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aelingalathyniusrailme · 3 years

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Power recognizes power

A little power training gwynriel fic that came from me writing “if you find me at the edge, we’ll jump together.” and I was like this sentence deserves to be the title of something. plus throw everything (and by everything I mean that one sentence in the book) that you know about lightsingers away I’m just using the cute name. and yk there may or may not be some smut at the end.

She was glowing.

She was glowing and Azriel did not mean she looked radiant or that she was overcome with joy, although she did and she was. Gwyneth Berdara was a living, breathing star. As if the spring equinox had come early this year.

Her skin lit up against the blackness of the sky and her hair burned bright with the ferocity of the hearth.

Gwyneth Berdara had stopped singing, the crowd was silent. All eyes were on her but she was looking at him, her light, a beacon to his darkness.

His shadows yearned to go to her, he yearned to go to her. Instead, they both stayed stagnant, watching, waiting.

Azriel was had had enough, he dissolved from view and reappeared on the stage. Startled, Gwyn, took a step back and he stayed right with her, matching her step for step.

He gently tucked a stray piece of lit-up auburn hair behind her here, whispering, “It appears you glow, my love.”

Gwyn, ultimately getting over her initial shock lightly pushed him on the shoulder, “Don’t do that.” She scowled.

Chuckling, he pressed his mouth to hers, in a soft, soothing kiss, forgetful of the audience behind them. As she relaxed beneath his touch, the glow became dimmer and dimmer until it ceased to be. Darkness returned and he stepped back. Gwyn took a breath and stilled. The nervous, passionate energy, that arouse when she sang, calmed for now.

Azriel turned to the crowd, “Due to the events that occurred here tonight, the performance will have to be cut short.” A soft boo drew his attention and immediately he isolated the noise. “Do you want to boo my mate again?” Azriel threatened coolly, his eyes narrowing.

Annoyed, she sighed and spoke to the crowd, “Oh ignore him, I truly am sorry for this interruption but I want to give nothing more than my best and right now I feel as if I can’t do that. the show will be rescheduled sometime next month, letters will be sent out with more information.”

He watched as the stunned and irritated faces slowly began disappearing. Some winnowing away, others taking the slightly more traditional door. Gwyn held her hand out to him. He took it, “So you’re a living lamp?”

“An astute observation.”

“Is there any way I can convince you to rest now and figure this out later?”

She sighed, “It has been an especially long night.”

Azriel stared at her in disbelief, “did you just agree that you should rest?”

“Oh close your mouth, you’ll swallow a fly.” He responded by grinning at her and winnowing them away to their shared home.

Taking off his shirt he yawned not realizing how tired he actually was. It was still strange to him, being able to sleep so freely, without the looming fear of the past and what he couldn’t control. He stopped, realizing Gwyn had not moved from the door.

Gently he asked, “Are you coming?”

She looked at him blankly, lost in thought for a moment before she responded, “Um-yeah-later.” He was unconvinced so she tried again. “I think I’m going to stay out here and make some tea, maybe read a book.”

Azriel gave her a knowing look but did not push, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Az.” He tenderly kissed her cheek and walked to their room, immediately passing out on the bed.

—————————————————–

Azriel awoke at dawn and turned, unsurprisingly, to find the left side of the bed cold and empty. He sighed as he got out of bed, pulling on a pair of pants, mumbling. “Gwyneth berdara, you are going to be the death of me.”

Knowing there was no way she would be in the house but believing he probably should, he checked regardless and when he determined that she was in fact not in the house, he closed his eyes. When he opened them once again he found himself at the house of wind.

He nodded in acknowledgment, “Clotho,”

Shadowsinger. “The one and only.”

Is there something you require? “Just looking for that mate of mine. Any chance she’s here”

You know she is, and you know precisely where to find her. Ask what you truly want to ask. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “How long has she been here?”

Since 11 pm. Exhaling, he muttered, “Why can’t that damn woman ever rest.”

Over excursion out of only stubborn will seems to be a similarity between the two of you. Azriel frowned slightly before smiling pleasantly, “It’s been a pleasure as always, thank you for your help.”

Clotho only nodded and Azriel began the stairs to the 7th floor.

It took a moment for him to find her, the shadowsinger was a trained spy, forced to observe and retain even the smallest of details, yet he couldn’t find a bubbly redhead in a room full of texts and stories.

Ah, no wonder he hadn’t seen her. Gwyn was surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of books. She was drowning in literature, her hair was tied loosely in a braid with quite a few pieces falling out, there were dark circles beneath her eyes, and she was sporting the slightly insane look that came from a lack of sleep.

“Gwyn.” Her head jerked up in surprise to see him.

“Oh Az, Ok Ok, I promise I will go to sleep soon I just need 5 more minutes. I’m so so so close. I think I’m going to skip training today. Ok how about 2 minutes. 10. No that’s more. 10 sets of 1 minute. I just need 10 sets of 1 minute. I’m fine how are you?”

“Gwyn, my love, you’re delirious.”

She brushed him off, “What no I’m fine. I’m fine. Did I already say that? I can’t remember.”

Logic was never the way to deal with her insane stubbornness, so he tried a different approach. He pushed down his worry for her, and curled his mouth into a smirk, “I bet,” She perked up like a dog about to be fed, “that you can’t summarize everything you learned last night into,” he checked the clock. “15 minutes.”

“I could do it in 10.”

“Prove it.”

“And when I win?”

“I leave you to research. But if you can’t you have to go to bed.”

“Time starts now.”

Gwyn took a deep breath and began. “First I looked into where light magic is supposed to originate: the day court. Their magic is described as warm and comforting. Every single text I read described the magic the same way, as a sort of yellowish-brown light, like the sun. But the magic that came from me was more of an icy blinding light, like the lights from the stars rather than the sun. Also, as far as I know, I don’t have family from the day court so I looked into the family I do have. My family from the autumn court. However, we know that autumn court magic is fire, and what manifested in me was light not heat. My grandmother was a nymph so I thought well what type of magic do nymphs have. And the answer was severely disappointing, with basic plant magic being the most a nymph was able to do. I was stumped for a few hours before I realized. I’m basing my research on what I believe to be true not what I know to be true. I was told that I am a quarter nymph and because that heritage would explain my non-high fae-like features I believed that, for there was no reason for me not to. But what if my nymph grandmother was not a nymph at all. I flipped through dozens of books on faeries that have similar features, light magic, and/or can live on land and water. For the most part, I could not find anything, but then out of the corner of my eye I found a small tome on the history of light magic, the majority being all things I’d seen a million times before on the day court, but a passage no more than a page long, referenced ‘the lightsinger.’ Now what is a Lightsinger, you may ask? Honestly, I had no idea what or who they were so I found every book and story I could on them. The lightsinger’s, instead of being a title for a way to manipulate magic, like shadowsingers or daemati, were a race. A long-lost fae race said to be able to bend and create light with their voices and song. It’s said that they died out due to a conflict with the shadowsingers but every so often there are sightings of unknown nymph-like creatures in you’ll never believe where. The autumn court. Now I would only have 25% of lightsinger blood but magic is a fickle thing and some sources believe that when bred with high fae blood the magic intensifies.” Gwyn exhaled.

Azriel grinned victoriously, “It’s been 20 minutes.”

“Goddamn it, I didn’t even get to the interactions between shadowsingers and lightsingers.”

Now he was intrigued. “Well if you want to continue I certainly won’t stop you.”

“No no,” she yawned, “I lost which means I will be going to bed. But I do want to alter our deal slightly.”

“Oh?”

“I sleep now, you train me tomorrow.” The set of her chin and the look in her eye were enough to assure him of how serious she was.

“You want a male who specializes in darkness to help you master your light?”

“Certain theories believe that the mother gifted the light and shadowsingers their gifts to balance each other out and to remain harmonious.” She reasoned. “So yes there is no one I would want more to teach me.”

“I will not take it easy on you.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.”

“Alright Berdara, we meet Sunday at dawn, do not be late.”

“I’ll be there.”

——————————————————————————————————–

Sunday arrived and Azriel watched as Gwyn came down to the training ring in her leathers, with a white ribbon tied in her hair.

“Good morning Gwyneth.”

“So formal.” He shot her a look. “Oh alright ok my turn. Good morning Azriel, shadowsinger, spymaster of the night court, mate of the most amazing female to grace this planet.”

“Training is serious.”

“Of course it is. Shall we begin?”

“I want you to light up the room.”

“What? is it not already lit?”

He smirked and let his shadows paint the room black. Azriel himself became smoke, nothing more than a voice in the darkness.

“Az, az come on this is not funny.”

“Good, because it’s not a joke.” His voice came from every direction and every way Gwyn turned she was surrounded by endless nothing. “You must learn to sing the song of light the way I learned the language of shadow.”

“Speaking in vague melodrama feels like it’s not going to be that effective.”

Gwyn tried to back up only to find what was once the training ring now bled together with the depth of the sky.

“Let the light speak to you. Coax it, nurture it. Burn through the darkness and find the light.”

“How am I supposed to do that.”

Gwyn thought of the way Nesta harnessed her silver fire, the way her eyes became the flame itself. She concentrated and searched deep within herself, searching and looking for the light she knew she possessed.

All she saw was a hallowed chamber.

“No.” The word echoed throughout the room. “Our magic is not like others, we do not create out of nothing, we manipulate what is already there.”

“How am I supposed to manipulate if I’m in a room with no light?” Gwyn huffed frustrated.

“Just because the shadows are masking it, does not mean it is not there.”

He was so damn infuriating. She tried calling the light to her, she flexed her hands, she even tried speaking to it, all to no avail.

“As you said, magic is fickle and our elements especially. Light and darkness do not want to be bound or controlled, let the light be a friend, a companion, let it want to help, let it want to be influenced by your will.”

But how the fuck was she supposed to do that.

“Think of the first time it came to your call.” He whispered ominously. “What were you thinking. What were you feeling? Power often manifests through emotion.”

Singing. She had been singing. Was it really so easy that all she had to do was sing?

Turns out it wasn’t.

For hours she sang hundreds of songs. From songs in the old fae language that she sang at the priestess services to ones she had written herself. Nothing worked. Azriel had let her have a singular break when she desperately needed to pee and even then he was skeptical.

He had left her to her own devices leaving his shadows to watch over her progress. When he returned he found Gwyn clutching her knees, rocking in the shadows. Her gaze was unfocused and she was humming to herself.

“You have officially broken me. I’m done.” She wanted nothing more than to sit in the library with her sisters and a book.

“No.”

Gwyn’s eyes snapped into focus, her breathing steadied, and she went predatorily still. “Excuse me.”

“You heard me. No.” Azriel laughed, a cold vicious laugh. “You asked me to train you. Gwyneth Berdara has never quit before and she certainly won’t start now.”

Gwyn was seething, but she remained quiet. “What?” He was toying with her. “A little darkness too much for you. Light up the room and we won’t have a problem.”

“Oh that’s right you can’t. 10 hours in and no light in sight. You’re pathetic.”

Her anger cleared her mind and in that moment of clarity a memory, buried deep within her, resurfaced as if it was resting, snoozing until its moment of need.

Gwyn was in her mother's lap, a black-haired girl sat across from her. Her voice pulled her attention. “My girls, Catrin,” She tickled her, resulting in a giggle from her lost sister, before she turned her head, “Gwyneth.” And also tickled her. Gwyn's small hands clutched at their mother, desperately trying to hold on. “My two beautiful daughters.” She sighed. “Your lives will be filled with so much darkness, darkness that you do not deserve. But I need you two to be strong, to stay with each other, and to find strength in the other.” ‘I don’t get it,” Gwyn whined.

“We are a part of a glorious and lost people, a people of light and song. But they fear us because they do not understand us.”

Gwyn and Catrin looked up at her, confused and innocent.

“It’s ok, you will. You know the song I sing to you every night before you go to sleep?” Gwyn and Catrin cheered, “Yeah.”

“I want you to sing it with me, and I don’t want you to ever forget it. Can you do that for me?”

Their voices came together in a melodic lullaby. It was captivating and cold, those who heard could not look away. The song demanded to be heard, to be sung.

The words came tumbling out of Gwyn, they twisted around her tongue and lips as if finally home. Lost but not forgotten. Lost but born anew. Through the shadow and darkness, her eyes found the light, it heard her call and from every direction it found her. She pulled the brilliance of the stars to her and let the light paint the dark white.

The shadows retreated to Azriel who stood just two feet in front of her. Their eyes locked and he smiled, “there she is.”

The light flowed and flowed, and the room lit up in a blaze of pearlescent radiance. Her pale skin lit and she had once again become one with the stars.

But while the call came from her, there was another that drew her light forward. His shadows and her light curiously answered the pull. Finding each other between Azriel and Gwyn. One did not dissolve into the other like it should but instead mingled, swirling around each other in an almost playful manner. They became one from two opposites that never should have met.

As they blended together she felt a pounding in her chest and a throbbing somewhere lower. Her toes curled and she craved more. Their power was its own entity and yet connected to them. A push and pull, a desire to be close.

Azriel bridged the gap between them breathing heavily, pulling her against him as he’d never felt her before. “Az.” she gasped.

His eyes were on her lips as he licked his own, smiling, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so alive.”

“You’re the worst,” She said between breaths.

“I know.” And their lips met in a furious burst of passion.

He kissed her with a fiery hunger, a male starving. Her hands weaved through his hair, her fingers getting lost in the darkness. Gwyn wanted nothing more then to be lost in his darkness, as he wanted to drown in her light. Azriel gripped her waist, grinding his hardness into her causing her to moan.

“You make such pretty sounds for me.” He chuckled, ripping her shirt off.

“Fuck me.” It was an order, not a request.

“Gladly.” Their clothes were gone moments later. His kisses moved down her neck as he sucked and his fingers dipped to her cunt as he felt her. “Always so wet and ready for me.”

She wrapped her hand around his cock, “Always so hard for me.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.” He laid her down in the middle of the training ring and stroked his cock up and down her folds, pressing against her clit. “oh my god-fuck.”

With that, his control snapped and he buried himself to the hilt in her. Stroking once, twice.

He smirked, crooning, “look how perfectly we fit.”

His thrusts were slow and shallow, edging her on, basking in the feel of him in her, of her around him.

He then went harder, hitting her in the right spot every time, but Gwyn needed more.

“Faster.”

“Your wish is my command.” Azriel fucked her hard and fast, and with every thrust she moaned in ecstasy, driving her hips forward, meeting him step for step.

“Oh my god fuck me.”

“Such a good girl, taking it so well.” He captured a moan on her lips, devouring her.

“yes, yes fuck.”

Where the light met the dark, was where Gwyn met Azriel. They were cocooned in a shell of power flowing between and all around them. They were a storm of blinding light and depthless shadow, the lines of what were and were not, blurred to just the other.

“Gwyn.” He groaned, nothing existed but them.

“Az I’m gonna cum.”

“Yes, my love, cum for me.”

Every thrust became sporadic and uncontrolled as if his pleasure had taken a mind of its own. He swirled his tongue around her nipple and ground her clit with his fingers.

It was all too much, Gwyn cried out as she came, her back arching, toes curling. Her cunt tightened around his cock as he fucked her past completion. She was everything and watching her cum was enough to send him over the edge as he emptied himself in her, collapsing on the ground next to her.

For a moment they were silent before Gwyn spoke, “would you like to hear what I learned about the interactions between Lightsinger’s and Shadowsinger’s” She smirked, “Apparently the sex is unlike even mate sex.”

“I can vouch for that.”

