#though Cabbage Rose is always quiet

[quibbs126]

Ai generated Cookie number 5, this is Cabbage Rose Cookie

Again not too sure of the name, since cabbages aren’t really part of the design at all, but it’s just the name of the rose, so eh

I quite enjoyed this one, though I do also kind of wish there were more lighter colors too

I actually have a bit in terms of this character’s whole deal as well. So Cabbage Rose is young (probably no older than 15) and quite small, and has a meek sounding voice that never goes much higher than a whisper. If you were to meet Cabbage Rose normally, he’d seem rather fragile and a bit of a pushover. However, despite his meek demeanor he is incredibly powerful, able to carry his heavy sword and easily cut down large enemies. He’s used to people looking down on him and underestimating his abilities, but at the same time he’s aware enough that he understands why. Also, he’s missing his left arm, as he lost it in a battle. I imagine he comes from a noble house of roses, but as of currently he’s more a wandering warrior

I enjoy him and I hope you do too!

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

So I saw this really cute NND fanart by @etincelleart, which inspired me to write this fic where Ruby and Penny go for boba in Vacuo.

honestly it's the closest I've engaged with canon in my writing in a long while and it was really fun

don't ask where the atla joke reference came from bc I'm still not entirely sure how it found its way in

.

Taste Buds

Since her transformation Penny’s life has been full of new experiences. Most of them, good (hugs, the warmth of the sun on her skin, meeting and petting that stray cat, hugs), but she still has just a little bit of apprehension about trying new things. Flipping too quickly through the pages of a book she couldn’t automatically download into her mind (due to her excitement over that being an experience she can have now) leading to her First Ever Paper Cut had taught her that it was perhaps best to take some things slowly.

There’s still no one else quite like her. Ambrosius hadn’t made her a new body. They’d been very careful with their wording there. She just sort of has one now? The person she’d always been manifested as she envisioned herself? Penny is most definitely real, so it checks out. It’s just…the part of her that still finds comfort in hard data and scientific fact struggles with the whole thing, sometimes, when it’s quiet, and she has nothing else really to focus on.

Food has been a particularly exciting (if also a little worrying) topic. Hunger is not something Penny enjoys. Being able to taste definitely is. Even if she hasn’t had the chance to try out too many flavors yet, Penny loves all of them, especially sweets. Though that may be due to it being Ruby (and Ruby’s own giant sweet tooth) that introduced her to many of the foods she’s tried so far, leading to something of a bias in the data sample.

The worrying part about food is the eating. According to the medical doctor she’d gone to with Ruby, Penny is a perfectly healthy, normal girl. The doctor had also reassured Penny her lack of medical records was okay, expected even, it was a common situation amongst a lot of the Atlesian refugees. Informing her that Penny’s organic body was a relatively new development had led to a bit of awkwardness, but they’d moved passed it.

The point being, all the necessary parts for a digestive system (and also every other functionality a person has) are there. How exactly they got there may be a mystery Penny will live with for the rest of her life, but they’re still there, and they all do their jobs properly.

Penny had been nervous at first, to eat. Before, she’d always had to be incredibly careful because a crumb or droplet of liquid in the wrong place could lead to system-wide errors and glitching for days. But, eating was part of her life now. Normal now. Expected even.

And honestly, once she got past that initial, momentary hesitation, the excitement had taken over. It’s a whole new—

“Eep!”

Ruby tugs Penny into a flurry of rose petals. Penny reflexively relaxes into the sensation. They land, breathlessly, on the opposite side of the street from the (cabbage? Penny is fairly sure those are cabbages, but, without instant access to databases, she’s still learning to differentiate vegetables on her own, and all the green ones are particularly difficult) vendor, whose cart Ruby almost knocked over.

The probably-cabbage vendor shakes his fist at them, but doesn’t chase them across the street. He picks up the handles of his cart and, grumbling, goes on his way.

Ruby looks to Penny. Penny looks back. Ruby’s laugh fills her cheeks before bursting out of her. Penny can’t help but join in.

It takes a few minutes for their giggles to subside.

“Okay, okay.” Ruby takes a breath to settle herself. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

They continue weaving their way through the streets of Vacuo, though not going quite as fast as the almost jog Ruby had led Penny on to begin with. Soon they reach the shop with the large sign reading, Bubba Bubba Boba, above it.

The boba shop is slowly becoming something of a favorite of their group. It is, first and foremost, Ruby and Yang’s spot, a cherished reminder of their pre-Beacon life. One they’re slowly sharing with everyone. There’d been talk of visiting as a whole group, but differing assignment schedules made that difficult. So far, to Penny’s knowledge, only Yang has taken Blake there, at the end of their first Official Date As A Couple, where they’d meandered through the shopping district together.

Until, that is, less than an hour ago, when Ruby rushed into Penny and her father’s small quarters and declared Penny absolutely has to go there with her.

Penny isn’t exactly sure of the timeline between Yang surprising Ruby with boba to Yang and Blake’s date ending with them getting boba to now, but she is a little concerned about Weiss’s absence from the series of events. Wouldn’t it have made sense for Team RWBY to go together first?

(Unbeknownst to her, there had been an intermediary moment where Ruby, after hearing about Yang and Blake’s date, got her idea to take Penny for boba, and talked to Weiss about it. Weiss had encouraged (to put it in the most mild terms possible) Ruby to just ask Penny out already, which Ruby had, of course, interpreted as ‘taking my friend Penny, who is my friend and totally not anything else, out for boba’.

(Semi-relatedly, there is an entire chapter of the memoir living rent free in Weiss’s head titled; My Teammates And Their Obliviousness To Their Own Romances: How To Deal With The Unending Frustration.)

Penny and Ruby walk into the boba shop. It’s sparsely decorated, most of what’s there an eclectic assortment of basic furniture easily found. Packing up, leaving in a hurry, and restarting a business in a new kingdom hadn’t been easy for the shop owners, but they seem to be doing their best.

Penny trails after Ruby to the counter. She looks up at the colorful options cheerfully displayed on the menu. There’s a lot of them. Some flavors she recognizes, like strawberry or mango. Others she doesn’t. Staring at the words ‘matcha’ and ‘taro’ doesn’t suddenly reveal anything about what they are to Penny.

“Hey, Penny?” Ruby is looking back at her, mild concern written across her face. “You good?”

“Yes, I…” Penny bites her lower lip. “I don’t know what to choose.” Any of the options could be good. They probably all are. But this will be her first boba. Her first boba with Ruby.

It suddenly feels just a bit daunting.

“Well, let’s see.” Ruby comes to stand beside her. She automatically reaches for Penny’s hand, and Penny doesn’t hesitate in allowing her to take hold of it. With her other, free hand, Ruby taps her finger against her lips. “You’ve had a bunch of types of fruit before, right? Maybe we could go with one of those flavors, since they’re already kind of familiar?”

“I suppose.” Penny glances again at the flavors on the menu she doesn’t know. It would probably be most logical to not travel too far away from the known on her first taste, no matter how much her curiosity is telling her otherwise.

Ruby catches sight of Penny’s expression. She frowns. Then her eyes light up with an idea. “Or, we could get one of each, something you’re familiar with and something you’re not, and share!”

Penny can’t help but grin. “I like that idea much better.”

At the counter, Ruby orders one strawberry and one matcha. Then, with drinks in hand, she leads Penny to one of the shop’s outdoor tables. They sit.

“Here.” Ruby passes the strawberry over to Penny first. Their fingers accidentally brush against each other.

Penny’s heart skips a beat. She tells it, not for the first time, it really must stop doing that when these sorts of minor accidents happen when she’s around Ruby. They’re very comfortable with physical contact with each other. Why should the unintended ones be any different?

“Try it! Try it!” Seemingly unaware of where Penny’s mind is at, Ruby eagerly gestures at the boba cup in front of Penny.

Putting such thoughts aside for later, Penny picks up the strawberry one, and guides the straw to her lips. Then nearly jumps as the first boba makes it to her mouth. She was not expecting that specific texture! Penny rolls the boba around with her tongue, adjusting to how it feels, and tastes.

“Soooo?” Ruby leans forward over the table. “How is it?”

Penny doesn’t have to think about her answer.

“Perfectly sensational!”

“Yay!” Ruby swings back in her chair. Too far. It leans back. Its front two legs leave the ground. The chair tips and unceremoniously drops Ruby. She instinctively calls upon her semblance to catch herself, but flies too far, going into the street.

A second later Ruby finds herself in an amongst the fallen cabbages of the cart she crashed into.

The vendor, the same one from earlier, has his hands on his head.

“MY CABBAGES!”

Over his shoulder, Ruby meets Penny’s gaze. Penny grabs their bobas. They go running.

(Later, they’ll go back and make things right with the cabbage vendor.)

For now, Ruby and Penny hide out in an alley and swap boba flavors.

[moonlit-han]

bad squirrel ↠ han jisung

genre: bad boy!jisung au, enemies to lovers au, high school au; humor word count: 2.8k warnings: so fluffy, swearing, mildly suggestive  |  gender-neutral reader request: yes (thank you for such a clearly imagined and fun request, anon!)

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

You’d never understood why Han Jisung had to be so loud.

Wasn’t the “bad boy” of the school supposed to be the quiet, brooding type? Not that Jisung didn’t do his fair share of lurking in corners doing gods knew what, sneaking out of the school to mysteriously reappear hours later, and drinking from a flask in the middle of class…. But he was just so damn loud. All the time! And because Jisung was loud in class, you strongly disliked him. Sure, he did his work (sometimes, like when the sun rose in the west) and had friends—two, to be exact: Chan and Changbin—but other than that, he kept to himself, yet was somehow loud. Jisung also strutted around the school like he owned it, looking much like a disgruntled raven.

As you were in the same year, you were intimately familiar with all his less-than wonderful propensities, and had listened to more gossip about him than you’d care to admit. Granted, that was simply to hear anything about him. You had a strange fascination with Jisung that somehow existed in tandem with your dislike—you couldn’t understand it. And, you commonly thought about him at the most random times; this also meant that you ranted to your best friend, Seungmin, far too often.

Jisung sat in the corner of the cafeteria with Chan and Changbin, and scribbled. He was always scribbling in a notebook he kept in his back pocket, and you wanted to know what he was writing—probably something like emo poetry. And today was no different. Occasionally, he’d look up and stare into the middle distance.

“Do you ever wonder what goes on inside his head?” you asked as you chewed a mouthful of your lunch. Seungmin saw where your gaze rested and rolled his eyes.

“No. Definitely not.”

“But would it be cool to—”

“Again, no,” Seungmin interrupted before you could careen off onto one of your tangents about the merits of this person or that. Except, this person featured all too commonly in those tangents, and Seungmin was tired of hearing it. “I don’t want to hear about the exact wave pattern in Han Jisung’s hair or how long you think he’d had that leather jacket. And I definitely don’t want to hear your thoughts on his skinny jeans.”

You smirked, turning back to the table in front of you on which you’d neatly arranged your lunch: grapes, almonds, a container of rice, and a mix of vegetables and fish. You hadn’t necessarily been planning to rant about Jisung, but now that Seungmin mentioned it…

“What do you think he does when he’s not in school?” you mused, chasing a bit of cabbage around the bottom of your lunch container with your chopsticks. “I mean, he seems to just exist in his own little world—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with anyone except Minho and Chan, and even then, not that often.”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Seungmin yawned, resting his chin on his hand. “Probably goes off to some corner and broods. That’s what guys like him do: brood and very obviously not talk about how emotionally distraught they are or whatever. But in a Byronic way—I don’t think Jisung has a violent bone in his body.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at your best friend, who was steadily losing patience with the whole conversation. “I can think of one bone that might be quite . . . angry and maybe violent but probably just hard. Good with forceful th—”

“I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT HAN JISUNG’S DICK, Y/N!” Seungmgin burst out, drawing stares from the other students seated at neighboring tables, including Jisung himself. You made to bang your head on the table, more embarrassed than you’d been in a long time.

Seungmin, meanwhile, couldn’t stop laughing. “Y-Y/N, oh my god, I’m sorry. Hey, don’t hit me!” This was because you had started playfully but insistently punching his thigh. “It’s fine,” Seungmin continued, trying to reassure you. “It’s not like I said anything that would— Oh shit, he’s coming over here.”

You tried to slide under the table, but only succeeded in getting yourself stuck before shimmying back into your seat. You looked up just in time to see Jisung slide into the seat opposite you and lean meaningfully on the table.

“So, Y/N,” he drawled, flashing a feline grin at you. “What exactly did I just hear?”

“I didn’t say anything, Han,” you retorted, nose aloofly in the air.

Jisung sighed. “Okay, okay, maybe you didn’t say anything, but Seungmin definitely did.” Seungmin spluttered and shook his head violently, really not wanting to be drawn into your squabble.

“So?” you said casually, still picking at your lunch. Meanwhile, your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. “So what if he said something?”

“Why would Seungmin say anything about me, though,” Jisung said. “It’s not like you two like me or anything.”

You just stared at Jisung. Why did he sound petulant? “No, we don’t. You didn’t hear anything, so go away!”

“Oh come on, Y/N,” Jisung wheedled. “I know you’re curious….”

“Han, what the hell?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Jisung protested, leaning back as his hands waved wildly.

“I—” you began, and gulped. “It’s just… You’re just this moody guy who walks around like he owns the place. And you wear tight skinny jeans that leave very little to the imagination. How could I not assume you at least think you have . . . um, yeah.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Seungmin moaned, and stuffed his fingers in his ears.

Jisung had leaned forward now and was staring at you intently. You looked away, even more embarrassed than before, and he sighed.

“Y/N, I’m not quite sure what to say, besides the fact that I like my tight pants.” He paused, then chuckled lightly and winked. “And that you clearly like my tight pants, too.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and blurted. “Why are you even talking to us, Han?”

Jisung stopped as he rose from the table. “I was intrigued. Plus, you’re cute when you’re flustered.” Han winked, then turned and walked back to Chan and Changbin.

You just watched him go—casually appreciating the view—completely stunned. Had Han Jisung just said you were cute? Ugh?

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N!” Seungmin was shaking your shoulder. “Y/N, you might start drooling if you don’t watch out.”

Coming back to yourself, you hurriedly shut your mouth and demanded, “Did he just say I was cute?”

“How am I supposed to know? I had my fingers in my ears!” Seungmin exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

“Well, you are no help whatsoever,” you grumbled, and went back to eating your food.

Seungmin was silent for a moment, then said, “Do- Do you like him?”

You almost choked on your rice. “What?”

“Do you like him?” he repeated.

“The last time I checked, I definitely didn’t like Han Jisung. He annoys the hell out of me!”

Like the traitor he was, your best friend just made a ruminative noise and smiled down at his food.

↠↞

There was a park along the route you walked to and from school every day, and you liked to cut through to its other side as a short cut and to have some time in nature. Today, the leaves rustled loudly under your feet as you wove between the trees, distracting you sufficiently that you were completely wrapped up in your thoughts until your eye caught on a spot of black.

You stopped and squinted, brows furrowed ever so slightly. You couldn’t be sure, but that looked to be Han Jisung squatting under an oak at the edge of the park. Thinking the last thing you wanted was Jisung to see you spying—no, simply watching as you, too, strolled through the park—on him, you ducked behind a tree.

A few feet away from Jisung, assuming it was him, a squirrel sat on its haunches. It looked like he was talking to the squirrel, holding out his hand with a small pile of sunflower seeds resting in its center. As you watched, the squirrel, clearly used to this sort of thing, scurried forward and then away, its prize of seeds securely held in its mouth. This happened several times: the squirrel snatching a few seeds, stashing them around the other side of the tree, then coming back to retrieve more from Jisung’s hand. Strangest of all, you could have sworn you heard cooing along the lines of, “Aren’t you so good? Yes, you’re such a good little squirrel. Ooooh mhmm that tastes good, doesn’t it!”

Seeing the boy stand, you pulled your torso back behind the tree and peeked out as he walked away with a spring in his step. Yes, that was definitely Jisung.

Lost in your thoughts, you began to walk home. Feeding squirrels and talking to them was not “bad boy” behavior—of that much you were certain. So, did this mean that Jisung wasn’t as bad as you’d thought? Or was he slowly killing the squirrel by lacing the seeds with poison?

You shook your head, scolding yourself for such thoughts. But the fact remained: Han Jisung fed the squirrels and acted distinctly cute around them, and seemed to drop the persona he cultivated at school.

In a nutshell: you were confused.

The next day, you walked home the same way and at the same time, hoping you’d catch Jisung with the squirrel again. As you neared the edge of the park, sure enough, there was Jisung. You wrestled with your conscience for a moment, then walked the last meters to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?!” Jisung exclaimed, shooting to his feet and almost hitting you in the nose with the back of his head. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

“I was walking home,” you said innocently, giving Jisung a bright smile.

The young man in front of you was shifting back and forth on his feet. “Did you see—“

“Did I see you talking to a squirrel?” You grinned now, crossing your arms. “Yes. Yes, I did, Han.” Jisung spluttered. “Not so bad a boy, are you?”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t be like that!” he begged. “Just because I wear all black, brood, and write emo poetry—“

“Hah! So you do write it!”

Jisung gave you a look. “Yes, I write poetry and song lyrics for my friends. What about it?”

“Oh, nothing,” you chirped.

“Can you-“ Jisung sighed. “Can you at least not tell anyone that I feed and talk to the squirrels? It’s, like, my own way of doing good, you know?”

“Sure, I won’t tell anybody. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“Well, the more you know…” Jisung said and, yet again, winked at you before striding away. You admired the stark contrast between his black clothes and the oranges, yellows, and reds of the leaves on the ground.

↠↞

A couple of weeks later at the end of October, your English class was lucky enough to go on a weekend camping trip to experience the misty atmosphere in Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Part of you thought that your teacher was a bit odd for wanting them all to get spooked by mist, but you couldn’t argue with the fact that the foliage was beautiful. After a long day of traipsing through the forest to find the perfect lookout point for the next morning’s mist viewing, the class gathered around a fire to eat and talk.

The fire was warm in front of you where you sat on a conveniently placed log; if you'd been any closer, you would have definitely singed something. You'd been a bit stupid and hadn't brought a proper jacket, thinking the evenings would still be warm at the end of October, but oh how wrong you were. Your nose was cold and your hands were even colder, a fact you tried to hide by sitting on your hands. Soon, however, your shoulders and back felt the slight breeze the rustled the leaves surrounding the clearing.

Across the fire, Jisung tracked your every move with bright eyes. In truth, he’d been watching you all evening and noticed that you were now cold. He noticed a lot about you these days, really. You didn’t see him quietly staring, his black clothes turning him nearly invisible, but you knew he was there on the other side of the flames.

You jumped a little, shoulders shrugging as warmth settled around them, and looked around. On the log next to you sat Jisung, like the piece of the night sky come to earth.

“Better?” he asked casually.

“Y-yeah.”

The two of you sat there silently as your classmates gossiped and ate around you. Occasionally, you saw someone glance your way, then turn back to their friends as if Jisung’s stare repelled them. You’d expected to feel awkward around him, expected to feel some dark aura radiating off him, but it was easy to sit with Jisung. His leather jacket was wonderfully warm, it’s weight around your shoulders oddly comforting, and the faint smell of whatever soap Jisung used caught on the collar made you smile.

“Here,” Jisung said softly, holding out the flask that always hung at his hip. “Have a sip—it’ll warm you up.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m not going to drink, especially since we’re on a school trip,” you hissed.

“It’s just tea, Y/N,” Jisung said, tone affronted. “What did you think I had in here?”

“I- Tea is fine. Thanks.” You took the proffered flask and sipped what was perfectly brewed and sweetened black tea. The hot liquid sliding down your throat to your stomach was a delicious feeling. You returned the flask to Jisung, your fingers brushing as you did so.

The fire crackled, sparks flying up as sticks fell and broke apart. But these were not the only sparks that were flying around that fire. Between you and Jisung there seemed to be a thread of energy along which those other sparks danced, and, unexpectedly, you wanted to follow that thread to its end with the young man beside you.

Every now and then, you glanced at Jisung. And, every now and then, he glanced at you. After five tense minutes of this madness, you finally glanced at each other at the same time and smiled nervously.

“So,” Jisung began, “um…”

“Hmm?”

“May I say something?”

“I- Yeah, sure.”

Jisung took a deep breath, hands twisting in his lap. “Y/N, I have what’s got to be the biggest crush ever on you. And if you don’t return the feelings, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll never mention it again and I’ll make sure to leave you alone or whatever you want,” he said in a rush.

You wrapped Jisung’s jacket closer around yourself and turned slightly on the log to face him. The firelight danced in his eyes, the look in them soft and searching. His lips were parted slightly, as if to say something.

“It’s okay, Jisung,” you murmured, realizing that this was the first time you’d called him ‘Jisung’, at least to his face. “I think— I think I like you, too.”

Jisung’s face lit like the sun that would rise hours later with the dawn, his smile glorious. “Really?” he asked excitedly.

“Mhmm, I do.”

“That’s great,” Jisung breathed, and made to shift closer to you but stopped himself. “Um, so what now?”

“Want to cuddle?” You hardly believed that you’d just said that, but with Jisung’s jacket around you and him sitting so close, you couldn’t help it.

Jisung laughed and held out his arms to you, and you scooted closer to him so that you leaned against his as his arms went around you. After a couple minutes of shifting positions, the two of you settled. You could practically feel Jisung smiling behind you as you rested your head against his shoulder. Like your own, his heartbeat was faster than usual from nerves and excitement, which made you feel quite proud. You’d actually made the cool, seemingly confident bad boy of the school nervous.

Thinking you’d mess with him a little, you turned your face up to his and kissed his jaw. Jisung nearly jumped, which would have deposited both of you squarely on the cold ground, and then looked at you.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

“Won’t know until we try, right?” you replied.

Jisung needed no further prompting and brought his lips to yours, sending a current of warmth along that thread between you. You had to smile because, completely unexpectedly, you liked kissing Jisung. You liked it a lot and would be perfectly happy to continue kissing him all night long, if given the chance.

Drawing back from Jisung, you noticed your classmates staring at you and Jisung, and smirked back at them. Unlike you, they didn’t have a cute boy to kiss and cuddle with. They weren’t the chosen person for the Han Jisung.

[loversamongus]

Lovers Among Us - atla smau

masterlist / part 17 / part 18 / part 19

a/n: Zuko and Y/n’s conversation under the cut!

With both crutches under your arms, you made your way to the door and opened it. Sure enough, Zuko was standing there just as he said. You caught a quick glimpse of him leaning against the hallway wall with his arms folded, but he immediately straightened up when his eyes met yours. You felt your stomach drop a little and you had the sudden inclination to worm your way back inside the room where your friends sat still watching the movie. Surely, a man with razor hands and a decaying face who kills you in your nightmares is less frightening than this leap you’re about to take. Zuko must have felt your apprehension though because he held the door wide to help you through it and rested his hand on your shoulder to guide you across the threshold.

“You know, once I get a boot instead of these crutches, this will be a lot easier,” you said, more of an attempt to calm the hurricane of butterflies boarding up in your gut. “I could probably kick Sokka pretty hard with the boot, now that I think about it.”

Zuko didn’t respond; he only smiled. You would not have thought much about such a small smile, but recently everything about Zuko seemed to become a permanent fixture in your mind.

For the first time, you noticed just how small Zuko’s smiles actually were. So small, in fact, that if someone were not looking close enough, they may just assume his face was resting in his typical trademark scowl. How wrong they’d be though, you thought. They’d just be searching for his smiles in the wrong place. His real smile was in his eyes. There was a glow and warmth in his eyes. It was both inviting and comforting like a steady fire on a cold winter day. Zuko quirked an eyebrow, which you noticed immediately as you had just then registered that you had been staring at him through that entire internal monologue. Suddenly the carpeted hallway became very interesting. And the heat on your cheeks? Definitely from the temperature in the hallway. Or the strain of crutching around. Yep. That’s it completely.

You were quiet the rest of the walk to the car. You were quiet for the car ride to the Jasmine Dragon. While you said nothing, your decided to be quite the chatterbox. In addition to noticing and now appreciating all of Zuko’s little quirks, you also began to reflect on memories of your friendship with Zuko. You remembered when you first became friends with him and almost pulling an all nighter just texting each other. You remembered going to the farmer’s market with the gang, and splitting up to cover more group. Zuko stayed with you and carried all the fresh produce you picked out. For months the two of you kept up an inside joke about the man at the cabbage stand. You remembered how much you missed him when he went home to the Fire Nation one summer. You remembered the instant joy you felt when he came back early and being stricken with concern when he said he won’t be going back home for awhile. You remembered when Iroh was sick and had to be hospitalized for some time and Zuko called you at 3 in the morning just so completely lost. You remembered how you did the same thing when your grandmother was died. He rushed over to your room immediately and just hugged you until you felt something again. And you did feel something back then. But what, you didn’t know. So you pushed it aside and carried on.

The car door opened, jolting you out of your thoughts. You turned to see Zuko offering his hand. “We’re here,” he said, and you took his hand which guided you out of the car. He had already taken your crutches out from the backseat and handed them to you.

Silently, you thanked the heavens for giving you a best friend who has his own set of keys to his uncle’s tea shop. It was late and the Jasmine Dragon had closed hours ago. While you still wished Freddy Krueger would just come and kill you now, you were glad that you and Zuko would at least have some privacy. He gestured for you to take a table while he flipped on a few lights and shuffled to the back to brew up some tea. Of course, he returned after some agonizing, nervous foot-tapping moments later with your favorite blend.

“So,” he said.

“So,” you echoed.

“I’m sorry for walking out earlier.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

It was quiet for a moment and you desperately sought to find something interesting to fixate on other than Zuko thrumming his fingers on the table. The tea. The tea is nice. Good, although Zuko definitely added too much honey. You smiled though, knowing that despite his subpar tea making skills, he always remembers what you like. You could have been happy just sitting there, but Zuko broke the silence.

“What are we doing?”

“Well, I’m trying to stomach this overly sweetened tea. What are you doing?”

“Y/N…” This time Zuko’s eye did not smile at your attempt for lightheartedness. Try as you might, this was going to be a serious conversation.

“I don’t know, Zuko.”

“You have to know something,” he scoffed. Looking up, you caught him rolling his eyes and leaning back in his chair so that he could cross his arms again.

“Don’t you scoff at me. You got us into this mess.”

“Me?” he asked incredulously. You could practically hear the yell he was biting back. An opening. He was frustrated. You could convince him that this wouldn’t work. That you’re better off as friends because your friendship has already survived fights and your stupidity. But anything more? What kind of stress could that put on the both of you? What if it created cracks in the foundation?

“Yes, you. If you hadn’t walked out and caused a scene, we’d be enjoying a movie night or killing Sokka again.”

“I just apologized for walking out!”

“And I said you have nothing to apologize for!”

“YOU JUST SAID I CAUSED A SCENE!” His voice rose and his hands fisted through his hair. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he tried again. This time his voice was much softer, gentler.

“Why are you pushing me away?”

A worthy counterattack. You could feel his tugging on your heart strings. But you are a fortress, you will not crumble. This is for the best of your friendship, you reminded yourself.

But then he looked up and you looked away quickly. He moved his head to try to recapture your attention.

“Y/N,” your name on his lips was almost a whisper, a prayer really. You hesitantly looked back at him. “Ask me when.”

“When what?”

“When I knew that I love you.”

