#you heard it here folks this chapter has THE PERFECT AMOUNT OF PAIN

[mintsilhouette]

I am back from my vacation, which was wonderful but also WOW, literally no downtime of any kind, and I’m onto the next phase of my time off, which is watching my two nieces (three and five years old) solo for a couple of days! Me of a few days ago thought this would be easy!!!

Flashforward to today, at 12:32am - I only just got them to bed, one had a complete meltdown while in the shower, and there was 3 (!!!) SERIOUS bathroom accidents along the way home (including one ON THE PLANE) that led to several pieces of clothing being THROWN AWAY, only because I couldn’t burn them!!!!!

I would die to protect these tiny children but also oh my GOD, I would not survive having my own. Please think good thoughts if you can about me making it through this and not turning into a pile of dust. I WILL BE MORE ACTIVE AGAIN AS SOON AS I CAN

[zeppelin-and-unicorns]

Black Peonies preview

A/N: This is the first chapter of the J/H soulmate AU fanfic I’ve been working on for a really long time. I do not plan on posting it on AO3 or ff.net for now, because I have yet to finish writing the last couple of chapters.

That being said, I hope you enjoy this sneak peek.

Trigger Warning: Explicit child abuse

Chapter one:

January, 1970

Steven Hyde walked through the dark streets of Point Place alone. Mr. Forman’s brother from Chicago got hurt, and the whole Forman clan went to see him for the weekend, which means that Hyde had nowhere to go.

He stayed with Kelso and Donna for a big chunk of the day, but Bob doesn’t like when Donna has boys over after it was dark out, so he and Kelso had to take off.

He walked Kelso to his home, because Hyde was not in a hurry to get to his own house. It was a Saturday, and Edna tends to go a little crazy on Saturdays, that’s why he would often sleep over at the Forman’s.

He was lucky Bob and Midge made them snacks too, because Edna rarely buys any food for the weekends. She tends to spend the little money they have on booze and drugs.

He spent as much time as possible walking around, trying to avoid going home to Edna, but there wasn’t much he could do, it was very cold outside, and he didn’t have a nice jacket to keep him warm, he needed to go home. It was trashy, but at least there was heat. He hoped Edna would be passed out by now, but he doubted, it was still early.

The minute he reached his block, he sighed. He could already hear the sounds of beer bottles clinking and the voices of his mom’s stoner friends, she definitely was not asleep, crap.

Someone threw a beer bottle at his direction, and the glass shattered all over the shitty pavement. He glanced at the direction the bottle came from, and saw his mother’s laughing figure sitting on the porch. Fucking fantastic.

“Home already, kiddo?” She asked, slurring with her words and blowing the smoke from the cigarette in her hand.

“It’s cold” He shrugged, and tried to get inside the house before his mother would start with her usual drunken ramblings, that usually ended up with her blaming him for her shitty life.

His mother grabbed his arm to stop him and he sighed in frustration.

“You couldn’t have stayed with your friend today?” She asked bitterly

“He’s outta town with his folks” He answered, hoping she would drop it and let him go to his room.

“It wasn’t enough for you to ruin my career, now you have to ruin my weekend too?” She said, puffing out another cloud of smoke

“Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I had somewhere else to go” Hyde answered 

“Aren’t you a smartass?” Edna taunted him, and laughed slyly.

“I want to go inside, it’s cold” Hyde said simply, if he learned something from all of his 11 miserable years with Edna, is that there was no use in arguing with her.

“I know something that will warm you up in a second” She slurred out and laughed, forcefully grabbing his right hand on her bony fingers and putting out her cigarette on his skin.

He felt his skin burning and tried to pull his hand off her tight grip, the pain brought tears into his eyes and it was almost unbearable. But she held on tighter, pressing the burnt stub onto his skin as she laughed.

"Tears?" Edna mocked at the sight of Hyde's teary eyes "Aren't you supposed to be a tough guy?"

He held himself back. He wanted to tell her to fuck off so badly, but he knew better. If he did, he would have to spend the night wandering the streets, and he wasn't in the mood to freeze to death.

She flicked the bud onto the snow, and finally let go of his hand. The pain didn't go away though, in fact, it got worse. He thanked a God he wasn't so sure he believed in for making Wisconsin winters so cold. He would be able to hide the burn by wearing gloves and ease the pain by shoving his hand onto the snow that probably accumulated by his bedroom's dingy window.

Hyde glanced one last time at his stoned and drunk pathetic excuse of a mother and headed inside the house, holding his right hand on his left one.

Sometimes he wished the soulmate thing wasn't real. He doesn't like the thought of an innocent girl suffering all the pain his mother puts him through.

But he knew better, the universe never cared about his wishes, otherwise he would have a different mother. He just hoped that the girl who had the bad luck of being his soulmate had a strong support system or whatever, because his shitty reality isn't changing anytime soon.

Meanwhile, in Point Place's community theater…

10 year old Jackie anxiously tried to peek through the closed blinds, today was probably one of the most exciting days of her life, she was about to play on her first piano recital ever! She was trying her hardest to not be nervous, because she’s a Burkhart, and Burkhart’s excel on absolutely everything they do – according to her mother. She practiced every day for hours, she wanted to be perfect, because both of her parents promised they’d watch her play today.

“Miss Burkhart, it’s almost time, are you ready?”

“Yes I am, Mrs. Crawford! I have my sheet here with me – even though I don’t need it, just as a precaution” Jackie said excitedly, and her music teacher smiled

“You’re going to do great, Jackie” She said with a small smile “Go wait over there, you’re up next” 

Jackie nodded and went to wait where her teacher indicated. Her heart was beating so fast, and she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She couldn’t wait to be praised by her parents.

They already missed her dance recital, and neither of them were there when she won the trophy for “Prettiest Ballerina”, but they promised they would attend her piano recital, that’s why she decided she would play one of the hardest songs, so she could impress them.

She knew none of her colleagues had the ability to play this song; most of them were playing “Fur Elise” or “Ode to Joy”. She wanted to be the best, so she chose “Clair de Lune” by Debussy, one of her father’s favorites songs. He likes to listen to it when he’s smoking his cigars, so she made sure to learn just to make him proud.

When she heard Mrs. Crawford calling her name, she’d put on her stage smile, the one her mother taught her so long ago. When she entered the stage, she glanced at the audience, trying to find the familiar faces of her parents. She didn’t see either of them, and she had to repress the urge to cry.

They bailed on her, again. They promised they would make it!

She took a deep breath and saw Martina’s familiar face. She was giving her a sad smile, and Jackie sighed. She likes Martina, but she would never fill the hole left by her mother. It’s not like Martina wants to be there anyways, she only went because she’s paid to do so.

Jackie quickly forced a smile and went to sit at the piano bench. If her parents didn’t want to be there, that’s their loss. There was a good amount of LOPP’s mothers there, she hoped they would tell her mother later how she played beautifully, and her mother better feel bad.

She stretched her fingers the way Mrs. Crawford taught her, and placed the music sheet on its proper place. The second her fingers touched the piano keys, she felt herself relaxing a bit, and when she started to play, she genuinely smiled. The first couple of minutes of the song went smoothly, some people even clapped when she mastered the transition from the slow part of the song to the slightly faster one.

Then she stopped playing, and not because the song was over.

Out of nowhere, she felt a blinding pain on her hand. She whimpered in pain and held her right hand with her left one, tears involuntarily falling from her eyes.

Mrs. Crawford quickly ran to see what was going on with her best student, and she sighed when she saw a black peony forming on the girl’s hand. 

“It’s burning, Mrs. Crawford” Jackie cried, and the older woman placed her hand on her shoulder.

“I know honey, you know what that means, right?” She said, and Jackie nodded.

That means that her soulmate was hurting. Again.

Last week Jackie got a new flower on her shoulder, and the week before that, she felt like someone was slapping her on her face.

Thank God that bruises on the face don’t leave flower marks, otherwise people would see her as a freak, because she feels like she’s being slapped or punched on at least once a week.

Mrs. Crawford guided her out of the stage, and made her sit on a small bench near the dressing rooms. Jackie carefully rubbed her hand, the pain was starting to subside a little, the black peony marking the exact place where it was hurting.

“Do you want to go back and start again, Jackie?” The woman gently asked, and Jackie shook her head.

All she wanted to do was go back home and pray for her soulmate to get the help he needs. She doesn’t know why he gets hurt so often, but she wanted it to stop. For both of their sakes.

[classified-bluerose]

put me back together - quentin beck x reader

a/n: (mild) spiderman: ffh spoilers ahead. probably a very OOC quentin but hey... the man got me clownin’.

quick notes: reader is an avenger, quentin is quentin, this is far too soft tbfh but it’s fanfiction so \_(0-0)_/. just suspend your belief & hope u enjoy!

a/n 2: unedited, unbeta’d. idk man. i’m just in love w jake gyllenhaal (gylenhaal?) and mysterio is hot as hell.

