ah!” The pan clatters to the ground, Amanda hopping back, cursing and wincing. 

“Oh no, no, no.” I rush forward, helping her to the stool. 

“Ice, do we have ice?” she says, teeth still gritted, examining the reddened batch of skin, a half moon indent. 

“Frozen corn.” I pass it to her, my own hands shaking a bit. Glancing at  the candy hearts out of the corner of my eyes, the message long gone. 

Amanda hisses, pressing the bag on the burn. The redness is fading, but the swelling is just beginning. 

“Can you walk?” Guilt crawls over my shoulders. 

“Don’t think so.” she said, with another wince. I had to look away, an uncomfortable feeling growing in my gut. 

“I’ll help you to the infirmary.” I said, moving away abruptly. Head stubbornly turned away from the counter. 

I leave Amanda there, with a newly bandaged foot. One of her friends found us, and promised to help her back. So I was free, backpack over my shoulder, heading to the first class, any hope of studying squandered. How could I. Not knowing that the candies actually worked. The very things I now carried, underneath all the textbooks. I don’t even know why I put them there. 

Morbid curiosity maybe. Or so nobody else could see them. Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to know this. Nobody would believe me anyway, I told myself, as I slid into my seat in class. Nobody had to know. 

As the day went on the urge to take out the candies became stronger, a burning curiosity. And they were right there, I just needed to reach into my backpack. I stole glances at it more times than I can count, while pretending to take notes. I wasn’t paying attention to the lecturer anyway, words a garbled radio static in the corner of my mind. 

Just a quick check, I repeat to myself, walking away from the classroom. I will only take a minute. I find an empty picnic table, still wet from last night's rain. I don’t care, even if my jeans are soaked through in seconds. My focus is only on the candies, excitement growing like weeds in my head. 

It's just so I know how to react, I mumble, digging up the candies. Letting them fall like pennies onto the tabletop. Eyes scanning wildly for anything, anything at all. 

Yes. I almost jump from the thrill. There, there; in the middle. Undergrad, glass. My face immediately falls, the outside chill catching up to me. Oh no. 

I don’t even have time to look up, when the crash breaks through the building besides me. A guy runs out moments later, clenching his hand. Blood dripping down his forearm. 

Everybody stares at him in stunned silence. My eyes are glued to the tiny dots of red on the sidewalk. 

Slowly, gripping the edge of the table to stop my hands from shaking, I look back at the back at the candies. Innocent and colorful. Confetti against the dark surface. 

Ok, ok. I let out a shaky breath. The words were gone, of course, and the sight of the blank hearts sits wrongly with me, my jaw tight, teeth grinding against each other. As if they were mocking me, there was never anything here, you are making it all up. Just making it all up for what?

I throw them again with more force than necessary, some falling onto the floor and breaking into dust. I ignore them. Eyes glued to the message. Girl, football.

I don’t even look up, only hearing the hit, and the crunch. As the football collided with a girl's face, right against her nose, blood no doubt pooling above her lips. 

The stern voice of a professor cuts through  the mix, footsteps approaching.My heart falls to the ground.  I have to look up, panic building in my limbs. But he wasn’t walking towards me, scolding the people playing instead, voice muffled from the distance. 

I turn back quickly, cursing myself because in that second I looked away, the words had changed. No trace of the previous image. I ball my hands up into fists, suppressing the urge to scream at the things. 

A shaky breath in, then out. I force myself to relax. A fake smile on my face. One more try, and this time I would not look away, no matter what. 

The things stopped rolling, and the new words appearing on the ones closest to me. Creating a tunnel vision on them. But my blood chilled once I read them, eyes rising in horror, seeing the professor crumple to the ground, hand to his chest.

 Professor, heart attack. They said. Gone now. Not that it mattered now. With everyone swarming around the fallen man, the distant swell of sirens shocking me out of my frozen state. 

I scooped up the hearts. These things didn’t predict the future. These things caused disasters. I made them that. Dangerous. Nobody should touch these. Least of all me. 

My hands were shaking as I tried to shove all of them into a paper water cone. People were side eyeing me. Some just stared at me with a knowing grin. 

I didn’t pay them any attention, finally twisting the cone closed, and bumbling my way to the nearest trash can, hesitating for only a moment before throwing the candies in. 

Relief washed over me. Like a fresh morning breeze, each step away lighter than the last. Until something fell out of my pocket. A pink candy heart. Love me, written in dark red ink. 

People walked past me, leaving me in a small insulated pocket. Staring at the heart. Love me. 

Anger burned through the fear, and with a crunch beneath my shoe it was gone. Dust on the damp cement. A breathless laugh escaped my lips, as I walked away. Never buying candy hearts again, I vow, repressing a shudder. Never again.  

(Originally from Instagram @thebatnook)

[enderprtl]

chasing down the devil finale

@betweenlands​‘s and i finally finished the apex fic! this is the largest fic i have worked on and it was wild working with solar!

1,2,3,4 <-- read all of the parts here. ( @mine-sara-sp​‘s shadow au)

v.

Out of the myriad of awful things Apex expected on coming to his senses again, suddenly having sight again was not one of them.

He blinked. Saw haphazard piles of pillows and blankets thrown about the room - he nearly closed his eyes to try and see if what he was sitting on was the same thing, and then realized that he could just turn his head and look to confirm. He wasn’t really sure where he was, but the myriad of random assorted shiny objects also cluttering the area definitely confirmed he was still somewhere in the shadow-vex’s lair.

He put one hand up to his face, expecting to feel his visor, and instead nearly poked himself in the eye. Something in his gut lurched - if he hadn’t gotten his visor back, then how was he seeing?