You felt your eyebrows shoot up towards your hairline and your jaw slackened in shock. Immediately, that hurricane of butterflies roared again. In your stomach. In your heart. In your throat. Can a fortress withstand an army of thousands of butterflies?

“When?” Your voice was faint, but you heard the simple question fall from your lips.

“I don’t know,” he answered.

“Zuko!” you groaned and facepalmed. “Why would you have me ask you that then?!”

“Because it wasn’t just one moment,” his voice had not changed from that soft tone. “There were so many moments that made me realize I love you.”

You could only gulp down a couple butterflies before he continued in a passion of communication.

“The first time I heard you laugh. When I see you hug my uncle. When you cried snot on my shoulder after watching Coco. I can’t narrow it down to one moment. All I know is when I’m with you, since I’ve met you, I’ve been genuinely happy. Hell, I look forward to just sitting next to you in class—“

“Why?” you interrupted.

“Why do I like sitting next to you in class?”

“No. Why do you love me?” Your voice was so quiet that a pin dropping to the floor would make more noise.

“I don’t think I could pick one reason either.”

“Try. Please.”

He paused for a moment to think, to choose the right words. All through his thinking, his eyes never left yours.

“You know me,” he said finally. “You listen to me and… you care about what I have to say. You know what will make me smile or what to say when I’m upset, even if I don’t want to talk. You know what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking. I love the way you lo—“ he caught himself and looked down at the table. “I love the way you care about me.”

Silence invaded the Jasmine Dragon again. It settled for a while between the two of you and you digested Zuko’s words. He said you know him but you have absolutely no idea what to say next.

“Okay,” Zuko the silence breaker spoke again. “I did all my talking. It’s your turn now.”

“My turn?” It was your turn to ask incredulously.

“Yes, your turn.”

“I don’t have anything to say.” Zuko’s words may have collapsed an area of the fortress but you began rebuilding brick by brick.

“Bullshit,” he almost laughed, but there was no mirth in his voice. “You wouldn’t have come to the door if you didn’t have anything to say.”

“Zuko, I--” you began, only to get cut off again.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said seriously. “Actually, I still have my fifth rule to use. Rule #5 is Y/n has to be honest with me.”

“Really?” you deadpanned. “Of all the possibilities, that’s what you come up with?”

“If it gets us to have this conversation, then yes.”

It was quiet again. Avoiding his gaze again, you look down at the table. Now you were most definitely pushed up against your last wall. A white flag would have to be raised. You were only tried to think up the words for your declaration of love surrender.

“Zuko, I--” you tried again. “I’m afraid.”

“Of me?”

“No,” you had to laugh. “No, of course not. I’m afraid of losing you.” Your honesty suddenly gave you a second wind, quiet and shaken voice be gone. Now you were animated in your best attempt to express yourself. “What if, what if we don’t work out?” you pleaded for him to understand. “What if it doesn’t work and you stop loving me and we start to hate each other and then we don’t want to even be in the same room as each other and then our friends will have to take sides and then the whole group falls apart?”

Zuko took a moment to take in your plea. You could tell her was considering what would be the best response. “Do you think that would happen if Sokka and Suki break up?”

“I already told Suki I’m taking her side no matter what so....”

You both laughed, and seeing Zuko smile again relieved some of your nervousness. It was so easy to talk to him. So easy to be honest with him. 

“I guess it depends then,” Zuko started up the conversation again. “If you maybe... felt the same way about me.” A small smile formed on his lips again but this time there was hesitancy in his eyes. You felt the urge to start rebuilding the fortress again but you promised to follow Zuko’s fifth rule of honesty. There was no turning back.

“I do,” you replied surely and you made it a point to make eye contact with him. You noticed the hesitancy slip away and the warmth and glow of his eyes returned. 

“Then you’re not going to lose me. If it doesn’t work, then fine. I’m your best friend first and foremost and you are mine. But I love you. And I want to see where that takes us.”

It wasn’t the first time he said he loved you during this conversation but for the first time, you felt complete ease overwhelm you. As if this was exactly where you were meant to be. With the person you were meant to be with. Fear and insecurity had washed away.

“Okay,” you smiled. “I love you, too.”

a/n: lol more to come, but back to screenshots for part 19 :) hope you enjoyed!

taglist (open, just send me an ask!):

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[ink-splotch]

Wangxian + 45 (gift)

Five Times Wei Wuxian Was Hungry + Once When He Was Not 

1 

It was Wei Ying’s favorite spot to scrounge. The morning’s cook cut the vegetables carelessly-- there was always a good few mouthfuls to gnaw off the cabbage and radish ends, the onions and peppers. He remembered having roasted potatoes before, with his mother and father, but it was hard lighting fires. And as soon as things started smelling good, other people came, or dogs. 

Raw potatoes though-- they were barely sweet, crisp, and grainy. He chewed them more for entertainment than because they filled him up. He’d gotten a good instinct for which mouthfuls went the longest ways. Some things stuck to the ribs. 

Wei Ying curled up in a different hollow each night, a different rooftop or alley or meadow or tree, and ran his fingers over the curved ridges of his ribs. He counted them and thought of his mother teaching him arithmetic, moving little twigs and stones into place beside a fire. 

2

“Dinner was delicious.” 

Wei Wuxian managed not to flail off the roof. “Jiang Cheng, you’re so mean.” Past his brother’s ugly face, the moon was setting low over the wide, still ponds of Lotus Pier. 

“Well, dumbass, don’t piss off mom next time.” Jiang Cheng scooted slowly down the roof tiles. One day, they would have this down to an art, play light-footed games of tag at midnight. One day, they would huddle on these same tiles and watch their parents bleed out, holding hands. Wei Wuxian dropped down onto the wooden pathway, reaching up a hand to help, which Jiang Cheng ignored. “I tried to sneak you out some bao, but First Uncle caught me.” 

“So you do love me!” Wei Wuxian grinned at him, all of twelve and gangly with it. 

Jiang Cheng shoved him. “If you starve to a skeleton, who will be around for me to beat at swords?” 

“Who will be around to beat you, you mean--”

“Both of you!” 

At the hiss, Wei Wuxian latched onto Jiang Cheng’s startled flail of his arm. The ponds past them were still, painted with moonlight and pockmarked with lotus. 

Jiang Yanli waved at them from the open door of her room. “Come on, in here. You both tiptoe like elephants.” 

“It’s Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian explain, slipping into the room behind her. “I mean, he ate too much at dinner and now he’s going to bust through the floor into the lake.” 

“Sit down, sit down,” Jiang Yanli said. “I’ve been waiting for hours, listening for you.” 

“I was going to head down to town,” Wei Wuxian said. 

“No need for that,” she said. She lifted the lid off a clay pot on her desk. Light pork flavor wafted up and Wei Wuxian’s stomach grumbled. He poked at it, betrayed. 

“Have as much as you want,” Jiang Yanli said, reaching for the ladle. Her voice was soft, but it was always soft, even when they weren’t sitting in the dim light listening for creaks in the hallway. 

“What about me?” Jiang Cheng demanded. 

“You, too, A-Cheng,” she said. “If we run out, we’ll make a brave expedition to the kitchens to acquire more mission materiel.” 

Her eyes sparkled even in the low lights. Wei Wuxian liked this so much better, the slyness in her eyes as she teased her brother, than the way she sat quiet in the daylight, peeling lotus seeds with shaking fingers, while her mother rose up like a bonfire. 

There was a creak from the hallway. Wei Wuxian would have counted it for a mouse in the night, but Jiang Yanli’s head shot up. “That’s mother, coming to check up on me. Quick, both of you, out the window. Sorry, I-- quickly, now.” 

That night, Wei Wuxian lay in bed with a still empty stomach-- an old feeling, a familiar one. He’d last til morning, easy, he knew that. 

But this was unfamiliar, even now: his palms still felt the ghost of heat, of a warm bowl cradled in them, smuggled through the darkness and meant for him. 

3

“Ai, Lan Zhan, you didn’t think to pack anything to eat? So thoughtless. Even those Qishan bao would be acceptable. I mean, I know I told Nie Huaisang they tasted burnt, but that was mostly lies. And if we’re stuck here much longer, I’d even eat that terrible bitter Gusu soup!” 

Lan Zhan’s head was tipped back against the rough stone of the cave, eyes closed. Firelight played softly over the ridge of his jaw, the column of his neck. He didn’t respond to Wei Wuxian, not even to the bit about the soup. 

Wei Wuxian sprawled where he could, trying to find a comfortable bit of ground while keeping an eye on Lan Zhan. “I ate every bowl I was given, when I was there,” he told Lan Zhan. “So I know what I’m talking about. Your clan doesn’t know how to eat. One day, I’ll take you to Lotus Pier, and you’ll see.” 

4

At first the noise distracted him from the emptiness-- from the hunger, yes, but also from the quiet lack where his golden core once had been. It felt silent inside of him, that void under his belly, the way he hadn’t felt silent in years. 

Spirits called for vengeance, for justice and fury, for freedom and power. Beneath the black cloud of that rage, there were quieter voices too-- asking for rest, for remembrance, for respite. 

Beneath it all, though, he still had a body, however empty. He found water dripping down the cliff face. He dug up roots and caught rats. He lit fires to roast them. He figured that everything that could scare him already knew how to find him. 

He remembered how it felt to wither, day by day. He watched his body shrink and hollow, familiar.

The spirits called for vengeance and he agreed. The spirits cried for justice and he promised it. His body begged for sustenance and he told it to wait. There were more important things. 

5

Lil Apple reached out his neck, trying to snap his big ugly teeth at some greener grass growing off the path. “Ah, yeah, you hungry, you spoiled beast?” Wei Wuxian said, trying to tug him forward. “I gave you my last bit of melon this morning.” 

Wei Wuxian managed to drag the donkey a few strides further before he gave up, sagging against a tree while Lil Apple waded out into greener pastures. He brayed again and Wei Wuxian hoped it was joy, but suspected it was something a little more vengeful. 

“You’re lucky you can eat grass,” he called after him. 

They’d left a town with a water spirit problem five days ago--well, a town that had previously had a water spirit problem. They’d given him a bag of apples, a stack of flatbread, and a big meal before he’d left. He rolled the memory over his tongue-- creamy eggplant and salted fish, spicy enough even to satisfy him. 

It was days ago now, and that old familiar ache was curling under his heart. But there’d be a village around any corner now, a farm with a blight, or a merchant caravan looking for some peace of mind. 

Even if there wasn’t, he could go far longer than this without a shake to his legs or to his smile. He had. 

Even if the land was barren for miles, at the end of it he’d wash up in Caiyi town in time for loquat season. He’d climb the mountain by foot, palming the jade pass in his sleeve, and there would be a hot meal waiting for him when he arrived. 

But for now, the crickets were calling from the grass. Heat beat down from a wide, clear sky and Wei Wuxian closed his eyes. 

His body whispered for sustenance and he told it wait, wait, but this time it was a promise cradled warm and soft in his palms.

+1

“You’re not busy, are you?” Wen Ning said. 

Wei Wuxian glanced up from gnawing on the end of his calligraphy brush. It wasn’t an old bad habit of his, but he thought it might have been one of Mo Xuanyu’s. Also, the first time Lan Qiren had caught him doing it, he’d gone red in the face, so Wei Wuxian had rather leaned into it. 

“We don’t want to bother you,” Wen Ning went on, bobbing his head. “I know you’re doing important work…” 

“If I haven’t figured out how to balance this talisman yet-- and I haven’t,” Wei Wuxian said, wrinkling his nose at the crumbled papers beside him, “then it’s not going to happen tonight.” He leaned back, elbows on the wood floor of the inn. “What’s going on, Wen Ning? You and Sizhui get into trouble in the market?” 

“No, we had some good luck.” Wen Ning stepped finally through the door. “If you could come down to the…”

“Did you find something on the case?” Wei Wuxian leapt to his feet. 

“No, no,” Wen Ning said, following him down the stairs. One of the inn staff caught one look at Wen Ning and threw himself backward into an open room. “We just, I mean, I hope it’s not overstepping.” 

Down on the ground floor of the inn, Lan Sizhui looked up and smiled to see them. He rose from the table where he’d been laying out four bowls. “Wei-qianbei." 

"What's this, now?" Wei Wuxian said, glancing over the table. 

“Wen Ning has been telling me stories of when I was little,” Lan Sizhui said, settling his hands gently on the lid of the pot. He did most things gently, that kid, and it didn’t come from Lan Zhan, who was deliberate in every movement but rarely soft in the public eye, or Lan Qiren. It certainly didn’t come from Wei Wuxian. 

Wen Ning settled down opposite Lan Sizhui at Lan Sizhui’s encouraging nod, and Wei Wuxian realized-- it was his uncles. It was the way Lan Xichen had used to move quiet and kind through a crowded room. It was the way Wen Ning was so careful with his strength. 

“He told me about a day when he carried a little bowl of soup miles home from Yiling, so I could try it. It was cold by the time he got there, of course, but… I don’t remember it really.” Lan Sizhui pulled the lid from the pot, the rich scent rising up. “But helping Madam Wang in the kitchen, the smell-- I think I do remember, a little.” 

“We found lotus root in the market,” Wen Ning said. “And pork ribs, and the landlady here has a cousin from Lotus Pier. We thought…”

Wei Wuxian dropped down into a seat at the table, heavy and silent. He closed a hand over Wen Ning’s wrist, softly. 

“Have as much as you want,” Lan Sizhui said, reaching for the ladle. His voice was soft. 

-

When Lan Zhan got back to the inn, he found them still there, leaning over empty bowls and laughing about radishes. 

He paused in the doorway to take in the sight-- Wei Ying with his head thrown back; Wen Ning waving his hands while he talked, like he'd forgotten to shrink himself down; Lan Sizhui soaking it in like he had years of family to catch up on. 

Lan Zhan crossed the room to join them, Wei Ying spotting him when he got close. He was smiling already, but he smiled wider. "Ai, Lan Zhan, you're here! Sit down, sit down. We even saved you some soup." 

[ragingbookdragon]

Before You Go, Was I Someone You Loved? PT. 1

A Shay Cormac x Reader Story

Word Count: 2,042 Warnings: Mentions of Death, Explicit Language, Violence

Author’s Note: Holy shit this is the first time I’ve written something this long in a while that wasn’t for a class! Admire the growth I’ve made! Y’all take Fiction Writing in school if y’all can! THE GROWTH! AND ANGST! ENJOY! -Thorne

“Shay?”

           He looked up from the aimless lines he’d been drawing in the snow to see her standing before him, a frown etched onto her face. He blinked in shock, surprised to see her. “(Y/N)?”

           She took a step towards him and sat down on the log next to him, closer than she’d been in the past few months. “I heard,” she started, but lowered her voice, “about Lisbon…and about this evening.”

           Shay swallowed the sigh and looked back down at his feet. “Come to tell me that I’m a murderer?”

           He didn’t need to see her face to know that there was disappointment written across it. “If that’s what you think I’m here to do, then the few nights we spent together taught you nothing about me.”

           Glancing up, he caught her eyes. “I figured you’d never talk to me again after threatening to shoot me.”

           (Y/N) nudged her elbow into his ribs. “I still could if you want.” It did the work, and she watched a small smile cross his lips. She leaned her head onto his shoulder, curling her right arm around his left bicep. Her fingers felt cold against the bare side of his wrist. “I’m so sorry about Lisbon, Shay.”

           This time, he let the sigh leave him and he allowed himself to feel her comfort, resting his head on hers. “It wasn’t your fault, (Y/N).”

           She nodded. “I know…but neither was it yours.”

           The thorn that had stuck itself in his heart since he left Portugal dug a little deeper and he countered, “But it was. I moved the piece…I caused the earthquake.”

           He knew she had no idea about the Precursor artifacts, but she still tried to understand. “You may have moved it, but it wasn’t your fault. You were merely the instrument used by the Brotherhood. The fault lies with them.”

           Shay looked off into the distance. “Misplacing the blame won’t bring the dead back.”

           “No,” she murmured, “no it won’t.”

           They fell into a silence for some time, watching the snow fall around them, their breaths coming out in pale, airy wisps. “Shay?”

           “Hmm?”

           “What…what are you going to do?”

           He looked down at her, confusion swimming with suspicion. “Why?”

           (Y/N) met his gaze. “I know you well enough Shay Cormac. You’re going to do something about all this.”

           Shay knew it was useless to hide from her when her eyes saw straight through him; he sighed. “I can’t let them keep going. They’ll kill millions if I don’t stop them.”

           She was quiet, then she reached into her pocket and pulled out an old iron key. (Y/N) held it out for him. “Achilles has the items stowed in the desk upstairs. You’ll need this to get into the house and second bedroom.”

           He stared in shock at the key and then at her. “Why would you do this for me?”

           (Y/N) smiled. “What you considered a few nights of fun, I considered it to be something deeper.” She folded the key into his palm then rose, standing before him. “You know my feelings for you, Shay. And I know that you wouldn’t go against the Brotherhood if you didn’t think it was the right thing to do.” (Y/N) bent down and pressed a chilled kiss to his lips, whispering, “I’ll always be on your side, Shay. No matter the cost.” She pulled back and smiled sadly, then turned to leave.

           He stood and called out, “(Y/N)?” She spun on her heel and waited. Thousands of thoughts ran through his mind, but he simply said, “Thank you.”

           She nodded with a small smile. “Please be careful, Shay.”

***

           (Y/N) held the hem of her skirt in one hand, the other pressed to her chest, fear dripping down her spine at the sight of Shay standing but a few feet from the cliff edge. She watched Hope take a step forward.

           “Give back the manuscript, Shay!” The assassin shouted. “I’m sure Achilles—”

           Shay shoved a hand out towards them, voice cracking as he countered, “I cannot. I will not let this happen again.” He shook his head. “All those souls lost…” He met (Y/N)’s eyes and she mouthed his name in terror. Shay lowered his head and declared, “One more hardly matters.”

***

           She didn’t know who fired the shot, but it felt all the same in her heart as she sprinted after him. “Shay!” Her scream tore through her throat and before she could get to the edge, someone’s arms wrapped around her waist. She thrashed wildly like a mountain lion caught in a steel trap. “Let go of me! Shay!”

           “Enough (Y/N)! He’s gone!” She realized it was Liam who had her by the waist.

           (Y/N) spun on him, pounding her fists to his chest, borderline hysteric. “How could you?! He was your best friend!” Liam let her hit him. “Answer me!”

           He grabbed her hands, but before he could speak, Chevalier snorted, “The cabbage farmer betrayed the Brotherhood. He’s better off at Davy Jones Locker.”

           Her eyes drifted to the smoke clearing from his gun and as if another shot had gone off, she was throwing herself at him, and had Liam not had her, she’d have clawed the Frenchman’s eyes out. “You arrogant bastard!” Fury mingled with her pain. “That man was more of an assassin than you’ll ever hope to be!” She spat at him. “You will reap what you sow!” Her eyes drifted to Hope and Achilles, to all of the assassins standing behind them. “You all will! You all—” Finally, (Y/N)’s legs gave out beneath her and she hit the ground, sobs ripping through her chest.

           Liam sighed behind her. “Easy (Y/N).”

           She sucked in a breath, grabbing his hands as if anchoring herself would take it all away. “How could you?” Her voice was quieter, but certainly harsher. “How could you let this happen to him?”

           He frowned and clenched his jaw. “I don’t know (Y/N)…I…don’t know.”

***Two Years Later***

           She barely kept the tears at bay as she stumbled through the New York streets. Mid-afternoon, but it felt so much busier than it usually was, and she felt as though everyone’s eyes were on her, watching her with pity. Another failed attempt at earning a job. She frowned and drifted into the garden of a home, collapsing onto the bench just outside it. She vaguely hoped that whoever owned the property wouldn’t chase her off in her apparent moment of breakdown. She brought a hand up to her face, wiping the tears from her face before sucking in a breath, then she heard, “Dear?” Her head shot up and she saw an older woman standing with a basket of clothes under her hip.

           Quickly, she stood to her feet and the words poured from her mouth before she could stop them. “I’m so sorry ma’am.” She thrust a hand back at the house. “You own this home, don’t you?” She brought her hand to her middle and bowed her head. “Forgive me, I’ll leave.”

           The woman huffed and shook her head. “Nonsense dear. I’d be a wretched woman to leave a young lady like yourself to cry your heart out.” She stepped forward and curled an arm around her. “Come now, inside for some tea and we’ll see what’s wrong.” The older woman smiled. “My name is Cassidy Finnegan. What’s yours?”

           She offered a wobbly smile to Cassidy—It’d been some time since someone had showed her such kindness—she hoped it would last a bit longer. “I’m (Y/N) (L/N).” Cassidy ushered her inside and she couldn’t help but marvel at the interior. “Your home is beautiful, Miss Finnegan.”

           “Oh, call me Cassidy, (Y/N).”

           “Okay then, Cassidy.” The two smiled at one another and the woman set the basket of clothes down on the desk, ushering her to follow. (Y/N) found herself in the kitchen, sitting on a stool as Cassidy handed her a cold, wet rag.

           “Here,” she said. “Wipe those tears away. They don’t suit a face as pretty as yours.”

           (Y/N) felt her cheeks warm and she did so, feeling as if a years’ worth of dirt and grime had come off. “Thank you, Cassidy.”

           The older woman shuffled across from her towards the open fire pit, hanging a tea kettle on the rack. “Want to tell me why you were crying outside?”

           “I—” (Y/N) started, but faltered, afraid to offer all her knowledge. Eventually, she settled for, “I used to work for a man as a maid, but some of the things he was doing got the man I cared for killed.” She thought of Shay’s smiling face, then to that night when the pain, but determination was written across it. “I refused to work for the man anymore but…well, he has connections all over the colonies.” (Y/N) met Cassidy’s gaze. “I’ve essentially been blacklisted from any workplace I could go.”

           “Oh no.” Cassidy’s voice was full of sympathy. “You’ve been on your own for all this time?”

           (Y/N) shrugged. “I’ve been fortunate to work in some places before they figured out who I was. I’ve been working at taverns here and there.” She looked away. “I’ve been lucky to not end up in a brothel yet. But…I fear I’m beginning to lose options.”

           “I’ll not have you working in a place like that!” Her head shot up at Cassidy, who had her hands placed on her hips. “You’ll stay here and look for a job!”

           Before (Y/N) could get a word in, a man stepped through the doorway, griping, “What are you screamin’ at Cass?” He looked between his wife and (Y/N) then sighed. “Another one?”

           Cassidy shushed him. “Hush, Barry.” She gestured between them. “Barry, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is my husband, Barry.”

           (Y/N) waved and smiled as best she could despite the man’s frown. “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Finnegan.”

           He harrumphed. “At least this one has decent manners.” Cass scowled at her husband and he turned, waving them off. “I’m going to take a nap.”

           “Oaf,” Cassidy hissed, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but giggle.

           “He seems like a good man, Cassidy.”

           “He is,” she agreed. “When he’s not being rude.” She turned. “You wouldn’t mind helping with dinner, would you? I’ll need to go ready your room.”

           “Oh, please, let me do it! You can go sit and relax!” Cassidy was about to counter, but (Y/N) begged, “Please, if you’re going to let me stay here for free, you’ll have to let me pull my weight.”

           Cassidy watched her then offered, “How about you go fold the clothes in that basket and start dinner, and I’ll take care of the room.”

           (Y/N) nodded and after grabbing the basket of clothes, she found herself standing in the master bedroom, quietly folding the clothes as to not wake Barry. A warm smile spread across her face as a sense of security filled her veins. She’d certainly not been the assassin’s target, but her fleeing was obviously an offense against them either way. She had no doubts that Hope had been the one to spread the rumors of terrible work ethic throughout the elite in New York—the assassin had the power and connections to do so. (Y/N) shook her head and put away the clothes then headed towards the door but stopped when she felt something in her pocket. She pulled out a coin and flipped it over, seeing the Celtic shield of luck imprinted into it. A sad smile crossed her lips as she ran her thumb in a routine manner. His words came back to her.

           “Here (Y/N).” She looked up from his chest to see him handing something to her.

           Her brows furrowed as she stared at it. “What is that?”

            Shay brought his free hand up behind his head, resting on it. “A Celtic shield of luck.”

           (Y/N) couldn’t help but snort. “I think you need this more than I, Shay Cormac.”

           He chuckled and pressed the coin into her hand. “What are you talking about, lass? I make my own luck.”

           (Y/N) inhaled deeply and shoved the coin back in her pocket, gazing out the window. The sun was beginning to set, but for the first time in two years, she felt hopeful. “I make my own luck.” She whispered and descended the stairs to start dinner.

[ashleyswrittenwords]

Whumptober No.5

Where Do You Think You’re Going? (On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue)

Series Summary: After Calamity Ganon awakens, Zelda is left alone and heartbroken. Now something horrible has happened to Link and no more is she merely tasked with fighting the Calamity - but also what is left of her knight.

Growing up, everyone was taught about the inevitable prophecy.

Esme knew as much as anyone did that 10,000 years ago a fabled princess and her hero fought against a dreaded evil, ultimately bringing peace to Hyrule. It was a tale told in primary school alongside the common alphabet. As a young girl, she nearly obsessed over the prophecy – reading legends and mythos to find similar themes that all led back to a girl with the blood of Hylia and a boy blessed with Her sword.

So, when it was decreed by the historians that the ancient evil would soon break from its seal Esme was not afraid. She knew their crown princess was the goddess’s descendent just as the many princesses before her. Esme had grown from a girl and into a young woman and with that, she found love and bore a family. Still, with so much at stake now, she wasn’t afraid because by the time her daughter was born, they had found the boy who will wield the sword that seals the darkness.

It seemed that everything was falling into place.

Her hometown, just west of Castle Town, was evacuated in preparation for Calamity Ganon. Her husband refused to leave as this was his father’s home and so she left with her children to the outstretches of Hyrule.

Naturally, the Calamity resurfaced and with it was destruction.

News traveled relatively fast. The events that were meant to happen fell out of place. The princess did awaken her power; however, it was too late. Her knight had died at Fort Hateno while they were fleeing from Calamity Ganon. As she was meant to, Princess Zelda was able to fight back against the Calamity’s adversaries even though the time in between had collapsed their current monarchy and resulted in a stand still.

With no hero, who was going to slay the darkness?

It had been nearly a full year since the Calamity overshadowed them. Hyrule was experiencing one of its coldest winters on record and Esme hadn’t seen her husband in months. The only acknowledgement of his whereabouts came from the men who visited their wives or the housewives that have returned to their settlement. It was grueling to be away from him, but she knew he was alive and her two young children were safer away from where Calamity Ganon was the strongest.

Esme also knew her husband wanted to protect their little farmhouse for as long as possible, but it was unforeseeable how long that demon would hold reign over Hyrule. And, of course, she missed him. Their family was alive and well. Without him it only felt incomplete and if she had to drag that man from that house, then so be it.

Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest to leave in the dead of winter. The thought occurred to her as she began trekking east. Her children were safe with her parents and in-laws, so she knew they would be well-cared for. Hylia had blessed them with being so close to Rito Village and the inhabitants were more than generous with supplying them foodstuffs and winter gear. Because of this, Esme told herself she would endure.

Hylians weren’t the only ones that hated the cold, according to her many tomes on Hylian legends, the monsters were adverse to these conditions. So, yes, should she not run into anything particularly difficult – Esme would endure.

She took her old horse east without a hitch. It was true that there was an influx in monsters. They tended to watch her from far away, not willing to chase after one woman. If anything, they were disinterested in her and if she weren’t as smart as she was, Esme would’ve been slightly offended.