(GIF is not mine)

—

chapter one: breathless

—

quentin beck is a meticulous man - he planned every facet of his revenge plot down to the smallest of details. arranged contingencies and back-up plans and waited, with the patience of a saint, for the correct moment to strike. he ensured any and all top-tier avengers were MIA, left it just long enough for SHIELD to pull together some semblance of it’s former operation but short enough so they were still finding their feet in the aftermath of the Blip. getting around the kid, parker, would be easy enough. he’d been through a tremendous amount of trauma, and quentin could use that to his advantage.

the one thing quentin beck didn’t count on, though, was you.

you, an avenger - or a former avenger, at least - who fell somewhere in the middle of all the others. not by power level, simply by how known you were. the widow and the hawk were rarely spotted and little was known about either, whilst iron man and captain america owned the heart and soul of the entire nation. banner was known for his destructive capabilities and thor worshipped for his literal godliness and appearance.

how shallow the common folk can be, quentin always mused.

then you - powerful, but not plastered across billboards or tv ads. quiet and lowkey, but not quite invisible. quentin was aware of your existence but never paid much attention to it, having heard that, following stark and roger’s deats that you’d quit the superhero charade and disappeared into the ether.

so, the man of mysteries found himself more than a little surprised when fury showed up mexico, with you in tow.

a little bit of panic hits as he watches you appraise the scene - this could be a problem, he thinks to himself, scanning his brain for any possible solution. it is only when he begins to interact with the shield agents that he notices something.

although you are standing in his presence, alive, solid, real, it‘s pretty obvious you aren’t exactly there. haunted images flicker across an otherwise stoic face as shoulders bow from the weight of grief and guilt and trauma. glassy eyes stare through and not at, words mumbled in montone in response to fury.

okay, quentin thinks, hiding a smirk, i can work with this.

—

the plan changes ever-so-slightly before venice. it is simple but brilliant, even if he does say so himself. having already laid the groundwork for his tragic backstory, it is easy to weave your character into the tapestry he was creating.

pained glances, longing expressions, a hesistant greeting - all little, subtle clues hinting to the fact that quentin knew you in his alternate world.

fury picks up on it first, of course. the spy who’s secrets have secrets still has the eye for detail he’s famous for. you, on the other hand, are oblivious to quentin’s actions - obvlious to pretty much anything happening around you. you don’t speak unless directly spoken too, don’t offer insight or advice on how to defeat the elementals. it‘s almost like fury has dragged you here in a bid to convince you to return to the fold.

quentin learns as much as he can about you as he flies over the sea to italy; not much could be gleaned from online sources but he pulls out just enough information to put together a rough sketch of who you are, what you wanted, what you’d lost.

you’d worked with the avengers since 2012, sided with stark in the infamous civil war years later - the idea of you being close to that man was enough to set quentin’s blood boiling - and had fought in both battles against the mad titan thanos. your powers were certainly impressive - your ability to conjure and manipulate fire set off a fresh worry. the final elemental that mysterio would face off against was the one made of ‘’flames’’ - what if you decided your powers would help with the destruction of the molten man?

quentin files that thought away for later as he clicks on a rare picture printed on some trendy news site. he almost doesn’t recognise the girl in the photograph as you. you were younger, looked lighter, did not carry as many ghosts on your back. and you were smiling. wide and bright and shining and quentin struggled to pull himself away from the sight.

when he did, he itemised the information he’d gathered into what he could and couldn’t use to win you over. after all, every superhero needs a love interest to protect, right?

you were close to stark, that much was painfully, bitterly obvious. newsreports following the aftermath of the last battle hinted at an intimate relationship with the black widow, too. both those people were dead and gone and that meant there was something missing in her life. an empty space that quentin was certain he could fill. the battle had caused some damage to your powers - almost like a battery, the effort and strain of fighting thanos had drained your energy quite significantly. you were slowly returning to your original state, but right now you were weakened, hurting. vulnerable.

perfect for quentin.

he gathered his information, updated the team on this latest development, and braced himself for what would come next.

—

when he reaches venice, it’s clear that fury has mentioned to you that quentin has taken an interest. you seem slightly more alert, meeting his gaze for periods longer than a half-second. your body language changes minutely - your arms, usually crossed tight across your chest, now hang looser at your waist, fingers interlaced. it is by no means a huge shift, but enough for quentin to make his move.

after a meeting with agents, fury, and spiderman, he hangs around the base setup, lingering at consoles and waiting for the last of the people to trickle out. you have stayed on to keep an eye on quentin - fury is no fool and recognised that this stranger from some other world could turn out to be just as much a threat as the monsters he was fighting. quentin couldn’t surpress a smile as he thought, oh, you don’t know the half of it.

he quickly rearranges his face when he clears his throat and approaches you, slowly. you glance up. he took his time to savour this moment - this scene he was most excited for.

he smiles, softly. ‘’ hey. i was hoping i’d a get a chance to talk to you. ‘’

no verbal response; you simply gaze at him expectantly.

quentin let his eyes take in every inch of your face - not a hardship, in fairness, you were beautiful in every way to him. if any other world really did exist she’s the girl he’d approach at a bar and offer to buy her a drink.

focus, quentin, he reminds himself, and breathes out a short laugh. ‘’ it’s so good to see you. ‘’

again, no real answer. just a tilt of the head, confusion in the eyes.

he let his fingers fall to the simple silver band on his left finger, twisting the metal around. your gaze follows the movements and there’s a brief moment where quentin swears he can see the cogs turning in your brain.

the blank expression breaks - a frown furrowing your brow, lips parting in a silent ‘’oh’’. excitement brims low in his belly - it’s working. she’s already figured it out.

you take a breath and turn your head away. when you look back, your face is neutral once again. but there’s something there - a softness that’s new. a tiny chink in the armour, all that quentin needs.

‘’ i’m sorry for your loss, ‘’ you tell him, ‘’ but i’m not her. ‘’

he nods quickly, ‘’ i know, i know. it’s just ... you look like her. ‘’ he falters in his words and feels tears building behind his eyes. seeing his watery gaze you clam up and he curses himself for getting too into it. after a second, however...

‘’ i know how it feels. to lose the one you love. to feel like it’s your fault, like you could’ve - should have - saved them, ‘’ you sigh and rub your face, tiredly. ‘’ but that’s not gonna help you save this world, quentin. ‘’

the sound of your name leaving his lips sends a tremor through his heart. he freezes momentarily - what is this feeling? - but quickly shakes out of it as you continue.

‘’ you gotta move on, ‘’ your voice is nothing more than a whisper, ‘’ you have a chance, now, to win, and you can’t let bad feelings ruin it. ‘’

you meet his gaze almost shyly, and he feels physically drawn in to you, doesn’t even realise his feet are moving until he’s barely a breath away. startled by the sudden closeness you take a step back and harden your features once again.

quentin apologises, sounding sincere, ‘’ i didn’t realise ... you’re not like her, not entirely. she was ... she didn’t have powers. ‘’ he lets the ghost of a fake memory flutter across his face. ‘’ but she was still the strongest person i knew. ‘’ his voice splinters on the last word and tears slip down his face.

you hesistate, he senses the uncertainty, and moves to turn away as though ashamed.

his stomach does a victory flip when your hand comes to touch his armoured shoulder. from underneath long, damp lashes he peeks down at you. you look as though you’re hurting for him and something harsh twists in his chest. he doesn’t have time to think about it, though. not when your hand slides down the material of his costume and finds it’s way into his.

you squeeze it gently, the unnatural warmth of your skin almost burning against his palm. quentin finds himself feeling comforted, tries to climb out of the moment and remember that this isn’t real -

he slips a little bit when you squeeze his hand a second time, and say, ‘’ just make her proud, quentin. you can save this world. do it for her. ‘’

his breath leaves him and he’s silent for a long moment as he gazes down at your face. he feels cracked open, raw, vulnerable. eventually, he nods, waits for his voice to even out. squeezes your hand back, a little tighter than necessary.

‘’ i’ll do my best. ‘’

|| Part 1 of ? ||

[dionysus-is-my-dude]

Fae - Chapter One

Go easy on me, guys. I’ve never posted original works on here before. I’m an exposition nut, and I haven’t decided on our little human dollhouse maker’s name. What do you guys think it should be? Also, yes, I type in UK English. Sue me. Enjoy!

Fae 1

Humans have nearly destroyed what's left of the Old World. You may not remember what it was like. Hardly any of us do that live today. The elves perhaps, but no one sees them anymore. They live in complete isolation, unwilling to allow any kind privy to their history and knowledge. Many dwarves have integrated with the human world, those wonderful miners and crafters. Humans just think they are short people with a talent for jewelry and gold. I don't know what has become of mermaids, but I do know that sirens have come to land and become quite wealthy as popular performers.

You may be wondering, "All these mythical creatures, but what are YOU?" Well, as evident by my lovely wings, tiny stature, and use of magick, it's quite plain to see that I am a fairy. A sprite, if you'd prefer. Fae folk live in the forests these days, casting circles of mushrooms and flowers to dance and celebrate in, causing mischief for any human who passes by, but generally staying far from your loud and chaotic towns. Fae folk mainly live in small kingdoms, named after the tree we live in or the area of the forest we're in. I live in the Great Oak kingdom, named so because our tree is the largest oak tree in the forest. A perfect place for such a large kingdom of fairies to live and thrive. We have survived for so long due to how deep into the vast forest our tree has grown in. Most humans do not come this far, and the ones that do see nothing due to our glamour.