Gwyn laughed, and if it wasn’t the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

#gwynriel #gwyn berdara #azriel #gwyn x azriel #one shot #gwynriel one shot #smut #Gwynriel fanfiction

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detective-keen · 3 years

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A wonderful Christmas time / Chloe and Agatha

Where : Christmas marker When : Christmas week Who : @chloeinbetween & @detective-keen

Summary : Agatha drags Chloe out to get some fresh air and rediscover the warmth of Christmas time.

TW: chronic illness, domestic abuse mention, emotional abuse mention, lydiaplot cw

The sky cleared shortly after lunch, and when Chloe suggested a trip to the Christmas market, Agatha immediately agreed. Did she feel guilty for not being able to help her more? Nothing was more uncertain. Agatha reassured herself by telling herself that she was helping her by offering her a place to stay while she could settle in a place all to herself, but she could see that the young woman was not doing well. And she wondered how it was possible that Lydia could have orchestrated such horrors for so long, without ever having been arrested. Agatha told herself that it was impossible that no one suspected her. She wasn't really like other humans, that infamous woman, that monster hiding behind her picturesque beauty, but she must have been spotted at one point or another. Her crimes had started a long time ago. Agatha found it hard to conceptualize all of this, but she firmly believed that the oldest ID cards they had found were those of the baleful fae's oldest victims. So many lives destroyed couldn’t possibly leave anyone undisturbed…

The lights at the Christmas market weren't bright enough to bring joy back to the young woman's heart, while her mind remained troubled by the whole ordeal. She often thought about it. Although Agatha shared the case with others, she was determined to find Lydia, and put her behind bars, the murderous bitch. That was all she deserved: to have all power taken away from her, and to rot, to turn dull, and to die out. To suffer as she had made all these people suffer. This was an adequate punishment.

A mulled wine stand brought her back years, and pulled her out of her thoughts. As a child, she remembered that her father and mother made that. The scent of spices then perfumed the whole house, announcing the arrival of Christmas dinner, the gifts, of her cousins, and Christmas movies while the grown-ups conversed about subjects that did not interest her.

Agatha approached it. Her cheeks rose from the cold, she turned to Chloe and smiled at her before asking if she wanted some. "It was kind of a tradition in my family," she explained, as she pulled out her wallet to pay the seller.

Chloe had bought herself a new coat, new woolen sweater, new hat and gloves, all so that in the hours she had energy to, she could enjoy being outside. Even the most wretched places could be made to look magical with the right collection of LEDs and pretty market stalls. In the early afternoon, the sun was already low, and the air was refreshingly biting against her skin. Since she’d moved her things over to Agatha’s, she’d seen Agatha’s concerned looks on more than one occasion. A dozen pills for a dozen different ailments, all brought on by her last four years. Not that the doctors saw it like that. Not that Chloe really cared what the doctors thought was the cause for everything. She just wanted to manage it, day by day, so that she could do things like this. Walk around the christmas market with Agatha, drinking in all the sights and smells. Cinnamon and cloves and hand made candles in every shape and size. She followed Agatha with almost a childlike wonder at all the lights, not even realising where they’d stopped until she looked around. “Yeah, yeah I would. This and… and peppermint bark was always something I picked up around christmas time.”

Agatha handed the paper cup to Chloe. She was delighted to see that there was an ingenuous and awe-inspiring glow in the other woman's gaze, as she was surrounded by equally heartwarming lights, sounds and smells. If Chloe felt like a lump of coal on the verge of going out most of the time, and though she was far from a fanned flame now, there was a light in her and that was already a lot.

Agatha couldn't help but worry. She knew full well that Chloe was not out of the woods, that leaving Lydia had cost her dearly, and that no one could guess what would happen next. So it was foolish to get attached to this young woman in any way - Agatha had never been one to depend on others and was not too worried about that- and yet that was what she did when spending time with Chloe. Maybe she would regret it, but for the moment it seemed more important to help her rebuild. She owed her that much, she who still felt so guilty for shooting her colleague, for having seen Todd die without being able to intervene, for not understanding, for not being able to really help as she wanted.

"Peppermint bark?" Agatha couldn't recall the last time she had eaten that. It had never really been a thing that they had done with her parents, but she could understand how important those things were. The market was a bit crowded, and she had to squeeze through passersby to access the stall. They sold all kinds of things here. If her eyes were caught by the sight of waffles the size of her head, she searched for the sought after bark instead. "Ah, there we go," Turning her back to the tempting waffles, Agatha, wide-eyed, couldn't escape what she had in front of her. A stall as ostentatious as it was in bad taste faced her. In the middle of a decor entirely done in black and white, people in black leotards, their faces painted white, squirmed silently around a large box covered with stripes. Although she didn't yet believe that mimes were innately evil creatures, she still felt deeply uncomfortable when confronted with their weirdness. “We should get away from here,” she turned to check on Chloe, and once again her eyes were caught by the food. Food certainly was a good way to make her forget about the cursed sights of this town. “I’ve never heard of that,” narrowing her eyes at a label, she read out “Hops in the stomach ?” The little gums, shaped like rabbits, looked quite adorable, but she simply couldn’t believe that tagline. Still she was intrigued. “Well now I have to try that. Do you want to pick a mix with me Chloe?” She offered, hoping that she wouldn’t end up eating these on her own.

Chloe chuckled at the way Agatha’s eyes clung to the waffles greedily, and when Chloe inhaled the smell of warm caramelised sugar was incredibly tantalising. “You can have some, you know, I don’t mind waiting!” Chloe said softly, her protest mild. it felt wrong, trying to give people permission to do things, which made it all the more important to do, right? But as Agatha turned, Chloe froze as well, staring at the black and white theme. It was one thing to awkwardly dodge a security guard, another to see a stall covered in stripes. The mimes…. signed at her silently and without malice, but she still shivered and shuffled past them awkwardly. For a second, Chloe lost sight of Agatha in the crowd and began to panic, before realising that she was in front of a different stall. Candies of every stripe and flavour were lined up in cotton bags, offered up for them to build their own pick and mix bag from. Chloe touched Agatha’s arm for a split second just to reassure herself that she was real and there, before smiling nervously and nodding. “Yeah, sure.” The cashier offered them a paper bag, and Chloe started with a small scoop of ‘Fizzing fireworks,” that looked like little liquorice beans. “Your turn to choose the next ones?”

Agatha pursed her lips to the side, as if she doubted her ability to gobble up one of those waffles whole. If she couldn't finish it, she could always give a piece to her new friend. Finally deciding to order one, she walked away to get some napkins at the other end of the stall and lost sight of Chloe for a moment. The latter approaching her, she gave him a beaming smile, before trying to wipe away the sugar from the corners of her lips. “Let’s see…” she glanced at the paper bag, watching the liquorice bean cover the rabbits. “Mmmh, what about… Coco bombs.” The white chocolate balls were covered in coconut flakes, looking like they begged to end up in her stomach. “Would you like a piece of my waffle?” She wanted to save space for the candy now, and knew that the waffle would take too much room if she were to finish it alone. Giving Chloe a puppy eyed look, she tore a piece of waffle off, handing it to her : “Come on, it’s great. You won’t regret it,” she assured her.

“Oh, uh, just a small piece,” Chloe agreed, her eyes widening as Agatha dropped a chunk in her hand before she’d even finished her sentence. She took a small bite, and smiled gratefully. Even if she wanted to there was a lump in her throat that held back the word thank you. As the sugar of the waffle dissolved in Chloe‘s mouth, she remembered that she was not used to this kind of sweetness, neither the kind from the waffle nor the kind from Agatha. Between the two of them, they quickly selected a few more flavours for their bag of sweets before putting it on the weighing scale. Chloe tapped her card against the reader – contactless was also something that she was still getting used to – and picked up the bag offering the first one to Agatha. “My treat,” she said, before looking around. “Let’s get away from the mimes first, actually.”

Agatha deadpanned. "I'm nothing but generous," she was not usually one to share her food with others, but she told herself that Chloe had been deprived for too long of the greatness of waffles, and that anyway, she needed room for the candy they were picking out. And if it could let Chloe see that there were kind people still populating the Earth then all the better. She licked her lips and wiped her mouth clean all at once, which now that she had done it, didn't seem like the brightest thing she had ever done. Her eyebrows raised, she looked at Chloe as she rubbed her hand against her slacks. "Don't. I'm clearly not as smart as I claim to be," with a giggle, she looked back at her waffle and sighed. Thank God she did not believe in things being too pretty to be eaten. What kind of nonsense was that?

"You know what, excellent idea," she didn't protest about Chloe paying for the sweets, although she had that thankful look in her eyes as she looked at her. "I gotta say, I don't feel comfortable around them either. They are just so weird, you know?" She shook her head, mimicking a shiver. "You should see their bar and restaurant. Awful. I mean the food's alright, but... Well let's just say I'll never bring you to those," some people claimed that mimes were evil. While Agatha rolled her eyes at that, she understood why someone might think so. There was an uncanny, unsettling vibe that seemed to envelop these artists. Taking a piece of candy from the bag, she put it in her mouth and while she was pleased with the taste, she felt as if there was something tickling her throat and she couldn't repress laughter as she put her hand to her neck. "No, no. I hate being tickled," she cried.

“Oh! Someone gave me a map of all the mime related places to avoid. I was almost…. well, I was attacked by one a while back, so, they’re high on my radar to avoid,” Chloe whispered, looking furtively at the mimes to see if they were listening. One mimed a smile at her, and she quickly jerked back to look at Agatha. “I’m shocked to learn that the food is enjoyable at all. Their meal delivery service leaves… a lot to be desired.” Once they were out of sight of the mimes, Chloe was more than comfortable to pluck a treat out of the bag for herself/. Chloe bit down on the candy as she turned back to Agatha in bemusion. “I’m… not tickling you?” Chloe replied, staring at Agatha in growing concern as the woman jerked and flinched while laughing unrelentingly. “Are... you okay?” The candy in her mouth began to pop and fizz like pop rocks on steroids, and when she opened her mouth little sparks like fireworks popped out. Chloe’s eyes widened with alarm, although the sweet sour flavour was in fact… surprisingly enjoyable.

“That’s a thoughtful thing to do,” she might have not been scared by those mimes, they were unsettling to her, and the only reason she had pushed the door to their restaurant was for the food. Her mother had made her promise not to take her there ever again, which while it seemed a bit much, also did not feel too weird to her. The music being played on loop alone could have justified this permanent decision. “It’s not the best food in town, but there’s something about it, I couldn’t be able to tell what it is, that makes you want to get more.” It was only her promise to her mother that had kept her from going back. Then, after a while, this need to go back had faded naturally. Of course Agatha could not suspect that it had to do with a very special ingredient.

“I had no idea they did meal deliveries, although if you say that it’s atrocious, I think I’ll save myself from this pain.” She remembered that the former sergeant used to eat food from such services. She wondered if he had been a customer of this one too.

The mimes now at a distance, she could tell that Chloe was a little bit more relaxed, to the point of giving her tickles. I’m… not tickling you? She was not. Her eyes a bit wider, she looked at Chloe with worry as she saw light, bursts of light, almost like tiny fireworks escaping her mouth. Still, the detective wiggled her torso, holding her arm to protect herself from tickles, only for those to start somewhere else. It was when she felt it reach her feet (and then promptly fade away) that she was left with this odd feeling : what did I just eat? The candy was really good, but that kind of effect was not one she ever had experienced with food. Carefully, she picked another. It must have been the one Chloe had just eaten, because along with the fizziness, came the same outburst of light: sparks shooted out of her mouth, but it was the flavour of the candy that satisfied her the most. She couldn’t recall trying any that had been so intense with their taste. “Those are so good?!”

“I don’t know if it’s from the actual restaurant, because Lydia actually kinda liked the restaurant, but the food is so bad,” Chloe replied almost thoughtlessly, before freezing. People always got weird when she mentioned Lydia, because for them it was such a nightmare while for Chloe it… had been a nightmare, but it had also been her reality. Talking about Lydia was habit… just not for anyone else. She had no idea how Agatha would respond, if at all, but she was relieved for the distraction.

Chloe was not convinced good was the word she’d describe the flavour she was experiencing. It was as if her tongue was completely incapable of tasting anything else ever, she’d hit maximum flavour capacity. How did they even do that?/ Had candy making technologies really improve that much in just four years? As quickly as it had been there, it melted away into her mouth, not even leaving a trace. Intrigued, Chloe plucked another out of the bag. She balked. In her hand was a small black and white striped hard candy, even though neither of them had selected them. Making an executive decision, Chloe chucked the mime candy on the ground and stamped on it. The hard candy cracked under her heel silently, and when she checked underneath her shoe, it was gone. “I hate that,” chloe said softly, before plopping another candy in her mouth. “Oh, oh, this one is a little like a jawbreaker? It keeps, oh, this is good, each layer is changing flavour.” Apple, cherry, cola, strawberry, mint, it was changing very fast but the effect was never too jarring.

The name of Lydia should have brought an eyebrow raise from Agatha. Instead, she glanced at Chloe, wondering if she should have said something. The woman chose to remain quiet. Chloe must have spoken about what had happened with Lydia hundreds of times already, to her, to other detectives, to psychiatrists and more, each time reliving it over again. It was only cruel to ask if she wanted to talk about it every time Lydia’s name would be mentioned. Someone eager to get details might pretend to “care”, but caring was allowing Chloe to talk about it when she wanted to, listening and being there for her.

A change in the conversation came, naturally, unexpectedly, in the shape of a striped round hard candy. She watched as the other woman crushed it under her shoe, expecting a satisfying sight, but there was no trace left of it. “Holy fucking Mary, what in the goddamn,” it seemed Chloe was not so impressed, but rather blasée. It must have seemed weak compared to what she had been through, Agatha figured. “Hate is the word,” she agreed. She picked through the bag to check whether some other black and white horrors had found their way in it. “I wonder how those ended up here. The shop owner didn’t seem like one of them,” there she was, speaking like those she once considered agents of chaos ; people that she once put in the same box as flat earthers or evolution theory deniers : the mime haters. She did not want to be so prejudiced against them, but they did not do much to help their case. “Really? Isn’t it a bit too much?” She wondered how they had achieved that without it all feeling like a tasteless mixture. “I’m sorry about the mimes. But hey, those weirdos aside, how do you like the market so far? Pretty nice, huh? It’s not Germany, but I’d say we’re doing pretty good.”

“I’m definitely just pretending that didn’t exist,” Chloe said weakly about the mime candy, with a false smile that didn’t quite match her jitters. “Seriously, seriously don’t eat any striped food.” She walked them along the stalls as Agatha checked for more dangerous treats, chewing on the red wine flavoured sweet in her mouth. “It is a bit much,” Chloe chuckled, but finished the treat all the same, gulping it down when it tasted like cinnamon and apple crumble. “No! I’m enjoying it. Really. Thanks for… hauling me out here. I know I took some convincing.” Because of the fae she was sure she’d encounter between the fairy lights. It was good to be reminded that sweetness lingered in this town too. “Let’s go experience the rest of it?” Chloe suggested quietly. It had been so long since she’d been allowed to want. She would cherish every christmas-light moment of it.

#domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #chronic illness tw #lydiaplot cw #wickedswriting #para #chatzy #para chloe

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ikeservant · 4 years

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Hey if your still doing requests I'd like to hear your headcanons for nobunaga Shingen and Mitsuhide, with MC who practices witchcraft, if that's alright. Like "get the Palo Santo imma evict this ghost" modern witch. 98% certain Mitsuhide is of the Fae (won't give him her full name never makes any sort of deal and never directly says "thank you" but is very polite). And puts little bottles of weird things on the windowsills. May or may not have threatened hex a rude guest.