A low, soft humming noise began buzzing from the back of his head, a quiet sound that set him on edge immediately. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Apex scrambled to his feet, grabbing for a weapon - and he doubled his efforts when, out of the corner of his vision, he saw blue eyes.

Except… he stopped. Froze short when his eyes flicked back to the area where the blue eyes had been. Where they still were.

Apex was looking into a mirror.

A gentle rustling noise shook him out of his shock - he whipped around and barely caught a glimpse of a six-armed shadow stepping into view. It looked at him expectantly and then down to a tray - one with two small diamonds and a glass vial that seemed to be filled with an instant-health potion. Keloid looked back up at him again, eyes wide with curiosity, looking more like a sad puppy rather than a killer beast.

Apex took a step back, wishing he had any sort of weapon. “What - what did you do to me?” His voice came out calm, quiet, not hoarse at all. Somehow, that was worse than having to rasp out every word. The shadow-vex had done something to him. He didn’t know what, but he could literally see the proof.

Keloid walked further into view - now he could see scratches and cuts, massive gashes where he’d hit the shadow-vex. It looked fine, but it walked slowly, approaching him like he was a rabid dog. It got next to the tray before stopping, sitting down and staring at Apex. It pointed to the vial. “Drink it.” 

He took another step back. “No. What did you do to me?”

Keloid let out something that sounded like a whine. It pouted and looked at Apex, growing just a little impatient. It picked up the vial with a free claw (two were busy supporting its body up), and tossed it gently onto the carpeted floor in front of Apex. “Please drink,” it mumbled, looking down at the ground - almost like it was embarrassed.

This absolutely did not reassure Apex in the slightest. He stopped backing up, but he did stare suspiciously down at the healing potion as though it was going to grow claws and attack him. “Why? What do you want from me?”

It tilted its head and pointed at Apex, every single bright blue eye locked onto him. It looked sad for a moment and mumbled again. “Shiny.”  

“You already took all of my stuff.” 

Keloid let out a loud whine (though its mouth wasn’t moving), and stood up. It lumbered over to Apex and picked up the vial, and held it out, looking at him, its eyes wide. “Make you… shiny again.” It waited for him to take the vial, no malice, no anger, nothing but curiosity in its eyes. 

Apex took a deep breath, and very reluctantly took the potion from Keloid. Held it up to the light, swirled it around experimentally, and then took another deep breath and swallowed it.

He expected to double over in pain, or have the room suddenly start spinning again, or suddenly go blind once more, or any other selection out of a number of extremely nasty things - this was a trap, right? It had to be a trap.

But… nothing happened. A couple of the larger wounds - the ones on his chest and back, mostly - healed over. It was just a healing potion.

Keloid looked proud of itself, clapping with two free hands. It got up and went over to a pile of cushions. It sat down and looked at Apex, patting the free pile next to it. It felt… surreal. Just a bit ago (assuming that only a few hours had passed) this thing was trying to kill him - and now it wanted to, what, have a tea party or something? 

It kept staring at Apex as if waiting for him to come and sit down. It looked like it was in a daze - the light in the room kept glinting off the scars that hadn’t healed over entirely, and it almost seemed like it was calming the shadow-vex down.

Apex stayed standing, still feeling very unsafe. “My eyes… what did you do to my eyes?”

Keloid looked down and then over at a mirror, its own blue eyes reflecting back as it muttered almost inaudibly. “They. Helped you.” It pointed out a tall window that overlooked the aviary, at the gashes on the massive tree, the glowing blue light that’d sealed up every single gouge and crack. It looked a little like a glowstick that’d leaked, or like what happened when someone put down lava in the wrong place and it flowed everywhere, running into every indentation.

The buzzing noise inside Apex’s head got louder, almost started sounding less like buzzing and more like whispers. He didn’t stumble back - wouldn’t do much use, not really - but he did put one hand to his face. There was something in his head.

He felt himself coming apart at the seams again, tried to pull himself back together while also ignoring that incessant drone at the back of his mind. His legs felt shaky under him again - he locked his knees, forced himself to stay upright, stay breathing, stay lucid. The sentence he managed to form was the same one, again - he was falling back on old patterns, speaking simply, conserving words.

“What… did you do… to me.”

Keloid looked dead on at Apex, eyes wide, and spoke again, that same drone creeping back into its voice.

“They fixed you. They helped you.”

Apex gritted his teeth, tried not to sound frantic as he internally fought to keep his breathing steady, to lock the deep-seated panic rising into his throat somewhere far away. “They’re in my head. Get them out of my head.”

The shadow-vex looked at him, tilted its head almost all the way to one side, then stood up and walked closer, its glinting eyes still locked with Apex’s. Its eyes were blue. His eyes were - no, had been turned blue. This wasn’t part of him. He wasn’t going to let this be a part of him.

Keloid’s face dropped. It walked all the way over to him, never breaking eye contact as it tapped his forehead with a free claw.

“I can’t make them leave. They are helping.”

It kept muttering that line over and over - “They are helping” - but all they were doing was making him uneasy. No, scratch that, scared - he was going to let himself be scared for once, some weird magic he didn’t understand had infected his eyes. He slapped Keloid’s hand away, raised his hands to his face again. Screamed again. Not anger, but panic and deep-seated fear of the unknown; everything was falling apart, the room rattled around him. His vision was spinning, the same as it had done when Keloid had done its awful vex-laughter trick. Fine. He was scared. He was terrified.

Keloid stumbled back as he began yelling - it frantically looked around the room, then back at Apex. Its expression dropped, going from a strange mix of worry and curiosity to total confusion (and also worry). It tried to cover his mouth, still looking around, seemingly terrified that someone might hear and come in. 