You see, in the Old World, humans were quite jealous of the elves, fairies, and other creatures of magick and wealth. Humans are known far and wide for their endless greed and thievery, and would hunt us down, either enslaving us or killing us to take our treasures for themselves. That is why so many of us have gone into deep hiding, to protect our descendants from the pain that humans bring. It's the highest law in the Great Oak kingdom, in fact, to never show yourself to any human. For if you are caught, they will take you back to their world and you will never be seen again.

Contrary to what you may have heard about fairies, we are not lazy. The elves are the lazy folk, drinking and feasting and reading all day long. We fairies, on the other hand, can be very busy creatures. In a kingdom as large as mine, there is always a job to be done. Cooking, cleaning, creating tools, weaving, food-collecting, and everything else that go into keeping a kingdom running safely and smoothly. Everyone has a job to do, and mine is important. I'm a seamstress. Fairies in the olden days wore no clothes, but along the way, when humans and their strange fashions were introduced to us, many decided that they wanted to look even more beautiful than they already do. Not EVERYONE wears clothes, especially in the Summer, but whenever there is a celebration or formal feast, you will see many fairies dressed in the finest spiderweb silk and flower petals. Seamstresses are very highly thought of in our kingdom, especially in the court. Anyone who can create gorgeous gowns and ensembles that the royal court will be seen in is considered especially talented.

I work very hard everyday to create designs, collect my materials, and sew them together to make something that the PRINCE may wear. My family has been sewing for the court for a VERY long time, and I take great pride in my work. It makes me immensely proud to attend a celebration and see my pieces being worn.

Ah, but...I often become quite bored. My favourite FAVOURITE thing to do is to leave the tree to go out and find materials. Spiderwebs are popular, as is silkworm silk, but those ARE rather easy to find, though they are considered the most beautiful as they are so delicate. But I adore using flowers and their petals. Unlike silk and spiderwebs, petals only last a short while. You only wear them once or twice before the petals wither and grow dark and hard. That is why so few of the ladies in the court wear them. What good is a gown that dies and becomes ugly only a short time after you wear it?

Still, they're my favourite to make, and I spend a good part of my days flying about the forest, searching for the perfect flowers, and even herbs, if I find any. The Wide Wood provides very few but lovely flowers for me. The pink plums, bearberries, magnolias, and the flowers before they bear fruit on many trees and shrubs. With such a small variety to choose from, I'm always seeking further from the boundaries of the kingdom, searching for something new, something everyone will remember me for.

So I gather supplies into my bag, including a little food if I don't return right away, and make my way out of my home. It's a very nice home, a hollow notch in the tree filled with sewing tools and my bed, which is a small nest that a cardinal abandoned filled with soft moss. Many fairies prefer nice beds, crafted by the wood-workers of a birch tree nearby and softened by woven spiderwebs. But I like the nest. It makes me feel safer and warmer on cold, Winter nights.

With my bag over my shoulder, I flit over to my doorway and look out at the view. It's the end of Winter, the Pussywillow trees beginning to bloom. We'll all be using them as pillows soon. There is no more snow on the ground, but the air is still chill, so I'm wearing my thick shawl made of the pelt of a squirrel. Those in the court would never wear pelts. Only the workers and collectors wear them, as they leave the tree the most. But I refuse to freeze to death to gather my flower petals, so I tighten my belt and take off into the brisk air.

I can't imagine how jealous humans must be of us, of our beautiful wings and ability to fly. It's said that, if a human holds you and believes they can fly, then they will, but only so long as they hold you. I've been told that holding a fairy makes you very happy, too. It's no wonder that humans kidnap us. So unhappy with their greedy, dull lives that they will steal their happiness if need be. Flying through the trees never fails to bring me joy. Seeing the forest floor from high above, the scurrying ground animals and the moss, flying side-by-side with the birds and insects, it's incredible. How could a human ever feel like this? This free?

There are markers everywhere to tell me where I am. And a lost fairy will ALWAYS be able to return to her home tree, besides. A certain patch of mushrooms here, a patch of moss there. All places I've already explored. I want to see more. And today, today I will search further. I NEED to know what else is out there!

So I fly past the boundaries of the kingdom, uncaring of what I may find. We're so deep in the forest. I doubt I'd reach the edge in only a day. I should be just fine.

There are messes of fallen leaves upon the ground, everything still sleeping and withered from Winter's icy hold. I'm not expecting to find anything blooming right now. It's still too early for Spring. I pass by a Pussywillow, unable not to stop and run my hands and cheeks all over one of the fuzzy parts. So soft, like a caterpillar.

Flying East against the Sun is where I know the edge of the forest is. The ones who have reached that far say it's a full day's journey, and that they've seen humans pass in big, machines that move very fast. It does not sound very interesting to me. I want to see what's beyond that road that the humans have created. But, not today. Today, I want to stay within the forest.

I fly lower and decide to land on a patch of moss to eat some of my honey. I HAVE been flying for some time now. Looking around, I see just a seemingly-endless amount of tall trees and shrubs. It's very quiet, even in the middle of the day. The birds are only just beginning to return from their journey down South. Soon, the forest will be filled with their melodies as they attract a mate and lay their eggs, bringing more beautiful songs into the trees.

Once I've rested and regained my strength, I'm back in the air, flying lower this time to get a better view of what's on the ground. Some leaves, but it's too late to collect them. I grab a few acorns, though. They're good for hats, and we make pancakes out of them. Ohhh, but I reach a few pine trees! I immediately dive down and find a pinecone, breaking off the pieces and stuffing them into my bag. These are uncomfortable to wear, but the furniture crafters use them to make many things. Fairies love decorations, and we often change them with the seasons.

A squirrel scurries past me, and it's when I watch it run off that I see it. A house. A human's house. It looks smaller than I'd imagined they would be. Granted, I've never seen a human before. How big are they? Does only one live there? I stay on the ground, staring at it. There are no signs that anyone is home. No smoke from the chimney, no lights from candles, and there isn't one of those large machines. Perhaps it's abandoned! Imagine what they may have left behind!

Steeling my nerves, I fly over to the house and find a window, but there are curtains blocking the view inside. I fly around, looking for a way in, letting out a shout of success when I find one window cracked open just enough for me to slide through.

Inside, the house is dark, but fairies have very good eyes. And we cast our own illumination with our fairy dust. Just looking around, I see a bed, a dresser, a table, a very small kitchen, and...a little house, just my size. With no human in sight, I hesitantly float down to it. It really is a little house! But only half! It's open like you're meant to reach inside and move things around. It looks much nicer than this little house the human lives in. Why don't they live here? Or is this made for their children? How small are human children?

Nothing is real in the little house, though, when I push on things and lay in the bed, finding it very uncomfortable and the blanket much too thin to feel warm. Why would a human make this? What is it for? The furniture in it is very nice. The table is too small for me, but it would make a lovely little bedside table. There is even a desk with frozen, clear water on it so I can see myself, and I sit there and look at my long, brown curls and large, hazelnut eyes. Yes, I was named Hazelnut due to my eyes, though many simply call me Hazel.

I wish I was able to carry this desk home with me. I suppose I could make it lighter with my magick, but that would take so much energy out of me. Such a shame. I wonder if there is any human food I could bring back with me? Flitting over to the kitchen, I open cupboards to find boxes and jars of sweet-smelling things. There is a jar of honey shaped like a bear that is almost as tall as I am! And there's this white crystal-like spice that's really, really sweet. There are a lot of spices I've never seen before, but some are sweet and others are spicy. Strange. Where do these spices come from? What kind of food does this human put them on?

I'm so caught up in my many questions that I don't sense the human returning. I fly down and hide under the bed as the door opens, frozen in fear as the human appears. I cannot tell if it's a girl or boy. They look tall and lean, with very short, light brown hair and dark brown eyes. They are wearing uncomfortable-looking, dark blue pants and a patterned shirt with long sleeves and many buttons. And their boots look much bigger than any that the men wear back home. Their face seems so different yet so similar to my kind's. Not as beautiful, with sharp lines instead of soft cheeks. Their skin is pale compared to mine, as well, not kissed by the Sun after so many years of celebrations. Do all humans look like that? They look sick.

I watch the human set down a bag and take off their boots, going to the kitchen and opening some kind of chest that is holding even more food, releasing air as cold as the wind outside into the room. They pull out a bottle of what must be water before closing the chest, moving to sit at the little table to drink from it. They say nothing. They don't really look at anything either. They just...sit and drink, utterly alone and clearly sad. What are they sad about? That they are alone here? Don't they have a kingdom of their own? Or a town to belong to? Don't they have any friends or family? I've heard that humans are commonly found living together. So why is this one here on their own?

They eventually sigh and put the half-empty bottle back into the cold chest. I freeze and rush back when they start walking towards the bed, but they don't see me, and the bed creaks when they climb up onto it. I hear the rustle of the blanket, then silence. Are they going to sleep so early? The Sun is still up! Is this because they're sad?

I stay under the bed for a long time, but the human doesn't move more than once, so they MUST be asleep, yes? Just in case, I cast a glamour on myself before emerging and floating up. The human IS asleep, thank goodness, but they still seem so unhappy. There's a wrinkle between their brows, and they even look like they're frowning. So sad, even in sleep? So strange. Fairies are very jovial creatures. Elves were, too, at one time in history. Dwarves have magnificent feasts and greatly enjoy singing and dancing. They're quite like us in that regard. But humans, at least from what I've been told by some of the elders in The Great Oak kingdom, are often so sad and miserable with their lives. They find little joy in anything other than power and wealth. Humans often eat alone, live alone, go through their whole lives alone. They barely sing, they hardly dance. Certainly not with each other.