Yay I finally finished, @casually-fantastic-nug !:D I love looking up modern witchcraft and Wiccan things and think it’s pretty cool and I LOVE folklore and reading about cultural rituals and beliefs in general so this is an awesome prompt.

Nobunaga: When Nobunaga was disrespectful and touch mc’s face, she was pissed. However, she noticed how admired he was and how he was a powerful leader. So before she would decide whether to stay and help or leave, she decided to use her Wiccan teachings to determine whether he was trustworthy. Knocking and opening his door, she walked inside with tea leaves and candles. “Ah, here to be my nightly entertainment?”. “No. You are under my judgement. Sit still and let me read your aura.” Lighting the lavender scented candles to relax her mind and hone her focus, she stared at him intently, making him feel like she was reading his soul. “Your aura is strong and seemingly dark, but holds a strong, light inner layer. Before I leave you be, I will read my tea leaves to look into my future if I do stay and help.” Intrigued, Nobu watched with interest. “A good outcome might come my way, so I’ll stay here. But don’t try anything funny or else you’ll regret it.” As she worked alongside Nobunaga, he asked her a lot about her traditions and practices like what certain herb mixtures in her bottles did and how it could help, genuinely intrigued by her beliefs and knowledge. Before they go off to battle, he sees mc writing symbols over the doorways. “What are you doing, fireball?” “Putting protective seals around the castle to protect it from bad energies while we’re away. This place is like my home and I want to protect it any way I can. Oh before I forget, I need to give you this.” Fumbling around her sash, she pulls out a small wooden charm with a ribbon tied around it. “It’s a talisman for good fortune. I care about you a lot and want this to protect you.” “I will treasure this, although I’m already fortunate enough to have you be my lucky charm I will cherish as long as I can.”

Shingen: Mc was mad when Shingen kidnapped her, but something in her intuition and inner spirit told her that she is needed here for some reason. She woke up in the middle of the night, sensing something was wrong. Walking around, she heard a coughing fit from Shingen’s room. Cracking open the door, she saw him hunched over, wheezing. Walking right up to him, she tried examining him to get a clear idea of what herbal remedies could help. “I wish you could check me out when I’m in a better state. I’m in no condition to be looked at by a goddess.” His feeling of insecurity and weakness was put out when she dismissed his statement and not looking down on him “I’m just trying to see how I can help.” “You must be an angel for aiding your captor.” “No. I’m just a good witch doing her job.” Before he could ask any more questions, she rushed out of the room, returning with her satchel with jars of different herbs and ground up lavender. “I’ll heat up some tea to put these herbs in to help clear your air passages and put the ground lavender in a fabric pouch to lay next to you so the aroma can relax you and help you sleep.” “I am grateful for your help, but if I may ask, how do you know all this stuff?” Mc explained witches and witchcraft and the different ways to use it. Is on board with it and will try anything she offers to him. Protective door seals to drive out bad spirits? Yes. Healing crystals? He carries them everywhere with a smile on his face, feeling much lighter and in better spirits but doesn’t know if its because the crystals are working or if it’s because mc gave them to him but either way it works wonders. Treasures everything mc gives him, feeling her hope for him reach his heart, making him feel like the rest of his years won’t be painful and lonely. He decides in return to carve a small wooden heart and make a necklace out of it, putting his feelings for mc into it. “You have given me many talisman from your heart and I decided to try my hand at it.” Mc, tearing up, puts it on so that his love for her can protect her like her nurturing witchcraft aided him.

Mitsuhide: Mc was immediately suspicious when Mitsuhide was reading her like a book, looking like a trickster. ‘He’s gotta be a fae folk, I’ll need to be on my guard.’ Since he was still suspicious about her, he decided to ask her questions. “I’m afraid I only know your first name, mc. Would you please give me your full name?” In Mitsu’s mind he’s just trying to make connections if she is tied to any family clans that oppose the Oda, but in her mind he’s trying to steal her name and hold power over her. “I apologize, but I cannot give you my full name. Just call me mc.” He found this suspicious, causing him to sneak into her room and try to find anything that might clue in where she is from. Instead, he found jars of oils, herbs, crystals, candles, and various items. “Please do not touch my stuff, fae!” mc frantically ran over. She had to explain where she came from and what witchcraft is. “I really mean no harm but if the others find out I’m from the future I will be in serious trouble.” He could tell that she was not a threat to the Oda so he decided “I will not tell the others, mostly because of the ruckus it would cause.” “Oh than-“mc was about to say thank you but remembered him maybe being a Fae. “One more thing. Please put this ring on.” She handed him an iron ring, checking to see if it did any damage on him. Checking his hand, she saw no marks and decided to lessen her suspicions on him being a Fae. “If you just wanted to hold my hand you should’ve said so.” “I’m just checking to see if you’re a Fae with bad intentions.” “I think you should know that humans can be far scarier than the creatures and spirits.” He said, sending an eerie chill up her spine. However, as time went by, they got along and grew closer. He thought the spells and rituals were unrealistic since he’s a very cynical person, but he enjoyed the thought she put into them and her enthusiasm itself brought positive energy that if ghosts and bad spirits did exist, she’d expel them with her spirit alone. When he treated mc to the tea shop, he bumped into one of his spies and had to step out for a minute. When he returned, he overheard some guards talking smack about him. He was just going to walk on by, but mc came to his defense, telling them off. “How dare you talk back, woman.” The guard raising his hand and Mitsu about to step in, mc made them both pause with a menacing smirk. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” “What? Why is that?” the guard said, now nervous with her sudden expression change. Pulling out a small doll, a hammer, and nails, she laid the doll down and placed a nail on its arm. “If you make one bad move, I will use my cursed doll to hurt you. Whatever I do to the doll, the same happens to you.” “That’s impossible. You can’t do that.” He said, now sweating. “Oh really? Try me.” She pressed the nail into the doll’s arm a little more, and Mitsuhide wanting to play along, grabbed a pin and poked the man’s arm, making him scream and run off. “You must adore me so much to threaten a man with physical torture for my honor.” “Nah I couldn’t really do that doll stuff. I only use my witchcraft for good. I just do that to scare people like him away. Plus, I see the good spiritual energy in you and want to ward off anybody who can’t see that. That’s why I got you this!” She gave him a necklace with a little pouch. “Wear this to keep your good spiritual energy and bring fortune.” This became the most valued possession he ever owned and felt that he was already brought fortune when mc came into his life, but this symbolized her hopes for him and boi was officially in love.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen shingen #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen headcanon #ikesen hc

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

Face Off || Morgan & Cece

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @thebickedwitchoftherest & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Cece go digging for buried witchy treasure. Cece faces more than she bargained for.

CONTAINS: gun (salt rounds, not fired), shenanigans

Blanche had told Morgan that having an object, especially one belonging to the spirit in life, might help the seance go better. Morgan knew from the summoning that bones would probably be the most ideal if there was such a thing, but the idea of planning a trip to Texas ahead of the one she had already scheduled between the anniversaries of her parents’ deaths was more than she could bear. The next best thing? Finding Agnes Bachman’s trove of witchcraft. “So, fun fact, I actually tried to dig this up before, but I got attacked by some wild vampires and had to hole up in that shack until dawn,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Cece. “But that’s why we’re coming back here in broad daylight! Besides, I think this is still sort of on my property line?” She gestured to the pile of rubble around across the street and the brown, barren field between it and where they stood in the Bend, shovels in hand, beneath a suspiciously robust tree. Morgan tried to run the distance measurements in her head. “Maybe not, but that’s gonna be our story if anyone comes asking. But, you know, probably not.” She stuck the shovel into the ground with her foot, pleasantly surprised when it broke the ground with ease. Zombie strength had its advantages sometimes. “So, how’ve you been?”

Drinking and researching a stolen box with Morgan? A-okay. Breaking into a woman’s home to steals some books? Great time. But Cece might have to draw the line at the physical labor. It wasn’t the trespassing on property or potential danger. It wasn’t even the casual mention of vampires attacking Morgan the last time she was here. It was mostly just the digging that Cece wasn’t up for. “We tend to break the law whenever we hang out now,” Cece mentioned, digging her own shovel into the ground and leaning against it, “Not complaining. Just a fun observation. Girls really do just want to have fun apparently.” While digging holes wasn’t one of those things that Cece considered to be much fun, the promise of some sort of buried treasure had certainly piqued her interest. “Aside from the whole being blown up in a Morgue thing, worse than that is dealing with Regan’s replacement.” Cece made fake vomiting noises for far longer than necessary and then forced herself to recompose, “Otherwise I am freaking phenomenal. Clearly you’re living your best life. Loving the Holes vibes that we have going on. So what exactly are we here for today?”

“I heard about that,” Morgan said, wincing. “Regan’s just having a time and a half right now. Hopefully it’ll just, you know, be temporary. Haven’t heard any stories about the new boss, though. Is he, what? Evil? Creepy? Mean? What’s the likelihood of your being able to hex him without him noticing? I put a monkey’s paw on Eye of Newt for a little while, and that was pretty fun.” She reached into her bag and passed Cece a thermos of mulled cider. She could see how, well, not well her share of the digging was going, and aside from the magic ability and know how to work on identifying their finds, Morgan had mostly asked her along for the company. “Here. Have some of this and sit back, I think it only takes one gal to dig a hole. When she’s dead anyway.” Morgan stuck her shovel in deeper, flinging dirt behind her. “And we’re after great great grandma Agnes’ trove of magic. She left home with one bag after the curse started taking her family, which means everything in her trove got left behind in good ol’ White Crest.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Mostly, I want something special of hers for a seance, but it’s gonna be pretty neat to see what kind of stuff she used for her magic back in olden times, right?”

“No, god, even worse.” Cece rolled her eyes. Rickers was the last thing she needed to talk about. “I can handle evil or creepy. He’s way too personable. Keeps telling me about his grandkids. It’s insufferable.” Usually, Cece welcomed casual conversation of any kind. She was a social creature after all, she liked the company of others. But something about that man made her want to jump into a river. “I could hex him so easily. He’s so gullible. Moron.” She wasn’t about to let Rickers ruin the fun though, and instead focused on Morgan’s time with Eye of Newt, “Amazing. I love being friends. Do I mention that enough?” Cece questioned, taking the thermos that Morgan passed over and taking a long sip of the alcoholic beverage. “So you’re saying you just want me to sit back, drink and chat? You get me, Morgan.” Cece happily obliged, leaning back against the grass and watching Morgan use that superhuman strength to dig holes deeper into the ground with a certain fascination. She had always wondered what having super strength must be like. Sounded dope. “Good ol Gram? Let’s hope she left behind something fun. Can’t say that I’d be thrilled about finding some magically glued dentures or alchemical ointment for her joint pain.”

“I love being friends with you too,” Morgan said, smiling bright. There was a certain specific ease with Cece that was hard to articulate to others. Their magic philosophy was different, but neither of them took themselves so seriously that it was a problem. And sharing a lack of compunctions about the law and uses of violence to get out of tight spaces was more important between friends who wanted to stay honest with each other. Morgan wasn’t even sure if Cece had a judgemental bone in her body, except for, you know, reckless cruelty like any halfway decent not-fae. But Morgan’s harm ritual wasn’t reckless. She was full of very specific intent, and every care was being taken. And giving Agnes closure with the news she was deviating the woman who’d condemned her to a painful death? Made for some very thoughtful icing on the cake. “Oh, it gets better than that,” Morgan said, grinning as she shoveled back more dirt. “She was just in her twenties when she left home. So this should hopefully have all the fun shit. Well, whatever fun amounted to in the 1890’s. Maybe it’ll be magic ointment for that poofy old-timey hair. Or old beauty charms? I’d love to see what baby witches got up to back then, like what was magic education even like then?”

Cece liked thinking about witches throughout the years. There was something fascinating about studying how witches evolved with the rest of the times, as well as how spells did. If spellcasters were ever a legitimate field of study, Cece might actually consider going back to school. For now, she’d have to settle through learning about magic through any witches she knew with a long line of witches in her family. “Great question. Can’t say that my witchy upbringing was exactly conventional. If my parents were spellcasters, being adopted didn’t exactly help me learn about it as a kid.” Cece had of course wondered what life might have been like had she actually grown up learning about magic from a young age. “My first exposure was from a coven. A very non-traditional one.”

“Your coven wasn’t with your parents?” Morgan asked curiously. She’d heard them mentioned in passing enough times that she’d just assumed it was at least partially a family thing. Morgan started digging, stopped, and looked at Cece quizzically again. “Wait, so you are this good without having to study your whole life?” She shovelled a few more times. “Jeez, are you some kind of magic prodigy?” She had a decent sized hole going. A few more feet deeper and she’s start spreading outward and--clang! Morgan grinned. “I guess this means you get to pick a prize from grandma’s treasure box. At least something in here should go to someone who can actually use it. But holy shit, Cece. I know I say this a lot when you’re doing me favors, but you’re seriously amazing.” She started working double time until the trunk, just as impressive as you would expect from your average 19th century well-to-do family. Morgan pulled it free just with brute zombie strength and dragged it up from the hole. It was heavy, “Now, before I literally jinx myself, do you think you can run something on this baby to dispel any magic seals and protection? As my ancestor, I’m fairly confident she wouldn’t throw this in the ground without protections.”

Cece shook her head, “Nope. My adopted parents had no clue about my witchy background. I didn’t figure out until like sixteen.” Cece shrugged. She had never considered herself to be uncommonly talented when it came to magic. She was aware that she was able to take care of herself under stressful circumstances but the thought never went much further than that. “Very funny,” Cece let out a sarcastic laugh, “I’m hardly a prodigy. The nice thing about moving around with a travelling coven is that I got to learn from all kinds of witches that specialized in different things. Plus being around nothing but other witches all the time gave me lots of chances to practice.” Morgan finally found the box she had been digging for and pulled it easily from the ground. It landed on the grass with a loud thud and Cece whistled, “Damn girl, those muscles though.” Cece sat up and eyed the box. It was larger than Cece thought it was going to be. Honestly, she was pretty curious about what was inside. “Let me take a peak and see what I can sniff out” Cece rubbed her hands together and crawled over to the box, rubbing her palm across it and feeling the magical energy emanating from it. “There’s definitely something going on here. Give me a few minutes to try to get rid of it.”

Morgan was familiar with the number of ways you could talk small magic into showing itself. In another life, her old life, she would’ve offered some ground thistle and raw energy to do it herself. But Cece had a home brew with the stuff she needed. A little Latin later, the potion absorbed into the wood, and the lock, apparently just an illusion, disappeared from sight. “I know you’re not a coven gal anymore, Cece, but I’d do you a solid anytime if you asked.” Out of habit, fae promise, rose to her lips, casual and earnest, but somewhere on its way up her throat, Morgan remembered Chloe in Lydia’s basement and swallowed her words back down, feeling sick.

A layer of dry flowers and fragrant herbs coated the items. Morgan had to sweep them all away to get to the rest. There were some things she expected, such as a handwritten grimoire, and some she didn’t, like an old party dress and petticoats. Morgan didn’t know anything about enchanting textiles, but she set them carefully aside just in case. They must have mattered to Agnes in order to be included in her trove. Beneath this were more papers, some torn from other books, ink and fountain pens, a few alchemical circles painted crudely on tanned hides, and a lot of jewelry and talismans. “So, she’s my great great grandma, so I get the pretty dress and the books, but you, my wonderful partner in crime, can pick something you like from the rest. I still haven’t thanked you for helping me go against that murder alchemist, so don’t be shy.”