“Please. Stop,” it whispered nervously, looking down at Apex - eyes wide, any semblance of a creak scaring the shadow. He grimaced, shut his mouth around the scream - and then clapped his hands over his mouth as the sound kept echoing.

Keloid ran back to the pile of pillows and pulled out a thick woolen blanket. It frantically ran back to him, and threw the whole entire blanket on top of him. For once in its life, it had zero clue on what to do or how to stop Apex. It just stood and watched, anticipating any next move. 

His frantic scream slowly died down, petered out as calm began to seep into his bones - calm that, he hoped, was a result of him finally acclimating to the strange situation and not the Vex tightening their grip on his mind. He poked out nervously from under the blanket, moving slowly - the last thing he needed was for the shadow-vex to change its mind and freak out on him again.

“How… do you deal with this?”

Keloid stared at him, the worry and concern flooding back into its face. It sighed and sat down like a pouty toddler, staring up at him. 

“They are always here. I live with them. I never can be without them.” 

Apex felt like he was falling. Falling faster and faster down from an increasingly larger height, waiting for the fall damage to kill him. This couldn’t be happening to him. This was impossible, it just wasn’t the kind of thing that did happen, ever. He drew the blanket closer around him without thinking, staring up at Keloid with gritted teeth. “Get them out of my head,” he repeated, softer this time. “Please.”

Keloid sighed, placed two of its hands on either side of his head, and looked at him, stared him right in the eyes. It inhaled - he felt light, floaty - his vision blurred as all the energy drained from his body, as everything ached, his back, his chest, his arms. 

And then the pain reached his eyes. It felt like they were burning up - he put his hands over his eyes once more, fighting the urge to scratch at them as tears begin to well up. His eyes felt numb, then his body, everywhere felt numb. Keloid kept holding onto his face; Apex wanted to collapse, fall over and cry. Everything was spinning, everything was collapsing like a star coming in on itself, like a bird whose wings were hit and now he was falling, falling, falling....

...He was yelling again. He could hear himself reflected off the walls of the room, could faintly feel himself shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, clinging to whatever solidity he had left. It felt like his wounds were reopening, it felt like he was coming unraveled -

And then it was over.

Keloid let go and stumbled to the floor, it whined and curled up, wailing in a ball. It was in pain, everything was hurting; everywhere he’d felt the numbing sensation, it seemed to now feel that as well. It stood up, wobbling on its 6 claws to keep it upright, then looked down at Apex and attempted to help him up, using two claws to weakly pull him up from the ground, setting him on the pile of pillows before falling to the ground beside him. It closed its eyes and rested. 

Apex rubbed his temples - the whispering was far fainter, but he could still hear it, and a quick glance in the mirror confirmed that his eyes were still bright blue. But whatever Keloid had done… it had helped. And he was far too tired to make it out of the shadow-vex lair, anyway - he hadn’t let his guard down at all for about two, two and a half days now. Had been running on adrenaline and rage and, yes, panic and fear the whole time.

He sat down, told himself he’d just take five minutes to calm down before he left.

Instead, he watched the sun rise in total quiet.

[ewwhothefuckiski]

Elementals~Chapter 2

I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. What I’d just seen couldn’t have been real. At least the board had stopped shimmering, although instead of the morning announcements, it was full of information about the meanings of different colors. I glanced at the other students, and while a few of them smiled, they were mostly unfazed. They just watched me, waiting for me to say something. Darius also stood calmly, waiting for my reaction. “How did you do that?” I finally asked. “It’s easy,” Darius said. “I used magic. Well, a task like that wouldn’t have been easy for you, since you’re only in your second year of studies, but given enough practice you’ll get the hang of it.” He motioned to a seat in the second row, next to a girl with chin-length mousy brown hair. “Please sit down, and we’ll resume class.” I stared at him, not moving. “You used … magic,” I repeated, the word getting stuck in my throat. I looked around the room again, waiting for someone to laugh. This had to be a joke. After all, an owl hadn’t dropped a letter down my fireplace to let me know I’d been accepted into a special school, and I certainly hadn’t taken an enchanted train to get to Kinsley High. “Funny. Now tell me what you really did.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Darius’s forehead crinkled.

“Is this a special studies homeroom?” I asked. “And I somehow got put into one about … magic tricks?”

“It wasn’t a trick,” said an athletic boy in the center of the room. His sandy hair fell below his ears, and he leaned back in his seat, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. “Why use tricks when we can do the real thing?” I stared at him blankly and backed towards the door. He couldn’t be serious. Because magic—real magic—didn’t exist. They must be playing a joke on me. Make fun of the new kid who hadn’t grown up in a town so close to Salem. I wouldn’t fall for it. So I might as well play along. “If that was magic, then where are your wands?” I held up a pretend wand, making a swooshing motion with my wrist. Darius cleaned his glasses with the bottom of his sweater. “I’d assumed you’d already started your lessons at your previous school.” He frowned and placed his glasses back on. “From your reaction, I’m guessing that’s not the case. I apologize for startling you. Unfortunately, there’s no easy way to say this now, so I might as well be out with it.” He took a deep breath, and said, “We’re witches. You are, too. And regarding your question, we don’t use wands because real witches don’t need them. That’s an urban legend created by humans who felt safer believing that they couldn’t be harmed if there was no wand in sight.” 