I lift myself up onto the bed and sit, just looking at this human. What makes them sad? Is it because they're alone, out here in the forest? Do they not have any friends or family to spend time with? Oh, perhaps they are dead? Maybe that's why they're so upset.

My own parents are gone. My father abandoned my mother when I was born, leaving behind his entire heritage to grow and live life as a human. My mother passed some time ago, too heartsick to go on. We fairies are so tiny, it's difficult to handle our emotions, especially at the same time. My mother was happy to have me and watch me grow, to teach me the craft of needlework. But she felt heartbreak too great from my father's abandonment. Sadness and loneliness swallowed her whole, until she couldn't fly, couldn't use her magick, and simply wasted away. It was horrible to watch her get weaker and weaker. I tried to ease her passing with my own magick, and I swore to myself that I would never feel the heartbreak of love.

Perhaps THAT is why this human is so sad. They have felt that pain and emptiness, and it hurts ME to see them so unhappy. If I could cease their pain, just long enough for them to sleep soundly, that would be enough. So I carefully move closer, enough to feel their warm breath. Reaching up to gently place my hand on their forehead, I think of happy thoughts: my mother teaching me to fly, showing her the first dress I ever made, the pride on her face. Even remembering those moments puts a smile on my face, and I feel the warm, loving energy move through me and into the human. They gasp softly, still very much asleep, but the crease between their brows slowly disappears, colour returning to their cheeks as a soft smile graces their face, as does mine as I take my hand away. Sleep is important. And good dreams make all the difference.

I fly back down under the bed to grab my back, cast one more look at the dreaming human with that smile, and feel warmth seep into my fingers and toes at the sight. They look much more appealing when they're smiling. With pride humming in my chest, I squeeze out the cracked window and make my way back home.

"Where WERE you? You were gone for HOURS!" is the first thing I hear when I return to my bedroom. My friend, Thorn, the fastest flyer in our kingdom, is hovering in the air above my bed, arms and legs crossed and a very pouty expression on her face.

"I was out collecting things. You know I do that often," I tell her honestly, setting my heavy bag down. "I, unfortunately, didn't find anything all that interesting." Except a human, but she definitely doesn't need to know that. She would go out of her way to cause nothing but mischief for them.

"But you were gone such a long time," she pouts, blowing a long, black strand of hair out of her face. "I was getting worried."

I sigh, wishing I could simply be left alone for the rest of the day. "I appreciate your concern, Thorn, I do. But I'm expected to create the best outfits for the court. I can't simply use the same materials over and over. They'll become bored of me!"

"No one is bored of you," she assures me, flitting over to squeeze my shoulders. "You're the most talented seamstress in the kingdom. Everyone knows how creative you are. You have the most interesting ideas for dresses and costumes. But you know I worry about you when you go off on your own. You KNOW there are humans that sometimes come to the forest." I do my best to mask my fear of her finding out that I actually TOUCHED one. "You know what humans can do to us fairy folk. If they catch you, they'll take you away and suck all the magick out of you."

She huffs and pulls me into her arms. "I'm so scared of losing you like that, Hazel. You're my best friend. The only one to talk sense into me. What would I do without you?"

I hug her back just as tight. "You'd fight for me. I know you would. You'd pull your worst tricks on the human, bite and kick and pinch them until they let me go."

"You're damn right, I would," she agrees. "I wish you'd let me come with you when you go out."

"And take all the fun out of showing you what I've collected?" I tease.

"I'd rather have YOU than some floozy flower petals."

I rest my cheek on her shoulder and sigh. Thorn has always been protective of me. I was such a clumsy babe, always falling out of the tree and hurting myself. She would always catch me before I hit the ground, but if I scraped my legs or hurt my wings, she'd take care of me right away. My mother was fond of her, but told me not to do as she does, for she's quite the trickster. If you hear of humans running from the forest in fear or annoyance, it's because of Thorn playing tricks on them. She claims it's to protect us, but we really know she just likes to play. As the fastest flyer, she delivers messages to and fro. She likes knowing everyone's business, so it certainly is the perfect job for her. But she always makes time to spend with me. And I'm very grateful to her for keeping me company since Mother passed.

"I've grown a lot, you know," I remind her. "I'm not the clumsy child you once knew."

"I know. But I still feel responsible for you," she tells me, then lets me go and smiles. "Come, get changed. You must look nice for supper."

"I can't outshine the court, you know. It would be improper," I smile, watching her flit over to my wardrobe to choose a gown for me.

"You outshine them all the same," she says dismissively with a wave of her hand, then pulls out a simple, white, shawl made of spiderwebs.

I'm the only fairy accepted in the court to bare so much of my nude body. I feel far more comfortable nude, but those in the high court view nudity as an archaic thing. They are constantly clothed in the very finest fashions that I've created for them. But they think of my preference to nudity as "eccentric" and "traditional", and therefore, they allow me to wear what I please, which is generally very little.

I let Thorn dress me in the delicate shawl, and she tells me about her day running messages as she braids my hair before flying with me to the high branches, where the court holds their feasts. She isn't allowed to dine with us, due to her being of a lower class, but she is very encouraging of me being accepted amongst the royals.

She is the only one to know of my disdain for dining here every night, and she is sworn to secrecy never to let ANYONE else know about it.

The Great Oak court is comprised of the royal family -King Stone, Queen Laurelai, and Prince Cedar-, and then various members of nobility, royal bodyguards, and the like. They are very high-class and invested in art, music, and every other important aspect of our culture. For the most part, they are very kind folk. They ARE the ones that do their best to keep us safe and peaceful. And, well, they ARE the ones giving me a job. I'm very thankful for their acceptance and patronage.

I'm escorted to a speaking room, where several of dignitaries are gathered in conversation. Here in the high court, you engage with each other before being called to supper. Afterwards, we'll go to a sitting room to drink and engage for a while longer.

I recognize several of his Majesty's advisers and other high-ranking members of the court, who turn and smile when I entre the room. "Ah, Lady Hazelnut has arrived!" Lord Chamberlain, Ash, declares, his cheeks already very flushed from the pre-supper wine.

"Here I am," I smile in return, flying over to his small group. "Good evening, everyone."

"Good evening, my lady," Lady Ember replies. "Are you drinking this evening?"

"I'll have one or two glasses of wine, yes. You know I'm not the safest flyer when drunk."

The dignitaries chuckle heartily at the joke. "I understand, my lady," Lady Ember says. "Tonight is not much of a celebration. Simply another night until Spring. Stay here. I shall fetch you a glass."

"Thank you, my lady."

"I heard you were out quite late today, Lady Hazelnut," Lord Briar notes. "Your friend, Thorn, seemed intent to organize a search party."

"She's a kind friend, no doubt, but I assure you, I was perfectly safe," I assure everyone.

"Well, did you find anything interesting?" Lady North asks. They're always so excited when I find something I like, which warms my heart to know they're so fascinated by my explorations. They never truly leave the tree.

"I found a pine tree that grew the fattest pinecones I've ever seen," I say dramatically. The high court members LOVE a good story, and I'm told I'm quite good at telling them. "Too large for me to even pick up! I filled nearly half my bag with all the chips off of it. Oh! And on my way back, I was attacked by a crow!"

My audience gasps in shock. "How ever did you make it back in one piece?" Lady Ember asks, having now returned with a cup of wine for me. "I don't see a single scratch on you."

"I had to use all my strength to swing my bag at him, screaming my head off until he fled," I explain. "All he took from me was a few strands of hair, thankfully. I nearly lost an eye!"

"You really should take a guard with you," Lord Briar advises me. "You really are such a tiny thing, my lady. I'm amazed you haven't so much as broken a wing."

"I was raised well, I hope?"

"Indeed," Lady North declares, lifting her glass. "To Lady Hazelnut's safe travels!"

"Here, here!" we cheer, clinking our cups together.

We chat for a short while longer about more mundane things, like how the kingdom is running and the minor issues being dealt with over the course of the day. Finally, we're called to the dining room, which is the second largest room in the tree -the first being the ballroom for parties when it's too cold to go outside. The bark here is so shiny, you can see your reflection, the table long and wide to accommodate all of us and our food. I take my place near the far end of the table, waiting beside everyone else as the Page announces the arrival of the King, Queen, and Prince.

King Stone is exactly as you'd imagine a fairy king to be, if you've ever imagined a fairy king. He's tall and imposing, but with kind eyes and a loud voice that is easily heard by his subjects. Queen Lauralei is beautiful, of course, with flowing, golden hair and bright, blue eyes. She delights all who gaze upon her. And finally, Prince Cedar appears behind his parents. Every bit as tall as his father, with the golden hair of his mother and her blue eyes, he's a very handsome man. Many girls tell me I'm very lucky to be able to dine with him, even though I've told them that he and I sit on opposite ends of the table and never interact over dinner. I'm more than happy to not make a fool of myself where the royal family can see. At least the advisers think I'm simply entertaining when I make jokes and give details about designs I have for any upcoming celebration. We have many throughout the year.