As Morgan looked through the chest, Cece eyed the contents from far away. The chest’s magic had been strong, so it made sense to think that whatever was inside had been valuable to her grandmother. As far as Cece was concerned, that all belonged to Morgan. But aside from a few off limits items, Morgan seemed to think otherwise. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you could find some use for them. Somewhere.” But even as she said the words she slid closer to get a better peak at the contents. She pulled out a few things, including a vial of liquid that glowed a bright red color, “Hm. This is peculiar” Cece questioned, holding it up against the sun. She felt a prickling against her fingertips from holding the bottle. She eventually decided to uncap the thing, sniffing at its contents and jolting from the sudden sensation. “Hm. That shit is strong. Wonder what this stuff does?”

Morgan was flipping through the books, unable to resist the urge to find something interesting. She had to remind herself that it was all useless to her, pure sentimental and academic value, but even the method of preserving alchemical circles was fascinating. What did they use the hides for? Practice? Regular exercise? Were there research experiments in here like what Ruth had done? There were notes and letters in here too, some written in a kind of code, others in Latin. Looking at all of this, Morgan realized she didn’t actually know Agnes Bachman at all. She was the family scapegoat, but she was also just a girl when she left all this stuff behind, too terrified of being the cause of her family’s suffering to stay another year. Poor thing, she didn’t realize that Constance had covered them all. She hadn’t needed to make herself alone on top of everything else. “What did you find? Anything good?” She looked over her shoulder and— “What the fuck, who the hell are you!” She fell back with shock and fumbled for her salt pistol, aiming it at the stranger. Morgan hadn’t even heard her approach. It had to look enough like a normal one to keep the stranger stalking them on her toes, right? “Where’s my friend? What is—Cece! Cece!”

Bored with whatever the liquid was, Cece discarded it back into the pile of unclaimed goodies and moved on to see what else Agnes had to offer. Cece realized that aside from the fact that they had been spellcasters and the curse, she didn’t know all that much about Morgan’s family. Learning a bit about her family through these belongings was more interesting than Cece would be willing to admit without a few drinks. Way too sentimental. She heard Morgan from over her shoulder and didn’t even look back as she began answering, “I don’t know what a lot of it is actually. I’ll need to do some-” she was cut off by her friend’s scream. Morgan was freaking out, tumbling backwards and pulling a fucking gun on her? “What the fuck Morgan? What do you mean who am I? Why do you have a gun pointed at me!” Cece waved her hands wildly, half up in the air in surrender and half accusingly towards Morgan. “Your friend is right here, wondering if she’s about to get capped by a dead girl! You suddenly lose vision or something?”

Morgan scrambled to her feet, still holding out the salt pistol with trembling hands. The woman was middle aged, wild eyed, and a heck of a lot taller than Cece had ever been. She wasn’t sure where she got off trying to pretend they were one and the same. Her angular features had none of Cece’s stubborn charm. They gave the woman a look that was off-kilter even unnerving as she waved her arms around and cried out in her raspy voice. “I am not kidding, whatever magic bullshit you did, some summoning trick, o-or—I don’t know! But you aren’t keeping her!” Morgan shouted I am not losing one more friend to my personal bullshit, you got it? You—” It came on her slowly: the woman’s clothes looked a little like Cece’s but also...not. And she had Cece’s keychain, and there was a bottle at her feet, not quite close right, dripping slowly into the ground. Morgan slowly lowered her pistol, not quite ready to give up the pretense. “If you’re really Cece, then how do we know each other?” She asked.

Something was wrong. Whether that something was with Morgan or with Cece herself was still unclear. Cece stood up, Morgan backing away again but not moving the pistol from it’s target. “Can you point the gun away from me? This isn’t the Wild West.” Though something was clearly off, Cece hadn’t pieced it together yet. For whatever reason, Morgan seemed to think Cece wasn’t who she claimed to be. Was there some illusion? Cece stared at her hands, vaguely aware that something seemed different but realizing that she didn’t look at her hands enough to realize what the difference might be anyways. “How do we know each other? I didn’t know I was signing up for a pop quiz tonight.” Cece laughed, but clearly Morgan wasn’t joking, “Former roomies, forever besties, current hostage.” Cece quipped, “Care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Morgan lowered the salt pistol, her face melting, touched. “Aw, you consider us besties?” Her face twisted into an expression of cringe. On Cece, that was endearing. On a crazed woman who looked like she was nearing fifty, it was a little...odd. Maybe sad. Morgan tried to find the words to explain to her friend how bewildering this looked from her perspective. Whose face was this? How did Cece change her face and not...know. “Okay, okay…” she started, tucking her pistol away. “Uh, fun fact, the pistol is salt rounds only. I just, you know, couldn’t be too careful. Also: what happened to your face! I said you could take something home, not give yourself a weird makeover!” She fumbled for her phone, still keeping her distance in case this was all a trick and she was just being stupid and gullible. “You did something!” She put the selfie camera on and held it out for Maybe-Cece to see. “A very, very weird something! Are you...mind or body swapped? Are you glamoured into one of my dead relatives? You aren’t really...I mean, look! What would you think if you were me!”

“Of course I do. There’s not many others I’ve broken into a house and been held at gunpoint at!” Despite the awkwardness of currently being held at gunpoint, Cece couldn’t stop the lilt in her voice as she confirmed that the two were basically besties. They had been through quite a bit considering they hadn’t known each other at the beginning of the year. “Well I actually do feel marginally better knowing I would have only gotten blasted with salt. Thank god I’m not a ghost.” Cece laughed, taking steps closer to Morgan following the whole debacle. “I didn’t do anything! Just rooted around in your grandma’s chest and-” Cece stopped talking when Morgan offered her phone camera towards her and Cece got a look at who was showing up on the screen. Except this was very clearly not Cece. “What the fuck?” Cece jumped back, visibly shaken for the first in what felt like a truly long time. “Who the fuck am I? Why the fuck do I look like this?” Cece began rubbing her hands against her arms, chanting a dispelling glamour effect to herself and then looked back at the camera. Nothing. “Why isn’t it going away!?”

Morgan’s face quirked into a smile. She wasn’t as vulnerable or demonstrative with Cece as she knew she could’ve tried to be. Cece was just so breathtakingly together and at ease with whatever chaos came her way, like it was no more than a fly she could spike out of her sphere with a swipe of her hand. However much she accepted the mess Morgan dragged them into, Morgan worried the limit of ‘too much’ was just around the corner. But here they were, standing over a hole in the middle of the woods with a salt pistol and dug up treasures and a haywire spell between them—and still friends. “Ghost, creepy middle aged lady, whatever comes next, I’m still glad we’re friends,” Morgan said.

But, obviously, Cece being her friend as Cece was probably best. “Idea one: this is some weird subconscious thing and you’ve got some stuff about your age or your size to deal with. Idea two: you are wearing the face of one of my dead relatives, or their neighbors, or...something. But either way, there’s a solution! We just don’t know it yet. But we will and you will look...w-well, you don’t look bad, really, when you, uh, think about it, but just more...you.” She winced and came around the side of the hole to offer Cece a hug.

Morgan offered a list of options to Cece, who hated all of them. “Definitely not subconscious. I accepted my height many years ago.” Cece waved the first away but backtracked, “That being said. I get that objectively I’m not that tall still but I do feel like a tall glass or water.” The second option seemed likely. Perhaps it was a type of hex that was put on something she had touched by Morgan’s grandma. If that was the case it was some bullshit hex. “Well either it’s a strong ass hex or some new type of magic I haven’t worked with before.” That frustrated Cece more than the hex itself. She could handle looking like this Milf. What she didn’t like was not knowing how to fix it immediately. Morgan came around for a hug and as their arms wrapped around each other Cece smiled, “You know we’re kind of like the same height now.”

“You do have the energy of a tall woman, I guess it’s just a little closer to being official now,” Morgan said with a smirk. “You’ve got, what, a whole inch on me now?” She raised her hand to touch the top of Cece’s head, fluffing some of the brown hair falling in front of her face. “Stars, if you are wearing one of my ancestors’ faces, does this make you like a temporary cousin? Temporary grandma?” She smirked at the idea. “Sorry. Let’s take everything and hit the books at your place, huh? Do some old fashioned trial and error experimenting. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out.”

Though her head was still spinning at the prospect of looking twice her actual age, Cece tried to compose herself. This had been the most flustered she had allowed herself to be for many, many years. She had no interest in completely losing her cool. Morgan was right, they would fix this. Eventually. Maybe it had a time limit, and Cece would simply wake up in a day or two back to her old, blonde self. In the meantime, how was she supposed to explain this to her roommates? “That’s a good start. Whatever’s going on, I clearly don’t have nearly enough alcohol in my system to deal with it.” Right about now Cece was sure that she had far too much blood in her alcohol system. Depending on how long this lasted, it might be time for a never ending party. “I like to think I just became your cool aunt. I think the moniker suits me.”

#wr cece #wr chatzy #wr cece chatzy #face off #gun tw #wickedswriting

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years

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the cruel prince themed asks 🍂👑🧚🏻‍♂️

i miss jude and cardan so i made this ask list as an homage to my bbs. inbox is open so send me stuff if you want! 🖤💫

elfhame: do you believe in magic?

faeries are twilight creatures: dawn or dusk? why?

jude: if given the opportunity to live in faerieland, would you take it? what would you give to go/stay?

taryn: if you had a twin, what would your ideal dynamic be with them?

madoc: what's your worst nightmare?

you're no killer: if you could kill off any fictional character no questions asked, who would it be?

prince cardan: secret garden, secret library, or secret closet? why?

i don't take commands from mortals: if you could command the last person you spoke with to do something, who/what would it be?

court of jerks: what was/is your circle of friends like in school?

vivi: do you think you belong more in the mortal world or in faerieland?

he's flint, you're tinder: what really gets under your skin?

velarian: ever had a near death experience?

locke: what is your favourite story that you've ever read/heard?

nicasia: ever cheated on someone? something?

i am going to shame you with my defiance: if you suddenly had limitless courage, what would you do? who might you defy?

this is the least of what i can do: tell me about a hobby you're not necessarily good at but that you're interested in nonetheless.

not the first to green gown her: what's a secret you've never told?

sweet meat: what do you want most in this world?

never is like forever: ever been in unrequited love?

i could become something to fear: if you were to become your greatest fear, what would you look like?

the court of shadows: would you ever want to join a secret society? why/why not?

the roach: have any cool party tricks?

the ghost: do you believe in ghosts? the afterlife?

the bomb: if you could brew any potion, what would you brew?

geas: if you could ask one of the fae to place a geas on you, what would it be?

slyfooting: when was the last time you eavesdropped? was it on purpose or by accident? hear anything interesting?

faerie fruit: have you ever partaken in recreational drugs/alcohol? if so, did you like the feeling it gave?

i'm not sure i feel good, but i know i feel great: what's the best experience you've ever had with drugs/alcohol? the worst?

i will become so much worse: if you could become anything or anyone, who/what would you be?

hollow hall: do you like the place you grew up? why/why not?

judejudejudejudejudejude: what is your most recent obsession?

mithridatism: if you could become immune to anything (real or not real, a tangible thing or an idea/emotion), what would you want to be immune to?

blusher mushroom: describe something that makes you blush.

nightfell: do you have any heirlooms or traditions in your family?

the coronation: if you could wear any gown/fancy outfit to a faerie revel, what would it look like?

time to change partners: what is your opinion on open relationships? could you ever be in one?

moths: if you could transform into any animal when you died, what would it be and why?

i think of you often: when/who was your last all-consuming crush?

a year and a day and not for one minute more: if you could master anything at all in exactly a year and a day, what would you choose and why?

i'm no murderer: in the story of your life, would you be the hero or the villain? why?

ear tracing: describe something that you view as intimate, but that isn't necessarily overtly so.

depraved tastes: name three of your guilty pleasures.

golden acorn: riddles, puzzles, or codes? why?

the blood crown: if you could have any power in the world, what would it be?

the liar: what's the biggest lie you've ever told?

the queen: if you could choose a code name for yourself, what it be and why?

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pixie-circle-au · 4 years

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Chapter Three: First Days Are Usually Pretty Annoying

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four (Coming Soon)

Content Warnings: Food [DM or send an ask for something to be tagged]

Words: 1390

Taglist: @fandom-nerd-girl555 @justmeandmygayships

Notes: :)))

School was school. Some schools were worse than others, but at the end of the day, you’re trapped in a building with a thousand other teenagers for seven hours straight. At least in elementary school you get recess.

Patton was sprawled on his bed, going over the notes he’d taken. He had to spend time after school going around and talking to every teacher about getting up to speed with the rest of the class, which wasn’t fun. Additionally, he had to introduce himself to the entire class. Patton wasn’t shy, far from it, but even so, he never craved that kind of attention.

Luckily, he shared a few classes with the people he’d already met, although in his science class, he was all alone. He was thinking about what that class would be like⁠, considering everyone else had already made friends ⁠—except for him, of course⁠— when Janus returned from the bathroom, putting his gloves back on.

“How are you feeling?” Asked Janus, sitting near Patton’s head on the bed.

“Awful. My science teacher is a bit of a… pain. She expects me to just immediately start working on this project due in two weeks! And none of y’all have her, and I don’t know anyone in that class!”

“Listen, Pat, I may not have known you long, but it doesn’t take much to see that you make friends easily. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“Ugh, okay. But can you help me?” Patton asked sheepishly, “I already forgot all my teacher’s names.” Janus giggled and began going through the list with his friend.

The two studied and worked for a few hours before there was a knock at the door. “Hey kiddos, we leave in fifteen,” Patton’s father said, cracking open the door.

“Ugh. Why are they on a Monday, and why so late?” bemoaned the cat pixie, beginning to wrap up his work.

“Oh well, you know, it’s ‘tradition’ and they ‘don’t care about anyone getting enough sleep on a school night,’” Janus mocked, “It’s so annoying, my mom is so obsessed with things being exactly the same as they always were. It’s for the nature spirits or whatever.”

Patton giggled, “Well, it could be worse.” The snake shrugged and they headed downstairs.

“Is Virgil coming?” Asked the cat.

“Yeah. Normally he wouldn’t because he’s a shadow elf, but lately he’s been looking into magical apprenticeship.”

“That’s so cool! If I was an elf, I’d definitely wanna do magic.” Janus smiled at the other pixie. The two followed Geoni into the car, and they headed out. It was a short drive, just out of town, and took the family down a quiet back road.

“There,” said Janus as the car approached a parking lot on the side of the road. The fae noticed a slight yellow glowing. “It’s hidden by a cloaking spell, so only fae can see it.”

Geoni, who was driving, nodded and pulled into the lot, which was already quite full. He took a free space and the four climbed out. “Over here!” called Janus, heading out towards a glowing path. It was faint, but still easy to follow. The four walked for about ten minutes before reaching a large glowing circle. “Another cloaking spell. Just walk in.”

Patton stepped in with Janus, his father close behind. Suddenly, the sound of music, the smell of food, and the happy chatter of people filled the air around them. “Wow! Our circle was never like this!” exclaimed Patton as he looked around at the vendors, dancers, and musicians.

The snake smiled at him, “Do you want to have a look around?” The cat nodded excitedly before glancing back at his father.

“You two go ahead, I’ll explore on my own.”

Patton grinned and grabbed Janus’ hand, “Well?”

The snake blushed, “Follow me, I guess.” The pixie dragged his friend around the circle, showing him all the sights and sounds. The Brookside circle was known for its lively atmosphere, although Patton hadn’t really understood what that meant until he saw it.

After half an hour or so, the two stopped to eat dinner, getting some food from a vendor. They sat on the grass to eat and watched the pixies, fairies, and elves dance and play.