“You can’t be serious.” I laughed nervously and pulled at the sleeves of my sweater. “Even if witches did exist—which they don’t—I’m definitely not one of them.” The only thing “magical” that had ever happened to me was how the ligament I tore in my knee while playing tennis last month had healed right after moving here. The doctor had said it was a medical miracle. But that didn’t make it magic. “I am completely serious,” Darius said. “We’re all witches, as are you. And this is a special studies homeroom—it’s for the witches in the school. Although of course the administration doesn’t know that.” He chuckled. “They just think it’s for highly gifted students. Now, please take a seat in the chair next to Kate, and I’ll explain more.” I looked around the room, waiting for someone to end this joke. But the brown-haired girl who I assumed was Kate tucked her hair behind her ears and studied her hands. The athletic boy next to her watched me expectantly, and smiled when he caught me looking at him. A girl behind him glanced through her notes, and several other students shuffled in their seats.

My sweater felt suddenly constricting, and I swallowed away the urge to bolt out of there. This was a mistake, and I had to fix it. Now. “I’m going to go back to the office to make sure they gave me the right schedule,” I said, pointing my thumb at the door. “They must have put me in the wrong homeroom. But have fun talking about…” I looked at the board again to remind myself what it said. “Energy colors and their meanings.” They were completely out of their minds. I hurried out of the classroom, feeling like I could breathe again once I was in the library lobby. No one else was around, and I sat in a chair to collect my thoughts. I would go back to the front office in a minute. For now, I browsed through my cell phone, wanting to see something familiar to remind myself that I wasn’t going crazy. Looking through my friends recent photos made me miss home even more. My eyes filled with tears at the thought of them living their lives without me. It hadn’t been a week, and they’d already stopped texting me as often as usual. I was hundreds of miles away, and they were moving on, forgetting about me. Not wanting anyone to see me crying, I wiped away the tears and switched my camera to front facing view to check my reflection. My eyes were slightly red, but not enough that anyone would notice. And my makeup was still intact. I was about to put my phone away when I noticed something strange. The small scar above my left eyebrow—the one I’d gotten in fourth grade when I’d fallen on a playground—had disappeared. I brushed my index finger against the place where the indentation had been, expecting it to be a trick of the light. But the skin was soft and smooth. As if the scar had never been there at all. I dropped my hand down to my lap. Scars didn’t disappear overnight, just like torn ligaments didn’t repair themselves in days. And Darius had sounded so convinced that what he’d been saying was true. All of the students seemed to support what he was saying, too. What if they actually believed what he was telling me? That magic did exist? The thought was entertaining, but impossible. So I clicked out of the camera, put the phone back in my bag, and stood up. I had to get out of here. Maybe once I did, I would start thinking straight again. “Nicole!” someone called from behind me. “Hold on a second.” I let out a long breath and turned around. The brown-haired girl Darius had called Kate was jogging in my direction. She was shorter than I’d originally thought, and the splattering of freckles across her nose made her look the same age as my younger sister Becca, who was in eighth grade. But that was where the similarities between Kate and Becca ended. Because Kate was relatively plain looking, except for her eyes, which were a unique shade of bright, forest green.

“I know that sounded crazy in there,” she said once she reached me. She picked at the side of her thumbnail, and while I suspected she wanted me to tell her that it didn’t sound crazy, I couldn’t lie like that. “Yeah. It did.” I shifted my feet, gripping the strap of my bag. “I know this is Massachusetts and witches are a part of the history here, so if you all believe in that stuff, that’s fine. But it’s not really my sort of thing.” “Keep your voice down.” She scanned the area, but there was no one else in the library, so we were in the clear. “What Darius told you is real. How else would you explain what you saw in there, when he changed what was on the board?” “A projector?” I shrugged. “Or maybe the board is a TV screen?” “There’s no projector.” She held my gaze. “And the board isn’t a television screen, even though that would be cool.” “Then I don’t know.” I glanced at the doors. “But magic wouldn’t be on my list of explanations. No offense or anything.”

“None taken,” she said in complete seriousness. “But you were put in our homeroom for a reason. You’re one of us. Think about it … do strange things ever happen to you or people around you? Things that have no logical explanation?” I opened my mouth, ready to say no, but closed it. After all, two miraculous healings in a few days definitely counted as strange, although I wouldn’t go so far as to call it magic. But wasn’t that the definition of a miracle—something that happened without any logical explanation, caused by something bigger than us? Something magical? “It has.” Kate smiled, bouncing on her toes. “Hasn’t it?” “I don’t know.” I shrugged, not wanting to tell her the specifics. It sounded crazy enough in my head—how would it sound when spoken out loud? “But I guess I’ll go back with you for now. Only because the secretary said she won’t adjust my schedule until the end of the day, anyway.” She smiled and led the way back to the classroom. Everyone stared at me again when we entered, and I didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as I took the empty chair next to her. Darius nodded at us and waited for everyone to settle down. Once situated, I finally glanced around at the other students. The boy Darius had called Chris smiled at me, a girl with platinum hair filed her nails under the table, and the girl next to her looked like she was about to fall asleep. They were all typical high school students waiting for class to end. But my eyes stopped at the end of the row on a guy with dark shaggy hair. His designer jeans and black leather jacket made him look like he’d come straight from a modeling shoot, and the casual way he leaned back in his chair exuded confidence and a carefree attitude. Then his gaze met mine, and goosebumps rose over my skin. His eyes were a startling shade of hazel with hints of green, and they were soft, but calculating. Like he was trying to figure me out. Kate rested an elbow on the table and leaned closer to me. “Don’t even think about it,” she whispered, and I yanked my gaze away from his, my cheeks flushing at the realization that I’d been caught staring at him. “That’s Grayson Dolan. He’s been dating Danielle Emerson since last year. She’s the one to his left.” Not wanting to stare again, I glanced at Danielle from the corner of my eye. Her chestnut hair was supermodel thick, her ocean blue eyes were so bright that I wondered if they were colored contacts, and her black v-neck shirt dropped as low as possible without being overly inappropriate for school. Of course Grayson had a girlfriend, and she was beautiful. I never stood a chance. “As I said earlier, we’re going to review the energy colors and what they mean,” Darius said, interrupting my thoughts. “But before we begin, who can explain to Nicole how we use energy?”