We wait for the King and Queen to welcome us to supper and take their seats before we sit as well. Food and drink is quickly set on the table by staff, and conversations about court duties and other such high-class things lull the room into a peaceful setting. I do very much enjoy partaking in the court traditions. I enjoy entertaining the nobility and hearing the inner workings of our kingdom. Even though I'm simply a seamstress, being at the high dining table makes me feel more important. Like I'm a part of the bigger picture.

"Prince Cedar is apparently asking about your travels today," Lord Briar informs me when word has reached our end of the table.

My stomach twists, my smile suddenly shaky. "Oh? Why would such a brave prince be concerned about little, old me? Does he not have other things to worry about?" Damn, that last sentence came out a little snippish.

"He's quite enamoured with you, you know," Lady North grins. "He often pulls you aside to speak in private, does he not?"

My stomach twists tighter, my hands beginning to sweat as my face flushes. "He simply asks about what I have planned for his attire at the next celebration." That's not a COMPLETE lie.

"Is that ALL you two talk about?" Lady North pushes.

No, but I refuse to speak of it to anyone but Thorn. "Just that," I lie, pushing aside my second cup of wine. The last thing I want to do is get drunk enough to confess everything.

The rest of supper goes smoothly, thank goodness, but...after is what I dread. I try to stay as close to Lady Ember, my closest friend here in the high court, keeping myself within arm's reach of her. But I can't escape him.

"Lady Hazelnut."

My stomach twists so tight that I nearly double over with the pain of it. But I've come to learn how to hide my true feelings, unlike other fairies. So I put on an open face and turn to see Prince Cedar, giving me his most charming smile.  "Yes, my Prince?"

"I heard that you had a scare from a crow," he says. "You must tell me all about it."

I swallow past the lump in my throat. "Surely, you would rather hear it from Lady Ember. You know my memory is not the best, and hers is wonderful."

But my breath catches when he shakes his head. "Nonsense. You're the most dramatic storyteller." He offers his arm, and I stare at the limb like it will burn me if I touch it. "Come, my lady. I promise not to keep you long."

A lie. An outright lie. But I can't say "no" to the Prince. It would ruin my relations with the court. So, putting on a strained smile, I place my hand in the crook of his elbow. "If you say so."

My heart feels like a bird in a cage, and I desperately try not to show it as I let Prince Cedar lead me out to a balcony. The crisp, night air makes my head a little clearer. I very much hope that the young Prince has not had much to drink tonight.

"Isn't it lovely tonight? The moonlight shining through the leafless trees," he describes, looking out into the night.

"I can't wait until Spring," I reply.

"Ah, yes, so you can make your famous flower petal ensembles," he chuckles, and the sound sends a shudder through me. "Now, tell me about this crow who came so close to taking away our loveliest seamstress?"

"He must have simply been bored," I say blandly, all of my normal theatrics gone. "He dived at me, managed to snag a few strands of hair, then flew off when I fought back."

The Prince hums. "You're always so different with the others than you are with me. You seem so excited and happy with everyone else. What makes ME any different?"

Oh, you damn well know WHY. "You're the Prince, your highness. I must be respectful towards you."

"Is this why you pull away when I try to touch you?" he asks, reaching his hand out to hold mine, but I pull away. "Why do you do that?" he insists. "You KNOW of my feelings for you, Hazelnut. I have been courting you for ages, yet you deny my every attempt."

I take a step back when he turns to me with anger emanating from his aura. "Your highness, I understand your admiration of me, but I canNOT accept your feelings. I'm sorry."

"But why?" he demands, his voice getting louder. "I can give you everything you've ever desired. I will give you all of my heart. You will want for nothing! Why do you not love me in return?"

My lungs are beginning to hurt, the cold air biting my throat. I glance back and start moving towards the door. If I can just get away from him and back in public, I can escape. "The heart can't be bought, your highness," I tell him. "Your wealth and status don't matter to me. I can't explain why I don't love you. I simply don't. PLEASE accept my true feelings, your highness."

I'm in the hall now, but he comes right after me, his aura becoming even redder. "Any woman would KILL to be in your position! I have NUMEROUS ladies vying for my attention!"

"Then cast your gaze on THEM and give up on me!" I urge, surging off down the hall faster than he can chase me. He knows better than to cause a scene in front of other folk.

I make a hasty excuse to my friends that I am feeling tired after a very long day, and as soon as they bid me "good-night", I leave the court and fly out, wanting to put as much distance between myself and the Prince as possible. So I fly and fly, uncaring about crows or owls or any other birds. Tears blur my vision, and I hastily wipe them away, but more simply take their place. My aura is a dark blue when I look at my hands, and I rub them together to get rid of the feeling of his hand just barely brushing mine. Enough to make me feel dirty.

He's disgusting. Everything I could hate about a man. Arrogant, conceited, aggressive, and uncooperative. I pity his mother and father. I can't help but wonder where they went wrong with him. Why would a prince go after a seamstress?! I'm only considered high-class due to my work being so popular amongst the court. Nothing more! I don't come from wealth or power. The only reason he must see anything in me worthy to dedicate his time to is my beauty. But there are plenty of ladies far more beautiful than I am! And who come from better backgrounds. Ones who could give him the love he desires. Why would he continue to waste his time after nearly a YEAR of me rejecting his affections? Why ME?

I stop when I smell smoke. Where am I? I flew too far. But where is the smoke coming from? A forest fire? Humans?

I follow the smoke and find the house of the sad human from earlier. Now there's a fire in the chimney, the lights on. Are they still awake this late at night? I fly over to a window and look through it, finding the hot stove now lit, the human sitting at their small table and whittling. There's something different about them. They look...focused. Alert. Damn, did I make it hard for them to sleep now? I should have checked how much of my magick I was giving them. I fly around the little house and find one window slightly ajar, squeezing myself into the very warm home. The crackle of the fire in the stove is soothing to my cold wings, and the soft shhh sound of the human whittling is gentle on my ears after the night I just had.

I can't get too close to the stove without burning myself, but I also can't reveal myself to the human, so I quietly fly over to the bed and slip underneath it. Ah, it's warm here. And quiet. The energy in here is much nicer. I'll just...rest here for a short while...where I'm safe...

[selkie-elf]

Eye of the Needle

There is not nearly enough content about the vogue liches, so I wrote a fic! Or at least the first chapter

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/15020228/chapters/34818890

Lydia wished she could use the sewing machine. The constant rumble of the machine would have been just what she needed and she would’ve gotten things done much more quicker. She needed something to drown her thoughts in. Lydia was desperate for something new to play on repeat in her head. Something better than “There is nothing we can do”.

But she didn’t want to wake him up. A sleepless night was the last thing he needed now. So instead, Lydia had put all of her focus into making the stitches as even and as beautiful as she could. She tried to hum a little. It helped a bit and her stitching continued. It needed to be perfect. Lydia was an accomplished tailor and her knowledge on fashion was impressive. And she was well aware of that fact. It was one of the ways she had been able to keep herself and her brothers alive. “Even when you are struggling to have enough food for next day, you can still try to look good”, Edward was always saying.

Edward had had a job at the local theatre, working with makeup and lights, but they had found someone more talented. And it was better when at least one of them was able to be at home all the time. When Lydia was able to stay at home, Edward’s days had usually consisted of running around town, looking for clerics and healers that would be willing to help them. Many of them had been kind-hearted folk, some had sold him some herbs and some had even paid a visit to try and see what was going on. But too many refused to take Edward’s money. The two of them were not really the most liked elves in town, and many had their fair share of suspicions on where the elf had gotten the money. Many people considered it too late for the twins to start acting all humble and good-willed now.

Lydia pulled the needle through the fabric one more time, before tying the thread with a secure knot behind the lace. She bit sharply on the thread, cutting it from the base. Lydia stood up and looked at the suit, posing in front of the mirror, holding it to her chest. It was a bit slimmer than her own silhouette, and a bit too short as well. Which meant it would be perfect for Keats. She took in a shaky breath. The vest looked beautiful. It was one of Edward’s older ones that Lydia had just sewn to fit Keats. She felt kind of bad for reusing old clothing, but it had to do. And Edward hadn’t been wearing the vest for years, he wouldn’t mind. The deep blue fabric felt silky under Lydia’s fingers as she traced around the suit, making sure the seams were secure. She had sewn beautiful strips of lace around the collar of the vest and at the ends of the sleeves. Silvery buttons went down in the middle. With pride in her eyes, she traced over the snake she had embroidered on the fabric. It slithered between the buttons, its head coming to rest on the shoulder. She still wanted to work on the details of the snake, but other than that she considered the vest ready.

A small knock on the door woke Lydia up from her daze. Without waiting for an answer, Edward stepped in. He was wearing rugged, grey sweater, he had not even bother to put any makeup on. But it was late; it was not like he had the most interesting nightlife. Actually he shouldn’t have any nightlife at all. “ What are you doing here? You should be watching over Keats” Lydia almost hissed. She didn’t want her work to be interrupted like this. “ He is sleeping already Lydia. The real question is, why are you still up at this hour?“ Lydia could hear the tiredness in her brother’s raspy voice. She sat back down at her desk, reaching for the needles and the light blue thread. Blue details would work perfectly on the snake. “ As you can see, I’m trying to work” Lydia murmured, holding the needle between her teeth.