Families didn’t stay in her little village, especially in the months following the Calamity. Those that stuck with her stubborn husband were other men and the elder families whose children were already grown.

When she arrived, Esme didn’t see one person on the roads. The sun was setting over the horizon and beyond the windmill of their village was Hyrule Castle in the distance. When prior she had felt blessed to have such a view, it now felt like an awful reminder of what they lost. Their village was modest, but it had never been so quiet.

Winter or not, one of the major roads passed through here and there was always something happening. Mr. Hutchinson would have his world-famous bread baking every morning, his wife just as busy with winter treats. The children here were always so active in the snow. They never tired of their games and would dress up every year to sneak ale from the midwinter festival. (They never succeeded when Esme was around, but sometimes she would overlook the older teens because she was young enough to remember how it feels to yearn for adulthood.)

Mrs. Hutchinson opened her door the moment Esme rode into town. Her wrinkles had deepened and the stress had worn her features. They embraced briefly.

“I saw your old man just the other day,” she had said. “There aren’t many that have stayed, but he’s been beyond helpful.”

Esme scowled at that, “He should be with his family. Just like you and your husband.”

The baker’s wife sighed, “With the raids happening all around this place… you’re right, we should. The timing just hasn’t been the best.”

In response, Esme should have asked what she meant. She didn’t. Instead, she was all too eager to see her partner. Not a moment longer she had bid Mrs. Hutchinson goodbye and promised she’d stop by after wrangling her own husband into leaving.

At the end of the road was her home. It was still standing in one piece with the stable beside it empty. With a gentle voice, she left her horse in the open field in front of her home. She’d properly feed and stable him once she saw her husband.

The door creaked open under her fingertips and she shivered from the sudden shelter from the wind. The fireplace was out, however the embers were glowing and the house looked properly lived in. The lock to the door clattered shut. She unwound the Rito scarf from her shoulders and set it on the coat rack, shedding her first layer of clothes with it. The living space had a set of dishes atop a table, a hearth on the far wall, and a small kitchenette that Esme had always adored.

He wasn’t home, evident from the empty space on the coat rack, but she popped in front of their mirror anyway. Her hands went to smooth down her hair, combing down her pale locks after two days of riding. Her eyes held extra lines she hadn’t noticed before now.

A thought snuck into her head and she cursed herself for her vanity.

“Ben?” she called out, turning slightly to glance at the stairs that disappeared to the upper floor. There wasn’t an answer, so she turned back with a crease in her brow. The emptiness bothered her more than she’d ever admit to him.

He’d tease her about missing him. She’d bully him into confessing that he missed her too.

Esme turned fully away from the mirror and bounded up the steps, calling out again, “Benji?”

It was darker upstairs. She passed the kids’ room and peered into her own. The sheets on their bed were mussed, the workmanship of a man whose heart was only half into the task. That, too, was empty.

She resigned to looking out their bedroom window over the snow-covered cabbage field. They didn’t make much money by farming. Her husband had once done reservation work in the Royal Guard before leaving prior to the Calamity. Even if she believed it was all going to work out, she didn’t want him in danger. Esme knew how guilty he felt, but they weren’t as young as they used to be – only living for each other. They had two more little lives to support, and she wasn’t sure she could do it without him.

Dusk had fallen over the town when she heard a loud bang coming from the village. The picture frames on the walls shook before ebbing back into place. Esme’s heart stuttered in her chest and she pressed her cheek flush to glass to find the source of the loud sound. Her hands launched herself from the windowsill and she bounded down the stairs. Her scarf tangled with the coat rack so she left it a flurry of motions to open the door.

From the entrance of her house were a varied array of screams emanating from the center of town. Smoke rose steadily into the air, illuminated ominously by fire. Esme tried to hold down her horse, but he was already spooked and shirked away from her touch.

Esme did the second best thing, she began running. The air was colder than before and it pinched her cheeks as she reached the road. On her way out, a stocky man she recognized was running her way.

“Esme, gods, what are you doing here?” he huffed out a breath, his hands placed tactfully on his knees. He was the butcher’s apprentice, no doubt staying to safeguard the butcher shop.

“I came for Ben,” she glanced at the direction he came from with concern. “What’s happening?! Are we being robbed?”

“Monsters. A lot of monsters. They’ve been going around raiding villages for food instead of finding it on their own,” he frowned. “You should flee. Come on.”

He went for her arm, but she tore it away. “What about the Hutchinsons? Are you just leaving them?”

He glared at the accusations, “It’s too late!”

She held in her disbelief, again starting down the road.

“Esme, stop! It isn’t just the monsters!”

It didn’t matter. It was beyond awful to leave an elderly couple to fend for themselves. Hopefully he was the only one to abandon them.

The fires roared over the town square and were already spreading towards the bakery. It looked like they started at the general store. Esme reached the bakery entrance, pulling at the door and pounded for them to open up. The porch to the general store creaked to a slump before falling completely into charred smoke. She hacked on a throatful of it and stumbling from the bakery front.

Her name found her ears and she saw a crouched form slumped against the building. Esme’s sight adjusted and she stumbled over.

“Margaret! Are you- Hylia above,” Esme choked on her words and held her hands in front of her month.

Mrs. Hutchinson looked up at her mournfully, tears in her eyes, then looked back down at her husband. He was limp in her arms and stared with unseeing eyes. Sweet Mr. Hutchinson was dead and surrounded by a puddle of his own blood.

Mrs. Hutchinson sniffed and spoke through watery words, “You should leave, Esme. Those monsters…”

She heard them. A bokoblin snort coming from the other side of the wall, then a crash. They were rummaging for food.

“Come on,” Esme began, ignoring the bile forming in her throat to help Margaret to a stand. The women was hesitant at first.

“But…” she motioned to her husband.

Esme found her eyes, “He’d want you to live. Let’s go.”

Her hands shook with uncertainty, but she willed it not to appear on her face. If she could get this woman to her horse then they could start west. The search for her own husband would have to wait, even if the thought of his fate made her heart ache horribly.

Another crash was heard and across the square was a shout of anger.

“Burn it all, damn it!”

It was so loud that Esme stopped in her tracks. Across the square passed the town well was a man in front of the mayor’s broken-in door. She had half a mind to call out for help until his mannerisms sunk in. A blue moblin knelt before him… groveling at his feet. The man brought a swift kick to its head, glaring down at the thing.

“Animals. The lot of you. I want it to the ground. Do you hear me?! You’re not here to scavenge!”

Esme expected the moblin to rear up and attack the idiot, but he only made a noise of pain and slunk backward. She began to think that this idiot wasn’t an idiot after all.

Anger welled in her chest, but she wasn’t reckless. She wouldn’t be. The man turned to them, bright yellow eyes against the darkness. His motions stuttered for a few seconds, enough time to tell Margaret that her horse was waiting at the farmhouse.

He began walking towards them. A nondescript expression forming on his face.

“What about you? I’ll ride this way,” Mrs. Hutchinson whispered harshly, already backing away at the sight.

“No,” Esme said immediately. “No, you leave first thing. I’ll find another way.”

The woman ran off, leaving Esme to glower in the man’s direction. She shouted, hoping to seem indignant instead of startled. If she distracted him then maybe he wouldn’t care to go after her friend.

“What are you doing to my town?”

He was still fairly far away, but she could see the unnaturalness in his movements. His sword in his hand… Esme stumbled back. Blood, red and recent dripped from the tip.

She took a step back and he tilted his head, watching her curiously. “Your town?”

Esme held in a gasp. She knew that face. “I-I thought… I thought it wasn’t true…” she breathed out.

Even with the fire illuminating from behind him, it was unmistakable. She had taken her family to Castle Town to see one of the many military parades and festivities the king threw to keep public morale high. The Champions were a staple, famous. Esme could spot the Hylian Champion easily in a crowd.

But she made a mistake – her voice wavered. His steps grew faster and she staggered back before falling into a run. The fire had spread further, wicking up from the rooves. Rich laughter followed her, echoing off the walls as she ran past the bakery.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

A yelp escaped her as she tripped over Mr. Hutchinson’s dead body. Her leg twisted awkwardly, but she scrambled up anyway. The short alleyway led to a brick way where the bakery furnaces were along with a storage area for the general store. Esme bypassed these too, cursing herself for not taking another avenue.

With the town cut out of the hills, the back alleys were sloped and craggy where infrastructure wasn’t held as a priority. It was often that snow was left undug. Her ankle pulsed red and gave out under her weight once the snow grew too high.

Esme cursed bitterly, scraping by her hands and knees until even that was pointless.

The princess’s knight had loud boots. They were thick and distinctly of military garb. The rest of it wasn’t. He wore a common coat, but peaking out was a Hylian royal blue. In his grip was a broadsword, drawn and ready.

“Please!” she began, her voice taunt. “I-I have children waiting for me.”

In a blink, things were slightly different. He blinked down at her with a blankness and when he kneeled before her, she winced and pulled away as far as she possibly could. When she opened her eyes, she saw normalcy in his. A cobalt, brilliant and beautiful.

The knight brought a hand to her bangs and smoothed them back. It was a gentle gesture. Her hair threaded through his fingers.

“Your hair is the wrong shade,” he said absently, as if disappointed. “And your eyes are the wrong color.”

Esme went to speak but as soon as she did a piercing sound flew through the air and an arrow burrowed into the knight’s shoulder. The force propelled him backward and he made a sharp sound. It happened quick. He rolled into a stance, but then her view of him was obstructed by another.

The woman turned to meet her eyes and gave a minute signal to leave. Her blonde hair was braided back tightly and in her hands was a bow with an arrow readied on the string. The quiver strapped to her back jostled when she faced the knight once more.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” he grunted, Esme heard the snap of wood.

“What do you have to gain by doing this?” she sneered. She stood readily; her thick clothes clear that she was expecting a fight.

Esme shuffled in the snow to get off the ground, but with her injury her getaway was slow.

“You never come out to see me,” he said, a grin was audible. “What else was I to do? Oh… are you going to kill me?”

The knight was referencing the woman’s bow. Esme held in a gasp as the arrowhead shown with bright light. The fingerless gloves she wore readjusted on the bow.

That must be…

From Esme’s position, she could see the broadsword loosen in his grip then falling to the dirty snow altogether.

“Was my sword not enough for you? We both know you can wield it now, but – no –  you choose another weapon. I should be insulted,” his humor was palpable. “How poetic would it be to be struck down by something so dear to me?”

“Shut up,” Princess Zelda said through gritted teeth. “Pick up your sword.”

He sighed heavily, falling to his knees in a grandiose slump. “I suppose my charge will do.”

“Link.”

“Death is only good when it’s swift.”

“Link!”

Esme watched as he just barely made eye contact with her. Back was that cat-eye yellow. She opened her mouth to yell out a warning but Zelda had already loosened the tenseness of her string.

In one motion, Link gathered the hilt of his sword in one hand and sprung towards the princess. Her reflexes acted quickly, attempting to parry with the bow’s neck. She braced herself, becoming easily overpowered by the man’s weight and twisted away from him quickly. She drew the sword at her hip in time for his follow through. Steel clashed against steel.

A hand on Esme’s shoulder startled her. She met the amber-red eyes of a Sheikah who tried her best to express that she wasn’t in danger.

“Please, come with me.”

Esme wanted to argue in favor of helping the princess.

“We can only leave him to her. Quickly now.”

At that, she acquiesced and took the woman’s hand. Ducking through a series of alleyways, the Sheikah seemed to know this town better than Esme did. Finally at the town square, she led her to a pair wearing traditional garb. Their faces were covered, but when they saw the woman leading her, they stood.

“Let us go inside,” the smaller of the two said, she took her hand gingerly and Esme turned to thank the one that found her, she was gone.

“Always in a hurry,” she tsked. Her hair was cut to her shoulders and despite her stature, she had no problem carrying Esme inside the house. The fire of before seemed dampened now.

“They must have found him,” the man exasperated, following them inside. “Did you even scout the area? What about those bokolins?”

She gasped at the accusation, wriggling her mask down to glare with full effect. “Um, yes, Robbie. I did. I sent those little soldier boys over.”

Robbie scoffed.

“My name is Purah,” she said with a smile a little too bright and motioned for her to sit. They were in a hallway where a skinny bench sat. Immediately, she saw a dampened Mrs. Hutchinson sitting on the same bench.

“Margaret!” Esme smiled. “You’re safe.”

Purah raised a brow, “Oh good you know one another. The ankle, is it?”

In response, she nodded.

“Are you well, dear?” Mrs. Hutchinson said, enveloping Esme’s hand in hers.

She sobered up, remembering sharply that this woman’s husband was dead. “I am. Thank you. I believe the princess saved me.”

The woman blinked, “Princess Zelda? I found her and her group on the way to your farm.”

“How miraculous,” Esme winced as Purah rotated her ankle.

“Pardon,” she said under thick glasses. “I may be a doctor but my medicine for alive things is a bit rough.”

As Purah examined her ankle, the Sheikah woman of before returned with the princess beside her. Through the small window, Esme watched as they were chattering together and only stopping when a group of men returned with reports. There were at least a dozen men and women, all carrying some sort of weaponry, scurrying through the village either looking through debris or taking the remaining monsters.

The princess’s clothes were slightly more disheveled , but before she could examine further Esme’s thoughts were cut off.

Purah sniffed, “Sprained – probably. According to my calculations, I’m pretty sure.”

“Not that confident, it seems.”

“Robbie, shush!”

Attempting to put weight on it, Esme stood and braced the wall. It wasn’t as bad as she expected.

Robbie opened the door for her and when she hobbled down the steps, she caught Zelda’s attention.

“Your Highness-”

At that, she shot up from the conversation she was in.

“Just Zelda,” she remediated, softening the hurry in her speech. “Please. Did he hurt you?”

Esme bit the inside of her lip. “No, I fell… though I was convinced he would. Thank you.”

“He most likely would have,” the Sheikah woman beside the princess muttered.

Zelda politely acknowledged her before smiling graciously at Esme. “Of course.”

There was a sharp tear through one of Zelda’s sleeves with the faint trace of red. She didn’t seem bothered by it. Purah went about looking at it with a gruff series of mumbling.

“You really should be evacuated,” Zelda spoke up again. “This area is only miles from Castle Town. The creatures here are stronger.”

“Forgive me but… I didn’t know it was true. The hero,” Esme swallowed her nerves. “He’s….”

Purah’s chattering stopped and even the soldiers’ side conversation settled to silence. The group came to a standstill. The only sound came from several men working on outing the fires.

Zelda worried her lip between her teeth. “It happened during the Calamity. We think that somehow Calamity Ganon infected his body with Malice. I’m unsure what it amounts to…”

The Sheikah woman put a hand on her shoulder when she trailed off. Her voice was cool, prepared, “He is the Calamity Ganon’s adversary now. We’re in the midst of stopping him.”

So, the tales were true. And like that, the Sheikah commenced once more into delivering orders to the men and women putting out the fire. Zelda met her eyes with a subdued smile, “Again, I implore you to take as many people to the evacuation zones. They’re the same as planned prior to Calamity Ganon. Do you need a guide?”

“No, actually, I’ve come from the settlement near Rito Village. I’m looking for my husband.” Hope flooded Esme’s breast. “His name is Benji Feidelm.”

Slight confusion screwed the princess’s lips together until her face slacked slightly, she turned to Robbie and asked a soft question. He nodded and walked away towards the smoking buildings.

“He’s been a fantastic help,” she smiled again.

Only moments later, cheeks marred with soot, she saw him. His hair was that same mussy brown that she’d grown to love so much. Ben’s eyes met hers, widened, then ran up to wrap his arms around her. Her feet left the ground while in his embrace and she couldn’t help but laugh as tears escaped her eyes.

When he put her down, she punched him squarely in the shoulder.

The princess watched kindly but left soon after.

  Eventually, the commotion died down to make camp in the village square. Benji and Esme insisted that their farmhouse be used, but the group who followed the princess refused in place for the tents they packed. They hadn’t been soldiers’ after all, well, not all of them. As Benji had explained, they were people who were willing to thwart Ganon in any way they could – no matter how menial.

Zelda placed a hand on her arm, partially steering her away from the campfire songs.

“I’m sorry,” she lowered her voice and glanced behind her at Impa, who was caught in an argument between Purah and Robbie. “But was Link telling you something? Before I intervened?”

Esme searched her, taking in the slight glimmer in her green eyes. She was a beautiful girl, but it wouldn’t be so surprising. She was the Princess of Hyrule. As she waited, there was intelligence within her, guiding her.

“I wish I knew what he meant. He said that my hair and eyes were the wrong colors,” she frowned at the short-sighted answer. Esme was smart. She’d fallen in love with the legends of heroes and princesses. They were a staple story in her family, so she had an inkling of an answer. “I believe he was looking for you.”

Briefly, Zelda’s face softened. Her brows knitted together and her eyes grew. Esme reached for her, as any woman would to comfort another, but she had already regrouped. Her jaw set and she added a plastic smile.

“I see, thank you.”

Esme watched her leave the square altogether.

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

About Me!

Name/nickname: Duck

Age: 28

Gender: cis female

Pronouns: she/her but really anything is fine!

Sexuality: bisexual

Timezone: EST

Where else to find my writing: On Archive of Our Own (AO3) under the same name is the only other place I post my works. If you see them posted elsewhere please let me know.

Fandoms/what I reblog and post: 18+ writing and other content, horror movie and slasher content, monster lover/fucker content, Star Wars, Marvel, etc, and general nonsense.

The Citrus Scale

Ask Box: My ask box is always open for pretty much whatever. As are my DM’s! I might not reply right away because I’m only a very anxious human but I will do my best to answer. Though I reserve the right to delete asks/messages that are hateful or inappropriate. As for writing requests, that is in the bio at the top oh my page but feel free to ask if you’re still unsure!

This or That: 1  2  3  4  5  6

Cookies or cake? Lemonade or sweet tea? Summer or Winter? Flip flops or sneakers? Puppies and kittens? Silk or fleece? Vanilla or cinnamon? Early bird or night owl? Leggings or jeans?

regency era or victorian era? tailcoat or hooded cloak? flintlock pistol or broadsword? scarab beetle or luna moth? bog phantom or cemetery spirit? lighthouse or candelabra? paper cut or tender bruise? the quiet before or after a storm?

old vinyls or old books? fairies or mermaids? disney or ghibli films? croissants or baguettes? love letters or mixtapes? little women or pride and prejudice? art history or astrology? lorde or taylor swift? spring or winter? vanilla or lavender?

bouquet of flowers or cactus? horror or thriller? yellow or blue? whispers or shouts? gods or God? dreaming or daydreaming? melody or lyrics? poets or singers? juice or cocktails? burgers or pizza? white lies or stinging truths? ballet or broadway?

blackberries or raspberries? honey and milk? toast or croissants? windows open or closed? snowflakes or sunbeams? greenhouse or garden? flowers or seashells? reading books or painting with oil colours?

Libra: Pale Blue or Pastel Pink? Sapphire or Jade? Cabbage Rose or Primrose? Mint or Marjoram? Interior Design or Fashion? Light Kisses or Hand Holding? Yellow Roses or Daisies? Swans or Lovebirds? Strawberries or Cherries? Harp or Violin? Badminton or Volleyball? Air Manipulation/Bending or Finding a (friendly) genie? Scales or Feathers? Doves or Songbirds? Enhanced vision or Love potions and curses? Pinot Gris or Complex cocktail? Singing or Whistling? Force field powers or Magic lanterns and charms? Sagittarius or Leo?

[dragon-fics]

DOS: (Reign of Fire) Lone Survivor (Dragoness & Hatchling X Human Reader)

Chapter summary: You are part of a small band of survivors that are collecting food two years after the first attacks. While your scanning the skies, you notice something roll out of a cave. You realise it's a dragon egg, but what will its mother do to you while you stand so close to her home and her baby

Warning: swearing ahead.

I scanned the surrounding area, dressed in my dark fireproof vest, jacket and trousers, carrying my sniper rifle while I looked at to the bright sunny sky. As always, we looked to the sky, looking out for the fowl beasts of the sky, the ones who took everything from us.

Dragons.

They first started attacking two years ago. I, like many others, lost my parents and younger brother to them, along with the rest of my family. And I’ve been hiding with our small band of survivors ever since.

Today we were harvesting our food. It was wheat, potatoes, strawberries, tomatoes and some other vegetables like carrots and cabbages. They were easy to grow and didn’t take long to germinate so we could keep planting them.

Beside me stood Kyle, a blonde stubble bearded, freckle douchebag who thinks he’s God’s gift to our burned, apocalyptic society. He was always trying to talk to me, trying to act smooth... It was torture. Sometimes I imagine tossing him at a dragon when it next attacked. Though our leader wouldn’t allow it... But accidents can happen.

I can imagine these things all I want, but they’ll probably never come through. I smirk to myself as I thought of ditching him to an angry, blazing dragon after getting lost in a cave--that was one of my favourite scenarios to imagine.

But then something caught my eye. It rolled into my view. I looked towards it. It was rugby-ball shaped and semi-transparent with a yellow hue. I walked closer to it, scanning the surrounding area. I hunched down beside the ball-shaped thing, examining it. It was about a foot long and was wider on one end than the rest.

An egg? I thought to myself in surprise. A bit off, I could see a small cave entrance. I picked up the egg and held it to the sun, seeing the silhouette of a curled up dragon inside.

A dragon egg.

I placed the egg back on the ground gently. I heard a low rumble come from inside the cave, almost like a dragon’s growl. I heard Kyle shout my name, though it sounded more like a squeak. I stood up slowly, picking up the eg and rolled it back towards the cave mouth like a bowling ball. Just not as hard. I slowly walked away from the cave and climbed back up to Kyle.

“I’m here!” I called back, holding my rifle in hand.

“You find something?” He asked, jogging over to me. I muttered to myself.

“No,” I responded and looked to the sky again.

When we wake, keep both eyes on the sky. When we sleep, keep one eye on the sky. When we see him, dig hard, dig deep, run for shelter and never look back.

I glanced back over to the cave. I saw a scaled wing creep out of the yawning cave mouth and take the egg back under the wing, rolling it on the ground under its boney wing finger. Kyle looked in the direction I was looking.

“You found an egg and didn’t take it!” He accused in a hushed tone, arms held wide.

“It was innocent!” I retorted in just as quiet of a tone.

Kyle scowled and went to run for the cave, his own rifle in hand. I pushed him back.

“Don’t!” I scowled. “It hasn’t attacked yet! If you attack, it will not only kill you, but it will kill all of us.” Kyle looked away, as if he was thinking--that was a first. “Just leave it and be on high alert, in case it does attack.” Kyle sighed and nodded, turning back towards our crops. I followed suit.

The others stayed harvesting while we looked over them, making sure nothing came in our direction. I was forever glancing from the sky to the cave. As the day went on, clouds gathered in the sky, gloomy clouds. Storm clouds. We had just finished picking the harvest when rain spilled from the sky. We all pulled on our rain jackets as soon as it started, though we were all pretty wet before we could slip them on.

Our driver, Michael, hopped into our pickup truck, and we got into the flatbed with the produce. Micheal turned the key in the engine. The truck shuddered and spluttered but didn’t start. Michael tried again twice more before getting out of the car, the rain spilling off the hoods of our jackets.

“What is it, Mike?” One of our company asked.

Michael sighed. “She won’t start,” he said in an obvious tone above the sound of falling rain. Michael lifted the hood of the engine and turned on his flashlight, sighing. He’d have to get a better look when the rain had stopped so the engine wouldn’t get damaged. The rest of us got out of the bed.

Michael looked around. “(Y/N),” he started. “Go scout that cave,” he ordered, pointing to the cave that had the dragoness in it. I looked at it and reluctantly followed the order, jogging through the rain, mud and puddles. I slowed my pace when I got near the entrance and raised my gun, ready to shoot at that anything came forward. I edged my way into the cave, finger on the trigger as I scanned the cave.

I was about to turn on the light on my rifle when I heard something big fall from the roof and land in front of me. And that’s where I looked, right in front of me. Then I saw two burning amber eyes. I yelled in surprise. The dragon before me shrieked in response. It was deafening. I heard the others scream outside, and the dragon looked up. Its navy head rose and looked out of the cave, releasing a torrent of fire. The others scrambled and Michael miraculously got the truck running. After skidding around in the mud for a bit, they zoomed off, spraying water and mud in their wake.

I ran out of the cave, calling for them to come back, but they didn’t look back

“Shit!” I swore, placing my hands either side of my head in despair. Then I noticed the rain had stopped hitting my coat, but I could see rain falling around me. I looked up, seeing the semi-outstretched wing of the navy dragoness covering me as she watched the others leave. She looked down at me with soft amber eyes and gestured to her angled head towards the cave.

Maybe these creatures were capable of more than killing millions.

I walked back to the cave, and she walked backwards to keep me dry. Once I was inside, she turned around; I turned on my torch, taking it off my rifle. There was a large indentation in the floor, it almost looked like a giant bowl. Inside was the dragon egg I had seen earlier. Then I saw the egg bounce and roll around. That was probably how it had escaped its mother the first time. The dragoness nudged me inside to the bowl with her flat head. I slid into it as the egg bounced again and rolled around.

Thunder rolled, and lightning crackled outside, making me jump in surprise. The dragoness wound her way around me and lay down, trapping me and the egg in the middle of her large scaly body.

The storm lasted three days. The dam dragon went to get food for me every day, which I would cook over a fire, or--which wasn’t the best alternative--she’d scorch it with her fire breath, burning to a crisp--I’d usually give all the burnt bits to her while I dug for the edible meat.

After the storm had passed, she wouldn’t let me go home, so I stayed, hoping the others had found an alternative place to plant their seeds.

One day while she went for food, a chirp came from the egg as it bounced again. The egg had gotten even more active as the days went on, but this was the first time I heard something. I looked at the egg as it rolled again inside its nest, rolling around and around. It made me dizzy just watching it.

It came to a slow stop before it bulged in a few places at once. And then it did again. And again. I walked over slowly, watching it.

I then saw a small snout pierce the eggshell and the egg’s membrane. I looked on, sitting at the edge of the bowl as the slimy, scaly head took its first breath. It took three more before it expanded its wings and shattered the eggs, sending eggshell fragments flying. I yelped in surprise, looking away as an eggshell fragment almost hit my face.

I looked back at the hatchling, the egg membrane still stuck to most of its body. I came closer, tearing off the white membrane that stuck to it like a skinsuit. Soon the little dragon was free, and it hopped about, shaking its blue scales free of slime. It released some puppy-like sounds as it did so. It was about the size of a grown house cat--perhaps bigger, and its wingspan was as long as its body.

It then looked up at me with the same amber eyes of its mother. Our eyes locked and I could understand it. He/She/They saw me as his/her/their mother. He/She/They rubbed his/her/their head against mine. I laughed a little.

“I’m not your dam!” I insisted. I heard wingbeats in the distance. I looked back at the cave entrance as late morning sunlight poured through it. “That’s probably her now.”

I then heard a harpoon being released and the excruciating cry of a dragon roaring in pain.

“FOR (Y/N)!” I heard someone shout as a loud thump. The ground shook a little as a thump surrounded the area.

“Oh, no!” I gasp. I look at the hatchling who was curled up, scared, whimpering. I scooped up the bundle of scales. Grabbed my fireproof vest, gun, torch and rain jacket and hid in the back of the cave, in case the others came looking for me or if Kyle had told them about the egg. I curled up in a ball, the hatchling in my lap, and threw my jacket over me and tried to soothe the scaly bundle.