“Announcements are in like,” Janus checked his watch, “fifteen minutes or so.”

Patton nodded, gazing at the scene. After a pause, he looked at the snake, “Do you have to go up?”

“Nah.”

The two chatted about school for a few minutes as vendors started to close shop. After about fifteen minutes, the music slowed and stopped, and the fae began to take their seats as the stage was lit up. Janus’ mother—Ilani? Was it?—stepped up to a microphone. She began speaking, going over the events of the week. The magic levels in the forest, a strange creature that had been captured and was no longer a threat.

“This week, we have a very important announcement,” She paused, looking around to get the attention of all the fae. “We have word of a fae-hunting organization that is trying to lay their roots here. So far, it’s only… rumors. Although we do have a few confirmed anti-fae families. Be especially careful when talking to humans, and deny the existence of fae at any opportunity. At this point, we are not allowing humans to be newly alerted of fae presence. If a human does discover your identity, report it immediately to me or the council.” She gestured towards a table full of serious looking fae. She wrapped up the announcements with a few things about the upcoming holiday, and then stepped off the podium. The band began playing again, but the lively chatter was now dimmed and worried.

“Hey.”

Patton jumped, his tail straightening in shock. When he saw that it was Virgil who stood over him and Janus, however, he calmed and sat back down. “Sorry,” mumbled the shadow elf as he sat next to the snake.

Patton giggled, blushing a little. “It’s okay, you just shocked me.” The elf smiled in response.

“So how’d it go? Did you talk to the teachers?” asked Janus.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna start soon. I mean, I already learned some magic. My uh… my dad taught me, but yeah. I’m gonna learn with a proper teacher.” Virgil’s eyes stayed on the ground as he talked.

“That’s great.” said the snake, fondly playing with the other’s hair.

“So, there was that… um.” Patton mumbled nervously.

“What is it?” Janus turned back to the cat.

“Your mom, she said something about… fae-hunting.”

The air was quiet when he said that, and the snake looked down. “I… heard them talking about it, but I didn’t want to bring it up in case it was wrong.” The snake spoke to both his friends. “There have been fae-hunting groups here in the past, and we managed to deal with it. Besides, we don’t even know if there is an organized group. From what she said, it’s just a few families.”

“But… I didn’t even know there were organized groups against fae. I’ve always… lived in a really sheltered world. We were always told to just… never speak to humans. I— I guess I figured, with the way they kept us, that no human had even heard of the fae.”

“Honestly,” started Virgil, “it’s far from it. A lot of humans know about the fae, even if they don’t believe in them. But, more importantly, when you have a circle as big as this one, it becomes an easy target for fae-hunters. We’ll have to be careful. Spend less time with Remus.” The elf spoke softly, but the words were sharp in Patton’s head.

“Let’s… go home.” Janus pulled the other two fae to their feet and scanned the crowd for Patton’s father. The older pixie was already on their way to them, and it didn’t take long for them to communicate it was time to go home. They walked with Virgil to the parking lot, gave him a goodbye, and started driving home.

Janus stepped inside with Patton, the cat pixie giving a tired goodbye before heading up to crash. The snake stayed for a bit, talking with Geoni. The cat pixie listened to his friend and father discuss the news from the night, before drifting off to sleep.

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geralehane · 4 years

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A Faeverse Story: The Forest Queens

(faeverse is my new series of interconnected short stories about fae and their girlfriends interactions with humans.)

Fae hate iron. Fate love bargains. Fae want your name.

I was about twelve when I met my first fae.

I ran away from home and into the Forgotten Forest – a bad decision to make, if you ask me. But I simply couldn’t stand my mother’s silent fuming any longer, and I just wanted to -- get away. To forget and be forgotten. That’s what the forest is for, isn’t it? In a way, I was a willing spirit for fae to abduct.

I wandered off deep into the forest and spend an hour aimlessly browsing through the trees. The forest is beautiful. Sun was shining through the leaves, illuminating them a shining brilliant green, and particles of dust swirling in the streams of light looked enchanting. That’s exactly the word.

I sat down on a tree stump, and I cried. I cried, because my mother didn’t love me, and I don’t think I loved her, either. I cried because there were no friends I could talk to about this, and even if there were, twelve year olds aren’t exactly equipped enough to deal with this kind of emotional turmoil. I cried, because I knew that I would end up going back to my broken home with its tense silence and my mother angrily washing dishes at me. I cried, because there seemed to be no escaped.

That’s when she crept out of the woods, her steps light, inaudible. She walked the way only fae could – almost levitating. And mesmerizing. Fae are, despite all of the danger and alleged people eating, magnificent creatures.

“Hey.” Her voice was light, too. Like wind, and sunshine, and the stream of a spring. All lovely clichés rolled together in one slender blonde-haired bundle standing before me.

I sprung to my feet and ran. Or wanted to run, really. Except I only ended up stumbling over a branch that wasn’t here before and scraping my knee as I fell down.

“Am I that scary?” Fae cocked her head to the right, studying me with her amused eyes. Emerald green. Just like the leaves with the sun shining through them.

I kept silent. Talking with fae, if you’re inexperienced at it, could end badly. On the other hand, what did I have to lose, really? My name? My life? None of it particularly mattered to me. None of it made me happy. So I stood up, dusted myself off, and looked at her.

She appeared to be the same age as me, but you never knew with fae, the immortal creatures they were. She could be a thousand years old and I wouldn’t know till she told me. She was a little shorted than me, and much, much prettier. Which isn’t that hard to be when the eternal magick of the Forgotten Forest and the spirits of wanderers lost feed your youth and beauty.

“So?” She got impatient with me rather quickly. Not surprising. “Am I that scary?”

“No,” I said quietly. “Not really. But I’m still scared.”

She stood, then, contemplating something as she studied me. Then, she sighed. “I won’t ask for your name. Don’t worry.”

“I can give it to you,” I said. For a second, I was enveloped by my fear; imagining The Feast of Fae, with a table full of every food I loved, beckoning me to eat something, anything, and never be able to return to the mortal world again. Imagining the endless dance. Imagining fading away into the sunlight, and the fae in front of me breathing my soul in.

I wasn’t sure that that was exactly how it went, but my twelve-year-old imagination pictured everything so vividly and beautifully that I didn’t want to know the truth. Perhaps, fae would simply gnaw on my flesh and bones instead while I danced away in a magically induced haze. Perhaps, they – or even her, in front of me - would wear my skin and come back to my mother.

“Careful.” Her quiet voice interrupted my train of thought that was about to take a rather gory turn. “It’s not something you want to say in this forest. Come on.” She gave me another long stare. “Follow me.”

I had already made peace with the fact that I was staying in the Forgotten Forest forever, so I simply did as I was told. To my surprise, instead of a sunny meadow and a dinner table, she led me back to the town border.

“Go. Don’t come back.” Her expression was serious, and it looked completely out of place on her young, ethereal face. “I can’t cross over the border, or I’d walk you home. But hey,” a tiny smirk appeared on her lips, then. “If you managed to survive an hour in the Forgotten Forest, I’m sure you’ll find your way back home.”

The words escaped my mouth before I even had a chance to thought them over. “What if I don’t want to go back home? What if I wanna stay here?”

“No mortal wants to stay here,” she cut me off, rather coldly. “Go before I change my mind.”

That was when my self-preservation instinct kicked in, and I ran. Mother didn’t even notice my absence, and I never told anymore about my run-in with fae. No one would believe I escaped her, anyway.

For a week after that, I waited. And researched. I read everything I could on fae, but the books didn’t offer much – only that they were trouble and you should never talk to them, or attempt to bargain. There were things I already knew – that they hated salt and iron and you could use that to protect yourself, should a stray fae wander up to your house. In the Forgotten Forest, though, that was virtually useless. It was their territory. The land itself gave them power. Or so dusty old books told me. I wasn’t that dumb of a kid to go to the forest again, but I also had enough anxiety that told me the border might not stop a fae that realized she let her prey go.

So I stocked up on salt and waited seven long, sleepless nights for her to come take me back. Yet she never appeared. I waited for confusing, luring dreams, but they never happened. I waited, and waited, and it was almost in vain.

Until the eight night, when I awoke to a silver moon and an annoyed familiar face staring at me through the window. Naturally, I screamed. Or attempted to, really, but fae waved her hand at me, and no sound came out. I could only watch, wide-eyed and terrified, as she crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

Her next words, however, made me more baffled than scared. “What do you want?” She hissed, thoroughly irritated.

I blinked and gestured at my throat.

“You scream and I tear you apart,” she warned. I nodded. Huffing again, she snapped her fingers. “Now. What do you want?”

“N-nothing,” I stammered. “I don’t want anything.”

She glanced down at the window sill. “Salt? Seriously? I finally answer to your call, and you make it so I can’t get in?”

“My call?”

At my question, she narrowed her eyes, and studied me for a long moment. Her gaze ran over me, searching for something. And, clearly, she found what she was looking for, and she didn’t particularly like it. “If you don’t know about the call, how did you do it?”

“I don’t—”

“Yeah, you don’t know.” She shook her head, incredulous. Her hair shined silver in the moonlight, and her eyes looked dark. “Don’t think about me. Forget you ever met me. If I cross the border again, it’s to kill you and burn your town to the ground. Do you understand?”

Oh, I understood. I frantically nodded, wishing for this all to be over so I could go back to my uninterrupted, boring small-town life. As soon as I thought of it, her face relaxed, and her expression became that of a relief.

“Good,” she told me, curtly. “Hope to never see you again.” With that, she stepped away from my window and ran. I didn’t watch her retreat. I jumped from the bed, closed the curtains, and poured another salt circle around my bed before climbing back in and hiding under the blanket.

I was wildly successful in not thinking of fae at all for several years. If I were more willing to start therapy, I would’ve been probably told that I blocked a traumatic experience as a defense mechanism. And I, once again, successfully avoided even talking about fae unless it came to studies, and I was the only one in my class to opt out of the Defense Against Fae class, which didn’t exactly help with my social standing as that quiet freak.

It was only at my graduation night that I was forced to think of her again.

Our class gathered at the house of our valedictorian, as was the long-running tradition. It certainly helped that our valedictorian came from an extremely long and equally powerful line of witches. Makes sense, really; children of ancient witch families were taught the craft earlier than they learned to walk. I, like many of other simple witches, only got to start on the witchcraft at the age of fourteen. Anything earlier was deemed potentially harmful. But old bloodlines didn’t care. And maybe they were onto something, too.

The fact that our valedictorian was from one of these families meant not only proficiency in magic, but wealth, too. Wealth meant owning a house that was more of a mansion, which meant a party for the ages. I had no idea how I ended up going there. The invitation stretched for everyone in the class, though, and I wasn’t all that looking forward to spending another lonely night in my room with my mother silently watching TV. I guess I just wanted to celebrate at least somehow. Do something to remember one of the most important days in my life.

It turned out to be both the worst and the best decision I’ve ever made.

When it was late and half the class had passed out in various places not really meant to passing out around the house and the other half got tired of excessive dancing and drinking, we all spilled out into the backyard to gather around the fire. Another tradition. I stood a little behind, silently sipping on my wine and watching everyone joke around and exchange promises they likely won’t keep. Until it got quieter, and the main fae expert of our class, Sam, noticed me.

“Hey,” he addressed me, with a tiny bit of slur in his words. “Hey – Mika, right?” His pupils, dilated and sparkling, told me he’d been sipping on potions that night. That didn’t help me at all. I wondered if I should translocate to my house. That would be too dangerous for a novice like me. I could always just run, though.

“Yeah, Mika,” he nodded and beckoned me to come closer and sit on one of the logs that served as chairs around the crackling bonfire. “I always wanted to ask you. Why are you so afraid of fae?”

“Why aren’t you?” I replied quietly. Every pair of eyes watched me as I slowly sat down.

He shrugged. “Why would I be?” The on-going question ping-pong did nothing good for my anxiety. I took a deep breath and shrugged back at him, clearly indicating I wasn’t interested in continuing with this conversation. But he wasn’t done. And not just him. Reana Griffin, the valedictorian, watched the exchange with unhealthy interest.

“No, seriously,” Sam continued coking his head to the right. Just like – no. I gulped the remaining wine down, shutting the thought down. “You didn’t take the Defense class. You never talk about them.”

“I never talk about anything to any of you,” I reasoned.

Reana smirked. “Then why are you here?”

I didn’t have an answer to that, and I was all out of wine to gulp.

“Come on, tell us,” Sam said loudly. He spilled some wine on his tailored pants, and didn’t notice. “Something happened, didn’t it? Did they kill your father?”

“Sam,” one of his friends, a guy I didn’t remember the name of, shushed him disapprovingly. “Too far, man.”

“No one killed my father,” I said, clearing my throat. “He was just... never there. I don’t really…” Why was I even sharing any of these with those people? I glanced at my empty glass. Right.

Everyone kept staring at me. Witch unions were supposed to last forever – literally, in some cases. Divorce was unheard of. One of the many reasons I didn’t really have friends. Everyone speculated that my mother got rid of my father, or that I caused him to leave, somehow.

“So you don’t know your dad?”

“Wait, I wanna know what’s up with her and fae first,” Sam interrupted.

“Nothing,” I said. Nothing was up with me and fae. I was afraid of them. I couldn’t think of them. It inevitably lead to thinking about her, and what happened that night, and what did she even mean by my call? And why did she save me – and did she even save me at all, or did I make it all up in my lonely mind of a lonely child to escape the reality of being utterly, truly alone?

I blinked and felt something wet drip down my cheek. Great. Now I was crying in front of these brilliant, wealthy, confident morons. Truly a way to end the night. I blinked faster, and the tears kept coming faster, too. I couldn’t bear to watch their faces twist with pity, so I pointedly looked past them, far eat. In the direction of the Forest.

It probably shouldn’t have been such a surprise to see her standing there. She grew up, too, as I did. Her hair was longer, and it still shone silver under the moonlight. She stood mere feet away from where we were all sitting, and her smirk was as warm as it was annoyed. At first, I thought she was just a result of my desperation and blurry vision. But, when I wiped the tears away, she remained.

“I’m surprised it took you this long,” she told me. Everyone turned around, and then scrambled to their feet, cries of surprise and fear filling the air. I didn’t move. I simply watched her as she walked to me, her bare feet barely touching the ground.

“So am I.” There was something different about meeting her this time. There was no fear. “Are you mad at me?”

“Not anymore.” She outstretched her hand. “Come.”

“Aren’t you going to kill me and burn this town to the ground?” I asked, then, allowing myself a small smile as I stood and took her hand. Warm. And soft. It promised forever. So I accepted.

And she led me away; away from my gawking classmates and my small town and my dim future; away from my previous life that seemed so dull in comparison with the bright green of The Forgotten Forest. We crossed the clearing that separated the town and the woods, and I didn’t ask why The Forest was suddenly illuminated by sunshine, just like the way it was when we first met. I just watched, and breathed the warm summer air in, and smiled.

“It’s yours now,” she told me, quietly, as we stood before the unseen border. “All of it.”

I looked at her. “Do you need my name?”

“No. No,” she shook her head, and let out a small, melodic laugh. “But you don’t need it, either. You can find a new one. I can give you a new one, if you want. Or you can go without any name at all.”

I thought of it, and the last option seemed the best. Later, perhaps, we’ll come up with something together. Now, I just wanted to be.