“What are you working on? “ Edward asked quietly, making it seem like he didn’t actually care for an answer as he pinched the sweaters sleeve between his slender fingers. “ A surprise for Keats. Remember when he saw that one suit I made for that tiefling last week? I’m making something similar for him” Lydia explained, holding her breath as the thread went through the eye of the needle. Edward leaned on the door frame and just watched quietly as his sister started to carefully pierce the indigo fabric. Lydia could feel her brother’s stare on her back. It was irritating, to say the least.

“ Did you have something important to say? If not, can you please go watch over Keats? ” Lydia sighed, feeling her ears twitching under her brother’s attention.

“Why bother?” the elf barely whispered, turning his gaze to the side, leaning his forehead to the cool door frame. The needle was halfway through the fabric when Lydia froze.

“What did you say?“ Lydia asked she turned sharply in her chair to face her brother. He didn’t move, didn’t answer. Just stared blankly at the floor. “Edward, say that again! “ Lydia hissed sharply. “I said why bother “ Edward lazily murmured to the wall. Lydia turned back to her work, now making stitches in a much faster pace. “Lydia you heard what that cleric said” Edward said raising his voice a bit. Lydia just concentrated on the stiches. She could feel small tears starting to gather on the corners of her eyes. The constant repeating of the clerics words started to play in her head once again.Lydia quickly sniffed and wiped the corner of her cheek. It didn’t really help as the tears blurred her vision more.

“He is dying Lydia!”

A jolt of pain travelled fast through Lydia as she pierced her finger with the needle. Small red droplets of blood started to pool on her finger and when they weight of the drop would grow too heavy, it would drop to the fabric, coloring the blue scale on the snake’s head bright red. Couple more drops fell, before Lydia’s brain finally decided to register what was going on. She put the needle down and moved the vest away, making room in the table, so she could bury her face to her hands without worrying about getting tear stains on to the suit. She tried to muffle her sobs by gently biting down to her hand, an old habit. Lydia could hear her brothers footsteps come closer and closer, before she felt a cold hand on her shoulder.

“That’s just the facts…” Edward whispered. When Lydia didn’t shoo her away in her usual fashion, he continued: “ So, why are you wasting your time? You… You need some sleep too. And we will need money for the funeral and all… I’ll try to get some money tomorrow but...” Edward said and lazily wrapped his arms around his sisters shoulders. Lydia squirmed from her brother’s grip, staring at him through misty eyes.

“ How can you say that?” she choked up, before pushing Edward away. “ You talk he is already dead! We still have a chance, and maybe this suit will give him the power to fight on and…” “ Lydia! Are you even hearing what you are saying?! A fucking suit is not going to magically cure him! Fucking nothing is!” Edward yelled, grabbing Lydia by the shoulders as she was trying to stand up. “ Keep your voice down or.. “ Lydia was about to ask her brother to shut up but stopped when she noticed the tears streaming down his brother’s face. “ I’ve tried fucking everything…. Nobody is helping us anymore…I’m… I’m so sorry Lydia!” Edward sobbed, his grip on Lydia shoulders tightening. “ What?” Lydia whispered, giving Edward a moment to breath.

“ There has been rumors going on… They think we bring bad luck or don’t pay or other shit like that. You don’t know how much I had to pay for that cleric today” Edward’s knees gave out and he pretty much collapsed on top of his sister. Lydia instinctively wrapped her arm around the trembling elf. “ The fucking cleric was right. We can’t do anything. We have to watch our brother die and just…” Edward sobbed to his sister’s shoulder. Lydia tried her best to get Edward to calm down, gently petting his matted hair he hadn’t bothered to wash for days.

For a good minute or two the two elves just sobbed in each other's embrace. They both knew that this day would come, sooner or later, not just this fast. Their parents had pretty much just shoved Keats into their care without explaining the situation at all. It had always been like that. Even when they were little Keats could always be found in the care of his older siblings, rather than his so called “loving parents”. When Edward had tried to get in contact with them again, they had just told him that he was the one that had wanted a little brother. He decided not to call them again.

As the elves breaths started to get more even and calm, Lydia tried to talk again. “ Edward, I’m proud of you. You’ve done everything you could. Don’t feel guilty. But I don’t think we should give up yet” Edward heard Lydia whisper. He eased his grip and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “ Edward. I know this might not cure Keats, but it could make him happy. So let me do this” Lydia said, hugging her brother once more. “ Okay…” Edward whimpered quietly. “ Go to sleep. I’ll finish this tomorrow. I can go watch over Keats. Okay? “ She proposed smiling weakly. Edward nodded and started to walk towards his room, with wobbly legs.

Lydia took in a deep, calming breath and looked herself in the mirror. Tear stains covered her cheeks and a small amount of blood was smeared on her forehead from the cut in her finger. Lydia quickly wiped her face, before carefully folding the suit away.

Keats coughed. Loud and violently. He had been holding the coughs inside for so long. He hated hearing his siblings argue, but he also wanted to at least hear what they were arguing about.

It was not like Keats had not heard this stuff before. This was not the first cleric, healer, helper who had not bothered to make sure that their patient didn’t hear as they gave their death sentence. He had accepted the fact that he was going to die long ago. Keats could only hope that his siblings would be okay after his death. But judging by their reactions when he was still alive left him worried.

He could still hear Edward crying in the room next to him as Lydia stormed to the room with a glass of water in her hand. “ Did we wake you up? I’m sorry, I’m sure Edward didn’t mean to. Are you okay Keats?” Lydia asked with a worried smile. Keats nodded and took the glass from her hands. Lydia pet his head as he tried to fall asleep again.

“Is Edward going to be okay?” Keats asked weakly as he felt Lydia casting a sleeping spell on him.

“We are all going to be okay. Everything will seem better in the morning. You’ll see. Goodnight Keats” Lydia smiled and planted a small kiss on his brother’s forehead. The brother smiled and weakly murmured to his pillow: “ Good night Lydia”

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 5

Rand thinks about choices and destruction and Moiraine, I’m completely fine everything is fine, and also Semirhage.

Chapter 5: A Tale of Blood

Back to Rand. He seems to be more present in this book than in the last few, at least at first glance. Present in a narrative sense, that is…I make no such claims as to his mental state.

The Pattern had no place for his onetime insistence that all Aes Sedai be kept at arm’s length. It wove as it willed, and experience had shown that Rand needed these Aes Sedai. What he wanted no longer mattered. He understood that now.

He’s right, but he’s also wrong. Or he’s right, but…in the wrong way. This is sort of where I was going with the comparison between him and Egwene in terms of their agency – or, more importantly, their self-perceived agency. ‘He belongs to the Pattern, and to history’ (still can’t get over that quote), and there is truth to the idea that his life is not his own. That he will bleed for the world, and they will both love and despise him for it, and the world will die if he does not. This is his task, his duty, his destiny.

And he has accepted that – accepted it as something to be endured but never embraced. It’s hard to fault him for that, given that fate pretty much bashed him over the head with the cosmic ‘fuck you’ stick.

But maybe he does need to choose. Maybe he needs to go into this willingly, truly willingly, rather than dragging himself to the end with little more motivation than the promise of his death. It’s a fight against oblivion and nothingness and the embodiment of entropy and emptiness…so in order to fight nothing, he has to choose something. But he has wrapped himself so thoroughly in the void and tried to strip away so much of his humanity and his self that there is nothing left for him to choose, or no ability left to do so; he is a weapon, and so he will be wielded by the Pattern that forced this on him. Which then amounts to nothingness fighting nothingness and that way lies disaster.

Or something like that.

Also I would make a truly abysmal prophecied hero.

[Elza] was pleasant, for an Aes Sedai, despite the fact that she had helped kidnap Rand and lock him in a box for days, to be pulled out only for the occasional beating.

But let’s let bygones be bygones, shall we? I mean it was one time. Well, several. Depending on how we’re counting. But who’s counting, right?

Soon, one of those wounds – or perhaps both – would spill Rand’s blood onto the rocks of Shayol Ghul. He wasn’t certain if they would be what killed him or not; with the number and variety of the different factors competing to take Rand’s life, even Mat wouldn’t have known which one was the best bet.

This is very Sanderson but it’s also very true and I enjoy it.

Mat shows up via magical colour swirls, and Tuon’s not with him but Rand doesn’t actually know who she is. He’s heard a description, and seen Semirhage disguised as Tuon, though she was veiled so…I wonder if he has enough information to figure it out. In fairness to him, it wouldn’t exactly be an obvious first guess, without any sort of context.

Hopefully, Mat would return to him soon. He would need Mat and his tactical skills at Shayol Ghul.

I’m sure he’ll be there, Rand, but he’s got this one little errand to run first. Something to do with a tower, a children’s game, and some random woman in blue…

Rand had left [Darlin] with orders to gather an army and prepare it for marching into Arad Doman. That gathering had been completed for some time now, and Darlin wondered – yet again – about his orders. Could no one simply do as they were told?

Ah, yes, it’s always a good sign when hero-coded characters start saying or thinking things like WHY CAN’T EVERYONE JUST OBEY ME. (I mean hero-coded in an overall sense, because at this exact point in Rand’s arc he’s having a bit of difficulty on that front. Which I am very much enjoying). Because he doesn’t have choices, so why should anyone else? It doesn’t matter what he wants, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else wants. There is a degree of justification: he is trying to hold everything together, and order is likely a necessary counter to the chaos that’s trying to overwhelm them. But take that too far, and it becomes its own problem.