I sunk down in my seat, hating that the attention had been brought back to me. Luckily, the athletic boy next to Kate who’d said the thing earlier about magic not being a trick raised his hand. “Chris,” Darius called on him. “Go ahead.” Chris pushed his hair off his forehead and faced me. His t-shirt featured an angry storm cloud holding a lighting bolt like a baseball bat, with “Trenton Thunder” written below it. It was goofy, and not a sports team that I’d ever heard of. But his boyish grin and rounded cheeks made him attractive in a cute way. Not in the same “stop what you’re doing because I’m walking in your direction” way as Grayson, but he definitely would have gotten attention from the girls at my old school. “There’s energy everywhere.” Chris moved his hands in a giant arc above his head to demonstrate. “Humans know that energy exists—they’ve harnessed it for electronics. The difference between us and humans is that we have the power to tap into energy and use it ourselves, and humans don’t.” He smiled at me, as if I was supposed to understand what he meant. “Make sense?” “Not really,” I said. “Sorry.” “It’s easier if you relate it to something familiar,” he said, speaking faster. “What happens to the handle of a metal spoon when you leave it in boiling water?” “It gets hot?” I said it as a question. This was stuff people learned in fifth grade science—not high school homeroom. “And what happens when it’s plastic?” “It doesn’t get hot,” I said slowly. “It stays room temperature.” “Exactly.” He grinned at me like I’d just solved an astrophysics mathematical equation. “Humans are like plastic. Even if they’re immersed in energy, they can’t conduct it. Witches are like metal. We have the ability to absorb energy and control it as we want.” “So, how do we take in this energy?” I asked, since I might as well humor him. “Through our hands.” Chris turned his palms up, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He looked like a meditating Buddha. Students snickered, and Chris re-opened his eyes, pushed his sleeves up, and sat back in his chair. “O-o-kay.” I elongated the word, smiling and laughing along with everyone else. Darius cleared his throat, and everyone calmed down. “We can conduct energy from the Universe into our bodies,” he said, his voice full of authority. Chills passed through me, and even though I still didn’t believe any of this, I sat back to listen. “Once we’ve harnessed it, we can use it as we like. Think of energy like light. It contains different colors, each relating to an aspect of life. I’ve written them on the board. The most basic exercise we learn in this class is to sense this energy and absorb it. Just open your mind, envision the color you’re focusing on, and picture it entering your body through your palms.” I rotated my hand to look at my palm. It looked normal—not like it was about to open up and absorb energy from the Universe. “We’re going to do a meditation session,” Darius continued. “Everyone should pick a color from the board and picture it as energy entering your palms. Keep it simple and absorb the energy—don’t push it back out into the Universe. This exercise is for practice and self-improvement.” He looked at me, a hint of challenge in his eyes. “Now, please pick a color and begin.” I looked around the room to see what others were doing. Most people already had their eyes closed, the muscles in their faces calm and relaxed. They were really getting into this. As if they truly believed it. If I didn’t at least look like I was trying, I would stand out—again. So I might as well go along with it and pretend.

I re-examined the board and skimmed through the “meanings” of the colors. Red caught my attention first. It apparently increased confidence, courage, and love, along with attraction and desire. The prospect made me glance at Grayson, who sat still with his eyes closed, his lips set in a line of concentration. But he was out of my league and he had a girlfriend. I shouldn’t waste my time hoping for anything to happen between us. Instead, I read through the other colors and settled on green. It supposedly brought growth, success, and luck, along with helping a person open their mind, become more aware of options, and choose a good path. Those were all things I needed right now. I opened my palms towards the ceiling and closed my eyes. Once comfortable, I steadied my breathing and tried clearing my mind. Then there was the question of how to “channel” a color. Picturing it seemed like a good start, so I imagined myself pulling green out of the air, the color glowing with life. A soft hum filled my ears as it expanded and pushed against me, like waves crashing over my skin. The palms of my hands tingled, and the energy flowed through my body, joining with my blood as it pumped through my veins. It streamed up my arms, moved down to my stomach, and poured down to my toes. Green glowed behind my eyelids, and I kept gathering it and gathering it until it grew so much that it had nowhere else to go. Then it pushed its way out of my palms with such force that it must have lit up the entire room.

[holy-honeybees]

Snowdrift

AO3

Rating: T+ (for swearing)

Summary: Three friends and  their dog get lost in a snowstorm while investigating the paranormal. Amidst swirling flurries of white, some lose their way and get lost in their memories, others lose sight of their friends and loved ones, and an unforgiving winter quickly fills in the footprints one would follow to get back home.

A/N: I started this back in November but sadly never finished the work. I was thinking of holding off till it started to snow again, but figured now was as good a time as any to try and finish this.The title is taken from Snail's House song "[snowdrift]" which you can check out here!

The last bit of fluff before the storm!