***

It’s been two years since (D/N)’s dam died at the hands of people I would have called family. We don’t live in that cave now. We live in a closed-down shopping centre that has been abandoned for years and the two upper level are completely rubble, while the underground parking lots and ground floor are fine, apart from a few cracks.

(D/N) is now the size of an average dragon, standing about a storey tall and about twenty feet long. He/She/They do most--if not all--of the hunting and has quiet the keen sense of hearing, so he/she/they can ward off other dragons before they can see or smell me--though the odd time he/she/they come back with bite and claw wounds.

It’s not the best scenario, but it’s a lot better than being huddled underground hoping a dragon doesn’t try to smoke 80 people out of their bunker every night. I just hope this all ends soon and that we don’t have to hide anymore.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

One In A Million - Chpt.6

Summary: Rose spends an idyllic holiday season with the guys before tragedy strikes, threatening to disrupt the timeline that Rose is trying so hard to keep on course.

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! We’re in full swing relationship mode now and I just adore the whole “stucky x reader” set up. Prepare yourself for sweet fluff and a pinch of angst before even sweeter fluff. Because ya’ll should know by now that’s my jam lol. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Six

Dating the guys turns out to be very similar to what you had been doing up until that point. They come over every other day, sometimes every day if your schedules align. In public Steve is your boyfriend and you happily chit chat with the girls at the office who all are curious about how smitten you are with the tiny, shy, artist. There’s always that ache in your chest though, when you want to share something about Bucky but can’t. He’s your boyfriend’s best friend and while you can tell the occasional story about the three of you hanging out, there’s so much you can’t share. The truth is, Bucky is actually the sweeter of the two. He’s desperately affectionate and tactile with you and Steve. While Steve will spend an afternoon drawing something in his sketch pad, Bucky isn’t happy unless he’s tangled around you like an octopus. You indulge him often, surprised by how easy it is to be close with him. Steve jokes that it’s nice having someone else for Bucky to throw himself on for a change. Not that Steve isn’t affectionate, but he’s more like a cat; coming to you in infrequent bursts when the mood strikes him. 

The holidays come and go quietly. Bucky and Steve head up to visit Bucky’s family for a few days and you stay home eagerly awaiting their return. You made them promise not to get anything but they both show up on your doorstep with gifts in hand when they get back. Steve gives you a sketch of the three of you sprawled out on the sofa together. It’s beautifully done and you promise to keep it on your bedside table. Bucky gives you a pair of the thick woolly socks you steal from him whenever you spend time at their place. They’re your favorite and you’re touched knowing he put a lot of thought into your gift. You grumble about them spending money on you but they ignore it, doing the same when they unwrap their packages. 

You had wanted to get them things they wouldn’t have bought for themselves. Steve has to stop halfway through thanking you for his new art supplies, choking up with emotion until he finally just pulls you in his arms for a hug that lasts for what feels like forever. Bucky actually is rendered speechless by his coat and gloves. He showers you with kisses when his brain finally catches up and you know he’s appreciative of the gift. He had gone without a new coat for a few years now, his getting more worn and threadbare each season. Bucky always claimed getting a warm coat for Steve was the priority, letting his own wait even when it really couldn’t. The gloves were likewise necessary. His hands were always chapped from the bitter cold and dampness down at the docks and they couldn’t afford good leather gloves that would keep his hands dry. 

The three of you spend the whole weekend in your apartment, snuggled safely away from the world. The guys are both gentlemen through and through, volunteering to take the sofa and the floor to sleep on. You know girls aren’t supposed to be so free in the ‘40s but you can’t possibly let them sleep uncomfortably when you have a bed big enough for the three of you to sleep in. Bucky caves first, pointing out that Steve has enough health problems without him sleeping badly and aggravating his back. You lead them both down the hall to your bed where they slip in next to you like they belong there. Bucky claims the middle, the prime cuddling spot, or so he claims, leaving you and Steve to trade amused grins over him. 

New Years Eve and Day are spent at their apartment, Steve claiming it’s only fair since they celebrated Christmas at yours. He cooks up a small hunk of corned beef, simmering it slowly all day with cabbage, potatoes, and other root vegetables he was able to get on sale. It’s quite different than the pork and sauerkraut you’re used to but you go along with their traditions without complaint. You sit around dreaming up plans for 1942 together, places to go and things to do. Bucky mentions the rink at Rockefeller center, everyone has been talking about it since it opened a few years ago and it’s supposed to be quite an experience. Steve agrees it would be a good time and tells Bucky they should start saving now so they can take you before spring comes. You shake your head, “Why wait?” you ask them, “It’s probably still decorated from Christmas. What better time to go than when it’s at it’s best? We can go tomorrow.”

Steve sighs, a tight smile on his face. “We’re just dreamin’, doll. As much as we want to take you, that place is for those fancy Manhattan folks. Last I heard, it was a dollar a skate and then we have the subway cost to get there and back.” 

“So I’ll pay for it, I don’t care. I want to take you two out and do something fun. Start the new year off right.” 

The pinched look on Steve’s face deepens, “We don’t need your charity…”

“My what!?” you bark at him. Bucky has inched back, wisely staying out of the escalating argument. He has enough sisters to know that Steve is not winning this one. 

“I know this isn’t the most traditional relationship but you gotta let us take care of you, doll. Like a man should.”

“Steven. Grant. Rogers.” you grit out in outrage, “If I want to take you out I damn well will. Don’t start with that antiquated, patriarchal, misogynistic bullshit!” 

Steve flushes, his cheeks burning brightly, and he stands up from his seat on the sofa to storm off to his bedroom where he slams the door behind him. 

Bucky shoots you a raised eyebrow, making sure he isn’t in trouble by association. You shake your head and sit back heavily, worried you ruined New Years Day. 

“He’ll be okay, just give him a minute to calm down.” Buck assures you, “You and I both know Stevie supports the women’s rights movement but it’s still a hard habit to break, wanting to take care of our best gal.” 

You climb into Bucky’s arms, wanting the comfort it brings you, “I’m sorry for ruining the holiday.”

“You didn’t ruin a thing. Just give him a few more minutes and then go talk to him. You have to understand, we didn’t grow up with money. I know you did so it’s not something you worry about, but that’s hard for us to adjust to.” 

You snuggle in against him, letting the minutes slip by until you can go to Steve and make things right. 

When you do finally go to him, Steve is staring out the window, brow furrowed under the weight of his thoughts. You apologize, and so does he. You both know your hearts were in the right place even if it doesn’t always come out that way. 

The next day you take your guys ice skating at Rockefeller Center just like you had wanted to. They insist on buying lunch and you let them, a quiet compromise to keep everyone happy. You skate for hours until your legs are weak and your fingertips and noses are frozen from the cold. Bucky fusses over both of you the whole way home, worried you’ll catch your death. It was the best day you can remember having in years, and one you’ll cherish the memory of forever. It was also the last good day you had together before it all went to hell. 

xxXxx

Bucky’s concern over Steve or you getting sick turns out to be legitimate. Two days after your trip Steve is coughing deep and rough, his asthmatic lungs not faring well against the illness he’s caught. By the third day he’s in bed with a fever that climbs faster than the medicine can work. Bucky can’t take the time off work, not if he wants to keep a roof over their heads, and so you call out from the SSR office, letting them know your boyfriend is not well. 

Seeing Steve suffering is a new level of hell. He’s sweaty from the fever, shaking from chills, and the cough in his chest could wake the dead. It’s amazing his body doesn’t just shatter apart from the force of it. You stay by his side, giving him sips of warm broth and tea when he can manage and reading to him from his favorite books. After a week he looks like a skeleton, shrunken on himself and devoid of the liveliness he normally radiates with. Bucky calls the doctor then, scared of the cost but more afraid of losing the love of his life. 

You can’t help but blame yourself. You knew Steve was prone to getting sick but you had pushed to go skating with them. It was selfish, so selfish, and now Steve was paying the price. Bucky tries to soothe your fears and guilt, reminding you Steve caught pneumonia just by stepping outside most years. You put on your bravest face and smile so Bucky will have one less thing to worry about, but it doesn’t alleviate your guilt in the least. There’s also the undercurrent of fear that you’ve messed up the timelines now and ruined everything. He has to pull through. He has to, so he can go be Captain America and save the world, you tell yourself.

Bucky won’t let you pay for the doctor who comes or the medicine he prescribes. You argue over it briefly but Bucky insists he saves for things like this and they’ll be fine. Steve comes out of it a few days later, the new medicine doing its job at last. 

“Hey,” Steve croaks, his voice rough from disuse. 

Your eyes fly up from the book you’re reading to meet bright blue eyes that are focusing on you for the first time in ten days. “Steve.” you squeak out through the tightness in your throat. You can’t contain your relief. “Oh honey, I thought we were gonna lose you.” you sob.

Steve reaches out with a painfully thin hand, “It’s gonna be okay.” 

“God, I was so scared.” 

“Come on, get in here with me if you can stand the smell.” he jokes weakly.

You carefully climb into bed with him, pulling him close until you’re lying flush against one another. You stroke the sweat sticky hair from his face, running your fingers over the sharp bones of his cheeks. Steve is too worn out to protest as you sprinkle kisses across his face. 

“If this is the treatment for whatever I had, sign me up for another round.” 

You frown at him fiercely. “Don’t even joke. I don’t know what I would do without you.” 

“I’m not going anywhere, don’t you worry.” 

“I’ve done nothing else for ten days. I can’t lose you, I love you.” Tears are still falling from your eyes but you catch the change in Steve’s expression. You hadn’t even realized you said I love you out loud, having repeated it so often in your head while at his bedside that it feels natural now. 

“You love me, huh?” his eyes shine with amazement, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, I do.” you admit, not wanting to take it back now that the truth is out. 

“I love you too, Rose. Does Bucky know yet?”

“I haven’t said it to him yet. I will though, tonight.” 

“Make sure I’m there when you do. I’m sure he’ll react much better than when I said it to him the first time.” he huffs out a weak laugh and you reach back to get him a cup of tea from the side table. Steve sips slowly, letting his body adjust. “Do you wanna guess what that jerk said to me when I told him I was in love with him?” 

“I can’t even imagine.” 

“I was fifteen and he was sixteen. It was summer and we were flush after he got his first paycheck from helping sweep up at the docks where his dad worked. We spent the day at Coney Island eating hot dogs and riding the ferris wheel until they kicked us off. We were sitting down on the beach watching the waves as the moon came up, everyone else had left by then, and I realized it was the moment I’d been waiting for. I looked over at him and said ‘I love you, Buck’ to which the idiot said ‘love you too, pal.” easy as could be. So I told him ‘I’m in love with you.” and the great buffoon shoved at me and said “You do not!”. So then I shoved at him back and we ended up rolling around scrapping on the beach until finally, one of us let up. It wasn’t until we’d gotten home to my place that said he was in love with me too.” 

“That’s terrible and wonderful. I love it.” you tell him. 

“I never thought we’d find someone like you. I can’t believe I got this lucky twice.” 

You blush at his words, unable to believe his love for you could be even remotely close to his feelings for Bucky. 

“What time is it?” Steve asks squinting at the clock.

“Quarter after four.” you reach to the nightstand for his glasses so he can see for himself too.

“I hate to ask this of you, but could you help me to the bathroom? I could really use a shower.” 

“Honey, it’s okay. Bucky and I have been taking turns caring for you so it’s no big deal.” 

“Great. Not exactly the first impression I’d like to leave when you see me naked the first time.” 

“Hey, don’t be like that.” you scold him as you let him support himself on you to stand, “If you think for one minute I’m going to see something I don’t like when I look at you, you’re crazy.” 

Steve grumbles but decides he wants to be clean more than he wants to act tough. You half help, half carry Steve into the bathtub, setting him down carefully inside it while you get the water nice and warm. He tries to wash himself but his arms are shaking after a minute and you take over washing his hair for him, getting it nice and clean for the first time in over a week. The bath exhausts Steve and he naps while you make dinner, barely keeping his eyes open to dry off.

Bucky is ecstatic when you tell him Steve was awake and talking earlier. He barely stops to give you a kiss before he’s barging into the bedroom to see Steve. You join them a little while later, eating dinner in bed on trays so that Steve can rest but still be included. He’s sleeping again before he even finishes his soup, his tray whisked away to let him rest peacefully between you and Bucky. You talk quietly over him, catching up on your days and sharing in your relief that he’s finally improved. 

“Thank you for helping me care for him. It got really bad this time. I don’t know what we would have done without you.” Bucky says again, grateful for all your help over the past week.

“It was no problem. I love him, of course I wanted to take care of him when he’s sick.”

Bucky looks over, surprised. “You love him, huh?”

“I do.” 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s easy to love.” Bucky looks down at Steve with such sweetness it’s hard for you not to jump over Steve and kiss him.

“Hey Buck.” you catch his attention again.

“Hmm?” he finally looks over at you.

“I love you too.” 

Bucky smiles wide and warm like the sun. “You do, huh?”

“Yep.” you chew on your lip, waiting for his next move.

“It’s a good thing then. ‘Cause I love you too.” Bucky gets up, coming around to your side of the bed where he can pull you up into his arms. 

“I love you.” you whisper between kisses.

“I love you, so much doll.” he replies, burying his face into the curve of your neck. 

“Ah shit. Steve wanted to be awake for that.” you groan.

“What? Why?” Bucky asks with a chuckle.

“He wanted to make sure you didn’t shove me after I said it.” 

“Oh no, he told you the story!” Bucky is cringing, embarrassed by the memory. 

“It’s sweet.” you assure him. 

Bucky starts trailing kisses up your throat again and you sink into his embrace, letting yourself enjoy the contact after a week of tense worry. 

Steve really will be okay, you’re sure of that now. The timeline is intact despite all of your involvement in their lives and you just have to get through the next four months without disrupting anything else. Though how you are going to walk away from the two of them is getting more and more complicated.

Tag list! @wolfarrowepz​

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXVII: Reflection

I

For the past couple weeks, I spent my days in bed. Alternating between short meals, bitter pills, and glass after glass of water. When I did manage to get up, the fever and dizziness took hold. Slow movements piled onto the notion that at any moment, I would collapse.

An unfamiliar experience; the chills were nothing new, but with all of the added conditions, there was more than cold. When I spoke, the sound and taste conjured images of clouds of chalk dust. Breathing alone was difficult enough, as every other inhale and exhale risked a dry, painful cough.

On the day it went away, I found myself awake. That old, familiar cold reclaimed its place as the defining condition. If the rest of me had reclaimed its strength, it didn’t show.

When I sat up, the others outside of the room came to mind. What they might have been up to. How vulnerable I had been. Vulnerable and weakened. None of the occupants brought harm to me, nor did I have reason to suspect that they would. While the others could have bade their time as they deceived me, lulling me into a false sense of security, that possibility was slim, now nonexistent, as I had survived my illness. Yet ‘trust’ wasn’t the right word.

But I would like to trust them, if it were possible.

Ray and Sunny left me alone during that time. I respected that. Demetria didn’t, which I didn’t respect. But then she helped me, even when I attempted to push her away. So I guess that was something similar to trust.

My behavior wasn’t ideal. It was a shameful display, to say the least. Yet she didn’t give up on me. I even allowed her to bring a doctor – an entity that I didn’t trust. That doctor in particular wasn’t as bad as the ones I’ve dealt with in the past, but she was still unnerving.

Dr. Cold-Slob or something like that. Back when Sunny and I brought an unconscious Ray to her hospital, It should have been a done deal to just drop him off and go. But then she stared me right in the face with a death glare that rivaled my own.

“Don’t just dump someone on the floor. That’s not how it works,” she scolded me.

“Yeah, Remora, couldn’t you be careful with my husband?” Sunny then joined in. I shifted my focus, unsure whether to focus on Sunny or this horror doctor.

“Uh, I dropped him off. Isn’t that good enough?” I managed to ask. Should have been an innocent enough question. But she then saw who I had brought, then looked back up at me and had the most sinister smile.

“If you want to make it out of here unscathed, I’m going to have you mop up these floors. Then, after you’ve done all that, as long as he’s not busy, you may visit him,” she instructed, with a voice and look that said I had no choice but to visit him. In the end, it was fine enough, since I needed to discuss my plan with him anyway, but I would have been fine waiting at least a day or so.

Doctors had always been frightening, but in a different way. Those men with their empty, laughing faces.

“Look at you, so frigid!”

“We’ll find a cure for you sooner or later, Rhea.”

Back then, I was much more naive. I never meant to give up on seeking a cure for my condition, and I was much more willing to seek out a solution from any avenue I could find. They got a kick out of it and told someone else with my same name and face the same tired routine. Many times they would say that they were on the verge of a breakthrough, that if I continued to hand them much of my money, they would find a solution.

It never came. Of course not.

For a while, I drank snowberry tea: a poisonous berry that was said to induce sweats and a lightheaded, dizzy feeling. It was only a temporary solution, though, and when the cold returned, it was even stronger than before.

Despite such false hopes, I was rid of one illness. It was all thanks to Demetria, that person I once regarded as an overbearing pest. I never was much for regrets: sure, I ended up hurting Sunny’s sister, but my actions had a purpose and her tears were just an unintended consequence. I could have said that I regretted being born, but I didn’t have control over that, so it would have been ridiculous to me. Still, I regretted the way I was toward Demetria during the time I was sick.

Now that I was better, I wanted to be the friendliest version of myself I could be. I wanted to be among everyone else. It was tiring, and I knew it was a futile effort, but I wanted so bad for some kind of connection. It was enough to make me think that maybe I didn’t have to be so cold all the time after all.

“You should know better. You’re not the type who can be around others. The only time you feel alive is in the heat of battle. That’s what you know. Trying to be any different is just living out a fantasy,” a voice in my thoughts told me. Someone with the same voice as me.

“Fine, then. Let me live out a fantasy,” I told the voice. Then I near-pleaded with it, “just let me have it for now.”

But I knew how right that voice was, because she was me. Those were my thoughts. If nothing else…

At last, to the one who had helped me, I wanted her to know. She deserved that much.

It was the orphanage who gave me my name: Rhea Flection. For the first few years of my life, I immersed myself in the books of fairy tales they had available. Princesses, fairy godmothers, magic, and wishes coming true. My wish, of course, would have been not to be so cold all the time. I’m pretty sure that’s what I’d wish for as a kid. It’s not like it wasn’t a problem back then.

Because of the constant chill, I ended up attached to the works of Hans Christian Andersen, his story ‘The Little Match Girl’ in particular. That story was the one I could relate the most to: it was about a little girl who was forced to sell matches out in the freezing snow. It had a happy ending, too, one where the little girl froze to death, and in heaven, was reunited with her grandmother. It made me wonder if there was something like that waiting for me as well.

During one of my readings, I was interrupted by a little boy who wanted to play toys with me. He wouldn’t stop, so I turned and bit the same hand he used to poke me with so hard that it bled. Then I went back to my book, peace at last.

That peace didn’t last, and soon the headmistress came up to me.

“Is it true you bit [insert generic boy name here. Maybe it was a pun name]?” She asked.

“Yeah. He was bothering me,” I answered.

“We don’t bite people just because they bother us, Rhea,” she informed me.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not how we solve our problems. We either get an adult or talk it out. Now go apologize,” she tried to explain to me. Not that it made any sense, seeing as it solved my problem. Still, I did so. He sat down and cried a great deal while holding a cloth wrapped around his hand.

“Sorry. You must not have noticed I was busy. Now you know better.”

In those early years, I was known as a “wild child.” Not just in the orphanage, but in foster home to foster home. Despite the fact that I was quiet and kept to myself, did all that was asked of me, I still had that reputation. People thought me weird when I asked for more blankets, and always had my arms crossed while hunched over. My lack of expression was seen as creepy by child and adult alike. Other kids would make fun of me, and soon they acquired injuries.

One day, two men came up to the door of the current house I occupied, and the foster parents already told me that I was on thin ice (ha, ha. Very funny). They had fancy suits, dark sunglasses. Offered the parents more money than they could turn down. So I left with the men. Of course I did.

“We understand you better than others. We know your potential,” they would often tell me. Then, each day, I ran up and down a mountain. No food or water until I reached the top, and again at the bottom. I obliged, however hungry I was, as the hunger and the cold was my only focus.

Soon after, they would show me guns of different calibers. Despite how restless my movements were, I was still when I aimed at the targets. Precise in my aim, being able to pinpoint on what I needed to. When I fired, I didn’t flinch, no matter how intense the sound tore through my ears.

“Good job!” They told me as they smiled and clapped. They often said the same thing back when they had me run. I wasn’t sure what effect they expected it to have.

We were always on the move, never staying in one place for very long. I rested in the back of their cold, metal truck. They laughed when I asked them for blankets, or to turn the heater up.

“It wouldn’t do you any good,” they told me and snickered. I should have listened, but I hoped for a chance. Just one moment where I could experience warmth.

Each place we visited, we ate large meals at restaurants and cafes. They talked about how I should eat as much as I could to prepare myself for what was to come. I didn’t have to be told. All I could fit into my mouth, I ate: large steaks, baked potatoes, steamed cabbages. Anything else I could get my hands (and mouth) on.

Soon we arrived at an empty facility. There there was the obstacle course in an open field, what they claimed to prepare me for. I had to run through it, with a rifle in hand, while avoiding turrets and landmines which emitted sounds when I got near. They told me I could hide behind the barriers which were erected to avoid getting hit by the turrets. That carried its own risks, though, as if a landmine was near a barrier, I’d have to be careful not to get too close. I could also shoot the turrets before they fired if my reflexes were quick enough.

That first time through, my stomach growled.

“You may eat once you’ve completed the course. Understood?” They explained to me.

Not that I understood, but they didn’t give me a choice, so I nodded. Once I ran through, my heart pounded as I listened for the beeps of the landmines. Soon the pounding dissipated and was replaced by a stillness. Even when the turrets rose from the ground, I shot them down before they had a chance to fire. I would jump, keep my distance, and as careful as I was, I didn’t stop.

Near the end, my leg was grazed by a lone turret. Just before that, a landmine set off, and although I had avoided it, part of the blast still burned across the bottom half of my leg. Then the turret came, and I felt the sting as it broke my skin. I turned and fired back, but the damage was already done. When I limped to the exit, I received a lukewarm congratulations.

“Good job,” the two men clapped. “But you got injured. If you were any less careful, you would have died. We don’t want that for you. You mean more to us than that. So we will have you do this again in a few days, and you better not take any damage. Understood?”

“What about my current injuries?” My voice quivered as I looked up and asked. Then I glanced at the bloody leg, which was an inconvenience at best.

“You must learn to tend to your own wounds. There are medical supplies and textbooks you may refer to at the facility.”

I didn’t object. They answered my question and gave me a solution. That was all I needed.

After the second course, I sustained no injuries. More courses followed. Each course was cleared in a faster time than the last until the whole thing was broken down into a series of rhythms and patterns.

When I first cleared the course without injuries, a certain rush came along with it and the cold became less noticeable. However, after I had the pattern down, that rush dissipated. They took notice, and proposed something new.

“How would you feel about taking a life?” They asked me one day with a slight smile and a rough emphasis on the word ‘feel’, as if they already knew the answer. I, however, didn’t understand the question.

“What would I need a life for?” I asked in response. If one were to take a paintbrush, they would expect to paint with it. What application was there for taking a life?

“He means to kill someone,” the other one answered with a heavy sigh. As if I needed the attitude.

“Oh. What purpose would that serve?” I had one question answered, but still didn’t understand the action.

“It’s a chore. Like doing the dishes, or sweeping a floor. Some people just need to die. It’s a big responsibility, but we trust you to do it.”

“I see.”

Whether or not I understood, I agreed, doubtful if I had a choice.

“You never forget your first time,” was a phrase I would hear later on. Yet forget I did. It all amounted to a series of featureless faces blurred together. Once alive, then not.

One assignment I recalled in pieces: me atop a snow mountain. Three or so men. All who were to be ‘taken out’. Two shots fired, each of them in succession. Each in the middle of their foreheads. Down they dropped, blood sprayed onto the two survivors. Alarmed and in shock, they turned and saw me. So I ran, down from the summit and saw a diner, not unlike Ray’s.

My pursuers/targets shot at me, but missed due to anger or possible fear. I was far enough ahead of them that I went into the diner and spotted the manager right away.

“There’s these bad people trying to kidnap me!” I wailed with the most distress I could muster. The manager took pity and told me to hide behind the counter. She then got out a shotgun and as soon as the men came in, shot them herself.

There was a panic throughout the diner, but I paid it no mind and went on about my way. The manager didn’t have time to react to my exit. After I completed the task, my guardians came up and had a new proposition.

“You’ve been bought out by a company,” they informed me. “Think of this as an opportunity: these people pay good money for their assignments. You could end up making more than the richest of men could even conceive of.”

“What need do I have for money?” I asked, disinterested. “As long as I can eat, I’m fine.”

“We understand that, but you’ll find that in many of places you’ll visit, food costs money. Besides, you don’t really have a choice.”

They didn’t have to rub that last part in. It was an unnecessary detail.

Nevertheless, I was taken to the company. Once there, I was escorted by more men in fancy suits. There I was, still a child, and all around me were various shapes and sizes of people much older than me. Much more weary, with empty faces. As I passed them by, I heard them murmur and point my way.

“She looks like she just got a bucket of water dumped on her head.”

“She’s acting like this place is a walk-in freezer.”

“Never mind that, she’s a whole-ass fridge.”

They could say all they wanted. While I could have fought them all, solved that problem, it just wasn’t worth my time. So I ignored it while walking toward the office, where the ones in charge greeted me.

Like the guardians before, the ones who oversaw the assignments wore fancy clothes. Suits and the like. Nondescript features. None of them looked well-equipped, unlike the people they recruited. Aside from protection in the form of their technology, they were vulnerable. Especially if they were caught off-guard.

“Greetings, Rhea!” One of them smiled wide and flailed their arms in what seemed to be their attempt at a friendly gesture. It didn’t fit them at all. “I’ve heard so much about you! I look forward to working with you!”

“You won’t,” I corrected. “You’ll just be giving me jobs to do. That is your role.”

“Yes, well…” Their gaze shifted to the floor.

Next, another one of the overseers stepped forward and gave me a rundown: I would be assigned missions. Most, but not all of them, would involve killing. I would be given the necessary equipment and sent via teleportation device to the time and place required to do the job. I could enjoy some time to myself before the next assignment. When I was allowed to return to the facility, there was a spare room which I could sleep in.

“Do you understand?” They then asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed. One of them then escorted me to my room. Some small, cramped space which resembled a jail cell more than anything else. Wider than a metallic locker only by a margin. Not that I cared what it resembled, so long as I remained undisturbed.

“Oh, I forgot to mention, but we set up an account for you so that once you complete an assignment, your money will go there. You may withdraw from that account at any time. Oh, and before I forget, you’re allowed minimal contact with others. Unless told otherwise, you’re to stay in your room. Okay, I think that about covers it, sound good?”

It didn’t. Neither cover everything, nor sound good. But there was no point in objecting. It was what it was.

So again it went: missions went by, a total blur. Quiet, efficient, that was how I liked to work. But without that rush, of course a restlessness crept back up. Over time, I made small attempts at freedom: dyed my hair blue. Wore jackets. Came up with various names, in case I started to develop a reputation with one, I had another to fall back on.

Years went by as well. Changes in my body. Large muscle mass, a taller and bulkier frame. All for the life I knew. I should have been content.