Welcome back, Harine. I’m sure Cadsuane will be thrilled to see you. Almost as thrilled as you are to see her, no doubt.

At times he felt so tired – so weary to his bones – that he knew he had to keep moving. Never stopping. If he did, his enemies would find him. Either that, or his own exhaustion, both mental and physical, would drag him down.

Or his past life – not to mention the reality of his current one, and everything he has tried to strip away and leave behind – might catch up to him.

More demands, more frustration that they aren’t being met immediately, with no delay or waiting for things like realistic travel times.

Though he backs off more or less in time to avoid outright telling Harine that her people aren’t keeping their Bargain, because that would probably not be the best diplomatic tactic. He makes up for it by ta’verening the exact nature of her punishment out of her, though. It’s okay, Harine, he’s been locked in a box and beaten regularly. I’m sure he can sympathise.

Even when he wasn’t present, he caused pain and suffering!

He believes he has no choices, yet he is also determined to take responsibility for everything. You can’t have it both ways, Rand. Or, you can, but it will eventually break you.

“I am glad you have returned,” he forced himself to say. No smile, but a softer tone. That was the best he could do. “You have impressed me, Harine, with your levelheadedness.”

And you have impressed me, Rand, with your levelheadedness here. Forced as it may be.

Ah. So that’s why he wanted to talk to her.

“How do the Sea Folk treat men who can channel?”

She hesitated. “That is not a matter for the shorebound to know.”

Rand met her eyes. “If you agree to answer, then I will answer one question for you in return.”

That’s quite an offer. It depends how she uses it, of course, but Rand holds his cards so close to his chest at this point – for a while now, really – that it’s no small thing for him to give, and of his own volition.

“I have little patience right now.”

I’d give a point for self-awareness but then I’d have to deduct it for massive understatement.

Death by drowning or death by deserted island. I’ll go with option C, thank you very much.

She’s very diplomatic but also pretty damn clear in saying that she doesn’t believe the taint is actually cleansed. Unsurprising but still unfortunate.

“It is true,” he said firmly.

“I do not doubt that you believe it to be so.”

It’s a perfect way of summing up the problem, really. But unsaid is the question of whether what he believes can be reliably taken as true – and while this is something Rand is certain of, there are all too many other cases in which he doesn’t know if he can trust himself anymore. So there is very little he can say to convince her, and on some level he must also know all too well that her doubt is not unjustified.

He had cleansed the taint! He, Rand al’Thor, had performed a deed the likes of which had not been seen since the Age of Legends. And how was it treated? With suspicion and doubt. Most assumed that he was going mad, and therefore seeing a ‘cleansing’ that had not really happened.

Men who could channel were always distrusted. Yet they were the only ones who could confirm what Rand said!

In which I should turn the page before typing. But…yes, that’s precisely the issue. The only way people can trust the word of a man who can channel is if they believe saidin to be clean, but the only way to know if saidin is clean is to take the word of a man who can channel. It’s a beautiful Catch-22.

He’d imagined joy and wonder at the victory, but he should have known better.

It is such a bitter truth. He did something absolutely incredible, something that healed a millennia-old wound, something good and wondrously hopeful to leave behind as he so desperately wants to, to counter the destruction he hates himself for. He cleansed saidin and allowed for the Source to be balanced once again, for the entire world to change…and yet it is met with doubt and uncertainty and very little change. It means everything, to the men who can channel. And almost nothing to nearly everyone else.

It’s realistic, though, which is what makes it so bittersweet. How do you convince the world of something all but impossible? Something few can judge for themselves, something that seems too good to be true, and on the word of one who is destined to destroy and go mad, no less?

(I also feel like this quote works as an unintentional but still fitting response to those who were disappointed with Crossroads of Twilight).

The days of Jorlen Corbesan had been lost in time.

Um?

He froze. Jorlen Corbesan had been one of the most talented Aes Sedai before the Breaking, a man who had crafted some of the most amazing ter’angreal Rand had ever seen. Except Rand had not seen them.

Ah. Last book he used the wrong words for things like ‘weave’ and now this…it’s much like when Lews Therin’s memories first started leaking into Rand’s mind, back in TSR and TFoH. Then, they didn’t really manifest as a voice so much as things Rand would just think or say, and only afterwards realise that they were not ‘his’. And then as that increased, and more seeped across the flawed barrier between lifetimes, Lews Therin’s voice came into play more and more – I think as a result of Rand trying to maintain a failing barrier, or to essentially shield himself from this perceived other, to maintain a separation out of fear of losing himself otherwise. But now even that is failing, and things are getting through – and have been for a while, but it seems like it’s accelerating – without his notice again.

But he still can’t accept it, not truly, and at this point I am all but certain he’s going to have to. Because what he’s doing right now isn’t working, and is probably hurting more than it’s helping. He’s divided and fighting against himself and he needs to instead…surrender in order to control, more or less.

The most terrifying part was that Rand could no longer make himself wish to banish Lews Therin. Lews Therin had known a way to seal the Bore, if imperfectly, but Rand had no idea how to approach the task. The safety of the world might depend on the memories of a dead madman.

It’s going to be hard to remember if you’re fighting the aspect of yourself that actually remembers, Rand. But he’s so afraid of losing himself, and it’s not hard to see why. And there’s everything else that would come with accepting Lews Therin’s life as his own past, like for instance the crushing guilt of having the blood of all his loved ones and also sort of the world on his hands. So…Rand’s mind is a mess, news at 11.

Did he not ask the Aelfinn, then, about how to re-seal the Dark One’s prison? He asked about cleansing the taint, and about how to win the Last Battle and survive, but I don’t recall him telling what his third question was. If it wasn’t how to seal the Bore, what was it?

“I accept your answer,” he said stiffly. “What is your question of me?”

“I will ask it later,” she said. “Once I have had a chance to consider.”

A wise choice, no doubt. I wonder what she’ll ask him…I’m trying to think what might be the most impactful questions, but that depends on what she wants and what he wants and what the plot wants so there are rather a lot of variables to consider.

‘Portal’ as a synonym for ‘gateway’ seems new, but maybe I’m just imagining things.

Flinn had come to Rand because he wanted to learn Healing. Rand had turned him into a weapon instead.

And, in a beautiful twist of irony, it was Taim and also one of the Forsaken who helped Flinn learn Healing.

So Rand’s taking an informal poll of all two Aes Sedai present, to see what they believe regarding the taint. For the sake of your…sanity…Rand, I’d suggest not doing that.

“During the Time of Madness, it took decades for some people to accept that the male Aes Sedai were doomed to go insane. It will likely take longer for them to overcome their distrust, now that it has been ingrained for so long.”

Definitely not what Rand wants to hear but also almost certainly the truth. From one who is Black Ajah, no less.

Was this all he would leave to the world? A taint cleansed, yet men still killed or exiled for something they could not help?

You can’t hate yourself for the nature of the world, Rand. But it hurts nonetheless.

He had bound most nations to him. Yet he knew well that the tighter one tied a bale, the sharper the snap of the cords when they were cut. What would happen when he died? Wars and devastation to match the Breaking?

Maybe not immediately, but…it’s like Bashere said. “Let’s hope it really is the Last Battle. If we live through that, I don’t think we’ll ever want to see another. We will, though. There’s always another battle.” Which is a rather grim outlook from one angle, with a sense of such overwhelming and yet ultimately futile sacrifice. Especially with memories of a past life, a past Breaking, a past fight that demanded everything and in the end yielded pain. And how far is it from this line of thought to ‘this is all I will ever have, in any lifetime, until the time finally comes when I fail’? It’s such a thankless task, and he’s at a point where he can see very little besides destruction and death and pain, and so little promise for anything else.

But then it could also be seen in a more…hopeful light, in that even though the future is uncertain, and even though this battle may not bring about a miraculous true paradise and an end to all suffering, it’s still a future. Perhaps not a perfect one, but at least it’s something, and maybe it will be war and devastation, but also maybe it won’t.

He hadn’t been able to help that last time, for his madness and grief at Ilyena’s death had consumed him.

He doesn’t catch himself here, in these thoughts that belong more to Lews Therin Telamon than to Rand al’Thor…

Did he have a choice?

I don’t know, Rand. Do you?

Duty was truly heavier than a mountain; it forced his hand as often as the prophecies did. Or were they both one and the same? Duty and prophecy? His nature as a ta’veren and his place in history? Could he change his life? Could he leave the world better for his passing, rather than leaving the nations scarred, torn and bleeding?

He can leave them a future. And that is far better than the alternative. He reminded himself of something along those lines once or twice, in the earlier books. But it must be such an easy thing to lose track of, or to lose faith in, when all around him is pain and he stands at the centre of it all.

But before, he was still determined to exert some control over his path. He was determined not to channel. Then he was determined to not use people – and then just determined not to use his friends. And so many other things, so many limits he’s tried to set and then been forced to betray. And every time he crossed one of those lines he relinquished some sense of control or choice, until he is left with almost nothing.

“I envy them sometimes,” Rand whispered.

“My Lord?” Flinn asked, stepping up to him.

“The people of the camp,” Rand said. “They do as they are told, working each day under orders. Strict orders, at times. But orders or not, those people are more free than I.”