And so I smiled wider, and grasped her hand, and led her over the border, into the emerald depth of our forest. patreon

#faeverse #wlw drabble #femslash #the forgotten forest #forest queens #writing #short story #fae #wlw novel

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entamewitchlulu · 4 years

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so i did a reading challenge this year and i wanna talk about what i read

transcription under the cut

i did Popsugar 2019 and wanna talk about what i read: Book Reccs and Anti-Reccs

1.) Becoming a Movie in 2019: Umbrella Academy (vol 1) by Gerard Way and Gabriel Ba

4/5. A fascinating take on superpowers, dysfunctional families, and the apocalypse. Can get pretty gory, confusing here and there and you have to pay close attention to panels for lore, but overall an entertaining romp.

2.) Makes you Feel Nostalgic: Circles in the Stream by Rachel Roberts

4/5. Middle grade novel about the magic of music, belief, and of course, friendship. Definitely written for kids, and has some unfortunately clumsy Native rep, but overall an absolute joy to dive into once again.

3.) Written by a Musician: Umbrella Academy (vol 2) by Gerard Way and Gabriel Ba

4/5. Ramps up the confusion to ridiculous degrees with some absolutely bonkers, unexplained arcs, but still fun to watch this dysfunctional family do its dysfunctional thing.

4.) You Think Should be Turned into a movie: All That Glitters by Rachel Roberts

4/5. Continuation of Circles in the Stream, but with more unicorns, more rainbows, and more fae, which makes it automatically even better than the first.

5.) With At Least 1 Mil. Ratings on Goodreads: 1984 by George Orwell

1/5. I understand why it's important and all but wasn't prepared for some of the more graphic scenes and the overall hopelessness of the message. Would not recommend or read again.

6.) W/ a Plant in the title or cover: The secret of Dreadwillow carse by Brian farrey

5/5. A fantasy world where everyone is always happy, save for one girl and the princess, who set out to solve the mystery of their kingdom. Poignant and great for kids and adults.

7.) Reread of a favorite: Cry of the Wolf by Rachel Roberts

4/5. Yet another installment in the Avalon: Web of Magic series, which clearly I am obsessed with. Please just read them.

8.) About a Hobby: Welcome to the Writer's Life by Paulette Perhach

5/5. A welcome kick in the pants, chock full of great advice told without condescension, and full of hope and inspiration for writers both new and old.

9.) Meant to read in 2018: The Poet x by Elizabeth Acevedo

4/5. Absolutely beautiful coming of age novel told in verse. Do yourself a favor and listen to the audiobook version.

10.) w/ "pop," "sugar," or "challenge" in the title: Black Sugar by Miguel Bonnefoy

2/5. I think maybe I just don't understand this genre. Or maybe the translation was weird. I was confused.

11.) w/ An Item of Clothing or Accessory on the cover: Our dreams at Dusk by Yuhki Kamatani

4/5. It had a lot more slurs/homophobia than I was prepared for, but otherwise is a very touching, relatable collection of queer characters living in a heteronormative world.

12.) Inspired by Mythology or Folklore: Ravenous by MarcyKate Connolly

3/5. A girl goes on an impossible quest to save her brother from a child-eating witch. Really wanted to like it more because I loved the first one, Monstrous, but it dragged a little.

13.) Published Posthumously: The Islands of Chaldea by Diana Wynne Jones

3/5. I adore Diana Wynne Jones, but this one was missing some of the magic of her other books. Not sure if it was because it had to be finished by someone else, or if I just grew out of her stories.

14.) Set in Space: Binti by Nnedi Okorafor

4/5. Powerfully written story of a girl straddling tradition and innovation, who wields power through mathematical magic, surviving on a spaceship alone with a dangerous alien occupation after everyone else has been killed.

15.) By 2 Female Authors: Burn for Burn by Jenny Han and Siobhan Vivian

2/5. Ostensibly a story about a revenge pact in a small island town, but leaves far too many dangling threads to attempt alluring you to the sequel.

16.) W/ A Title containing "salty," "bitter," "Sweet," or "Spicy": The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith

3/5. It's okay but I literally just never know what anyone means at any time. Are they being reticent on purpose or do i just not understand communication

17.) Set in scandinavia: Vinland Saga by Makoto Yukimura

2/5. Technically and historically accurate and well made, but the story itself is not my cup of tea. Very gory.

18.) Takes Place in a Single Day: Long WAy Down by Jason Reynolds

4/5. A boy goes to avenge his murdered brother, but ghostly passengers join him on the elevator ride down. Stunning and powerful character-driven analysis.

19.) Debut Novel: Nimona by Noelle Stevenson

4/5. Charming and then surprisingly heart-breaking comic about Nimona, a shapeshifter who wants to become a villain's minion. Really love the villain/hero dynamic going on in the background, along with the dysfunctional found family.

20.) Published in 2019: The Book of Pride by Mason Funk

4/5. A collection of interviews with the movers, shakers, and pioneers of the queer and LGBTQ+ community. An absolutely essential work for community members and allies alike.

21.) Featuring an extinct/imaginary creature: Phoebe and her Unicorn by Dana Simpson

4/5. Incredibly charming, Calvin and Hobbes-esque collection of comics featuring the adventures of Phoebe and her unicorn best friend.

22.) Recced by a celebrity you admire: The Emerald Circus by Jane Yolen

2/5. Recced by my fave author Brandon Sanderson. An unfortunately disappointing anthology proving that any story can be made uninteresting by telling the wrong section of it.

23.) With "Love" in the Title: Book Love by Debbie Tung

4/5. One of those relatable webcomics, only this one I felt super hard almost the entire time. Books are awesome and libraries rule.

24.) Featuring an amateur detective: Nancy Drew: Palace of Wisdom by Kelly Thompson

4/5. REALLY love this modern take on Nancy Drew, coming back home to her roots to solve a brand new mystery. Diverse cast and lovely artwork, though definitely more adult.

25.) About a family: Amulet by Kabu Kibuishi

4/5. Excellent, top tier graphic novel about a sister and brother who have to go rescue their mother with a mysterious magic stone. LOVE that the mom gets to be involved in the adventure for once.

26.) by an author from asia, Africa, or s. America: Girls' Last tour by Tsukumizu

4/5. Somehow both light-hearted and melancholy. Two girls travel about an empty, post-apocalyptic world, and muse about life and their next meal.

27.) w/ a Zodiac or astrology term in title: Drawing down the moon by margot adler

3/5. A good starting place for anyone interested in the Neo Pagan movement, but didn't really give me what I was personally looking for.

28.) you see someone reading in a tv show or movie: The Promised NEverland by Kaiu Shirai

4/5. I don't watch TV or movies where people read books so i think reading an adaptation of a TV series after watching the series counts. Anyway it was good but beware racist caricatures

29.) A retelling of a classic: Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy by Rey Terciero

5/5. We can stop the Little Women reboots and retellings now, this is the only one we need. In fact, we can toss out the original too, this is the only one necessary.

30.) w/ a question in the title: So I'm a spider, so what? by Asahiro Kakashi

4/5. Cute art despite the subject matter, and a surprisingly enthralling take on the isekai genre. Love the doubling down on the video game skills.

31.) Set in a college or university campus: Moonstruck (vol 2) by Grace Ellis

2/5. An incredibly cute, beautiful, and fascinating world of modern magic and creatures, but unfortunately falls apart at the plot and pacing.

32.) About someone with a superpower: Moonstruck (vol 1) by Grace Ellis

4/5. Though nearly as messy plot-wise as its sequel, the first volume is overwhelmingly charming in a way that overpowers the more confusing plot elements.

33.) told from multiple povs: The Long way to a Small, Angry Planet by becky Chambers

4/5. Told almost in a serial format, like watching a miniseries, a group of found-family spaceship crew members make the long journey to their biggest job ever.

34.) Includes a wedding: We Set the dark on fire by Tehlor kay mejia

4/5. Timely and poignant, a girl tumbles into both love and resistance after becoming one of two wives to one of the most powerful men in the country.

35.) by an author w/ alliterative name: The only harmless great Thing by brooke bolander

3/5. Much deeper than I can currently comprehend. Beautifully written, but difficult to parse.

36.) A ghost story: Her body and other parties by Carmen Maria Machado

4/5. It counts because one of the stories in it has ghosts. A sometimes difficult collection of surrealist, feminist, queer short stories.

37.) W/ a 2 word title: Good omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

4/5. Charming, touching, and comical, probably the best take on the apocalypse to date. Also excellent ruminations on religion and purpose.

38.) based on a true story: The faithful Spy by John Hendrix

4/5. Brilliantly crafted graphic biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and his assistance in fighting back against Nazi Germany.

39.) Revolving around a puzzle or game: the Crossover by Kwame alexander

4/5. The verse didn't always hit right with me, but the story is a sweet, melancholy one about family, loss, and moving on.

40.) previous popsugar prompt (animal in title): The last unicorn by peter s. Beagle

5/5. Absolutely one of my all-time favorite books, it manages to perfectly combine anachronism and comedy with lyricism, melancholy, and ethereal beauty.

41.) Cli-fi: Tokyo Mew Mew by Mia ikumi and Reiko Yoshida

4/5. Shut up it counts

42.) Choose-your-own-adventure: My Lady's choosing by Kitty curran

3/5. Cute in concept, a bit underwhelming in execution. Honestly, just play an otome.

43.) "Own Voices": Home by Nnedi Okorafor

3/5. The storytelling style was definitely not my style; while the first book was slow, too, it felt more purposeful. I found my attention wandering during this installment.

44.) During the season it's set in: Pumpkinheads by rainbow rowell

3/5. Cute art, but precious little substance. The concept simply wasn't for me in the first place.

45.) LITRPG: My next life as a villainess: All routes lead to doom! by Hidaka nami

5/5. An absolute insta-fave! Charming art, endearing characters, an incredible premise, and so much sweet wholesome fluff it'll give you cavities.

46.) No chapters: The field guide to dumb birds of north america by matt kracht

3/5. It started out super strong, but the joke started to wear thin at a little past the halfway point.

47.) 2 books with the same title: Unfollow by Megan Phelps-Roger

4/5. A brave and enduring personal story of growing up in and eventually leaving the Westboro Baptist Church. Really called to me to act with grace and kindness even more in the future.

48.) 2 books with the same title: unfollow by rob williams and michael dowling

1/5. How many times do you think we can make Battle Royale again before someone notices

49.) That has inspired a common phrase or idiom: THe Outsiders by S.E. Hinton

4/5. Definitely good and deserves it's praise as something that pretty much revolutionized and created an entire demographic of literature.

50.) Set in an abbey, cloister, Monastery, convent, or vicarage: Murder at the vicarage by agatha christie

3/5. I just cannot. physically keep up with all of these characters or find the energy to read between the lines.

ok that's all i got, what did y'all read and like this year? (oh god it’s gonna be 2020)

#book reccs #lulu booktalks

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monstartle · 5 years

Text

The Kelpie

Pairing: Straight

Length: ~2,300

Not suited for public environments

Decription: You find yourself at your grandparent’s beach home after your own parent’s passing, fixing to sell the property as it’s tie to you brings nothing but sadness. But when an old friend appears, he completely changes your view as he persuades you to keep the home.

Your family always took a trip down to the beach at the very end of the summer. It was mostly to visit your grandparents, who had a house within walking distance to a private beach, but it was also to wind down your summers with a positive vibe.

Eventually, your parents ended up moving into the beach house after your grandparents. But with your parents bittersweet passing, you inherited the house. You hadn't been to the house during the summer for years now, but you remember playing along the tidepools, spotting tiny octopi, and helping stranded starfish back into the water. You remembered exactly how the speckled sand felt between your toes, and how the sun touched your skin.

You smiled, imagining all the fun adventures and creatures you'd imagine along the beach when you were little. But now you stood at the edge where the tides brushed against the sand, deep in thought, gazing at the moon's reflection in the waves.

The absence of your parents weighed heavy on you. You didn't want to admit it, but you've thought about selling the property, thinking it would help you heal. Your best friend convinced you that maybe spending the weekend at the house would change your mind, but you were beginning to think that she would be wrong about that.

You were about to head inside when something underneath the water caught your eye. You froze, staring and hoping to get a better look. You almost missed the second time it occurred, this time closer to the shore, and when it moved a third time, it broke the water.

In the darkness of the night, it looked as if a strong, black horse had risen from the sea, but as it approached the shore, it became much clearer what the creature was. It's mane mixed with seaweed, and it had gill slits behind it's cheek. It's tail looked thick with muscle, and instead of hair, it ended with a tailfin. The creature was just like the kelpie you had imagined as a child, or at least...thought you had imagined.

"Wait," you said. "I know you."

The horse— sorry, kelpie stepped forward, and as soon as it's hoof touched the sand, it shifted into a man with long, seaweed filled hair and flowing garments.

"Arlan," His name slipped out of your mouth, like you hadn't forgotten about him all these years. "Is it really you?"

The memories came flooding back now, you two used to play together along the beach. He saw you trying to rescue all the creatures who were stranded at the tide pools after the tide had gone down, and he admired your efforts and befriended you. You both were a lot younger then, and now he was oh so handsome.

"I didn't think I would see you again," He began, embracing you with a hug. "You've grown so much! Look at how beautiful you are."

You flushed, returning the hug. "I could say the same thing about you."

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

You bit your lip and avoided his eyes. "My mother and father left the house to me...I'm here because I'm thinking about selling it."

"Oh, but you can't!" Arlan gasped. "You just got here."

The look on his face melted your heart. Being with Arlan in this moment brought back even happier memories that you thought you made up or even forgotten. It made the pain of your family's absence more bearable.

"Well, I'm staying the whole weekend at least. It'd be nice if we could catch up?"

Arlan's eyes lit up. "I'd love that."

You lead him up the wooden steps and into the beach house. Your take-out still sitting on the kitchen island from earlier that evening, but everything else was the way your parents and grandparents had left it.

"Do you remember the time you snuck me into this house? It almost feels like that now, almost as if nothing has changed," he whispered.

You smiled, remembering how you two almost got caught because you were giggling so much that night. Eventually Arlan had to sneak back down the beach before his parents had found out. "I do remember."

You both sat down on the living room couch. The giant windows open, letting the gentle breeze of the night roll in.

You talked about your schooling and career, you filled Arlan in on the passing of your grandparents and parents, and answered any questions he had about the human world. You told him about your friends back at your current place, and filled him in on funny inside jokes you had with them. You asked him about what his life has been like since you stopped visiting the beach and he told you about the fae court that he worked in. You marveled at how the fae world was intertwined with your own, yet so unnoticed.

"But, if humans and fae aren't supposed to interact and humans aren't supposed to know that you exist...why did you show yourself to me again? I could have gone on knowing that you were just a piece of my imagination."

Arlan's face faltered. "Seeing you brought back so many happy memories...I know I couldn't just be a distant thought to you anymore. I had to talk to you again."

"Arlan…" Your heart fluttered. "You're...not going to get in trouble, are you?"

"Nah," Arlan smirked. "Unseelie are supposed to kidnap humans, I can bend the rules a little."

"Have you really kidnapped someone before?" You gasped.

He chuckled. "Oh heavens no. It's a bit archaic of unseelie to do something like that now. Some fae still do out of tradition, but no. We have more important matters to attend to."

You both chatted some more. Your head was now buzzing with questions about the court and the unseelie. He filled you in as much as he was allowed to, promising more information in the future. But eventually, you found yourself falling asleep.

You woke up in the large bed of the master room. You stretched in bed, thinking last night could have been a dream. You rushed to get ready, scarfing something down quick before bounding out the door and heading to the beach.

When Arlan didn't come, your heart sank. Perhaps it was all just a dream?

But just as you turned around to trek back up the path to your house, a familiar voice sounded behind you.

"Going back so soon?"

"Arlan!" You spun around quickly and almost toppled him over with your hug. "I thought I dreamt you up."