Restlessness was what laid the foundation: I voiced to them how I desired more of a challenge. Something that wouldn’t be so simple. In other words, a hunt.

“You’re in luck,” they told me, a gleeful smile without the voice to match. “There’s a contract that just got put out for a man who lives in the woods.”

“What’s the challenge?” I asked. Their smiles stretched, with their only reply being:

“You’ll find out.”

Without a second thought, I accepted and warped there. It was some remote place in Alaska. Finding his cabin didn’t take long, and I crept against the side, ensuring I didn’t leave a sound.

Soon, I heard him speak. He sounded relaxed, and seemed to be telling someone something. “Looks like I’ve got some business to take care of. I’ll be back in a little bit,” were the words I made out. He may not have known I was there, but his words suggested otherwise, so I slipped off into the thickets of the trees. I watched from afar as he exited the door and took a few steps forward. The soft, snowy ground would have given his footsteps away. As well as my own. He then called out, “I know you’re there. Come to kill me, have you?”

That confirmed one suspicion, but I didn’t answer his question.

“I get it: a job’s a job, right? No hard feelings? You don’t care what you have to do as long as you get your money?” He called out again, and that time I made the mistake of answering him.

“Wrong. I don’t care about the money, either. I’m just doing this because I want to,” I told him. The next thing he said made me more wary.

“I see. I know where you are now.”

As I aimed my rifle, he disappeared from view. Questions filled my mind about how it was that he was prepared for such a battle all while I maneuvered around and took behind trees.

His footsteps gave him away as he charged from one end and fired off a barrage of shells from a machine gun. I held up a miniature barrier device and blocked the shots, but he charged, clad in heavy armor. So I dashed to the side, split my rifle into two, and blasted away with the miniature guns that spawned from the rifle.

My shots had no effect against his armor as they all bounced off or disintegrated upon impact. At that, I charged as well, then went in for an uppercut, but he blocked my fist with his own hand. If I hadn’t tossed a few explosives and ran, he could have thrown me back into the snowy ground.

The chase was on and I was at a disadvantage. He sprinted behind me. Soon his sprints turned into a slow walk. He approached where I was. Despite being taught to continually run, I laid still under a pile of leaves and snow.

“Would you go so far to follow a company that doesn’t respect you?” He asked. He waited for my answer, and when he didn’t receive one, he continued, “I take it you’re new to this. You look young. You probably think you’re above it all, but the truth is that they’ve got you were they want you.”

As he lifted one foot from the ground, ready to move on, I jumped up from my spot and with a blade attached to my arm, I tried to slice up his face in half. His reflexes were too fast, and he turned his head just in time. All I managed to do was cut off his ear. He didn’t so much as yell, just wince, then he grabbed my arm and held me up. In his other hand was a blade of his own, some thick sword that seemed to resemble a meat cleaver. He was about to strike when I kicked against of his armor with enough force to knock him to the ground.

Before he could get back up, I grabbed my rifle and shot him in the face. No hesitation. It was over.

There was that rush, but it ended too soon. It still wasn’t enough.

When I walked back to his cabin, there was the shape of a little girl through the window. Nobody told me he had a daughter, I thought. Worse yet, she ran outside. I was ill-equipped for such a situation.

She looked up and asked if I was the person his father had business with. I nodded. She then asked where he was. I simply told her, “gone.”

She didn’t understand and still expected him to come back home later in the day. Unknown to her, I was her father’s killer, and she stared at me with an unwarranted expectation. I reached into my pocket for my phone, looked back down at her with my indifferent expression, then I dialed emergency.

“Hello. This little girl’s father just died. Can you come pick her up?” I requested as if I was ordering a pizza.

“Who is this?” The operator asked. “Can I get a name?” Such an unnecessary request. I should have just been able to inform them and that would be that.

“Misty Eyes,” I came up with a name on the spot and relented. “I’m just a stranger who happened to be in the area.”

Rather than wait for someone to show up, I fled the area until I was a considerable distance away. When I received word from my employer, I warped back to the organization’s facility. They all congratulated me, but I only looked at them with disgust.

“Good job, Rhea,” they told me. “We knew you could do it.” Those words ware far too casual for what they had me do.

“You didn’t tell me that man had a daughter,” I informed them.

“You didn’t need to know,” one of them told me.

“On the contrary, I did. I also wasn’t informed anything about the target, why it was they were a target in the first place. From now on, I need whatever information is available for each assignment,” I laid out my demands.

“Does it make a difference who he was or if he had a daughter? A job is a job, and it needs to be done regardless.”

Jeez. And here I thought I was the cold one. Where I stand, they’re much worse.

“It does. If I knew, I could have had been more prepared. I could have adjusted my strategy. I don’t care whether the person was good or bad, but there are factors which should dictate how I go about the assignments. His daughter wasn’t the target, just him.”

“You want to know who he was? Smith Weston was his name. He worked for this company, dedicated his life to it. He knew that if he deserted the company, others would be after him to execute him. It was his own decision to raise a child. But you’re right,’ one spoke with a shrug. ‘His daughter wasn’t the target. You could have done whatever you wanted. Killed her, spared her, whatever. So long as the target’s taken care of, that’s all that matters.”

“So the same thing would happen to me if I chose to leave one day?”

“Look, Rhea. We like you. You get the job done and you don’t ask many questions. But don’t get the wrong idea: you’re not exceptional. You’re dependable, but you’re neither the best nor the worst we have. You’re easily replaceable, and if we need to, we would find someone to kill you as well.”

I soon came to find out just how replaceable I was. One day as I walked to my room, a man stopped me. To my misfortune, it was just about the worst man it could have been: Douglas Fir. I’ve heard rumors about him: Infamous sleazeball. Well known in brothels across time and space. Tried to get any woman within range to sleep with him. With his unkempt beard, greasy fingers, and his trench coat, he already gave off a terrible first impression. Not to mention the alcohol on his breath.

“Whoa, there! Look who it is! Didn’t think I’d see you ‘round these parts. I heard you were off on a mission!” He bellowed. I turned. He had a stupid grin on his face. My face held one of confusion.

“I don’t believe we met,” I told him.

“Aw, c’mon, girl! Don’t be like that! You’re my favorite plaything, after all!”

“Plaything? You really are a slimeball.”

“Wha –?” He shook his head with a clumsy smile. “I’m a nice guy, really. You just gotta ease up around me!”

I didn’t know how to respond next. He leaned over, his intruding gaze made it seem like I was some article of clothing he wanted the measurements for. Disgusting.

“So that’s how it is, huh? You’re her substitute? Ha! That’s great! Two Rheas I can tease!” He slapped his knee, like it was a riotous joke. In turn, my brows creased as I gave him an icy glare.

“What are you talking about?” I hissed.

“Oh, so you don’t know? That’s even better!” He hollered.

“Tell me what you’re referring to before I smash your face in,” I growled.

“Whoa there! Chill, girl! Ha! Get it? Chill? Oh, man! I crack me up!”

I ground my teeth, then pointed to my fist.

“Oh, all right! The big boys probably don’t want you finding out, but me? I don’t give a rat’s ass! Hell, it’s more fun this way! If I were you, I’d be downright elated to find that there’s another you here! Not only that, but the other you? She’s the first one. You’re just her backup!”

He continued, his fist slammed against the adjacent wall as he worked up a storm of laughter.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why they keep you isolated? Or why sometimes you’re allowed here, but other times you’re not? They probably got a system so they can make sure the two of you aren’t in the same place!”

“I’ve never wondered such things. They were never important,” I disagreed with him.

“Of course you’d say that!” He cackled, mixed with a series of belches and coughs, then walked off.

After that exchange, I went up to the ones in charge.

“Is it true there’s another me?” I demanded to know.

“So you found out, huh?” They asked, disinterested in my revelation. “Indeed, you aren’t the first. That title belongs to one a few years older than you, one who is wiser and more experienced. You also may not end up being the last. But for now, there’s you, then there’s her. You shouldn’t worry too much about it.”

“I’m not,” I disagreed. “But why not bother telling me?”

They shrugged a collective shrug.

“You might have been interested in seeing her, if you were to know. One of the laws of multiple universes state that if a person were to be in the same timeline as another version of them, one of the two would have to die.”

“Then, are there others in this company who have alternate versions of themselves?”

“You are the only one. You should consider yourself special – the whole reason we decided to recruit you when we already had one of you prior is because while the other Rhea is greater than you, she’s also not immortal, and we don’t want good talent to go to waste. You have potential to be just as good as her, if not greater. Not to mention, lately we’ve noticed that she’s grown complacent. We trust that you won’t have that problem. We know you to be responsible.”

Those words were crafted in such a way that despite my apathetic nature, it still gave off the desired effect: I grew to resent this other version of me, this version I could never know, never meet. With it, came a sense of pride, that whether or not I cared for the job, it was still what I knew, and I vowed to surpass her.

In spite of it all, I told myself that I already knew they didn’t really value me. That I was no fool; it just didn’t matter, because I didn’t value them either.

That was the history I wished to convey to her. That useless recollection.

I sat up on the bed and rubbed my eyes. Just as I did so, a series of taps were made against the bedroom door. Although I opened my mouth, I made no sound. No “come in,” nor “leave me alone.”

All the same, the door slid open. Any other time, I would have been annoyed, but the one who entered was the one I awaited, her wavy green hair being the first thing I made note of. Then it was the way she walked in, less a saunter and more of a silent tip-toe.

“How are you feeling?” She asked. Every day now, she asked the same question. Aside from the dull nothingness I always was, my state had improved with each passing day. Still, would it have killed her to change up the questions?

“Better. Thank you,” I spoke. It felt like air, but I knew there was a sound attached. With how clear my words were, it came as a shock.

“Good. I’m glad,” she replied, and began to turn away. If that was the only reason she came in for, I would be cross. She could have just texted me in that case. But I didn’t want a reason to be annoyed. Nor disappointed.

“Wait,” I told her. With the way it came out, it sounded more like a plea. That was no good. My voice really must have still been a little weak. “Sit. Please.”

Now it’s like I’m talking to a dog. How nostalgic. If I recall, when she first entered the diner, I referred to her as a dog. Odd now, how I didn’t seem to see her that way.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” She looked around, then at me.

Damn. That was a good question. I didn’t think that far. Unlike her own room, there wasn’t a chair or a desk. Seeing no other option, I answered:

“On the edge of the bed. If you need to, you can lean against the wall.”

My words came out as an unintended command.

Still, she sat. There I was, someone whose words were never a mistake. Yet there I was, lost.

“So, what’s up?” She asked, sounding perplexed.

I held my palm against my forehead and shook my head.

“First, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for the trouble that I’ve caused,” I began. I couldn’t recall the last time I gave an apology.

“Oh. Don’t worry about it. People’s mental states aren’t really at their best when they’re sick,” she smiled, but it didn’t look deceitful. “Even if you meant those things, I still wanted to help you.”

“Why?” An automatic response on my part.

“Why? Because you’re worth it,” her breath became more of a gentle breeze. Aside from the upward crease of her lips, I couldn’t focus on her face, even with her close to me.

“I’m not worth it, though. I never have been,” I thought to tell her. But I didn’t. For just a little while, I wanted to live in a world where I deserved the help.

“Thank you,” I replied instead, then glanced at the door. “Um, can you close the door?”

There was still the matter of Tigershark barging in, but maybe if Tigershark saw the both of us sitting on the bed, she’d understand, and leave us alone.

“Sure,” she shrugged her shoulders, then got up. Once she sat back down, I looked around the room. I could only manage to view her in fragments, as my heart thumped, as if to warn me of something.

“I think it’s time I allowed you to know about me,” I let the words slip out at last.

“You don’t have to do that,” she shook her head. “It’s enough just to know you as you are.”

“I know. But I want to. So please, will you hear me out?” That time it really did sound like I was at her mercy. Some kind of whimper to my voice. Like I could have gotten down on one knee and begged. Was there some residual sickness left over?

“Of course!” She waved her hands and backed away a little. “I just wasn’t expecting it, but I would be happy to hear it!”

There was only one way to begin: by clearing away any ambiguity.

“First of all, my original name is Rhea Flection,” as I spoke that name, it came out foreign.

“Oh, come on! You already played that trick a couple of times!” She dismissed. Of course, she was right to. Simply stating a name wasn’t going to get me very far.

“It wasn’t a trick when I told the doctor. However, I am not the same Rhea that you’ve heard of from others. She existed, she died. That is true.”

I waited for her response. Then she nodded.

“I see. I started to suspect that once I heard some things from Wendy, but I didn’t want to see you that way if Remora is who you are now.”

“Thank you for that,” I tried to work up a smile, but it wouldn’t have served a purpose. “However, in order to understand who I am now, it’s important that you know my origins.”

“I understand. I have time. So, go on.”

All that I recalled, I relayed to her, including how I learned of the original ‘me’. Once I finished, I studied Demetria’s face. She didn’t look like any of those things horrified her, nor did they bring her joy. I left out the last bit. About how my beliefs about my other self. Those stubborn delusions. Hopefully she could already infer that on her own. Then, she asked a question of her own.

“So the other you died because you came to this world?” She hypothesized. I could see how she got there. But it was wrong.

“No, not quite. She died on her own volition. She was assigned to remove your cousin’s wife from this world. Whether that meant killing, or containing her, as long as the job was done, that’s all that mattered. Your cousin’s wife, no, Ves, proved victorious.”

“So then you arrived not long after?”

I nodded. Now it had gotten to the part that neither Ray nor anyone else knew. Yet she was about to.

“Yes, but not right away. I was at the facility at the time. I hadn’t received an assignment in a while, yet was kept there. So I went to go up to the ones in charge. But when I did so, I noticed they were gathered together, viewing a screen. Curiosity got the better of me. I managed to make it into the room without any of them taking notice. As I hid behind a wall, I listened in to their conversation:

‘Such a shame Rhea died,’ they lamented. ‘I really liked having her around.

‘Yeah, but suppose it was bound to happen eventually.’

‘Oh well. Good thing we have another.’

‘We’ll just get her to finish the job the first one couldn’t. Second time’s the charm, right?’

They all laughed among themselves. Something stirred in me, however. I already knew how little I was valued. How I was just a prop, a tool. I didn’t even mind that, but hearing those words just filled me with disgust. I killed because I didn’t know anything else. And they knew that.”

I stepped forward, rifle in hand, and shot one of them. The others turned, horrified. They all fell so fast, before anything could escape their lips.

After that, I couldn’t just leave as things were. I couldn’t stay. I knew that others would be after me. So I set up explosives in the conference room of the facility and sent out a memo to everyone under the guise of management that they were to meet in the conference room for a special announcement. I hid a safe distance away so that when everyone else went over, I could hear the explosion. Afterward, I left. To the Earth where the other me had died. It struck me as the safest of choices, because I was already assumed dead there.”

There. No more secrets. All that was left was to watch as she grew horrified.

But that didn’t happen. I waited for some kind of disgust, repulsion. Instead, she simply said:

“Thank you for telling me all this.”

That response made no sense.

“You aren’t upset? Shocked?”

She put her index finger on her chin and looked up.

“No. It’s terrible, yes. But what I find more terrible is that you’ve had to live through such things. You lost your parents before you even met them. You had trouble adjusting, you were manipulated into being that kind of person. I wish you didn’t have to go through all that,” her words went softer at the last statement. More sorrowful. It wasn’t right. I didn’t want sympathy, I wanted to be understood.

“Yes, I was manipulated, but I must have known, and just didn’t care,” I clarified. “Even before I was made that way, I never displayed an emotional response toward anything. Even though I must have known it was bad, I still went through with it. To me, it was just something I did.” With that, she should have understood that I was not a good person. I couldn’t be, and that there was nothing to like about me.

She nodded.

“You have every right to think that way. But the person I know, the one next to me, at least thinks about their actions. Tries to do better. Saved my life. There has to be some merit to that.”

“No,” the word came out like a squeak. It was weird and out of place. “There isn’t. You say I saved your life, but the truth was anything but. Ray had sent me to investigate a cult in the area. Asked me not to kill, only investigate. I really tried to leave that life behind. But the desire for that thrill was always there. When I heard they had been targeting young women and participated in human trafficking, that was all the excuse I needed. I didn’t even notice you until after the fight.”

“Regardless, I’m still glad you were there,” she replied. “Whether or not I should, I am glad I met you and I do like you.”

I leaned my head back. That tense feeling in my chest tightened. I should have been happy to hear those words, but it was all wrong.

“I came to the world wanting nothing more than to live out the rest of my days in solitude, undisturbed. Nothing more. When you first met me, however, I was both on edge and lost. Without my job, I didn’t know what to do with my life. I had dyed my hair red, I made myself nameless. Through crowds of people, I encountered an aquarium, and I wandered through and stared at the various creatures. To you, meeting me must have been an exciting encounter, but I only regarded you as a strange person who was hungry, then forgot what you looked like.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised by that. It’s not like you were expecting to see me again.”

I let out a soundless laugh.

“Yet that uneventful encounter is why I am Remora,” the realization was amusing. “If I hadn’t looked at that fish, if you hadn’t asked my name, I would have gone on, content not to have one. But I blurted out the last thing to cross my mind, some stupid looking fish.”

She let out a chuckle as well.

“Heh. So that’s why. Well, it’s nice to know I had some kind of impact.”

I smiled. An actual smile. No intent behind it, just a smile.

“You’ve had more of one than you know. Not at first. At first I thought of you as a pest, and pushy, and trying too hard. But you eased up. When I told you I didn’t want you to know about me, you accepted it, as harsh as it may have been. You still wanted to help, and I just didn’t know what to make of you. I’ve really come to appreciate the person that you are.”

She blushed. Visible. Red.

“Um, thanks…” she looked down.

“I’ve grown to appreciate everyone,” now my own words didn’t feel right. When I looked back to how things began with everyone, that familiar stir returned: some disgusting feeling. “But no matter how much I’ve tried, I just can’t bring myself to care about anyone.”

Her face, still red, went blank.

“What? That doesn’t sound right,” she shook her head. “What about my birthday? Or when we protected each other out in the cold? Or when you talked with me after finding out how I felt about you? There’s plenty of examples, I’m sure.”

“I wanted to do something nice for you, yes. For the sole sake of being nice. No feelings attached. If I died, it didn’t matter, but since you didn’t want me to die so bad, I decided not to stop you. I talked with you because it was important to do so, not because I wanted to.”

“If anything that just proves it more. And if not me, what about Tigershark? You protect her, you watch over her, hell, you rescued her.”

“That’s only because I want to make sure she doesn’t end up like me.”

“I dunno, that sounds like caring to me.”

“It’s not, it’s not,” my brain was about to overload. Too many thoughts that smashed into each other. “It’s precisely that I’m not able to care that I want to make sure she doesn’t end up like me. Nobody should have to go through what I did.”

“See, you recognize it!” Her voice raised. Not anger, not quite. Excitement? Joy? I couldn’t tell. Not anymore. If I ever could.

“You don’t understand. You don’t,” I shook my head. At first slow, then faster.

“I’m trying to.”

“Look,” I tried to remain calm. Calm was all I ever was. “You’re important to me. I’ve tried so hard to feel something toward you, and even though I thought if I just kept at it, I would feel something, but it never came. I’m just unable to. But you’ve been patient, you’re someone I wish I could care about.”

“Where are you going with this?” She sounded apprehensive.

Do I even know?

“It’s not a bad thing. I swear. It’s just, if you want me to, I can play along. I can pretend to be your friend. It just wouldn’t be real. Would you be okay with that?” I gulped. I sounded delirious.

She backed away, stood up slow. In a low voice, spoke:

“Why would I be okay with that?” Her face contorted. Maybe she was disgusted.

“Or lovers. I could play the part of your lover. I could never actually be, but it could be close,” It came out in a huff, a hurried mess of words. Still, it should have softened the blow. What blow? I didn’t know.

“You’re not making any sense. Why do you think I want to hear these things? I don’t want pretend anything. I was fine with the way things were, but I don’t want anything else if it’s not going to be real.”

I sat there, backed away as well, back to the wall, against the pillows. Despite my constant shivers, it became less clear whether or not I felt cold.

“I just thought...it’s the least I could do…” My words were reduced to emptiness.

“It just sounds like you’re trying to push me away,” came her reply, a darkened, low mutter.

“It’s not – you don’t understand,” I tried to get her not to go, I reached my arm out, but I was too far already. She was already at the door.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” was the last thing she said. I didn’t pick up on the tone that time.

I slunk back into bed, against the pillow. Open, then shut, was the door. Not a slam. Nothing so loud. Quiet, even.

“I don’t understand…” I whispered.

The room was silent, I was silent. It was just how I always liked to be: undisturbed. Alone.

II

Without opening my eyes, I found my head nestled on the lap of someone I knew. That person’s hand came down and stroked my hair. Slow, soft, sifting motions.

I didn’t have to open my eyes; I saw outside of myself and I saw Demetria. It was as if I saw her through a mirror. There was a serene stillness as I saw her face, downward, yet gentle. Half-closed eyelids which flit about. Her mouth opened, ever so slight, like its sole purpose was to blow into my ear.

“You’re pretending to be asleep, aren’t you?” She asked, and her voice was not her own. It was mine.

“Yeah,” I replied, tired.

“It’s bad to pretend. You wouldn’t like this if you were actually asleep.”

“I know.”

“Or is this what you want?”

“In a sense.”

Then the person changed. It was myself, but an imagined version: she had blue hair, a self-assured smile. Still, the motions continued and I accepted them.

“You would be fine with anyone, wouldn’t you?” She (or I?) asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t just be babied. You know better,” the voice became harsher.

“Just let me...for a little while…” The words fell out of my grasp, along with consciousness.

No. I wasn’t pretending.

“So that was a dream…” I muttered, as I sat back up. How long did I fall back to sleep for? What time was it? I checked my phone. Late into the evening. Without purpose, I scrolled through my phone and the messages I never checked. Most of them were from Ves, the most recent being a few days back, while I was sick and floating in and out of consciousness. Not that it mattered, as I never responded to her texts.

Ves: Hey, I know it’s been a long time and we don’t really talk, but I just wanted you to know that you’re in my thoughts and I hope you’re well.

I sighed. No wonder I never responded. There was nothing to gain from pretending. I got up, ready to head out into the hall, be my real self. However empty that self was.

I’ll tell her that I must have still been a little sick. Because of course that was wrong to say. Even nothing is better than a dishonest something. I know that. So I’m sorry.

When I walked out into the hall, that too was empty. If I had to guess, Tigershark was taking a nap upstairs. Over the past couple of weeks or so, she had been sleeping in Ray and Sunny’s room to try to keep her from getting sick. As for Sunny, from what I heard she had gone off on another adventure.

There, at the desk, was Ray. My movements were stilted as I made my way over to the middle of the hallway, near where Ray was.

“It’s nice to see you up at last,” he greeted, without looking up from his desk. There weren’t any papers. Did he not want to look me in the eye?

“Where is Demetria?” I asked, weary.

“She’s gone. She went back home,” he explained, still not so much as a glimpse my way.

“I see.”

It made sense. There was only so much I could give, and only so much patience she had. It was always going to happen that way.

Across from Ray’s desk, against the wall, was the lone chair that always sat there. I went over and occupied it. From my peripheral, I noticed him look up at last, and right at me.

“It’s not your fault,” he told me. “She’s not mad at you.”

“Wouldn’t expect her to be,” this time it was my turn not to look his way as I gave my response.

Fault or not, I was the reason she first came to the diner, and I was the reason she left.

“She liked me. I wish I could have liked her, too,” I let out those words. Some kind of hollow confession.

“You aren’t obligated to like someone just because they like you,” Ray stated. For what purpose, I didn’t know. To state the obvious? Was that his only purpose now, after all the trouble and trickery he went through to get me to stay at his diner. His facade of a home.

Very well. There was no more danger. Nothing in it for any of us. All that was left was to put a couple more things to rest. So, I pulled out my phone, then began the text.

Me: Hello.

There was more I could have said. ‘Sorry I ghosted you’? Ah, but that sounded too corny. My recipient already saw me as a ghost, didn’t she? So what was there to apologize for?

Just a minute later, I got my reply.

Wow, someone’s thirsty.

Ves: Hey! I was wondering if I would ever hear from you again.

Me: Can I ask a favor of you?

Ves: Um, what’s the favor?

Me: Tell me about her.

Ves: Her…?

Me: Rhea. Your Rhea.

Ves: Oh. What do you want to know?

Me: Why did she have such an impact on you?

Ves: idk there were others who should’ve had more of an impact.

Me: That wasn’t what I asked.

There was a pause.

Why, when you first came across me, that was all you wanted to talk about, and now you want to avoid the issue?

Then:

Ves: Sorry. I needed to gather my thoughts. It was such a short period of time, but it was really tough on me. I was sick, as I mentioned before, and she was sent to put me down. I can’t blame her, as I was a danger to myself as well as my loved ones. During our first confrontation, she almost killed me. I begged, and she gave me another option, but that other option was to have me in the hands of those who have hurt me in the past. There was no good option.

Me: You mentioned being sick before. But that’s not really it, was it? They don’t send someone to kill you if you have a case of the common cold.

Ves: I was. In a way.

Ves: As a child, I was experimented on. Apparently other children were, many of them died. They were placed with the blood of an angel. One which was said to bring happiness. While I survived, I often had headaches, hallucinations, and a short temper. Later on, I ended up ingesting the blood of that same angel, this time as an adult.

Ves: There were all these things I could now do, but along with it, I craved more blood. Every so often, I would throw up blood. Not small amounts, either.

Me: That entity? The embodiment of happiness? Don’t you know nothing good ever comes of happiness?

Ves: I know now. I was just desperate.

Me: She should have killed you. So why?

Ves: I’m not really sure...she could have. Maybe she could no longer bring herself to do it. Before our last fight, she said how it would have been nice if we could be friends, but it could never happen.

Ves: I didn’t want to fight her. She fought me, though. Wouldn’t let it end until one of us died. I think she wanted to die, but felt she could only so in a fight. At one point she told me how I was a disappointment for not wanting to fight, but I think it was an attempt to strike a nerve so that I would get angry enough to kill her.

Me: That was irresponsible of her. It wasn’t just about her, it was about the risk you posed. She should have known that.

Ves: I’m sorry.

Me: What do you have to be sorry for? You’re cured, aren’t you? You got what you wanted.

Ves: She did too. As she was dying, I told her how I wished I knew her more. But she commented about feeling warm at last. She looked at peace.

Me: Is that it? Is that why she had an impact on you? Because of a few fights?

Ves: No. I fought others before. But I felt a connection with her. Like we were similar, each trying to find something. It made me wish I could have been the one to help her, instead of needing help. I regret how it went down, and I wonder sometimes if I could have prevented her death. If there was another way.

Me: There wasn’t anything you could have done for her.

Ves: Still, I feel like if I just tried, she would have still been around, and able to live the life she wanted.

Me: You don’t know that.

Ves: You’re right. I can never really know. I’m sorry.

Me: You know that I’m her, right? I’m not the one you know, but I share a history with her. I share a name with her. Her condition.

Ves: Yes. I figured as such.

Me: So I’m just confused what it was about her. Wasn’t she a merciless killer? Wasn’t she emotionally distant? Detached? None of that should have left an impression. Aside from her condition, those kind of people aren’t uncommon. She should have just been an enemy. That’s it.

...So why, then, did she show you mercy? What was it about you, of all people? I thought.