This feels…off, to me. I could maybe see Rand confiding that kind of feeling to someone in the first few books, but now…maybe to Min, on a good day, but to Damer Flinn? Rand has an interesting relationship with self-pity; he rarely expresses it and doesn’t think he deserves it, but he is in more or less constant agony and his life is hell, so it does exist. But it tends to come through as an undercurrent rather than an outright explanation like this. But who knows, maybe he’s just so close to the edge of his endurance and has too many things on his mind that some will slip out at this point. It’s not unlike some of the conversations he had with Lan early on, so maybe he’s just talking to one of the few people he’s inclined to trust, because Flinn saved his life. It just seems odd to me.

“Those people out there, any one of them could just ride away. Escape, if they felt like it. Leave the battle to others.”

So could you, Rand. The world would likely die, but you could do it. Yet that is…unthinkable, to him. And so we get this choice-that-is-not-a-choice, at least as he currently perceives it. But to those others, it may not feel like any more of a choice. Their sense of duty and honour may demand it of them, even if they are not given the same kind of prophecied mandate as he is. And so we’re back to this issue of perceived agency.

“I’ve known a few Saldaeans in my day, my Lord,” Flinn said. “Forgive me, but I have doubts that any one of them would do that.”

Well, he’s certainly known Bashere and Taim, who could both be said to show a strong sense of determination and even duty, though in…rather different ways.

We all do as we must, Moiraine’s voice from the past returned to his memory. As the Pattern decrees. For some there is less freedom than for others. It does not matter whether we choose or are chosen. What must be, must be.

I love these moments where Rand remembers Moiraine’s voice and her advice. There’s such a lovely melancholy sweetness to them, stripped of the resentment or antagonism that so often accompanied them when Moiraine was actually present. Now that she’s gone, he just remembers it as advice, and remembers it with a sad fondness rather than frustration.

Moiraine dedicated her life to finding and guiding the Dragon Reborn. She found him, but guiding him was an ongoing struggle…but in the end she has succeeded in that. Because she is guiding him now, by way of memory that, rather than being tainted by distrust of Aes Sedai or dislike of being told what to do, is made almost sacred by her sacrifice and apparent death.

‘It does not matter whether we choose or are chosen’ reminds me rather a lot of Rand and Egwene and how they fall on either side of that. Though of course it applies in a greater sense as well; Moiraine always did have a remarkable sense of peace or accommodation with the notion of fate.

She had understood. I’m trying, Moiraine, he thought.

Oh.

Okay, right, this is fine. I’m fine.

Yeah. Everything I just said about Rand thinking of Moiraine, take that and multiply it and add pain. She had understood. I just. It’s so softly sad and beautiful after their whole mess of a dynamic and maybe it’s only because she’s gone and he blames himself, but he now sees her so differently and sees everything that she was trying to do, and understands that she understood – more than most, anyway – and that she was giving everything to this. And that she knew something of choices. (It was the title of her parting chapter, after all).

You will do well, Rand. And he is trying, he’s trying so hard and everything he says and thinks and does right now is laced with a sense of despair but he’s still trying. And he thinks it to Moiraine, tries to tell her, because she was the one who understood first and gave everything she could for him and the world. Because she was the one who told him it was his task but also told him that he would do well. And because she is the one he thinks would understand now, and he now understands what she was trying to tell him, and so he wants her to…know.

It’s only a moment but it’s such an effective moment of insight beneath this exterior of steel and detachment he’s trying so hard to preserve and strengthen, beneath the anger and frustration and darkness that’s been building. Because in this thought he seems so…young and lost and yet determined. And the fact that she’s the one he thinks of, and tries to ‘tell’, is just…perfect and sad and yeah this was A Moment.

“It’s time to secure Arad Doman.”

Or maybe it was time to destroy it. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell the difference.

Wow. That…is terrifying but also excellent. And a chillingly sharp contrast to what came just before.

It definitely speaks of approaching a breaking point, where he can no longer tell the difference because he has so much blood on his hands in the name of salvation that the lines become too fine to distinguish, and all that is left is the single focus of reaching Tarmon Gai’don, but all the rest blurs… “If he goes to Tarmon Gai’don as he is, even his victory may be as dark as his defeat.”

Oh hi, Cadsuane, I was just talking about you. Or quoting you, I should say.

I’m not sure asking Semirhage about Graendal’s plans is going to be a productive line of inquiry. Even if she does miraculously feel like answering. Graendal knows Graendal’s plans, and Moridin probably knows a fair bit, but I would not put any money at all on anyone else knowing for sure.

At the moment, for instance, Cadsuane wanted to crush the teacup between her hands, then perhaps spend an hour or so stamping on the shards.

She took another sip.

Ha. That is entirely relatable.

I also don’t think turning Semirhage upside-down is going to do much of anything. Except give you a really good view up her nostrils.

Their prisoner was Semirhage. A monster who many thought was simply a legend. Cadsuane did not know how many of the stories about the woman were true.

Take out ‘monster’ and you could say the same of Cadsuane. Which makes them a rather interesting pair.

(I suppose some characters would argue against taking out ‘monster’).

“Well?” Merise demanded. “My question: you have an answer?”

Semirhage regarded Merise, icy contempt in her voice as she spoke. “Do you know what happens to a man when his blood is replaced with something else?”

I…love her?

I feel like that is not the intended response here but oh man I love characters who can flip something like this on its head (upside-down, if you will) and torment even when they are meant to be the one tormented. And wow what a reply that was.

Merise keeps trying to ask questions and Semirhage keeps interrupting with perfect, clinical calm, explaining her…ah. Tale of blood. The chapter title makes sense. (And I suppose has a double meaning, given Rand’s thoughts of war and death and destruction, and his despair of bringing anything else).

“My warning—” Merise began again.

“I had one subject survive an entire hour after the transfusion,” Semirhage said in a calm, conversational tone.

She’s playing this so perfectly and she barely has to try. Merise can’t even finish speaking, and Semirhage doesn’t so much as acknowledge her questions. She doesn’t refuse to answer, she just keeps talking as if Merise isn’t there. Not angry or afraid or even really threatening, because any of those would imply that she felt at a disadvantage in some way. No, just talking calmly of something calculated to disturb, to put Merise even more on edge. Semirhage is bound and held up by her feet but she is absolutely in control of the room right now.

She met Merise’s eyes. “I will show you the weave someday.”

Oh wow. She started with a question designed to shock, and ends with…this. It’s chillingly perfect. She’s terrifying and I love her.

“You were losing control of her,” Cadsuane said firmly, setting her tea on the floor beside her chair.

Losing? That would imply that she had any at all to begin with.

“We can break her,” Cadsuane said.

“Can we, Cadsuane?”

“Phaw! Of course we can. She is human, just like anyone else.”

Which is actually an important thing to understand and acknowledge, because most view the Forsaken as something…other. Something far greater and more terrible, impossible to stand up to or overcome. But they are just human, and credit to Cadsuane for pointing that out so…casually, almost. Like Semirhage, she knows the value of remaining calm and unafraid and unruffled. Dismissive, almost.

Of course, Merise and the others – like all the women in the Tower these days – still fell short of what an Aes Sedai should be. These younger Aes Sedai had been allowed to grow soft and weak, prone to bickering.

Some would include you in that category, Cadsuane. She’s not entirely wrong, but it’s all a matter of perspective.

Over two centuries ago, she’d sworn to herself that she’d live to attend the Last Battle, no matter how long that took.

And, in classic Cadsuane fashion, she’s actually kept to that vow, unless she dies tomorrow or something. No doubt the Last Battle hurried itself up in an effort to avoid her displeasure.

Unfortunately, her years had taught her that no measure of planning or determination could make life turn out as you wanted. That didn’t stop her from being annoyed when it didn’t.

This is one of the things I like about Cadsuane: she’s very self-aware. She absolutely has her flaws, but for the most part she acknowledges and accounts for them. More so than most, at any rate.

“The a’dam. If only the Lord Dragon would let us use it on her…” Merise said, glancing at Semirhage.

Any mention of an a’dam in connection with Semirhage makes me REALLY WORRIED because there’s still the giant Chekhov’s gun of the male a’dam that Semirhage had, and that is still there, and this cannot possibly end well.

Cadsuane found herself thinking about al’Thor. The boy had resisted her teaching as stubbornly as Semirhage resisted questioning.

It’s interesting to have this so soon after Rand thinking of Moiraine’s advice. He resisted that, too, at the time. It’s only now that he doesn’t. But Cadsuane probably doesn’t have any intentions of dying just to make Rand appreciate her.

Cadsuane hated admitting failure. And this was not a failure, not yet, but she was close.

She doesn’t like admitting it, but she can. She’s stubborn and frustrating at times, but she is also able to see when something isn’t working, and she tries to figure it out. She may or may not succeed, but she understands and tries.

With a chill, looking into those eyes, Cadsuane thought she saw something of herself in the creature. Age, craftiness and unwillingness to budge.

That, then, left a question for her. If given the task, how would Cadsuane go about breaking herself?

Oh, I love this. Talk about self-awareness… I was looking forward to seeing what would happen with Cadsuane and Semirhage set against each other, and this is better than I expected. It’s perfect. Especially because for Cadsuane, of all people, that question goes against her very nature. So, of course, it is the one she must answer. Acknowledge and use her own weakness, and make it into a strength somehow. What a great direction to go with this.

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