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Chapter One

Chapter Four

Mystery woke slowly the next morning to the sounds of hushed conversation, wriggling out from under Vivi’s arm as the heaviest sleeper of the group continued to snore away. He stretched out his hind legs, giving himself a good shake before blearily regarding the two young men deep in conversation. It would figure that the ghost, who technically didn’t need sleep, and the insomniac, who pretended that he didn’t need sleep, would be the first two up. The disguised kitsune mused momentarily over who had been the first to rise before discarding the train of thought as largely pointless at this ungodly hour of the morning. Instead, he trotted over to the rear doors of the van and, having long ago discarded all pretense of being a semi-normal dog, gripped the handle in his teeth and opened the door to the outside world.

“Mystery, wait—” The warning came too late however, and a sudden gust of wind wrenched the door out of his grip, tumbling him headfirst into a snowdrift as he lost his balance. The kitsune struggled for a moment to right himself, only to find he was buried almost up to his haunches in the snow. It would quickly be approaching Vivi’s knees, a height that Mystery was quite familiar with, having spent most of the human’s lifespan at the same level. The cold didn’t bother him much, with his thick fur coat providing protection from the freezing temperatures, but the prospect of having to hop through the snow was simply embarrassing. He had been just about to shift to his natural state when a large hand grasped him by his scruff and hoisted him back into the van, pulling the door shut behind him. Back on solid ground, Mystery quickly shook the loose snow from his pelt. He could see Arthur shivering in the corner, the icy blast of air he’d unintentionally let inside severe enough to even wake Vivi from her slumber. The girl mumbled sleepily and rubbed at her eyes.

“Good morning,” the kitsune deadpanned. Vivi glared at him, though the expression lost some of its heat by the way she was squinting as her eyes adjusted to daylight.

“Arthur and I were just talking about the situation outside,” Lewis said.

“The situation?” Vivi mumbled, putting forth a valiant effort to stay awake.

“The snow hasn’t let up at all,” the ghost said, “In fact, the van’s almost buried up to its wheel wells.”

“According to the radar, it doesn’t look like it’s going to be stopping anytime soon either,” the mechanic explained, gesturing to his laptop screen as he turned it to face the others. There was a large patch of icy blue stationary in the middle of the screen.

“Unless the satellite image froze again…I think the weather is starting to mess with the van’s internet connection,” Arthur muttered.

“So we’re snowed in?” Mystery surmised. Lewis and Arthur shared a look before nodding their heads.

“We were discussing possible solutions before you guys got up. With the snow so deep, the van won’t budge.”

“I could make the van ‘go ghost’ to see if we can get past the snow that way, but, well…” Lewis spared a glance to the mechanic who’d paled at the reminder of the monstrous purple semi-truck.

“It’s not the best idea,” the ghost concluded, “And the nearest town is still miles away, too far to walk,”

“Why don’t we just stay here?” Vivi suggested, already settling back into the blankets on the floor.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Arthur frowned.

“Not for forever, just until we figure out a solution we can all agree on or until we become unstuck. We’ve got plenty of supplies,” Vivi yawned. Mystery thought it must be exhausting being so optimistic and loved the young woman all the more for it.

“I’m not sure hot cocoa counts as ‘supplies’,” Arthur said, “but we do have enough food for at least a couple more days.”

“What about your ghost hunt though? You were so excited to go,” Lewis said.

“I’m excited to spend time with you dorks,” Vivi snorted, “Besides, yesterday was fun. We can teach you how to make a snowman now that you’ve mastered snow angels.” The specter huffed a fond-sounding laugh.

“I suppose that settles it then,” he said, Arthur nodding in agreement. The three turned to look at Mystery for his acquiescence.

“I have missed the snow,” the dog conceded.

“Good,” Vivi mumbled sleepily, her eyes already drifting shut again, “We’ll try to head out later today if the snow melts some. Otherwise, we stay until tomorrow. Just think of it…as a…snow day…” And the blue-haired girl was asleep once more, snoring away as if she’d never been disturbed.

“I better let my parents know about the delay. As if my dad wasn’t already worried enough …” Lewis sighed, shaking his head, “Would it be okay if I borrowed your laptop again, Arthur?”

“Sure, for as much good as it will do you with this crappy internet connection,” the mechanic shrugged, “The radar image either keeps freezing up or there’s a particularly stubborn snow cloud that’s decided to park itself right over top of us. I’ll check to see if I can get a better signal after another cup of coffee.” Lewis narrowed his eyes at his friend.

“What? The instant stuff isn’t that bad,” Arthur joked weakly.

“Yes it is,” Lewis replied, “And it’s not so much the quality of it that I’m worried about but rather the quantity of how much you drink.”

“Oh, come on! This will just be my—”

“Fourth cup,” Lewis interrupted, giving the mechanic a withering look, “I’ve been counting.” Arthur squawked in indignation, and Mystery barked out a brief laugh before turning back to the rear doors, leaving the two young men to squabble over what an acceptable caffeine intake should be for the jittery mechanic.

“Uh, Mystery? Looking to do a repeat performance from earlier?” Lewis said.

“I have to go outside,” the kitsune replied.

“W-Why, is there some-something out there?” Arthur asked in alarm.

“No, I just have to…” Mystery put his ears back in embarrassment, “Go.” There was a moment of silence in the van before the ghost and the mechanic broke into a fit of laughter. Vivi mumbled in her sleep and turned to her other side.

“Oh man,” Arthur said, wiping at his eyes, “Sometimes I forget you’re still kind of a dog.”

“Here, let me get the door for you,” Lewis offered. The kitsune grumbled in annoyance at the two young men’s antics. It appeared they weren’t just children in Mystery’s eyes after all. With Lewis propping the door open, the dog leapt from the van gracefully, landing in the snow in his kitsune-form so as to not get stuck again, his six tails lashing about in the wind. To his dismay, he saw that the indentation from where he’d landed minutes earlier had already begun to fill in, quickly losing its definition as the snow continued to pile on the ground. He would be very surprised if the Mystery Skulls managed to leave their temporary resting spot today.