Ves: But she was more than that, to me. She was someone I would have liked to have as a friend. Even if she may have tried to kill me, she still took her time to got to know me and listen to me. Something I may not have even deserved.

I stared at her text before I continued. Her words made me wonder, if maybe the other me was more compassionate. Someone who had grown kinder over time. Maybe that was what it was that set the two of us apart. What was missing, then? Was she allowed more freedom? Interacted with more people? Grew sick of all the bloodshed?

Why couldn’t I experience any of those things?

I replied at last:

Me: I wish I could have met her.

Ves: I’m sure that would have been nice.

Me: If only.

Ves: You know, I actually wanted to be more like her, like you. While I hid my emotions, you don’t have that problem. There must have been countless times I’ve thought about how I didn’t want to feel anything, especially during the times when my emotions got to be too much.

Me: Why would you want any of this? Do you think I want to be this way? Don’t you think I would cry if I could? Smile, laugh, even anger. None of that is felt. You experience love and care about others, why would you want to hide that?

There it was: always one more thing added which turns the whole thing around. Now I found myself disgusted. With her, with myself. What did I hope to gain by talking with her, anyway? Of course, she just had to have the last word:

Ves: You’re right. I didn’t consider how it might be from your perspective.

Me: Now you know.

Me: That’s all I wanted to ask of you. I’m done.

Ves: Wait. Isn’t there anything else we can talk about? How are you? How are things with the others?

Me: I’m done with them.

Ves: Is something wrong? Did you guys have a falling out?

Me: None of them meant anything to me. I couldn’t feel anything for them. That’s all.

Ves: Please. If something’s wrong, I want to help in any way I can.

Me: Don’t care. Didn’t ask. Goodbye.

Ves: Please don’t push me away. I know that’s what you’re doing because I’ve done it too and it doesn’t help. It just brings more pain.

That again? Twice now I’ve heard such things. Both from naive people who wanted to know me. If I had a nerve at all, it might have been struck.

Me: Don’t act like you and I are alike.

Ves: Please. We’re friends, aren’t we?

Me: Wrong. We were never friends. We both pretended like we. Me, because I couldn’t care less, and you used me as an outlet for your grief. I was willing to play the part for a while, but I knew I was being manipulated.

Ves: It wasn’t my intention.

Me: Doesn’t matter.

Ves: I still wanted to try. I knew you might have been different, but if there was even a chance to know you, I wanted to take it.

Me: Do you ever shut up?

Ves: What?

Me: All I hear are excuses. It doesn’t impress me.

Ves: Fine, then. I tried to be nice. I tried. But if you want to be alone, go ahead. Go ahead and rot. Ungrateful bitch. I gave you a chance, I didn’t even have to do that.

Me: I see. So that’s the real you.

Ves: No. I’m not. No.

Me: Don’t try to hide it now if that’s who you are.

Ves: No. I’m sorry. I just snapped. I didn’t mean to.

Me: That’s too bad. Because I mean every word I say. Goodbye now.

I turned off the phone and looked up.

“Well, that about wraps things up,” I announced. Ray, who still seemed listless, looked up.

“Who were you texting?” He asked.

“The wife of Demetria’s gay cousin. Had to wrap up some loose ends,” I explained, then got up and set the phone on his desk. “I don’t need this anymore.”

He turned to the phone, then looked back at his desk. If he didn’t know the implications, he soon would.

“I’m leaving. There’s no longer any need to be here,” I announced. That seemed to get his attention. He looked up and there was no doubt about it – he was going to try to convince me, no, beg me to stay.

“Goodbye, then,” he instead said in a dispassionate voice. Even his face lacked of interest. It was wrong. Wasn’t he the one who wanted me there in the first place? Tried to convince me to work with him? Didn’t he care? Didn’t I mean anything to him at all?

“That’s it?” I uttered. It couldn’t have been all he wanted to say.

“What else do you want me to say? If you want to leave, who am I to stop you?” His words made sense, but not coming from him.

“You’re supposed to stop me, beg me to stay, anything.”

“Do you want me to?”

I took a step back.

“No, but that’s not the point.”

I started to shiver again, harder than before. Like someone had left the door, or some windows wide open and a great draft had invited itself in.

“Look, Remora: I’m exhausted. Demetria just left. Sunny went off on another adventure just a day before that. I don’t know when I’ll hear from her or see her next. Sure, I’m going to miss them, but they have every right to come and go as they please. So if you want to leave as well, then you have every right to.”

“After all this time? I could have just left? That’s it?”

He nodded.

“If you wanted to.”

No. It couldn’t have been that easy. He must have had some kind of trap, some trick to keep me there. That was the only explanation.

“What about the first time you tried to get me to work for you? When we met?”

“You turned down the offer and that was that. I didn’t pursue it,” he argued, hand on his chest.

“But then I accepted so that you would save Tigershark’s life!”

He tilted his head.

“I told you we didn’t need to make any deal. I helped her because I was concerned about her life. You chose to afterward.”

Damn it. That was true. But why, then, if I didn’t have to? It was obvious, wasn’t it? Because I felt obligated. That was all.

“But then when I left after you manipulated me to go to the place where the other me died, you were the one who showed up at my doorstep and tried to convince me to return. Said I could be leader of your little operation. But now look: you’re back to your position and now you’re saying I can come and go as I please. How does that work?”

He sighed.

“You’re right. I did say and do those things, didn’t I? For that, I apologize.”

See? You admit it!

“Not only that, but you gave me food, you gave me a place to sleep, you tried to protect me, you…” I huffed. “You told me I didn’t have to kill anyone. You listened to me. You tried to correct any mistakes you made. You tried to make me comfortable.”

“And?”

“You...all of you...I tried to tell you that I wasn’t someone to be known, to be liked, and no one listened. They didn’t get it and just kept trying. Made me think that maybe I wanted to be here. That I could be around others. But it wasn’t true. All of you just manipulated me and confused me!” My voice shook and shivered, almost raised. It wasn’t right.

“May I ask you something?” Ray waited a moment before he spoke once more.

“What?” I seethed.

“Why do you think you aren’t someone who should be liked?”

“You would really ask me that? I’m a killer – not was – am! It doesn’t matter whether I’ve stopped or not, that part of me doesn’t go away. I’ve tried to tell you all that I just can’t feel anything. I’ve never been able to.”

“Do you think you’re the only killer who has walked through these doors? I would treat any other killer to the same meals and share a nice conversation with them.”

“But I’m different,” I professed.

“How so?”

“Other people have trauma. They see the face of the one they killed and it sticks with them. Not me. I’ve never had that problem. To me they’ve always been empty faces. I’ve never felt anything when I’ve taken a life. I’m incapable of doing so.”

“And because of that, you’re not deserving of kindness?”

“Yes!”

“Maybe some would agree with that sentiment,” he shrugged. “But I don’t see why I should.”

“Don’t you get it? I can’t feel anything except this cold! I’m not worth it! Do you think I want to be this way? I want to care, about someone, anyone, more than anything, but it just doesn’t happen and it’s because of who I am!”

My fists tightened and shook. My eyes stung. I tried to close them, and still felt the sting. Then, when I opened them back up, I saw Ray. He looked at me, then leaned back, eyes wide.

“Remora? Are you okay?” His voice cracked, it turned to a near-whisper.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I took a step back.

“Let me tell you one thing before you go,” he urged at last. Though ‘urge’ wasn’t the right word. It didn’t sound like a plea. Just something he wanted to say. “Before I met Sunny, I used to think that I didn’t care for a single person outside of myself. There were all of these people and they meant nothing to me. They were fun, at best, and a bore at worst. I was fine enough just doing my own thing, everyone else be damned.

Even a little after I met Sunny, I still didn’t feel much at first. I’ve never had any interest in women, so I figured it wouldn’t amount to anything. But damn it, I’m so glad she’s in my life. She brightens my world to the point that I want to shine at all times. Even when she’s gone, I make sure there’s a home for her when she gets back. I want to make myself a home, and comfort her when she needs comfort and joy when she needs joy. Then, when I met Elodie, I felt it again: there was a life that I wanted to make sure was safe and happy. Had a good home, even if that home wasn’t with me.”

“What are you getting at with all this?” If he wanted to be self-indulgent, couldn’t he have done so some other time? It didn’t make any sense to bring such things up now.

“I believe that if you have the capacity to care about one person, then you can care about others.”

Few of those words stood out. There was his little monologue, then there was the last statement. But how the two connected, I couldn’t tell. My mind was blank. None of the words connected.

“I don’t know what you mean,” my words came out like a whimper.

“It was enough just to tell you,” he replied with a smile.

Whatever meaning there was to be found, every second I remained, I ran the risk of not leaving at all.

“I’ll be going now,” I squeezed out the words.

“Will you be okay out there?” He asked, as if he cared.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Please don’t make me worry about you.”

“Why would you?”

He shrugged, shook his head, and let out a heavy sigh.

“You know, I used to think that working with you, spending time with you, laughing together. We could have had fun.”

I turned from him. If I could just step away, maybe I could make sense of myself again.

“I never wanted to have fun,” I told him as I walked away. “I just wanted to rest in peace.”

“Take care, Remora,” he called after me.

Then I was gone. Through each door and out into the cold open air.

Each step I took through the snow brought a heavy gust along with it. There was little way to tell which way I was going, save for some vague notions of lights in the blanketed darkness of the sky. Each step alone was heavy, with or without a breeze. Disorientation was the only comfort I had.

All the better for it.

Alone was how I should have been from the beginning. Whether it be a house I built for myself, or buried deep under the snow. Either was fine.

It stung and bit me in various places. Very little feeling. My teeth would not cease. My vision was dim at best, as was my mind.

At any moment, I might collapse. Maybe I won’t get back up. Maybe I will close my eyes and let it blanket over me. Let the blizzard hit. If that happens, I hope no one finds me. I hope I won’t be saved. So that the process can’t repeat. So that I can meet the end that I should have.

For whatever reason, that never happened. Instead, as I lumbered along the thick snow which seeped into my boots, my body, on some kind of automatic process, followed the lights in the distance. Just small, smudged shades of white, beige, yellow, and red, in a sickening creme. Not distant to be stars, nor did they twinkle. Fade in and out, maybe, but not twinkle.

Why I went toward something so meaningless, I couldn’t say. What moved and the rest of me were two different entities. Then, when I happened to collapse, I happened to stumble through doors and onto a rug laid out on a tile floor.

I twitched.

Someone should have yelled that I was letting the cold air in. That was the reaction I was used to. It made sense. For my part, I was unsure if I could even move. When I tried to push myself up, my arms wouldn’t so much as budge.

“This is fine…” I groaned. Or would have if I had the strength to use my voice. After all that transpired, I could use a good meme to represent my situation. All I needed to top it all off was whatever building I was in to be set on fire.

How long I spent on that floor, I didn’t know. No one seemed to be around. If there were others, they didn’t react to my presence.

Did I find my way into some abandoned building? Or maybe I’m in someone’s home and they’re asleep and didn’t hear the door open. Unlikely, with all the noise the weather is making. Maybe they’re just not home. Or maybe this isn’t a home. Damn it, you numbskull. Just look around and check!

I would have rather just fell asleep right where I lay. But then curiosity took hold and wouldn’t allow me not to look. Even with as difficult as it was, I turned my head and at first, it was all blurred shades that merged in with each other. For what must have been a few minutes, it remained as such. Then, after a few more blinks and a good stare, it became clear.

Little shops. Gates and terminals. Large windows. Booths and stairways. Limitless ceilings. There was no denying where I was: I was at the airport.

I struggled my way up and shambled toward a chair against one of the walls. It still boggled me why no one else was around, but it might have had to do with how late into the night it was. How few people really came around to this part of the world. Gee, I must have been blessed to live in such a place. Blessed until others tried to force their way into my life, that is.

That was all past me now. Not long had I been awake, but with how weakened I still was, I couldn’t resist the urge to just rest once more.

“Now that that’s all taken care of, time to get some rest,” a voice rang through my head. Followed by footsteps. Those footsteps grew louder, and then they stopped. “Oh? I didn’t know someone would be here at this hour.”

Such a syrupy voice shook me from my sleep and I squinted before turning my head toward the owner of said voice. Then I opened my eyes to find some woman with a blonde ponytail and a blue brim hat on, followed by one of those sexy flight attendant outfits. Well, someone probably found such outfits sexy. I never said I did.

“So sorry, didn’t mean to wake you!” She took a step back and started to stammer. I just grunted in response.

“I think I recognize you. You’re Rae Morris, right?”

Rae...Rae...uh…

“Who?” I croaked.

“Ray’s accountant?” She asked, then I remembered that disguise I put on a few months back. My, how time flew.

“Right. Ugh. I’m not really an accountant,” I groaned.

“Really? I could’ve sworn –”

“Rae Morris was just a name. It didn’t mean anything,” I admitted through a dead mutter.

“Huh. Fooled me, then, huh?”

“Yeah…” I looked up. How high up the ceiling was, yet even seeing that felt claustrophobic.

“Didn’t I see you with that other girl who works at Ray’s diner a couple weeks ago?” She asked. I knew who she meant right away: Demetria.

“Yeah,” I then turned my head away from her and looked down at the floor.

“If I recall, you two looked happy,” she commented.

“I wonder if there was any truth to that.”

“So…” She shuffled her feet. “Are you waiting on a flight? I hear the next one’s not for another few hours.”

“I have nowhere to go,” it hurt to admit, but it was the truth. My hands hung off to the sides.

“What are you doing here, then?”

Dammit. Why do you have to ask that?

“I don’t really know. I’m lost,” was my first answer. However, I soon turned to face her. “Or rather, there’s nowhere I can go. Wherever I go, I won’t find home. I go from place to place and it’s never right.”

“You too, huh?” She less asked and more seemed to agree. “You know, I used to live from airport to airport. I now live here and it feels more right, but it took forever, and even then, it gets lonely from time to time.”

“Are you living the life you want?” I asked her.

“That’s a hard one. I mean, there’s still some things I’d like to have and some things I’d like to be better. Isn’t there always, though? It’s just nice to have some of the things I wanted. I always love being in the air, and it’s nice to be away from my mom. I’m also much more comfortable with the body I have than I used to be. It also helps that I’ve got boobs now, however small. Why? What about you?”

I shook my head against the wall.

“Everyone’s always got their own ideas about me. They all see me in these different ways and expect me to act in those ways. To be who they see me. That’s not even to say that I’m different, I just don’t know, that’s the thing. But even if I want to object or do my own thing, I’ve never been able to see another option but to go with them.”

“I mean, I can relate to that as well…”

“You too, huh?” I let slip a chuckle. It wasn’t very funny.

What was funny was that the warmth (I’m assuming, not that I felt it) seeped through the airport and moisture started to form against my eyelids and trickle down. Was the other me aware of such a phenomena? There I went and sat there with all of that internal struggle, yet the other me still managed to come to mind.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been my own person,” I croaked, and the moisture formed once more, ran down to my cheeks, and off of my chin.

“Oh no. Here, I’ll be right back, I swear,” she sounded in a hurry. Good. I didn’t want to keep her. Maybe such a moisture would dissipate and I could go back to resting in an uncomfortable chair.

I coughed as some of the salty moisture got into my mouth. How sick I was. How sick I had been. Not just over the past couple of weeks, but all my life. Feeling nothing but a constant chill. Being taken advantage of. I was never tough, never strong. I was just made in a way that was useful for others. I was right to leave the gun back at Ray’s diner. There was just so much of me that was wrong.

True to her word, I heard her run down the stairs and return. She wiped off my face with a cloth. I should have backed away or slapped her hand away. Or refused to let her. But I was too numb. It was just like how I was when I was made to be a killer. Never once objected. One thought turned to when I used to read those fairy tales, how I would hate for my space to be invaded. But if this was a fairy tale, then maybe I would have wanted her to wipe my face.

“Thank you,” I said at last.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied. “You seem like you’ve had a rough time. Would you like to stay the night?”

I thought about it. Or didn’t. My thoughts weren’t cooperative.

“I would like that,” I told her, unsure if I really would. Just having some place to be, for one night, that much seemed doable.

We walked together up a flight of stairs and into an office. It had been redecorated or redesigned to be a bedroom for the flight attendant. Little plane ornaments and model planes hung around the room, with a bed toward the end which I presumed she slept in. To both sides of me were closets, both open, with many jackets, sweaters, dresses, and other clothes hung. Against the wall was a small kitchen-like area with a sink and a fridge. No stove or oven, but she probably had one of those elsewhere.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall with a shower, if you need one,” she explained. “The airport can be kinda creepy at night when it’s dark and no one around, but I’m pretty sure there’s no ghosts. Still, you can turn the lights on if it helps. I don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

She then walked up to me and pulled on a flap against the wall behind me. I stepped back and a bed, a little small and with a hard metal frame popped out.

“It’s not the most comfortable, but we’ve got plenty of blankets, and I’ll give you a weighted blanket. Looks like you might have hypothermia, so might be a good idea to use it.”

“I probably don’t, but I’ll still take it.”

“Good. Also, there’s a snuggie if you –”

“Yes. Good lord, yes.”

“Oh, well, something you’re enthusiastic about,” she remarked.

I looked away. That was embarrassing.

“Go ahead and get whatever food you want in the fridge, help yourself to some water. Mi casa es tu aeropuerto, or something like that.”

I nodded.

“Why are you doing all of this?” I asked, still looking around the room. It wasn’t small by any means, decent sized bedroom. To think that something like that existed in an airport. She shrugged.

“Maybe I’m lucky enough to be able to.”

It was better than her saying she took pity on me, or that I seemed nice. Even if both were true, I didn’t need her to say such things. She then held out her hand.

“I’m Cybele, by the way,” she informed me. I looked down at her hand.

“I’m sorry...I don’t do hands. Er...touch. I don’t like...touch,” I couldn’t quite explain. She reeled her hand back and smiled.

“It’s okay, I get it. I probably wouldn’t wanna go up touching every stranger I met either. As for you, you are…?”

“I’m…” Rhea, was the first thing to pop into my head. Then Remora. But neither felt right. They sounded too close to each other. I wanted to find something that didn’t resemble myself in any way. But there wasn’t anything I could find. “I’m still trying to figure that out. Sorry.”

“I’m not offended. Names can take a while.”

For what it was worth, she seemed like a good sport about the whole thing. It was a shame, as there was nothing I could give for her kindness. All I could do was acknowledge it.

Sleep wouldn’t come at all. Throughout the night, I stared up into the darkness, tried to ignore the hum of the refrigerator, and tried to ignore myself. That was the worst part of all. Rather than disappear, cease to breathe, fade into obscurity and nothingness, I found myself in someone else’s room. It wasn’t right. I had to leave. Leave myself. Before she started to form an impression of me. If she hadn’t already. Whatever mistake I had made, I needed to rectify it, and fast. My heart wouldn’t stop beating, even if I squeezed it tight enough, it just wouldn’t stop.

In the morning, I put the bed back against the wall and closed it shut. But I kept the snuggie, of course. She could pry it from my cold, dead body.

I began to head out, where, I didn’t know. I’d walk if I had to. I just had to find some place that wasn’t where I already was. Before I left the room, however, I heard the yawn and stretch of Cybele and she looked over to me.

“Good morning,” she called in a half-yawn.

“I’m glad you think so,” I tried to sound positive, but with the tiredness in my voice, she may have thought I sounded sarcastic.

“Heading out?” She asked.

“Yeah. I’m thinking of going some place warm,” to distance myself from myself. “Like the Sahara, or Ecuador. Maybe I’ll go to Florida or Spain.”

“Those are places,” she acknowledged. “Sounds like you know where you want to go. Are you going to board a flight?”

“I was thinking of walking, actually,” I replied. Again, not sarcastic.

“No need to do that. Just gimme a bit and I’ll fly you.”

“I’d rather you wouldn’t. Not to be mean. I just don’t want to be near anyone I know.”

“Do you have money to get to one of those places?”

“No. No money.”

“Then at least let me do that much.”

I should have refused. It was selfish of me. But I accepted. After all that time, I still couldn’t help but take from others. Still, it felt exciting. I didn’t know where I wanted to go, but even if I decided on a random spot on a map, it would be my decision. Then, once I’d land, I could lay my head anywhere I wanted and whisper my proper goodbye to anyone who ever knew me.

[lady-o-ren]

Underneath the Elder Tree

Chapter One /  Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four /

Chapter Five

Dawn had risen in delicate blooms of lavender and blushing heather across the waking sky, down to a pine drizzled cabin, quiet inside. Only stirring with the shuffle of Claire dressing for the day about her room.

Hers

To have

To keep

Where she could litter the floors with crumbs of bread, warm with honey, never to be stale. Dress without fear of a presence lurking, panting, leaping, as she dashed through trees, toppling over jutting stones, desperate for a brook, a stream.

Only to be seized by her hair in a fisting twist.

A ribbon lost. Rips of cloth, bruising skin.

A blade unseen tearing fatty flesh that had her fleeing, crossing waters rushing rapid, crawling beneath a tree.

To a home where Claire could sleep without worry, deeply, soundly, wrapped in a heat that seeped across her skin that always held a chill. Like now within the silence of the surrounding four walls, luring her mind to wander, blurring to a blue dipped memory.

She, young and shivering in her mother's arms where warmth slipped away with every slap of wind, as they laid in a ditch overgrown with weeds, far from home to a destination elsewhere. Her mothers breath at her cheek, voice losing shape from years gone and farther still, warning Claire of others who found themselves bound to men, so desirous of a woman's flesh to unsheathe them of their very soul for the secrets flickering behind their eyes. The silkiness of their skin.

“What of, Father? Did he steal yours away too, Mama?” A question hushed in broken breath, as Claire feared that her father was not the noble knight her mother had proclaimed him to be.

A beloved man whose hollowed heart held her endless tears and gasping prayers to breathe with life again. Those desperate pleas fell heavy as the dirt scattered around him as he laid in darkness amongst a sea of flowers, picked by her smudged little hands, to keep forever beautiful.

"Mama?" Claire persisted, squeezing her mother to speak despite the quiet flow of grief she felt dewing her crown of locks.

“Yes, he had but no more will he ever, my darling. Nor will you ever know the cruelty of any mans heart as I."

The vision dimmed, love warm whisked away to infinity by the sounds echoing in the air of a man anything but cruel. One Claire felt an intangible pull to trust despite her wary instinct that thought her a fool, whispering of the white petaled tree where the promise of all that she was still waited for her.

Calling for her.

But so did the tuneless whistle that stole a gentle sound from her, felt sharply in her cheeks dimpling in a smile. That same oddly beating thrum of her heart, the only call she cared to answer of a man who thought her friend.

And now she of him.

_______

Woodsmoke lightly scented the air, drifting through a window left ajar as the newly kindled logs in the hearth caught a rising flame, heating the kettle to and fro along with Willie, drowsily draped across his father's chair, legs swung over the arms. While the lad had been eager to rise to quell his ever insatiable appetite, the lack thereof was enough to keep him stuck between the brim of wakefulness and the heavy pull of dreams.

No bother to Jamie though, as he rose with a sigh from his crouched position in front of the budding fire, arching his broad back to crack the bones knotted from another hard night spent on a pallet. That would have to be tended to and soon, he thought. But until then, Jamie rolled up his sleeves, baring the coppery brush of his arms, getting on with a breakfast of bannocks lest his son wither away to dust, belly first.

By the time Claire emerged from her room, Jamie was stickied white in oat dough from brawny wrist to blunt fingertips while crooning like a thrush, (without the harmony, but ever so the pitch) that could only delight the blessedly deaf. But from his lips the song vanished as his attention was drawn to her curls flowing wild in rebellion from their binding braid, framing a face softly nestled like a pearl, glowing in fondness seeing Willie's dozing form.

And then her eyes that could shame the very sun, a wonder that coaxed his sons imagination and in this moment Jamie's, of an otherness that enveloped her like a veil, a shield, now settled on him. The dusted hairs along his arms lifted, tingling to the back of his neck in what he reasoned was from a breeze slipping through the window.

But why was it warm as if sunkissed by spring?

An uneasiness struck through him, or rather a wave of something foolish stoking hot in his wame that had his hand hovering white and dangerously close to his cheeks to swipe away at the creeping heat. But he caught himself just as a smile curled at Claire's mouth in a prelude to a laugh that tempted him to be that very fool if only to hear the joyous sound.Jamie wanted her happy always.

"Did Willie have a restless night?" Claire asked, dispelling Jamie's pondering, quietly in voice and touch that grazed Willie's hanging foot, tugging his wool sock dangling near off his toes to a snug fit.

Jamie shook his head in response as he wiped his hands on a strip of cloth. "Far from it, only the lad is no morning lark as he's had ye believe, what wi' him trying to charm ye these days past. I have to throw him over my shoulder half the time just to get him moving as I did t'day. And even then, as ye see."

Claire did see in a way that sputtered a giggle out from her belly, as even the spouting kettle only provoked a scrunch of Willie's dark brows in annoyance. Mindfully, she removed the steaming pot from it's hook where it gave a whimpering splurt, moving towards Jamie when he beckoned her near, upturning the bowl of dough with a heavy plop.

"Let's have ye earn yer keep, Sassenach, and maybe we can wake that wee lazy boy of mine."

Under lashes Claire gave Jamie a skeptical look, poking a finger to the mound. "I'm not afraid of hard work but I must admit I have a hand that lacks the skill to prepare anything remotely edible. They're better suited covered in dirt which is what you'll be salivating for if you have me as your cook."

"Were ye a miscreant as a child then? Forgoing yer chores to climb the tallest trees, perched like a curly wig bird without a care for falling and breaking bones, turning all who loved ye grey?" Jamie's wicked tease of a grin dwindled as Claire's paled to a thin line, dragging her hands to grip the powdery edge of the table leaving ghostly streaks. She didn't want to speak of a time that haunted her like a phantom, yet she didn't want to be a mystery to entice curiosity.

Chancing a glance when Jamie uttered his apology, she saw the disquiet darkening his blues, carving deep around the set of his jaw that regretted ever opening and Claire then reasoned that no secret of hers would unfold from sharing a fragment of childhood.

"I was skinned from palm to knee if you must know." Claire began, offering Jamie a sheepish smile that eased his marked concern. "Disobedience was a skill I mastered from the moment I could walk. Always leading me astray from home to anywhere that crawled with life different from my own."

And oh how she wandered and disobeyed with devilish glee before disillusionment tainted her in blood but Claire pushed that aside for the precious wonderment she once had.

"My dresses were miserably torn and stained, replaced with trousers that fared even worse, all because I would hide in the crooks of split trees and old fox holes just to see of I could brave the dark. I even carried my -" her breath hitched in momentary hesitance, only to carry on as she was unable to prevent buried memories from spilling free.

"I even carried my father's satchel in my explorations, stole it really. Filling it with every sprig of green I could possibly find, pressing them to his books with the roots still dangling between the pages, and father would always say I must've born under a cabbage leaf for how could he ever have such a troublesome daughter as I."

Claire hastily blinked away a glimmer that shaded her amber eyes when the sudden quiet built between them was bridged in light reply.

"My da reckoned me a changeling. A hellion most days." Jamie half laughed, taking the burden of memories on himself as he handed Claire a rolling pin, gesturing to the dough with a flick of his chin.

"I gave the poor mans heart holy hell with my recklessness, spending my youth wi' a band of lads riding on horseback raiding cattle, crossing swords - for fun mostly, mind ye, lass. No' even a whisker bristled my chin." Jamie rubbed his now full mass of hairs, leaving streaks of flour amongst the golden copper that had Claire bearing a smile bright.