He pet your hair in the embrace. "What can I do to convince you to stay? To not sell the house?" His voice sounded solemn.

You broke the embrace to get a better look at him. Then you turned to look at the house in the distance. "I... don't know. This house...while it holds great memories, it reminds me of death."

Arlan took your hand gently and began to lead you toward the house.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

As you entered the house, he lead you up the stairs and along a hallway until you stopped at the end of it. He looked up and you followed his gaze. It was the attic's entrance.

He pulled the string that brought the attic ladder down and began to climb.

"Watch your step," he said, looking over his shoulder at you.

As you made it inside, you looked around at some of the dusty, stored items. Old furniture and toys dotted the attic. Arlan pulled down a box labeled "mementos", setting it in between the two of you and opened it.

In it was a photo album, various medals won from junior sports, and other trinkets. Arlan grabbed and opened the photo album.

Inside were pictures of your family. Most involving grandma as a child, growing up at the beach. Then, as she grew older in the photos, grandpa began to make an appearance. The book showed Grandma and Grandpa's marriage, and then ended with the birth of your father and his sister.

Seeing the photos made you smile. "It's...comforting seeing that life did take place here once."

"And it can happen again," Arlan said while brushing his fingers against your cheek. It sent goosebumps down your body.

"Do you mean...you and... I?" You said, flustered.

"Well, I mean, eventually." He pondered. "That is, if you wanted to… with me."

"Oh, Arlan." Your blush deepened. "I want nothing more in the world."

"So, you'll stay?" His eyes lit up. "You won't sell the house?"

You gave it a long thought. "I'll stay," you agreed.

His excitement got the better of him and he pulled you into a kiss. Your stomach did flips, begging to release the butterflies that it held in place. You giggled into the kiss, not really wanting him to stop.

You packed everything back up except for the photo album, which you brought downstairs with you to place on a mantle.

Arlan couldn't keep his hands off of you after that. "Sorry," he said, wrapping his hands around your waist and kissing your neck. "I'm just so happy."

His kisses tickled you. "Don't apologize," you said, petting the side of his face. "I'm enjoying the attention." You breathed in his scent. He smelled like sea and spices.

You kissed him once more and felt your feet leave the floor as he picked you up and walked you to the bedroom. You smiled into the kiss, admittedly excited for what was going to happen.

He laid you gently on the bed, hovering over your figure for a moment. "Do you want this?"

Your fingertips reached for his skin. "Very much so."

He kissed you once more before trailing kisses down your neck as he unbuttoned your shirt. As soon as your skin was exposed, his fingers explored every inch. Fingertips met breast and nipple, and as he toyed with the flesh you found it hard to keep your little noises at bay.

He left a hickey on your hip, and then replaced a hand with his mouth, dancing his tongue around your nipple. His touch was driving you crazy, and felt as if you should return the favor as your hands roamed around his torso until your hands wandered to his hardening member. When you brushed your fingertips along the shaft you felt it twitch and Arlan himself tensed up. You brushed along its body again, hoping for a similar reaction, but instead he found his way into your underwear. You had been so concentrated on what you were doing that you didn't notice until one of his fingers met your flesh. The surprise caused you to grab ahold of his arm for support.

"So wet already," he whispered. It sent shivers down your spine.

His long hair brushed against your stomach as he stripped you of your underwear. His tongue met your flesh in one long stroke. You bucked your hips out of reflex and felt his hands grab your hips to ground you. He found your clit and began to suck. You never thought something could feel this good, and it was a good thing he had a grip on your hips because you spasmed and flailed as he continued to pleasure you.

Your hand flew to his hair as you felt yourself approach release. Your thighs closed in, and your back arched as you moaned his name aloud.

You heard as gasp as he came up for air. "Not yet," he panted.

He untied his loose fitting pants which allowed his now fully erect cock to spring to life.

Arlan rutted against your slick entrance and groaned in pleasure. You felt him ease in, buried to the hilt. "You feel so good," he sighed.

You could only moan in response, wiggling your hips to let him know that he could move.

He bucked into you once and shuddered. Then he slowly began to move his hips. His half lidded eyes lifted and a smile slowly formed on his lips. You couldn't help but smile back at this man you love, little butterflies rising up into your chest. He kissed you gently, petting your hair.

Arlan then grabbed both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders. You were taken by surprise as the new position allowed him to push farther into you. His thumb found your clit once more as his hips met your round ass.

"Arlan," you whimpered. "Faster."

He complied and bent forward to kiss you. You must have been making quite the show because he mentioned how much he loved the sounds you were creating.

All of the little sensations were building up now. That tensing feeling crept up again. You reach out and cling to Arlan as he continues to thrust into you. He too begins to groan, his thrusts becoming more wild. Your whole body tenses, and your legs bring him close yet he's still somehow able to plow into you deeper, throwing you just over the edge of your climax. Arlan feels you spasm around his member and with one final thrust he stills, spilling his seed. You both lay there for a moment, panting and enjoying yourselves.

He wrapped his arms around your body after you both cooled off a bit. He was smiling down at you, lost in thought, and nothing but love in his eyes.

You giggled. "What?"

"Oh nothing. I was just thinking about what it would be like being your husband. And maybe eventually what it would be like with a little one running around."

Your heart danced at the thought and while picturing little toes in the warm sand, you fell asleep in Arlan's arms. Happiness was in your life once more.

#my writing #exophilia #monster lover #lemon #kelpie #straight #posting this on mobile so sorry if the formatting is super wonky

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not-a-statement · 6 years

Text

Chasing ghosts. Chapter 1

I’m finally posting the first chapter.

Forgive me for my grammar, like I said I'm not a native speaker, but I hope you'll find it at least readable.

As always big thanks to @edward-or-ford for all his help and guidance

I’ll soon figure out how to create a master post, but just for now I’ll leave a link to a prologue (if you haven’t read it) here

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter

New City, NY, August 31st 2024

Dipper set aside the empty glass and glanced around at the merry people gathered to celebrate the Pines twins’ birthday. There were friends, a couple of relatives, colleagues. Mostly the Zach Turner’s colleagues: Dipper himself did not have personal contact with many people every day. A freelance journalist is called freelance for a reason. But if you are a stockbroker, even a beginner, then you might be in this kind of crowd. All of them fit, most of them tanned (probably from a solarium), wearing fancy Trussardi polos, a full set in order to impress you. To make you believe that you are looking at a wealthy confident man who knows no worries and ready tackle any money issues.

No, It’s not that Dipper could blame them, it's just their job to look successful and reliable. But from all this dazzling crowd hanging out in the backyard of the house he began to feel a ruffling sensation in his eyes. As if somebody poured a bucket of transparent glue on each of them and after they were shot with a sequins canon or whatever. It’s just seemed that each movement of these people somehow refracted the rays of sunlight at such an angle to hit Dipper directly in the eyes with a piercing beam. But anyway, Mabel was probably over-delighted with this kind display. Somehow it became a sort of tradition for the past ten years: what was painful for Dipper was pretty joyfull for Mabel.

Pines mentally kicked himself for that last thought. It sounded terrible, even if he didn’t say it out loud. And it sounded even worse coming from the thoughts of a loving brother.

Hah, a loving ... brother. It's odd even to put these two words in one sentence…

Another mental kick. Don’t you even dare to think about your feelings for your own sister, not now. Better to not ever.

Disgusting thoughts.

Wrong feelings.

Bad brain. Very bad and being an ass right now. We need to focus on what is important: today's birthday. Stan could get to us from his backwoods. Dad and Mom are also going to visit in a couple of days, when they return from the next trip around the country. They are probably happy with their new life without the constant care of children, busy only with each other and with their dreams.

Everyone was happy. Why couldn’t Dipper at least relax a little and pretend that he enjoyed this noise, instead of constantly thinking about escape paths from this house filled with smiling mannequins and idle talk? From the house where every piece of furniture, every spoon from the gift set and every word uttered by its inhabitants would forever remind Dipper of what he lost, and more than that, what he could never get. It was taken away from him by this slender hard-built bastard with a radiant smile from ear to ear and the sweetest speeches that he poured in huge doses into the ears of everyone around him. All these manners, courtesy. Damn, was it really only Dipper that was sick of this man-made likeness? Did no one else see his essence? Why did no one else see him as the dirty bastard he was? And why was Mabel, sweet smart Mabel, so blinded by all his fake ... this fake ... facade?

Dipper let out a deep sigh and reached for the glass again.

You know what? Forget it. You once again begin to come up with wild ideas and seeing things. Not every man hovers around Mabel actually turns out to be a psychopath, a juvenile maniac or a bunch of wild Fae creatures.

Yes, but I was right then!

Because then you tried to protect your sister, not the girl you are in love with.

As if there is any difference.

Newsflash. Of course there is. Want an example? Okay second year at college, the black guy what’s-his-face? Always found an excuse to hang in your dorm room with Mabel. You do remember him, right? And how long did it take your eye to recover from swelling.

Hey, it's not my fault that he got into a fight.

It happens when you get a lot of suspicious glares.

There weren’t so many of them ...

Dude, he still probably thinks you are a racist or something.

The rumble of a bourbon being filled in a glass was almost a lullaby. Dipper did not even notice how he filled the vessel almost to the brim.

Well, that was great: he was talking to himself now! Not that it was the first time. He often arranged internal disputes on this or that topic, clashing his rational part with itself or with the sensual, but never before his emotional side sounded so offended and pitiful.

Dipper frowned, sipping an amber drink, which burned his tongue and throat, but at the same time it became a little easier to consider everything that was happening and himself in it. With this ease, eyelids grew heavy, thoughts became slower - only the footage of the last six months of his life began to flash before his eyes.

If it could be called that. A life ...

Life is something sensible, controlled in the most of things. With no comprehensible forecast, only with assumptions - and that's enough, believe me.

And this kind of floating in the time-space with rare interactions with random objects floating there as well could hardly be called a life. It's like flying on autopilot without a specific purpose. And even you can not enjoy a journey in spite of what they say. A kind of asteroid in the cold space.

Or more like....

Perhaps it's ... like a satellite? Yes, a satellite that spends its entire life quietly orbiting its planet - a circle after a circle, year after year. It's boring, but you can adapt, especially if you do not think about why you get in this orbit and what happened before. If you do not replay in your mind moments from the past when at the age of fifteen you started to notice things that should not have been noticed, when your sweating hands, weak legs and lack of words turned the simplest conversation into an attraction of strangeness and awkwardness. If you do not replay memories of prom night over and over again in your head, which you found an excuse not to go to having no date to bring along, and your sister spent the whole night accompanied by that tall blond guy from her Spanish class and returned only the morning after. Or how you secretly threw out letters from the MIT that was ready to tear you away from the opportunity to choose a college in the same city as Mabel did.

Collect all these pieces together, and here you are - Dipper Pines - a proud mayor of the city called "What am I doing with my life?". Population: one person.

No, not like that.

And you are ready to go out into the streets and tear leaflets to passers-by with an invitation to the seminar "Are you too happy with your life? I will tell you how to get rid of this feeling. Every Sunday at a local community center. BYOB"

Yes, that's better. I can at least raise a little money.

Wait, what am I talking about? I need to open my eyes ...

A little more ... a little more ...

Oh, No! Bad idea!

Too light! Too light and too many people!

Oh... damn it …

Hmm ... although what am I? This was like it before I fell into my thoughts.

And yes - I'm still here. In the backyard of this hellhole, where Turner dragged my May ... um ... my ... my sister in his clawed paws. And from this hell I will never get her out of.

Dipper opened his eyes a little wider and looked at Zach's two-story house with complete disdain. Painted in a sky blue color, with windows washed up to the illusion of their absence and a neat backyard with garden gnomes, miniature paths lined with wooden footbridges, solar-powered lanterns and a low fence separating this site from the neighboring ones, it fit perfectly into a quiet family scenery, which New City of himself represented. This house came in no comparison with a small apartment in Brooklyn, where the twins has lived for almost a year after moving to New York. The apartment, which was a witness of moments of happiness and sadness, where the TV sometimes wasn’t turn off til morning because of the another marathon of cheesy horror movies, which housed the whole world of two closest friends, who loved each other sincerely and unselfishly. And which kept the secrets of one of them about where in its sincerity and disinterestedness there were footnotes in small print.

At the age of sixteen, Dipper told himself that only time was needed and that everything would end, everything would pass.

Now that’s a funny statement. Like a film or a book with an open ending, it gives a choice. For example, how long will it take or what will end? How many more will a small gray spinning top spin before shaking and gradually slowing its course until it stops? And will it stop at all?

Well, anyway, Dipper learned one thing - nothing can depend only on his will and obey the dry logic and, therefore, control. At the age of eighteen, he began to feel how gradually the situation began to develop according to his own scenario, regardless of his efforts to manage it. At twenty-two he could hardly find an explanation for his actions and decisions, and six months ago …

Six months ago, the satellite nevertheless descended from orbit and began its journey through the cold dark and empty nothingness. Six months ago, time had finally passed and everything was over.

On that day he walked from the editorial office with a new assignment. It was Friday, there was nowhere to hurry, although on the streets of New York even if you do not want to you have to merge with the eternally rushing crowd. There was a smell of spring in the air, and no matter how cliched this phrase was, damn it, it was true. Even Dipper felt something like that. Light and warm whiff. For the short time that he walked from the editorial office, the world around acquired more color, more smells - not literally, New York, with its busy streets, always supplied smells even above normal. Everything around seemed to come to life, blossoming in all its glory.

Not surprisingly, Mabel was always so happy about the arrival of spring, wherever we were. Maybe I should learn from her? Observe her today while taking a walk in Central Park - why the guy can’t invite his sister to take a walk in Central Park? Also, it’s now so beautiful there - bare trees are just beginning to be covered with the first signs of foliage, old men and women and young lovers are walking slowly along the paths of the park, contemplating what’s happening around them ...

It is possible to pretend that there is no hidden sadness that there is no emptiness inside. You can just move your legs, do not think about anything and absorb the sensations. And all this next to the most beloved person in the whole world …

Immersed in these thoughts and not particularly paying attention to scurrying hurried to and fro people around him, Dipper did not notice how a lazy and pacified smile began to creep across his face.

At least today life is good!

Mabel was waiting for him in the Ferrara bakery on Grand Street, where she was heading after another interview. It turns out that it's not so easy to find a job in New York for a mobile designer, but Mabel was not one of those people who despairs even after four months of searching. Although it seemed to Dipper that her enthusiasm was already at an end, and only by some miracle she still finds the strength to get up in the morning. He wanted to cheer her up, somehow raise her spirits, even if she does not admit that she is sad. Show that he is near, that he was always and will be there.

He planned everything: meet Mabel after work, a walk in Central Park, pizza for dinner and several pre-prepared playlists to choose from - romantic comedies, musicals, horror films and detectives. When they were sixteen, they could spend the whole night before the TV screen watching this kind of marathon of films. It's clear, they are older now and they have work and responsibilities, but, hey - today is Friday.

Simple and sincere. Only two of them, together.

It sounds like a date. Something like that…

From Worcester Street, on which stood the editorial building, it was ten minutes to go to the venue. Turn to Grand Street and go east, bypassing Green, Mercer, Broadway, Crosby, Lafayette, Center, Baxter and Mulberry Street. Piece of cake.

Despite the fact that after the turn the only thing that he had to do was to be on the straight line all the time, Dipper repeatedly checked the route in Google maps to make sure that he does not get lost and will be in place on time. Yes, it sounds odd, but New York is a big city, and it needs to be able to navigate. He didn’t want to repeat the story when Mabel mistakenly left for Jersey City and Dipper had to explain to her how to send her geolocation message to find it and pick her up.