“Just let us know when you’re ready to come inside, okay?” Lewis said. Mystery gave him a curt nod before trotting away through the snow to find some privacy, hearing the door of the van click shut behind him as he made for the tree line in the distance.

The kitsune truly had missed the snow, and it had been decades since he’d had a proper winter that reminded him of home. He admired the way his breath fogged around his snout in short bursts, thinking of centuries worth of winters spent in Japan. He wondered if he was growing old and senile, reminiscing the way he was, or if it was just his softer side showing. Oh, how the other yōkai would laugh if they could see you now, Mystery mused, passing between barren trees with snow-laden branches. A lot had changed since he’d first met Vivi’s ancestor and been subsequently defeated by her. He was no longer the feared and respected fox spirit he once was. But it was a change for the better, if for the company alone, the three young humans he’d come to think of as his pups. Mystery knew he would go to great lengths to protect them, having failed to do so before. The world was a dangerous place, something Mystery, as one of the dangerous things in it, was well aware of. He had thought that by playing the role of the unassuming mascot he’d been protecting them, but it had nearly cost him everything. The kitsune had chosen to keep silent when he knew they were walking into danger. He thought he’d had everything under control, that if it became absolutely necessary to intervene, he would be fast enough.

He was wrong.

Mystery had wondered if the cave would be the end of his little pack. By some miracle, fate had brought them back together though and allowed for reconciliation, which was more than he could have hoped for. Now, he would give his six tails just to keep his pups safe. As far away as he was, the kitsune could still sense them clearly, would be able to sniff out their souls from miles away if he had to. The burning, electric purple scent of Lewis, so different now from his once muted yet strong mulberry color. The familiar blue that was comfort, love, home, Vivi, the ephemeral sparks of her magic potential flickering through the blue like frost on a window pane. Arthur’s sunshiny yellow pulsing like a beacon. Even as the mechanic had healed in body and mind after being possessed, the damage done would leave Arthur vulnerable for the rest of his life, unaware that his soul was broadcasting an enticing signal to the supernatural.

Mystery thought back to the day before uneasily. Arthur had been so sure he’d seen…something in the road. Mystery had checked then to see if there was anything out there that could pose a threat to his pups and had come up empty, but perhaps the jumpy mechanic’s worried nature was beginning to rub off on him. Over-confidence had cost him dearly in the past, and it was a lesson the kitsune had taken to heart. Mystery pushed the boundaries of his senses to their limits, concentrating hard until he was confident he had encompassed a wide enough radius around their present location for his extrasensory search. Like last time though, he came up empty. There was the purple, yellow, and blue, his own strong red scent, but not another living thing for miles, and no supernatural entity he could detect waiting in the shadows. Besides the colors he was so familiar with, everything was as tasteless, scentless, and colorless as the snow Mystery waded through. Satisfied with his thorough search, the kitsune shook himself free of his troubled thoughts along with the fine layer of snow that had gathered on his pelt. He took care of his business before heading back towards the van and the blended colors of the souls he loved so well. They’re safe this time, he told himself, even as the feeling of being watched prickled at his skin and caused the fur along his back to stand on end.

---

As Mystery had predicted, the Mystery Skulls were not to depart that day, everyone preparing to spend another night on the floor of the van instead. The snow continued to fall, adding further inches to the foot or so already on the ground. The wind had picked up as well, now violently swirling outside. As the snowstorm increased in intensity, so too did Mystery’s feelings of unease. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched despite knowing that they were the only ones out here. The dog eyed the door to the van warily, and though nothing had passed beyond the rear windows except for more falling snow, Mystery still couldn’t force himself to relax. Had he any less self-control, he might have even let out a whine.

An unexpected, hesitant touch to the back of his head startled the dog badly, causing him to leap to his feet. The hand quickly withdrew as Mystery whipped around to look at the source of the touch, only to see Arthur staring back, eyes wide with panic. The kitsune couldn’t fault the young man for being afraid of him, particularly when Mystery had been the source of the mechanic’s impromptu amputation, but it still hurt whenever Arthur jumped at his presence or eyed him warily. This had all been so much easier before he’d come clean about the truth of his existence, when he could just ignore what he’d done, what he was. The kitsune wondered if he had kept his secrets to protect himself from their fear and rejection as much as he’d done so to protect the Mystery Skulls themselves. Arthur still raised his hand though and, extending it slowly, bridged the gap between them. The mechanic patted his head and Mystery did his best to ignore the tremors he felt running through the young man’s hand as he leaned into the touch.

“Y-You okay, pal?” Arthur asked in a quiet voice, “You seem kind of tense.”

“Just eager to get going again,” the fox spirit reassured as the mechanic continued to pet him, “Tired of being cooped up in the back of the van for so long.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but Mystery didn’t want to reveal the true cause of his unease, certain it would further unnerve Arthur. Vivi and Lewis were in the opposite corner of the van, chatting amicably as Vivi composed an email to send off to her parents while they visited her Granny Yukino in Japan. The ghost and the girl were blissfully ignorant of the troubled conversation he and Arthur were having. Vivi’s enthusiasm for their so-called “snow day” had yet to wane, and Lewis was more than happy to just go along for the ride. Mystery would prefer to keep it that way rather than worrying his pups any more than he already had. Arthur continued to stroke his fur as Vivi concluded her email and got up to pass the laptop back to the mechanic. He paused to give a final scratch behind Mystery’s ears, just the way the dog liked, before receiving his laptop with both hands. Mystery would have loved for the petting to continue, childish comfort as it may have been, it had helped settle him significantly. There was no one out there, no danger to his family. Just the wicked winds of winter howling outside. Accepting that, he contented himself to just lay down and listen as his humans talked.