"Most often though, it was for opening my mouth when I should'ha kept it closed. Always questioning and pestering, challenging every word from his mouth, whether it an order or simple conversation over the weather. I have a knack for that, as ye know, Sassenach."

"Me standing here and not knee high in the forest underbrush is testament to your persuasive skills."

"I'm starting to think my offer of shelter had more to do wi' the promise of a decent meal." Jamie squinted his eyes to a catlike slant of judgement, clicking his tongue at Claire. "Ye're punishing that puir bread like it's insulted yer virtue."

"Regale me on how exactly your father handled that gaping mouth of yours." Claire huffed even as a grin peeked from seeing Jamie drag a finger down the bridge of his nose leaving another stripe.

"By grabbing me by the scruff, damned exhausted he would be too, and have my mam deal wi' me. She could make a grown man piss himself wi' just a look, so ye can only imagine what it felt like as a snot nosed bairn, squirming and hoping I didna wet her floors."

Jamie shifted in his step, creaking the wood underfoot at just the very thought which begged the question…

"What did she have you do then if not dirtying her floors?"

Leaning on the table he eyed Claire in consideration or rather her slender, mussied hands, having resorted to palming needlessly at her handiwork to make a perfect circle. "If ye manage to no' burn the bannocks, I'll tell ye, Sassenach."

They dipped their heads towards one another then to the mess that was Claire's attempt at domesticity. She arched her brow in question at the misshapen circle between them with Jamie giving it a satisfactory nod.

"My mam would appreciate the effort. The proof is in the taste she'd say." He gave the rolled out dough a light pat before sectioning it off to a cast iron pan to set over the fire, with one piece clearly larger than the rest. "And no doubt reward ye wi' this piece here, big as my fist to be slathered in molasses or jam, always in butter and a fat slice of he ham. Too bad yer drooling devoted will nip yer fingers if ye try for it."

Claire cast a glance to Willie as she made her way to the hearth with the readied bannocks, where he was now bare footed, wool socks kicked to the floor.

"He isn't much trouble at all is he?"

"None so much considering I'm the one who sired him, but he'll grey me soon enough I reckon. Turned my father's by the time I was his age, or so my godfather has told me."

"Is he the one who could pipe smoke through his nose and spit farther then he could piss?" Willie had painted a rather colorful image to Claire of a man seldom seen yet left a lasting impression of awe.

"Aye, a charmer Murtagh is to any young lad or lass who cares to live the life of a scoundrel. He has the keeping of my parents land, my birthright since they've passed." Like yours, he would have said but he wasn't willing to upset her as even just the mention of loss shook her to a flinch and that wouldn't do.

"Tis no' much," Jamie continued, as Claire fixed her attention to poking the logs. "Only a stone walled home bigger, larger though than this patch of wood, wi' fields to farm but I hope to travel wi' Willie when he's older or the very least big enough to mount a horse himself."

"So until Willie sprouts like a weed you're stuck living in a lonely place?"

"The living here may be harsher with only a small village days away from here, but when I stumbled to these mountains it took my mind off my troubles - for a time at least." He shrugged dismissively, more to himself to rid the image of another ghost.

“Now it's just Willie and I under this roof, with you, our fairy lass, who ought to keep her eye on - Sassenach! Ye dinna fan the - Daingead!"

______

It was the thick acrid smell of bread blackening to a crispy brick that finally stirred Willie to wake, nose pinched and teary eyed, then quickly bolting upright to Claire's howling curseswith his father hissing right along while hurrying out the door, smoking iron pan in his towel wrapped hand.

"Was that breakfast?" Willie questioned, swatting at the smoke and his own cloud of disheveled curls, only to be answered with a cough.

Still blanketed in a thinning grey the threesome took to their morning meal made solely by his father's hand, that had Claire stained the shining pink of failure, yet sitting defiantly straight, daring the man in front of her to babble a remark.

He did of course, head tilted with a mouth full of mocking buttery delight .

And despite her glaring demeanor, she laughed full hearted and in such a way that illuminated his father's being, flaring indistinct in a gaze unabashed towards Claire.

Because of her.

It was then a seed planted in Willie's mind rooting deeply inside his heart. Thriving. Shooting to his thumping fingertips on how to make a moment of happiness flourish past days and weeks. Long through the winter, far beyond the summer.

Where he might gain a mother of his very own.

To have

To keep

Always

____

A/N: Thank you to all the people who gave me support and cheered me on (There were too many and I know I exhausted you all!!) This has gone under SO MANY scene changes that all the words have bled together, so sorry about that and how short this ended up being.

*I pulled from the first outlander book and one of the future books for the cabbage line when I did a random quote finder. I just can’t remember which one since this was a year ago.

[business-gnome]

Mercantile Society Newsletter: Issue #1

Fitzkrank Oils and Lotions is coming to Boralus! Look forward to the grand opening of our shop in the harbor on May 15! We are currently looking to employ a local Kul Tiran sixteen gold an hour to work the store! If you are interested, address a letter to Gerald Fitzkrank to set up an appointment!

During one of my first nights, I was able to interview Aneokame, the owner and operator of The Brig and the Ashwood Vale Consortium.

Ran by the kaldorei named Aneokame Crowsong, The Brig is a delightful hole-in-the-wall tavern located just outside of the dwarven district.They are open from six to ten bells nightly and offers a quiet, more mature atmosphere. Things here are taken at an easy pace and one does not feel harried or as though they are surrounded by rowdy rabble rousers like at other bars in the city. Their menu includes a variety of high quality wines, meads, ales, and liquors, a true staple. If you do go to the tavern, make sure to try their moonberry mead, as it is truly out of this world!

Next door to The Brig is Miss Crowsong’s shop, the Ashwood Vale Consortium, who offer a wide variety of strange, unusual, rare, and eclectic goods! Some of the goods include potions, tea leaves, dried herbs, books, furs, beautiful jewels, and artifacts! They even have hand sewn dresses and men’s shirts, a perfect boutique if you are going to a ball! If you are ever in need of a custom piece, the Ashwood Vale Consortium should be your go-to place for fine wear! The Ashwood Vale Consortium is open in the afternoons or by appointment! Stop by today!

(Character name: Aneokame. Character Tumblr: https://aneokame-crowsong.tumblr.com/)

Now in stores, experience an absolutely divine scent of, La Gnome's Tresour lotion and moisturizer! Selling for 22 gold pieces, it is an essential date-night accomplice. The scent is intoxicating -- a sexy, feminine blend of rose, peach and apricot blossom (among other fruity, floral goodness). Plus, the lightweight formula leaves your skin so smooth, it'd be a crime to go un-caressed.

Now in stock: the scent of roasted pine lotion, selling for 17 gold pieces! Available in store or from Gerald Fitzkrank! This scent will leave you smokey and desired, a mature fragrance that will be sure to lead to delightful company! This lotion was created due to the desires of Ms. Seraanna!

Next, I was luckily able to speak to a woman that recently joined the Mercantile Society! Her story is of struggles and triumph, and she is a true self-starter! Unlike Haris Pilton, of course.

Jacqueline McLean was but a girl when she arrived to Stormwind from Gilneas. She had had nothing to her name but the clothes on her back! She had to learn the streets rather quickly, and learn what the denizens of the city wanted and needed. From there, she started working on several ships, taking up whatever tasks she could. She became well known in the docks, Jacqueline McLean becoming a common name for the denizens of the harbor. She then found herself working under a nobleman for some time and that is where she began to invest in a more lucrative business. She studied language, rising up to be one of the leading Gilnean diplomats. She is often stationed in Boralus, maintaining relations with the people there and the Alliance.

She captains ‘The Siren’s Rose’. She acquired it by saving for five years, and it is the product of all her hard work since she arrived in the city. Even though she was quite young to commandeer a ship herself, she was able to make her dream a reality! She accomplished her goals at just twenty-five years old. Now she is twenty-eight, and she is her own boss! Some would even say she is the captain of her own sails! She usually employs for other men, besides her first mate, Troy. If you are looking to work on a boat sailing between Stormwind City and Boralus, then ‘The Siren’s Rose’ may be perfect for you!

Jacqueline McLean’s cargo consists of raw materials such as herbs, cloth, and ores, as well as items for personal clients. If you need a reliable captain to navigate your cargo to another port, Jackie is your gal! Her ship is almost always at the harbor in Stormwind or in the harbor of Boralus, when of course, she is not on the seas. Her door is open most of the time, always welcoming to guests!

(Character tumblr: https://shewolf-jacqueline.tumblr.com/, character name: Jåcqueline)

Say goodbye to the unpopular scents! ‘Pumpkin Gut’ and ‘Peppermint’ beard oils are officially being shelved, as they are truly out of season! They will, however, be replaced by two rejuvenating scents, bringing life to your beard!

The first scent is that of extracted anchor weed, an exotic herb found only in Kul Tiras and Zandalar! This scent is reminiscent of the ocean, and the clear oil brings a beard to its full potential! Make your beard smell of the seas and be as soft as a fair maiden’s touch today! This scent is only available in our Boralus location for 21 gold pieces.

The second scent is true to the season is that of wild steelbloom! Now now, gentlemen! It may not sound the manliest, but the flower offers a hardy scent that is sure to have your partners hoping for more! This scent is offered in all stores and in person for 15 gold pieces!

If you are seeking a rowdy experience every other Friday night, then Kegfist Brewery is for you! The popularity of the joint is astounding, full groups entering and enjoying the festivities the Kegfist offer. It seems their name-sake, the ‘kegsmasher’, is quite the hit. From what I’ve seen, it seems to be a heavily potent beverage that gets the party started. I am starting off with the appetizer of ‘Steamed Mushan Mandu’, a dumpling filled with meat from those large, savory reptile. It tastes vaguely fowl, like chicken or duck, but the seasoning is absolutely delicious. I am drinking their ‘Light Tea’, which helps wash down the heavy dumplings. There even seem to be patrons of the other faction at this establishment, a neutral place to ease the tensions of war that is currently crippling our world.

For my entrée, I decided to sample the ‘Way of the Ramen’, ordering myself some greenstone ramen. It contains lean sliced tiger, cabbage, bean sprouts, and carrots. And while it tastes amazing, one of the kickers is that it is cooked right in front of you! The noodles came out perfectly, the texture helping emphasize the stark tastes within the bowl. The tiger was cooked within the stew, soaking in the broth and the juices of the vegetables. The many different tastes bring forth a delightful sense, the textures aiding the tongue. The carrots are soft and almost mushy, yet they taste as though they were freshly picked. I highly recommend this meal, as it is an all around delicious entrée. It even comes with a fortune cookie!

I ordered from the ‘Way of the Grill’ next, Mr. Kegfist’s specialty. I ordered the black pepper ribs and giant shrimp! Yet again, this was a meal that was cooked in front of me, and boy howdy did it look very interesting! Pandaren cuisine is a marvel sometimes. Mr. Kegfist offered me three options for the ribs; mild, spicy, or dragon sauced! I chose spicy, as I consider myself quite the daredevil, but not to any extreme. I am no Sneevil Cogdeevil! Ah, I remember the days of seeing him do his stunts in the salt flats. May he find peace, wherever his is today. The ribs were delectable, falling off the bone and nearly melting in my mouth! The sauce was indeed spicy, and it felt as though I could breathe fire! The shrimp were out of this world, fresh caught and gutted in the establishment, you could taste the ocean on them! They were spicy as well, popping in your mouth as you eat them!

Finally, it was time to take my tastes to the ‘Way of the Fish’! And I am feeling -extra- spicy this evening, so I ordered the dragon sauce calamari! This may have been the spiciest thing I have ever tasted! Though it was absolutely delicious, a staple of the establishment. And yet again, Mr. Kegfist prepared it right before me! Added fun to the whole experience!

Wupoda Kegfist is the owner and head chef of Kegfist Brewery. He is a Pandaren of Halfhill, and he has been growing crops and learning the way of cooking since he was a child! Wupoda gets all of his vegetables fresh from Pandaria, crediting the magical soil for allowing his crops to grow at rapid paces and with massive growth!

Originally, his name was Wupoda Kegfist, Wandering Merchant of a Thousand Ales. It took them many tries to settle down in Pandaria, as they tried Stormwind, Kul Tiras, and a few other random places here and there in an attempt to appeal to different crowds. Then one night, his group were hired to work an event in this establishment, and they never left!

Kegfist Brewery also do catering! You heard that right, and the best way to get them to cater your event is to reach out to Mr. Kegfist through the mail! They have a pricing sheet and a few different modules for folks to find the best catering package for them. Mr. Kegfist’s tip to those of you wanting to break into the catering scene is: “Find your niche. We thrive because there aren’t many Pandaren chefs out there who have made business out of their skill. Most of us just do it for their friends and family.” So if you have a dream of becoming a caterer, do not be shy to express yourself and be adventurous! You may turn out to be as successful as Mr. Kegfist. If you market yourself as unique, it becomes harder for others to compete with your business! If Mr. Kegfist wasn’t running his restaurant, he would be tagging alongside the Darkmoon Faire! He has learned quite a few party tricks over his years in the bar tending scene.

Kegfist Brewery is always recruiting! “We can never say no to hopeful aspiring employees. We have more positions than just cooks and bartenders, so never consider yourself out just because you’re no good with food! Entertainers are always in high demand. Magic, jokes, a silly costume, it all works if you bring the charm. I’m posted in the Mage District of Stormwind pretty often for open interviews, if you ever see me around, come introduce yourself! -Wupoda Kegfist.

To close, Wupoda Kegfist leaves us with this nugget of wisdom: “Build your tables low to the ground, it is much harder to be drank under them.” He welcomes all to stop by Kegfist Brewery, as their doors are always open with cold drinks and friendly smiles! Be sure to catch them every other Friday night, from six bells to nine bells at The Drunken Hozen!

(Character name: Wupoda, guild tumblr: https://kegfistbrewery.tumblr.com/)

[nellygwyn]

In 'Venetia,' first published in 1958, [Georgette] Heyer explored ideas about rakish heroes and the Byronic legacy further and in more detail. Her young heroine, Venetia, is introduced as someone who 'had never been in love; and at five-and-twenty her expectations were not high. Her only acquaintance with romance lay between the covers of the books she had read; and if she had once awaited with confidence the arrival on her scene of a Sir Charles Grandison, it had not been long before common sense banished such optimism.' Readers in the 1950s would had no trouble with this: it was a decade when the age of marriage was falling. Teenage marriages were not uncommon, and at twenty-five, girls worried about being 'left on the shelf.' Venetia's social life is dull, and her only two suitors are 'a rackety bunch' of impossibles. Two men seek her attention: Edward Yardley, a boring, steady type, and Oswald Denny, far too young, a boy whose head has been turned by Byron. Oswald combs his hair into wild curls, knots silk handkerchiefs around his neck and broods over 'the dark passions of his soul.' Both Venetia and the author regard him with amused tolerance.  Then we learn about a third male, Lord Damerel, the owner of a nearby prior, where locals tell stories of lewd goings-on and vulgar romping. This is clearly and echo of the real Lord Byron's reputation for wild parties at Newstead Abbey in the early 1800s. Damerel bursts into Venetia's acquaintance when she is taking a country walk, enjoying a quiet spell of blackberrying. He's tall and loose-limbed, 'with a faint suggestion of swashbuckling arrogance,' mounted on a handsome grey horse. He has cynical eyes, and his lip - like that of Byron's Corsair - curls in a. sneer. Venetia, accused of trespassing, is stand-offish, but her dog, Flurry, takes an instant liking to the man. This is all code, of course: we're left with no doubt whatsoever that Damerel will turn out to be Venetia's Mr. Right.  Heyer plays wittily with conventions of romance and constructs an elegant comedy of manners. But she's also exploring styles of masculinity, and the appeal of the Byronic prototype, for men as well as for women. For Oswald, modelling himself on 'The Corsair,' is a pose, and he'll no doubt grow out of it. Damerel is closer to the original. Damerel's cousin and presumed heir, Alfred, on the other hand, is a dyed-in-the-wool dandy, 'the pinkest of the Pinks,' who sports 'a buttonhole as large as a cabbage' and emits a strong aroma of Circassian hair oil. Worse, his 'inexpressibles' (Regency slang for underpants) are 'of the most delicate shade of primrose. Damerel's relatives, it seems, are faced with the choice between a 'fop' or a 'rip' as heir to the family fortunes. The narrative convention dictates that rakes should be reformed by pure-minded virgins, unlikely though this is. Georgette Heyer is more subtle. Venetia is shrewd. She ponders the double standard, reflecting on men's and women's different experiences of sexuality, but aware that some women could enjoy sexual dalliance and even look upon men as sexual objects. Her own mother turns out to have been a woman of the world, ignoring convention when it stood in the way of her own pleasure. Maybe chastity wasn't always a primary virtue? Venetia's affection for Damerel is based on friendship and a shared sense of humour, as well as on physical attraction. She's in no danger of seeing him through rose-tinted glasses. In any case, she has learned from Edward Yardley that too much worthiness can easily prove boring. But getting to know Damerel better, and falling in love, she finds that 'a well informed mind and a great deal of kindness' count for much in a man.

Heartthrobs: A History of Women and Desire // Carol Dyhouse 

[saintheartwing]

Undertale: Frost, Pt.2

Monsterkind had been stuck with table scraps, with a kingdom divided between human and monster, forced to share cities and borders and resources with a species that distrusted, disliked, despised and denigrated them. If Grillersby could just get one foothold, one bit of land back that could belong to monsters alone…it would be worth it.

Of course, they couldn't make it openly clear what they were up to. As far as the rest of the European nations and kingdoms knew, Monsterkind didn't have any type of organized campaign against any human ANYTHING. And "Grillby" was going to make sure it stayed that way. They'd overtake one nation at a time, slowly but carefully, until they had a proper, real home of their own. A continent of their own. It was just going to take a bit longer than they'd thought.

That night, Elisud snuck his way out of the castle, and knelt down by the outskirts in his sleeping clothes, his expression mournful and depressed as he picked up what laid in big, huge heaps all about the grass.

Dust. The remains of monsters was always, always dust, for their very bodies were made of magic. Then a monster died, they left no trace of their existence behind, a thought that made Elisud shudder in disgust as he felt the dust seep down from his palm. To think, an entire species that could only do what cremation-esque type burials. Disgusting. So…so pagan, so…so backward, it seemed so…cruel. To not even have a body to cry over.

He slowly rose back up, sighing sadly as he turned to head back inside the castle, but then stopped, feeling as though he was being watched. He glanced backwards…

The Final Froggit was a good, long, distance away, and glaring angrily at him. Elisud bit his lip…and then headed back for the castle, drawing up the bridge over the moat as he did so, even as the Final Froggit kept gazing balefully in his direction. He sighed as he entered his room, and then took out a small bit of parchment, beginning to write.

"I've sad tidings. We were attacked by monsters. Froggits, led by one with a crown called a "Final Froggit", as I have been told. I tried to get them to leave peacefully, offering them gold beforehand, but they would not listen to me. I feel terribly guilty about all of this. You've much experience with them. Could there be some way I could reach out to them? Write me back soon, my dearest and most secret friend. Tell me how you fare.

Best of wishes, Toriel, from your friend…

Esliud."

With that, he signed his name on the parchment, sealed it up, and put it away in a satchel. Tomorrow, he'd take it into town and have it mailed. He yearned to hear Miss Toriel's soothing words…she always knew exactly what to say. It had been her who'd given him those books on the Church and inspired him to become a monk just as she was inspired to try and join the church in HER hometown.

He wondered how that was going…

...

...

...Wingdings Gaster, better known as W.D Gaster, was currently holding onto his mother's hand as firmly as he could. The little monster glanced quietly up at his mother Arial, a slightly nervous expression on his face as they finally made their way to the marketplace in town, people's talking somewhat quieting down as the two approached a stall. Gaster nervously smiled up at the stall owner, who glanced at him, then at Arial, her blue eyes gazing into the black sockets of the skeletal being before her.

Skeleton monsters, "revenants", that was what was whispered under the breaths of many who were looking upon these people. Little Gaster had a big, floppy, grey sweater and a large red scarf, glasses on his face and with a cute little smile…his mother's smile. You couldn't exactly say he had his mother's eyes, for skeleton monsters didn't truly have "eyes". They had big black eye sockets that could somehow still be so expressive, that it was almost impressive how fluidly their jaws could move and their eyes could flitter. It was as if they really had faces…despite being skinless.

The stall owner had a somewhat pockmarked face and sighed deeply, folding her arms over her chest, her face somewhat sagging along with her breasts. She looked out of shape, sad, and tired, Gaster thought to himself, and a wave of pity welled in him as the woman finally adjusted the little cap she had atop her head, and spoke in the King's English. "What do you want today?"

Arial examined the collection of vegetables and fruit assembled before her in the stand as Gaster, in turn, glanced around at the humans looking at him. They kept stealing glances in his direction, some of them muttering and mumbling in rather baleful voices. It was disappointing to hear them murmuring so coldly. Not half an hour ago, Gaster had been seeing them looking upon that sweet Ms. Toriel with awe and wonder, but when it came to someone like HIM, and to his family-There were always rumors about his kind. The biggest being that they weren't natural monsters at all, that all of them had been dead humans at one point that, brought to life anew, were now monsters, and because skeletons so deeply reminded humans of themselves, maybe this was why their kind were so feared and-

Then it happened. She made her way over to the market. Her green hair flowed through the air alongside her husband's fiery red hair, their locks almost intertwining in the wind that blew. She had blue, somewhat pale skin, and sharp fangs within her jaws, and her eyes were golden, with dark black pupils, yet despite all this…she was a beauty to behold. People's heads were turning, and soft "oh's" rang out through the air as she and her husband held hands. Her tightly-fitting, short-sleeve attire appeared to be some kind of cross between a fisherman's outfit and gladiatorial armor, there were distinct, impressive-looking steely armor plates on careful parts of her body, like at her shoulders and the gauntlets she wore, and the fancy looking belt. But even then, none of it gleamed as beautifully as the necklace she had around her blue neck, golden and softly glittering.

"You've got a ichthys!" Gaster announced aloud in his soft voice. The faintest undertone of his race's natural cadence very slightly lingered in how he spoke, but King John's English came out clearly from his bony mouth as he gazed at the mer-woman and her fisherman husband. "A Jesus fish necklace! That's so pretty!"

He saw she was looking at him, and he blushed visibly and turned away, as the woman's husband stared a bit in surprise."…I had no idea your kind could speak such excellent English." He told Gaster, scratching at the blonde hair poking out underneath his cap, blue eyes gazing at his wife's golden ones as she smiled back, then smiled at Gaster.

"Glad you like. I fished it out of the depths of the ocean. Its previous owner shan't need it any longer." She commented as the assembled in the market gazed on, still transfixed by her erotic beauty as she then kissed her husband on the cheek. "In the same place I met my husband, no less. He saved me from a shark. Guess your lot aren't all unchivalrous after all."

"Well, I try." Her husband said with a small smile back as Arial paid up the pockmarked stall woman for several rolls of cabbage and potatoes, with some apples as well for their dinner that week. "Is the cabbage any good today?"

Arial sniffed at the cabbage, the pockmarked stall woman raising a thick eyebrow up. "…how CAN you smell when you've no nose?"

"All monster bodies are magic, miss." Gaster offered to her. "We can taste when we've no tongues, after all! And your apples are always delicious."

"And the cabbage has a fine, fresh smell today." Arial remarked with a nod. "Here, for your troubles. I know your family's garden has been beset with incidents as of late. My sincerest sympathies." She added, giving an extra gold coin to the pockmarked stall woman. "Thank you kindly for your business, Ms. Burroughs."

The pockmarked stallwoman hesitated, and then she smiled slightly. "Please, call me Anne." She said, nodding as she took the gold coin, and let the mer-woman and her husband approach.

 "Do tell me Melusine, how's your daughter, Undyne?"

"Old enough to finally wrap her little finger around mine." The "mer-woman" said with a big, toothy, fanged grin. "She's STRONG, Anne. Truly strong."

"And thankfully, she got my hair!" her husband laughed. "She looks good with her little red locks."

"You know, Francis, you're right. Red IS a good look on us." The mer-woman mused aloud, giving her husband another soft kiss on the cheek, a few of the gentlemen watching all this transpire in the market sighing sadly, or grumbling.

"Lucky dog."

"Some men get all the luck."

"Only thing I'VE ever fished out of the water's a bloody shoe."

Meanwhile, Gaster and his mother were now making their way back home when Gaster took notice of somebody walking not far behind. But he didn't have time to tell his mother as-THRUMPH. They deliberately bumped into him and knocked him towards the ground. 

"Oops. Sorry!" The woman remarked with a sneer as she had one arm wrapped around her husband, having used her shoulder to forcibly knock the young skeleton monster to the ground. "You really should watch where-"

A soft, blue glow emanated from Arial's eyes as the woman and her husband's mouths hung open. Gaster was now wrapped in a faint aura of blue light and being gently hovered up, up! He'd been inches from the street and was now being put back on his feet as Gaster turned around and Arial murmured "Quickly, Gaster."

"I'm very sorry. Forgive my clumsiness." He said, reciting rote for rote what he had to, and giving a bow, then gesturing with both arms for the humans to keep walking. The husband and wife couple now had a distinctly dark flush to their cheeks as they sauntered off, Gaster sighing a bit as he wiped his brown upon the grey sweater he had, he and mother making their way down the street, Arial's beautiful-looking, silvery armor glinting in the noonday sun. He really didn't much like having to apologize for what they'd done, but he'd had to do that so many times, it was now almost instinct.

"We'll be home soon." His mother sighed. "Then we can get started on making-"But it was then that cries and yells rang through the air, and Gaster and Arial smelled the unmistakable scent of flames breaking out. They turned their heads, seeing that houses were going up in flames, billowing black smoke quickly manifesting and choking the sky as people ran left and right in terror."Gaster, take our groceries. Head home immediately. NOW."Arial demanded of her son as she forced the groceries into his arms, Gaster concentrating to hover some of them around him so that they didn't all flop out of his arms. 

Arial barreled her way towards the fire, yelling out loudly as she turned to others. "WATER! We need buckets of water! Water, now!" She cried aloud.Gaster gazed in awe at the fluidity with which her blue magic was working. She swiftly stretched her arms as big, large buckets of wood shot across the air from stands and stalls and outside the doors of people's nearby houses, sliding down into the closest well, over and over. Her eyes glistened with the same blue light that shone from her gauntleted hands, her armored frame working hard as she used the buckets of water to splash at the fire.

Gaster didn't want to leave his mother behind, to not watch her work, he was in awe at this, his mouth gaping open, people watching nearby, looking astounded and mesmerized. Blue magic was a rarity among monsters. ONLY the skeletons could do it. Nobody else could! Well…nobody but-TWHOOOOOSH! 

Even more enormous buckets of water were being poured down, at the base of the fires that were trying to spread. The air was becoming less choked with foul blackness as Arial turned and saw a long-haired young man who had flowing locks of white hair, his head covered by a tight-fitting cap. He wore the robes of a mage, distinctly grey but with ornate, swirling, fancy trimmings and a belt buckle with ornate designs emblazoned, his booted feet taking a firm position on the ground as he held his soft hands high. His eyes were also glowing a brilliant blue as stood alongside a rather UGLY looking monster that had a face not even a mother could love.

It was 'Gerald'. 

Gaster cringed, shaking his head back and forth as he quickly began to walk off. The assembled onlookers who had momentarily been awed and amazed by the sight before their eyes were now muttering and mumbling to themselves. Gerald. That type of monster was so…unlikable. Gerald had a rather unusual body type, ooblong, with a big center "hump" in the middle, foul-looking, black-pupiled eyes and unpleasant nostrils and lanky arms and tiny little legs. Everything about him just looked so…disgusting and unnatural. On top of that, he smelled rather foully, and his skin color reminded you of a dead body. Worst of all though…His kind had done the one thing many monsters absolutely could not forgive. They had joined the Royal Court along with one or two other individual monsters and agreed to teach humans specific types of magic, to help bring out the potential of royal mages like this one apparently was. It was one thing to fall in love with a human, monsters could almost forgive that, they could overlook it, even understand it to a degree. Love was, after all, blind. Love was love. And being friends with a human, well…you could understand that too if one had interests that aligned but…To have your family line side with the government that barely did anything to help monsters that lived in human territory? Disgraceful!

 And to think, the one selling these magical secretsto humans was from THAT race, a monster race that had one power and one power alone…slightly amplifying the abilities of others around them.Gerald's family was so…PATHETIC. It was a joke among monsters. They only made your abilities last for an extra fifteen seconds. The "Fifteen Second Failures". They couldn't throw fireballs, couldn't move boulders, couldn't manifest bombs or spears, they weren't super strong, or fast, they just made other people's powers work a bit better and longer.

Gaster "hmmphed", as the visage of his mother and Gerald and the human mage was now long behind him. The mere idea of Gerald made him cringe. He couldn't forgive somebody who had insisted the entire family line work for the royal court. It felt like…like whoring yourself and your kind out.The fire had finally died out, and people were milling away, the royal mage's grey eyes looking over at Arial as she glanced down at Gerald.

"…I had it under control." She mumbled quietly. "I did not exactly need your help."

"I think the Blums would beg to differ." Gerald offered as he gestured at the small family who was huddled in front of their barely-still-standing house, which was still heavily charred, though not utterly ravaged as the human mage approached and held out a hand."Is there anyplace you can stay while you get back on your feet, Mr and Mrs. Blum? Gerald and I can help-"

"Look, we're very grateful you helped, but…" Mr. Blum hesitated as he put one arm around his wife, who cringed a bit. "We, er…we don't really want any charity from you."

"We'll be fine, we'll…find someplace to stay on our own." Mrs. Blum muttered, looking away from Gerald and the mage, and off to the side as the mage's expression fell. He looked genuinely hurt, glancing from them to Arial to Gerald before finally putting his hands in his pockets.

"…very well then. Perhaps I shouldn't bother in the future. And I'd wash your clothes if I were you." He added as he turned away from them and began to swiftly walk off, Arial calling out after him as Gerald began to head after the mage as well.

"You are being incredibly petty."

"I'M being petty?!" The mage now wheeled about, and Arial flinched, the young man's face was positively livid. "I saved their home and I was offering help for absolutely NOTHING and neither you nor them could even give me so much as a THANK YOU for what I did." He said, glaring angrily at the Jewish couple as Mr. Blum tried to return the dark glare.

"I thought your Christian teachings taught you that virtue was its own reward, and doing good for the sake of such defeats the very purpose of-"

"Don't hide behind that, you just don't want to thank me because I'm one of THEM, the same group of "them" that my master is in!" The royal mage snapped, Mr. Blum flinching as Mrs. Blum grasped her husband tightly, the young man wheeling around at Arial. "You don't CARE that I tried to help, all you see is the "other" you dislike, rather than what I actually am. How's that any damn different from the people that call you 'revenant' in whispers as you walk past them, claiming your race only exists because you're dead humans brought to life?"

Ariel, if it were possible, would have turned paler than normal. "Th-that's not…y-you don't…we monsters have to endure such cruelty every day-"

"Boo hoo, so do we, but we get it from both sides." The royal mage snapped, gesturing at Gerald. "At least your type sticks by each other. Nobody sticks by us. Not even the royal court. It's an arrangement. The moment we're not useful to them anymore, they'll toss us aside. We accepted that, because we'd rather have cynical acceptance from them, than disdain from people like you." The royal mage growled angrily, shaking furiously, looking like he was seconds from decking Arial across the face. "You have a nice day. And don't bother calling for help from Gerald and I anymore. We won't bother if you can't even bring yourself to say "thank you". You UNGRATEFUL PILES OF DUNG."

And with that, he stormed off, Gerald quietly sighing and shaking his head. "My poor student is still not quite used to his life."

Arial "harrumphed". "And he's got quite the mouth on him. You could stand to teach him manners along with mag-"

"His poor behavior doesn't eclipse your own." Gerald remarked. "At least the court puts on a smile, fake as it is, when they see us. Your ilk spit on me and disowned my family. Don't act like your hands are clean. " He coldly intoned at Arial, making her flinch a bit. "There's no such thing. Especially not from skeleton monsters. Good day."

With that, he trotted off in the direction the mage went, leaving Arial and the Blums alone to silently stew and think over what they'd just had thrown in their face, the final wisps of fire smoke softly lingering above their heads.

...

...

...

..."Cu Chulainn! Cu Chulainn! Cu Chulainn! Cu Chulainn! CU CHULAINN! CU CHULAINN! CU CHULAINN! CU CHULAINN!"

The wind was soaring across the plains, the skies clear as day as the chanting filled the air. Scottish warriors with shining armor stood side by side, the plating gleaming in the morning light. They weren't really wearing much on their legs, but that was for a simple reason…what mattered was speed. So they had more of an armored SKIRT than proper plate leggings. Many were also wearing chain mail on their frames and looked suitably impressive, though, admittedly…as nice as their glorious green and red colors were, they weren't looking nearly as good as the monsters that stretched wide across the valley before them.The monsters were many in number, with shining, glittering plate armor. Their helms and various full-form helmets shone silver in the light of day as many carried sharp, piercing spears and swords, or lifted their shields high to display the royal symbol of the Monsters, three triangles, one slightly raised in the middle, the other on equal footing with one another. The monsters had on clearly high quality armor, and their eyes gazed out at the human that stood in front of the assembled Irish forces.

He was IMPOSSIBLE to miss. Especially since everyone behind him and around him kept shouting his name.

"Cu Chulainn! Cu Chulainn! Cu Chulainn! Cu Chulainn! CU CHULAINN! CU CHULAINN! CU CHULAINN! CU CHULAINN!"

He had rather dark-toned skin for an Irishman, with eyes that were piercing, sharp, and grey. His hair was brown at its base, in the middle, it was a rather fiery, vivid red, and a fine crown of blonde hair at the top, and smoothly flowing down his head. Each long loose-flowing strand hung down in shining splendor, down his back, over his shoulders, with adorable dimples, he looked eternally youthful in a way that the Greeks would have admired. Cu Chulainn was, in a word…beautiful. Simply, absolutely beautiful, with his well built frame, majestic chest armor, and the rounded golden helm atop his head glowed like the sun itself in the morning light as slid his sword out of its scabbard and raised his shield off his back, standing at the ready as he looked out over the expanse…

There his opponent was. Asgore stood there, the strong-bodied male púca clad in armor befitting the son of the King of Monsters. He was a magnificent sight indeed, his gaze firm, his jaw set, powerful and well-built, eyes as blue as a Robin's egg, yet even so, despite appearing to be the pinnacle of his race's physical perfection, his white fur softly blowing in the wind, Cu Chulainn could see he was shaking very slightly as he turned to address his own troops.

"My father's made this very clear. We're going to take back our land. Take back the country that's been stripped from us, one inch at a time. I had hoped it would never, ever come to this. But the people of Ireland aren't cooperative at all, and if they continue to deny us our most basic of rights, the right to a home of our own, well…that isn't something I can abide by!" Prince Asgore proclaimed. "I know so many of you may be disgusted and saddened by this…but I know many, many more of you want to give these thieves a good old THUMPING!" Asgoreroared out, holding his enormous spear high as it caught the gleam of the sun. "So today! Today is the day we show the humans we can give as good as we get! Today, we reclaim our freedom, our land! Today we honor my Father's wishes!"

"Men…" 

Cu Chulainn, in turn, turned around to his own assembled troops. The warrior mage's eyes glittered as he spoke. "…I'm not much for big speeches. At all. I'm sure some of you might want me to give one, but most of you probably just want me to get out there and show the monsters why I am who I am. So. How about I go do that while he's still going on and on?" He inquired in his rather rough, somewhat punkish voice.

The men all grinned, and then began to bang their swords and shields and other weapons against the shields they had, as Cu Chulainn took off, running, holding his sword and shield high as he tore across the valley plains, letting out a roar of delight, Asgore wheeling around.

"Ask not what your nation can do for-oh! OH, he-he's actually coming right now! Very well! He asks for Hell…let us give it to him!" Asgore proclaimed, as he held his spear up. "CHAAAAAARGE!"

Bunnies clad in powerful chest plate armor let out squealing cries of delight, clanging their maces and swords against their shields as they surged forth. Dragons roared powerfully, tails slightly swishing about like an excited dog as they raced at Cu Chulainn! The merpeople had their tridents and short swords ready, spinning them as they barreled forth, aided by the disturbingly-cheery front line of skeletal warriors who were holding maces and clubs high in the air.They all ran towards Cu Chulainn as he, in turn, readied his sword…and a distinctly powerful blue glow emanated from his eyes. THA-THROOOOOM! Like thunder clapping, he leapt up, high, high in the air, propelled by the most basic of all human magic…blue magic, master of what would be called gravity. He twirled about, and before their eyes, his own pupils now flashed a new color, the color…Orange.He landed down, striking with his sword, a SHAKKA-KAA-THROOOOOM noise filling the air, a shockwave of orange energy cascading forth, as the first wave of monstrous soliderswas sent spiraling back. 

The mer-people, however, had seen this coming…and so had one particular skeleton.Garamond held his enormously, freakishly big sword high as he grinned with pride, the powerfully-built skeleton's majestic scarf flapping in the wind as the mer-people managed to close in around Cu Chulainn. KLANG-KLANG-KLANG! Weapons smacked and clashed against each other, echoing through the air as Cu Chulainn grinned devilishly, and twirled about. His blade glowed with the same orange magnificence as before, one eye orange, the other…blue!He held up his shield, and it shot forward, slamming hard into one of the mer-people, knocking him clean into his compatriot as they both crashed down, and his sword sliced off the arm of another merman who had tried to cut off Cu Chulainn's head. SCHLLLUGHK! 

The merman shrieked, reeling back as Cu Chulainn ducked just in time to avoid another swipe from several short swords, and he sliced upwards at another merman with his orange-blazing blade. KRA-KRRRRRKK! The chain mail on her frame was torn away in an instant and he kicked her into her compatriots as he turned to Garamond."This time…you won't catch me off-" Garamond insisted as he swung his enormous sword at Cu Chulainn…CLAAAAAAAAANG!The shield had returned. Cu Chulainn's left eye blazed blue, the other still burning orange as he lifted up his own sword, forcing Garamond back a few steps. Garamond growled, and pushed forward, trying to shove Cu Chulainn down to his knees. 

"On your knees, human! Today you pay for cutting my foot off!" He growled, as the metallic boots he wore glittered a bit in the midday morning sun.Cu Chulainn remembered the moment like it was yesterday. Although more accurately, it had happened a month had been racing at him, swinging his sword…and Cu Chulainn had ducked just in time and swiped with his own, taking Garamond's right foot clean off. Now the skeletal monster had put up extra thick metal boots and gauntlets to ensure this couldn't happen. 

CRRRRNNNGGG! Cu Chulainn flinched a bit. He could see the other monsters were coming closer and closer, Asgore himself was following right behind, and Garamond had clearly been training, he was pushing so hard! It was becoming an effort just to stand up and push back against the skeleton monster, the Irish war hero flinching as his blade and shield combined clasped together, against Garamond's freakishly large blade. He grunted, Garamond's black eyes narrowing."My leg hurts every day for what you-"

Cu Chulainn could try and force the sword back with a big, final burst of strength. He could reel back in an attempt to dodge. But instead…he did something else. He'd never had much success at this before, he was amazing at doing it to himself, but other people, with their own souls? Much more difficult.

"Oh shut up."

BOINK!

Garamond was blue now. He stupidly stared forward for a second…and then he was shot backwards at high speed. THWOOOOOOOOOOSH! Across the grass he went, slamming into the line of monsters that had been racing to his aid as Asgore managed to duck just in time. He cringed as he saw Garamond struggling to lift himself up along with the tangled mess of monsters he'd landed in, and turned to see Cu Chulainnsmiling a bit in surprise.

"I'll be damned, it worked." The warrior mage commented, before holding his sword at Asgore, tilting his head a bit, and then letting loose a loud whistle that rang through the air. With this signal, his men shot forward, barreling at the caught-off-guard and still-recovering monsters, as Cu Chulainn readied his sword and shield and firmly gazed into Asgore's eyes, taking on a battle stance.Asgore knew what this Irish battlefield master wanted. He had to end this quickly, or Cu Chulainn would do that…THING he did when he got mad. That disturbing, frightening, terrifying thing that made human and monster alike refer to him as more Demon than man.And so Asgore swung his sword as it CLA-KLAAAANG'ed against Cu Chulainn's own. 

The striking metallic echoes of swordplay were filling the air, the monsters barely able to get back on their feet as the Irish warriors finally reached them. The first casualties of the battle had finally been inflicted, and the humans could claim first blood. Or rather, the humans could claim first DUST, for a spearman forcibly shoved his weapon through the stomach and out the back of a merman warrior who had swung too fast and early at the Irishman before him. The merman dropped his short swords, faintly gurgling, as if drowning on dry land, and then-He began to dissolve away into naught but dust before the Irishman's eyes. 

Twas the fate of all monsters…upon death, they were as dust.

"Keep at it!"

"We've got them on the run!"

"Get 'em!"

"Gotcha now!"

The jubilant cries of the humans were filling the air. They were buoyed by these early victories and inspired to push even harder. The formations of the monster side were collapsing right before Asgore's eyes as Cu Chulainn and he kept locking swords. "You're clearly just…ERGH! As strong as they've always said!"The dark-skinned Irishman was silent, just looking back at Asgore, who cringed a bit. His arms were getting tired, the sheer force of will emanating from Cu Chulainn's very eyes unsettled him, and combined with how difficult it was to parry and block the human's moves, Asgore was getting very, very tired. He wasn't exactly used to fighting for so long on the front line."You're not…going to…even say anything?" Asgore finally asked, sweat beginning to dribble down his brow, the monster seeing Cu Chulainn's brow furrowing ever-so-slightly. "Nothing at all?"

"I speak when there's words in my heart to speak." He finally intoned. "I'm not in the mood to talk on the field of battle-"An arrow that had been shot at another soldier went KA-BONK! Clean off his shield, and then sliced itself across Cu Chulainn'sneck. SPLOOOSH! A spray of red blood gushed forth, Cu Chulainn's eyes going wide, and in that instant, everyone on the battlefield froze up. Monsters who'd been inches away from their own death were spared as their would-be killers gazed upon the sight of the dark-skinned Irishman putting a hand to his neck. Blood dribbled out the side, drip-drip-dripping down as Asgore grinned."HA!" He could feel euphoria welling up in him, sheer joy rising before he remembered-

Oh dear. Cu Chulainn was looking…mad.

And when he got mad…he changed.

Cu Chulainn's wound wasn't that bad, it only looked awful. A skin flap, really, slightly peeled form his neck at just the right angle. He ripped it off, and his eyes began to change, as seven powerfully frighteningly piercing sharp pupils manifested within. They circled around and around, forming into an immensely big, demonic, diamond-shaped pupil of an eye as his skin became a horrifying burning reddish color, and his hands became pointed nails, and his body bulged in muscle, his teeth as daggers, his voice a horrific, distorted roar of a thing that brought chills to everyone there.

"WHO! SHOT! THAT! ARROW?!" He roared out, eyes barreling about. The monsters and the men present wisely decided to do the only thing that made sense. Immediately back away from everyone with a bow and arrow. One enterprising young lad had seen the danger coming and the keen rabbit monster had tossed his bow and his arrows away and plucked up the short shield and sword of a fallen comrade to act innocent as Cu Chulainn advanced towards the archers.

"…I…think we need to call for a tactical retreat." Asgore announced aloud.

"Oh, you can all leave." Cu Chulainn intoned quietly, dangerously, cracking his knuckles. "Soon as whomever shot that arrow steps up."The archers gulped. The Irish forces cringed in sympathetic pity as they began to move back, and Asgore cleared his throat.

 "Who, um…who shot it, then?" He inquired. "Let's, uh…let's just get it over and done with.” He was NOT going to let them do a "Spartacus". He knew that if he did, this…demon…would just kill them all. He couldn't let so many men die.Luckily he wouldn't have to, as Cu Chulainn took notice of the fact that the arrow had a specific tail. And it matched, at the moment, only ONE archer's arrows, the other having been the first kill of the battle. The quivering, terrified skeleton, Courier, cringed, looking even tinier than normal, eye sockets wide with terror as Garamond stepped forward.

"Don't you dare-"Cu Chulainn backhanded him. Asgore caught him just in time as the monsters took the opportunity to barrel out of there. None of the humans chased after them as the demon stood before Courier, who's slightly baggy archer's robes were shaking like a leaf along with the rest of his skinny frame.

"On. Your. Knees." Cu Chulainn growled. Courier quivered, slowly getting upon his knees as the demon grabbed hold of his shoulder with one hand, and raised his other up to the poor skeleton monster's neck. "Satisfy my curiosity. Your kind's heads. Do they come off?"

"I…d-don't k-know, s-sir, we've, um…n-not really t-tested what happens if s-someone just tries to…p-pop them off…" Poor Courier the archer squeaked out, his life flashing before his eyes, memories of training with Garamond, nights around the dinner table with his mother Arial, bemoaning the loss of their father Segoe, nights spent on Grandpa Gothic's lap with Gaster…

"Well. Good news for you, then." Cu Chulainn murmured in that roaring, distorted, creepily dark voice. "If it does just…pop off…and can come back on…you get to live."He tightened his grip on Courier's skull, and the skeleton began to SCREAM.

[selenebellona-blog]

TO SUMMON A FAMILIAR

about: As she helps put together the final touches on the float for the Daugthers of Kastemere at the Mardi Gras event, Selene reflects on the times she’s attempted to summon her familiar. Below: four times Selene feels her blood turn to fire and how that coincides with her growth as a witch and a woman.

tw: n/a!

word count: ~2,019

She has a glue gun in one hand and some lace in the other and she’s adding frills to the float. The giant platform is parked there, behind the festival, alongside the others and there’s the general last minute bustle. Even a bit of an outcry as the Ulrich Pack dejectedly handles their disqualification. Selene makes the final touches around the edges of her coven’s presentation. There’s a spell for this of course, but sometimes you couldn’t replace the effect of hot-glue (Deep magic that is).

It’s a float about a bond between a witch and her familiar. Selene keeps quiet when the idea is suggested and, for once, steps back and nods along as the other Daugthers seem to come to a consensus that this is what their float will be about. Selene goes along with it.

It’s not that Selene dislikes her familiar, it’s just that she has a complicated relationship with it. Over the course of her life Selene has been unable to summon hers. Odd, for a Bellona woman. Theirs was a bloodline that passed down their familiar from one generation to the next. Selene should have been able to summon hers with ease and it should have been the same her mother and her grandmother summoned. 

No avail.

Yes, Selene Tien Bellona has tried to summon her familiar many times and each time she has failed. If she really has to boil it down though, only four of those times really matter.

They go like this:

ONE.

The first time Selene makes an attempt, she is only six years old, her hair wilder than ever. Her body is a coltish thing: clumsy, energetic, and yet untouched. Untouched by all but Selene, who loves her body. She’s not embarrassed of it and why would she be? Weak bones? Who cares. Look at her long legs—watch her zip through the playgrounds, faster than all the boys. Look at her hands, with fingers like iron-steel, a grip so stubborn you must pry each finger off you one by one, like picking out splinters. And look at her feet—they are the color of the packed soil of her garden, from all her running after brownies that pop up between the hosta and cabbage. She is a wild weed, growing in all directions, and here there are no rules, not yet. None that Selene sees fit to climb over like the stone wall round her home.

The decision comes during one full moon night in the summer’s heat, the kind of moon that Selene will learn turns blood to fire. She sits in the clamor of an old pub, having been hustled inside with the rest of the Bellona coven. They’re off on a camping trip but now it’s raining outside. That rain clings to their coats, but the smell of fish and sweet brandy help warm Selene up again, as she sits with her back pressed against the tough red pleather of a booth, her aunt’s shawl draped over her little legs. They dangle and she fidgets. She is starving something awful and bored to boot and all her aunts and uncles are talking over each other, their conversations like streams running into each other.

She is six years old when she decides to slip off the couch and let her feet take her to a lonely window where she can see the wide-world of rain. Selene feels lonely in that moment. The young witch thinks about all the things to do. She pretends she is mysterious traveler, sitting in the corner of an old tavern. When she is bored of that, she plays a game: she tries to see where she can count the colors of the rainbow around the room. When she is bored of that, she folds a spare napkin into an origami rose. Finally, upon noticing that no one is noticing her, Selene thinks she will try and summon her familiar. She thinks she remembers the words.

She brings her hands forward, feels a small heat rush through her veins, and she concentrates on the words. 

They don’t come out right.

Magic crackles at her fingertips. Selene feels it tug inside her and something slips out from within. 

It comes out wrong. A dark blot of ink hovers in the space she’d been concentrating on seconds before. Selene, only six and confused, stares at it for a moment and waits for it to take shape of an animal. It never does. Panic rises in the young girl.

She’s back her father’s side in flash.

“Dad.” Selene whispers and she tugs on the long, damp sleeve of Jeong-Ho. “Dad, look. Dad.”

“Selene,” Jeong-Ho clucks his tongue at her. “Behave.”

“But Dad - “

No one else has looked up. Do they not feel this ricketedy old pub give to her wrong magic? Selene feels the whole building bend to her. She tosses a glance over her shoulder and realizes she cannot leave the aberration unattended. 

She runs back to the corner, looks at the little ball of dark energy and tries to stomp it out. Smother it under her tiny boot, cover it with a napkin, hide it under a chair. Anything. Guilt joins panic. There’s something more, that little dark ball of energy has a tinge of red and orange to it. Like it’s starting to sprout petals of flame. For a second, it mesmerizes. Everything else washes away. It’s almost… beautiful. It enchants her. Selene reaches out a finger, just to touch. It slips under her skin and she can feel it rocket up through her veins, setting them ablaze and curling around her heart. It lights a fire in her. It makes her gasp.

“Selene, what are you doing?” Jeong-Ho hisses in her ear and Selene jerks out of her reverie. Guilt and panic rocket back; they turn to shame. Jeong-Ho’s eyes dart around to see if anyone has noticed the small girl in the corner before wiping the thing out of existence with a wave of his hand and a soft mutter of words. His brow furrows as he does so, as if the blotch is one that is particularly difficult to rub out. The next moment, Jeong-Ho has grabbed his daughter by her wrist in his own talon-like grip, dragging Selene away from the booth, fighting through the crowd. Selene looks back over her shoulder, her eyes trying to find the spot her magic once manifested - the first time it felt beautiful - and take it with her, take it with her.

The family bathroom door slams shut and Jeong-Ho kneels in front of her. His talons grab Selene by the shoulders.

“You do not do that in public!  Selene - you do not do that ever, you hear? That was wrong.”

Selene blinks, feeling a daze. “But - Dad, I -” She wants to tell her dad of her grand discovery. I found something, Dad. I saw something beautiful. Might not have been my familiar, it might have been something else - it’s in me now, I can feel it.

“No, Selene. You hear me? No. What have I told you about doing magic in public? The world does not know about witches. You are smarter than this, girl. Now wash your hands and behave yourself. The food will be here soon.”

The water rushes cold as ice over Selene’s small hands. It sinks the fire. By the time she returns to her booth, the crowd has closed in and that flame? Extinguished. 

TWO.

Selene will not remember that roadside pub, the freak storm, her father’s voice like a whip. She won’t even remember her father’s warning either, not really. But it will slip into her anyway, so that the next time she dares to try and summon her familiar, she will smell rain and feel a shiver down her spine as though the memory is trying to fight its way to the forefront of her mind.

She will feel guilt. Panic and shame too.

The next time she tries, she is eleven and a beautiful boy has moved in down the road. He’s tall and sweet-faced with a lilt of an accent from the northern seas of Denmark. Josh Anderson is nicer to her than any boy’s ever been. In the mornings, he will go on walks with her, and as Selene jabbers and climbs over logs and picks her way through the tangled undergrowth of Santa Barbara’s backyards, he walks beside her. Once, she nearly slips on a muddy slope, and lightning quick, he reaches and catches her wrist.

“Careful, don’t want to bring you back all bruised,” he teases her.

And so at night she thinks Josh, and his soft, but firm fingers, wrapped around her wrist. She pretends he’s sat on her bed with her. She imagines that sweet smile and then imagines him leaning over her and grabbing her wrist again. In her fantasy, she curls her fingers into a fist and tries to fight him off, though it’s the kind of fighting that’s playful, like pups rolling and they do roll in her sheets and get all tangled up, till they’re pressed against each other, body-to-body, cocooned in her quilt. Her weak bones don’t exist in this fantasy.

She thinks of the way he smells - like clean cotton and clementines. She imagines the way those scents would envelop her were they to kiss.

Selene sits up, flushed, and feels a great need for heat. All at once she remembers the pub, and the spell, and that fire.

She grabs her ancestral grimoire, knows that spell is recorded in the first few pages. She tries it, makes to follow every step this time, and feels her magic push out as she aches for flames. But it’s like a cap has been placed over it this spell for her. She feels a pull at the dark lock on her heart. It’s not unlike tugging at a closed door. Outside there is rain—pittering, pattering, drowning out Selene’s thoughts.

After two hours, Selene gives up and goes to bed utterly frustrated.

THREE.

But oh, Selene is a creature of wanting. Selene has always lived life split in two. She has a life of things she can do and a life of things that she cannot. It is the things she cannot do that torture her, the things right out of reach that make Selene soft around the edges, that can make her cry. Because wanting—well, wanting makes Selene Selene.

Wanting has its own kind of magic, one you cannot always control.

The third time has to do with a boy and a library. Selene doesn’t remember this one at all, but she thinks about that blank space in her mind and her subsequent understanding of that moment as crucial to who she is. All she remembers is wanting death for him - 

- and she remembers fire.  

FOUR.

The fourth time is with the hunter, and Selene feels her familiar crack through her without her control. She burns everything and wakes up in the ash of her destruction. She knows she could not recreate it if she tried. She’s certain it has to do with that dark lock on her heart.

Seven years later the witch prepares for a Mardi Gras parade and is nowhere closer to cracking her relationship with the mysterious spell. Has she tried between then and now? No, but that fire within her grows. On days like today she must remember to push it down, push it down. 

The glue-gun is serving her well. 

Selene steps back to look at her handiwork. She thinks the float looks perfect. The bond between a witch and their familiar is a beautiful thing. The well-worn phrase swirls around her mind. She wants so badly to understand that beauty. In many ways, she is happy her mother is long gone from this earth. Selene is able to pin any shortcomings of her own womanhood and witchhood on that very absence. 

She sighs and switches off the handy tool. She ignores any bitterness that comes with the onslaught of memories and goes to look for a sister.