“Any word on how your Granny is doing?” Arthur asked.

“She’s still recovering from her fall, but she’s tough as nails,” Vivi replied proudly, “Mom and dad are just there to make sure she doesn’t overdo it on her own. She has a hard time just taking it easy.”

“Still, I’m sorry about the timing, it’s not fun being on your own for the holidays.”

“It’s alright, I’ve got you guys to keep me company!” Vivi said, unwaveringly cheerful, “Besides, me and Mystery are this close to cracking the secret to my mom’s fried chicken recipe. It has to be in the dredging. I think we’ll have it perfected just in time for dinner on Christmas Eve! It won’t be so different from any other year that way, I just won’t have to fight my dad for the last drumstick.”

“I’m looking forwards to being able to cook Christmas dinner for my family again,” Lewis said, “It’s one of the few days the restaurant is closed, so it’s nice to see mom and dad relax and put their feet up for once. Plus, I make a mean lasagna.”

“Heh, I think Uncle Lance gave up on cooking for Christmas after that year he tried to do one of those beer can turkey recipes. Hell, the fire chief might’ve expressly forbidden it. I think we’re doing Chinese takeout again this year.”

“At least orange chicken is something normal to eat…” Vivi teased.

“Hey, don’t bring Surf’s Up Pizza into this!”

“It’s so nice to be able to see the restaurant decorated with poinsettias again,” Lewis said distractedly. He had a wistful expression on his skull, seemingly unaware that he’d even spoken aloud until he noticed Vivi and Arthur staring at him intently, their playful argument abandoned.

“Mom always decorates the restaurant with poinsettias around Christmas. I…I never thought I’d get to see it like that again,” Lewis confessed. Vivi smiled at the ghost warmly, giving his arm a little squeeze before she turned her attention to their other friend.

“What about you, Artie? Lance do much decorating at home?” She asked.

“I don’t think Uncle Lance is real big on Christmas. The only Christmas movie he’ll even watch is Die Hard. I think he only decorates ‘cause he knows I like it,” Arthur began, “Growing up with my dad though…we were on the road pretty often and spent a lot of nights in the car, even on Christmas. Not a whole lot of room for a tree in there, but he’d always make sure to get one of those little tree-shaped air fresheners to hang from the rearview mirror. We’d set our presents up on the dashboard under it.”

“You don’t talk about him a whole lot,” Lewis said.

“Y-Yeah, I try not to think about it too much,” Arthur replied, making an attempt at a casual shrug, “But…ever since it started snowing, it’s been hard not to think about it. I haven’t seen snow since I came to live with Uncle Lance, so I guess it’s just bringing up old memories.” The mechanic rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, seemingly caught off-guard by his own admission. Mystery nosed tentatively at Arthur’s hand and was rewarded with a few more pats to the head and a small smile from the young man. Over the tops of his glasses, the kitsune could see Vivi and Lewis exchange concerned glances.

“Well, I don’t have Die Hard with me, but how about a movie?” Vivi suggested, eager to offer a distraction to try and lift their spirits. Without waiting for a response, she pulled the bag she’d packed for the trip into her lap, digging through it fervently.

“Duet’s not real big on commercial, non-secular holidays. So far, The Tome Tomb has remained unspoiled by those tacky Christmas stations you hear in most stores this time of year. I’m actually not sick of Christmas yet,” Vivi said as she rummaged, “Aha! Here it is, the best Christmas movie of all time!” She displayed the DVD case to the others with a flourish. Mystery perked up as he saw the familiar title.

“A Nightmare Before Christmas?” Arthur said, his smile now returning in earnest, “That would be your favorite.”

“I watch it every year with Mystery! Things have been so hectic lately, I haven’t had a chance yet though. What do you guys think?”

“So long as I don’t have to listen to ‘Feliz Navidad’ for the rest of our road trip, I’m happy,” Lewis replied.

“We should still have enough charge left for a movie,” Arthur said, handing his laptop back to Vivi. It was all the encouragement she needed, and with a whoop of excitement, the young woman quickly popped open the CD drive and inserted the disc. They all crowded in front of the small screen, glum mood from moments earlier all but forgotten. Vivi wasted no time in piling the blankets on top of her friends, making sure they were all sufficiently cozy before finally pressing play. Mystery curled up on Vivi’s lap as the movie began, his chin resting on Arthur’s knee as the mechanic resumed stroking his fur. The four of them chattered happily about plans for the holidays and the upcoming year, joking and laughing as the DVD played. Eventually they lapsed into a comfortable silence and began to doze before the movie even finished. As usual, Vivi was the first to nod off, though she was quickly followed by Arthur to Mystery’s surprise. Lewis, seeing them fast asleep, bade the kitsune a quiet good night as the black coffin he rested in materialized in the back of the van, disappearing just as quickly once its occupant was inside. With all of his pups resting for the night, Mystery surveyed the warm scene he’d found himself a part of. Arthur finally looked relaxed, a bit of drool dotting the corner of his mouth, and Vivi had cocooned herself entirely in blankets, except for an arm that had been flung around the mechanic’s waist in her sleep. Mystery chuckled fondly before he spared a final glance out the window, still seeing nothing but snowflakes flicker past the glass. Just as the credits began to roll, he finally curled up in the blankets at Vivi’s side and joined the others in sleep.

Outside, something colorless as snow stood poised to strike.