Although now, probably, Dipper with all the desire could not not find the place where his sister was waiting. Huge signboards to the owners of the establishment seemed to be not enough, so they hoisted a giant plastic cones with a multicolored ice cream on both sides of the entrance, put a showcase with sweets on the street, and on the visor above the entrance for some reason they’ve put an old red baker's truck or something like that. Only the red carpet leading inside was missing. Oh, no, here it is …

Mabel sat in the far corner at a table for two. Before her stood a half empty mug of latte (obviously with a syrup of bubble gum, how can one drink it at all?) And a barely touched strawberry cheesecake. A slight dreamy smile played on her lips, a look through half-open eyelids was directed against the wall opposite her, the cheek is propped up by the palm, and the head is slightly tilted. Oh, so might it be that today she was at luck?

And how did it always happen that in any situation, in any position and with any expression of her face, Mabel was more beautiful than all the girls, that he’s ever seen in his life?..

"Hi, sis," Dipper said with a smile. "How was today?"

Whatever Mabel dreamed of, she was deep in her thoughts, because only the creak of the chair being moved in front of her and the appearance of her brother in her field of vision could bring her back to reality.

"Oh, hello, Dip," she chirped smiling wider. "I didn’t expect you so early."

“What?” Dipper was slightly taken aback. “I thought that I was even five minutes late ... wait, is this sarcasm? ...”

"No, no," Mabel said, quickly removing her elbow from the table and tucking the hair into her ear. She scanned the bakery, as if not quite understanding where she was.

“What time is it now?”

"Um, seven o'clock, just the time we agreed to meet”

"Oh, already?" Mabel lowered her eyes slightly and began fiddling with the tips of her hair.

"The time flew by so quickly," she added in a half whisper. Her cheeks glowed softly.

“Yes, already” something suspicious was in the behavior of the sister. But put it off, Pines. You were going to offer something.

"Well, how did it go this time? Everything’s worked out? Looking forward to the call?”

"Or I can call first," Mabel playfully giggled.

“Mmm? Can you call them first for what?”

Mabel raised her eyes to her brother, in which a certain perplexity was read. For another couple of seconds, the sweet mist of dreams in her gaze dissipated until something clicked in her head, and she finally realized what Dipper was talking about.

"Ah, yes," she did her jazz hands "an interview. Well, it seems that next month you’ll still have to pay for the apartment. "She sighed and took a mug of coffee with both hands, lowering her head," again ... "

"Hey, hey," Dipper reached out and covered Mabel's arm, "it's all right. It's not important, the main thing is that you find a place where you’ll be appreciated and where it’ll be interesting for you to work and manifest yourself. You're the most creative person in this world. Heck, they're just idiots, if they didn’t take you right away!”

Mabel looked into Dipper's eyes and sadly, but sincerely smiled.

"I'll help you with what I can and will be around," Dipper smiled back.

God, how beautiful she is. There were so many guys in high school who liked her that the fingers of Ford's hands would not be enough to count them. True, none of those who had the luck to be with her, did not last more than two or three weeks, because none of them saw that behind the beauty of her there is also a very sharp mind. The whole universe with its rules and colors was stored in this charming fair-haired head. But none of them seemed to notice this.

Unlike Dipper.

Mabel embodied all the things that he lacked so much: freedom, creativity, infinite energy. Without it, he would not be a whole person. No one would have him learn to enjoy life and look at the world from a different angle, different from the position of dry logic.

"Thank you, bro bro," Mabel said quietly. "It means a lot to me, really”

"Any time, May," Dipper snapped his hand away and looked at his watch. "We still have plenty of time until the sun sets. It's about 20 minutes by metro to the Central Park, so I thought that we could wind up our heads a little. What do you say? You didn’t have any plans for tonight, did you?”

Mabel looked away and blushed profusely, covering her mouth with her palm and softly giggling.

Oh no. No no no! He screwed up, did he? He said it as if he was inviting her on a date. Oh, damn, oh, damn it! He rehearsed this phrase so much that it sounded like a simple friendly proposal in order to funk up anyway ?! She knows, she knows for sure, and now this situation will become even more awkward.

Set the panic aside! I need to figure out how to get out of this. Just laugh it off or try to explain what he meant.

Shit, why his palms are so sweaty? Is he in the eighth grade again?

“It sounds tempting, Dip. I’d really like to take a walk now …”

Oh, my God, phew. Everything is fine.

"... but, you see ..."

But? What’s for but? But what?

"... I really don’t know how it happened ... it seems that I have a date tonight!" Mabel finished her phrase. Her eyes were just glowing with happiness. The smile was broader and more dreamy than before, which made Dipper feel cold in the lower abdomen.

“I really didn’t know that this is the case in real life, but when I was walking from Five Points here ... i mean, our eyes just met, and I realized that he’d come up to me and ask me some question or say something... I just don’t understand how you constantly experience such stress every time you try to talk to a girl, this has never happened to me ...”

But Dipper wasn’t listening anymore. Only now he finally noticed all the details surrounding them. Strawberry cheesecake - when was the last time Mabel allowed herself something sweet in the city? Of course, they were not so poor, but given the fact that Mabel still did not have a permanent job, she tried to save money and not squander the money of her brother over trifles. So it was a treat. Then, how did Dipper not notice the empty espresso cup standing on his side of the table? He was too busy contemplating his sister to draw attention to this and to the fact that Mabel was constantly fiddling a napkin in her hand, on which was visible the pen-written sequence of numbers and one word.

Zach.

He left her his phone number. Who does this now? What kind of moron should one be to do this, instead of just dictating a number to be recorded in the phone?

That invisible, light breath that warmed Dipper so far from the moment he left the editorial office was instantly replaced by an importunate cold draft, from which all the muscles of his face grew cold and numb, turning nis face into a fixed mask that did not express any emotion. The bright March evening began to be replaced by a dark emptiness.

And Mabel kept talking and talking. She was extremely excited by what was happening: so many emotions, so many assumptions and hopes. As many as many times the only one phrase sounded in Dipper's head:

It happened again …

Sooner or later, it should have happened, but why today? On the day when he finally felt a barely perceptible wave of happiness?

Sometimes it seems that the universe itself is against you. Whether you achieve something desirable say some fun and joy come to life - bam! Sign here, please.

On the one hand, you can, of course, decide that this is "designed" so, that it’s fate and junk, that everything is natural and the time has come. The time for whatever - for example, the time to give up.

On the other hand, one can regard this same "bam" from the Universe as an appeal not to relax and to act further, to become better, to grow and all that.

You can, of course, just not react at all.

It depends.

A lot of dependencies happens to be all around us. Someone sits for hours with a guitar, learns to play the way his or hers favorite performers do, someone shoves career needle into his or hers veins, someone’s obsessed with science - yes, there are plenty of examples.

And love is something you can depend on too.

It’s even addictive.

And for someone who already has a strong addiction, something smoother will ... be like ...

Damn ... words ... how to make them into sentences? ..

So, enough for today's memories.

And speaking about strong and smooth ... I need another drink.

The glass stood on the table right here. Where is it ... hey?

Hey!

What the...?

"You tell me. That's enough for you, kid."

Kid? Oh he didn’t...

Dipper opened his eyes, trying to make out the speaker with him. It would have been better if it was anyone, but Zach.

"I think you might have the wrong glass, buddy," he croaked, trying to focus on the figure of the man next to him holding a vessel with amber corn liquid.

“Oh yeah? And didn’t you have the wrong party, knucklehead? The last thing I want to see right now is how my nephew gets drunk as hell at his birthday party”

Wait…

Stan? ..

“No, Pope John Paul II. Who do you think?”

In a second, Dipper's eyes flew open, and consciousness returned to online mode. Was he talking all this time out loud?

“I ... um” Dipper uncomfortably fidgeting on the chair, adjusting the edges of the shirt that was pulled up and briskly brushing his hair with fingers.

"Stan ... how long ... are you sitting here?"

"What? You wanna know how much of that nonsense that you muttered I heard? Don’t worry, your secrets will die with me.”

Oh no…

Dipper swallowed nervously and nodded uncertainly, looking before him. Stan responded with a laugh and added, changing his tone from more strict to good-natured:

"It's a joke, kid," he lifted his massive hand onto his nephew's shoulder, "there's nothing for me to blackmail you. This time.”

If they were in another place and under different circumstances, Dipper would have laughed along with his Gruncle. Now he did not even try, because together with laughter it would have turned out to be some silly awkward likeness.

"And yet, what made you to portray that guy ... Kain Rivers? Give you a piece of cake in the hand, and there’ll be complete similarity.”

"You mean Keanu Reeves?"

“Him, too.”

Dipper sighed and lowered his head, covered his face with his hands. Stan, having sipped a little bourbon from the glass, put his hand on his shoulder again.

“Seriously, Dip, what's wrong?” he added worried.

“Nothing, I'm fine” telling lies to a man who has proved over many years that he is the most understanding and caring member of the family left a disgusting taste on the tip of his tongue. If someone than it would be Stan to always be able to hear out and help. He would lay down his bones for the well-being of his family. Maybe he can at least somehow pour out his soul? ..

“What did you feel when Gruncle Ford disappeared in the portal? What’s it like to understand that your closest friend’s gone forever?”

Stan also sighed, setting aside his glass, and turned to face Dipper.

“Listen. You and Mabel, as long as I can remember, have always been together. You grew up, studied, moved to another cities. As I said, you rarely see such a relationship between a brother and a sister. But sooner or later, both of you should have had other companions of life. This is normal - it’s so arranged in the world. People get married, have families, children, invite each other to their dinners, go to work, dig in the garden in the backyard. It’s not the same as getting lost in another dimension for thirty years. Mabel just got married, she didn’t disappear from your life. Yes, now you’ll be separated not by the walls of the rooms, but by a good one and a half hour drive, but ... I’m not a good speaker... anyway,” - he drank some more whiskey.

"You two are better than we were with my brother. I'm telling you this, Ford claimed it until his last breath - believe me. Even if you were separated by space and time, you’d find a way to find yourselves... I mean to find each other. Do you understand what I mean?”

Dipper looked at the old man. In Stan's glance, God bless his heart, confidence and love were read. As always. And although he did not come even a bit close to understanding what was going on in Dipper's heart, his words still warmed.

"Yes, I do, Gruncle," Dipper smiled slightly. "Thank you."

"Well, it takes more than a simple thanks to be stuffed" Stan laughed and rose from his seat, leaning on the cane, "if you knew what they feed you on the plane, you’d understand what I mean. Next time I fly business class, and you pay. I spotted like a table with snacks inside, it's time to visit it.”

With these words he headed toward the house, stepping unsteadily and constantly leaning on his cane. Dipper saluted him in the style of Lando Calrissian and frowned. It was not fair to upset Stan today with talk like that. So much of a burden was falling on his shoulders lately, and then there's just a glimpse of joy. Still, not every day his grand-niece marries.

It's a pity that Ford did not live to see this day. I definitely need to take a couple of days off and go to Oregon. Stan becomes too weak to regularly care for the grave.

“Dipper! Bro-bro!”

Oh no.

Dipper pulled a smile on his face and turned to the source of the sound. There she was, flying to him in a light purple summer dress with a white collar.

"Silly drunken little brother. Where did you disappear?“ Mabel laughed, catching him with an empty glass and a half-empty bottle.

Dipper rolled his eyes and smiled wider.

"Mabel, we're the same age. Also I noticed that one bottle of champagne was open before the guests arrived”

He frowned in a mocking way and rubbed his chin,

“Hmm ... But who drank the champagne?..”

He pretended to be chewing a pen, thinking hard.

Mabel stuck out her tongue at her brother and laughed loudly.

"You’re such a nerd!"

She plopped down next to him and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Just think of it, we’re twenty-five now. Do people even have to live so long?”

"I'm still surprised that you even lived to be of age, considering the amount of sugar you absorb daily ... Ow!" light elbow pokes from her still caught him off guard.

“You deserved that. Be grateful that Mister Tickles didn’t show up for such conversations with your sister.”

“Okaaaay. Mabel, are you sure you’re twenty-five?” Dipper quickly moved away from Mabel, who was ready to attack on his brother's ribs with his fingers spread out, and raised both hands, "Okay, okay! No more of that!”

"Good brother." Mabel nodded with a satisfied look. "And now, if you'll allow me, jokes aside."

She took a small rectangular bundle from her handbag hanging from her shoulder on a thin chain and solemnly handed it to Dipper.

“Here!”

Dipper took the package from his sister's hands and for a few seconds admired this neatly wrapped in a nice-to-feel gift paper object. It was a pity to spoil such beauty.

“Come on, open it!”

In one motion Dipper opened the package, and in his hands was a large, thick notebook of dark blue. On his soft leather cover was woven golden threads of a small pine tree. Dipper carefully opened the title page, which was encoded with a neat letter. This time Dipper's face was lit up with a sincere smile - they invented the cipher together, many years ago, when in the classroom they passed notes to each other or left them in lockers.

"Wow ..." Dipper sighed. "I ... um ... thanks, Mabel."

"You're welcome, Dip," his sister shone, "I just wondered where it's seen that Dipper wouldn’t have a journal, would he?" she again laughed and wrapped her arms around him, pulling her brother in a bear hug.

“Happy birthday, Dipper.”

"Happy birthday, Mabel," he replied, breathing in the fragrance of her floral perfume. "I ... um-uh ..." he cleared his throat and pulled away. "My present ... it... I decided not to carry it with me, so it's in the house, but ... I'm sure you'll like it too.

“It would be better if it was so.” Mabel said haughtily. With these words she jumped up, grabbing Dipper by the sleeve of his shirt and dragging him toward the house.

"There's a whole bunch of them there! Gifts!” she skipped off to the house, taking her stumbling brother along with her. "Let's go! I can’t wait to open each one right now!”

* * *

“Son of a…” the lighter was still sent to the garbage because of malfunctioning, and now all the hope remained that the houses still had matches. Dipper had already rummaged through all the drawers in the kitchen, but not even one sucker was found in this abundance of kitchen utensils and cutlery, such an absurd abundance for the apartment, now serving as a lonely young man's refuge.

Dipper's gaze wandered around the kitchen, the space in his eyes doubled, quadrified - in general it was multiplying in every possible way, and it was extremely difficult to focus on something definite.

Was it really necessary to get so drunk? He did not have a car in New York for the time being, he used to travel by public transport and a taxi, but this is not an excuse for finding a pub on his way home to Brooklyn and staying there until midnight. The morning will be very bad. Very painful and bad.

But, it looks like this is the problem of tomorrow's Dipper, not today's, who has a real business to do now.

He held his hand to the countertop, and staggered to the gas stove, which looked like the last chance to light a damned cigarette, clamped in his teeth. Unsafe last chance. After meditating for couple of seconds, Dipper shook his head, muttering "No, sir," and went to investigate further. Still an eternity, according to the present chronology of Dipper, was wasted - there were no lighters or matches in the house, so that the stove was again in his field of vision.

Still adhering to the nearby interior for a safety net, Dipper drove to the suspicious fire-breathing inhabitant of his house. The fire was only lit from the fifth attempt, and, bending over to the hotplate itself and almost putting his shirt collar on fire, Dipper finally sucked in the pungent tobacco smoke.

And, it turned out that trying to smoke his first cigarette in life right now was a bad idea. Even disgusting. Not only that, he immediately became overwhelmed with a heavy cough and the shaking of his diaphragm awakened something dark in the stomach, consisting of half of bourbon, and half of the birthday cake.

Oh, shit, shit, SHIT!

To the left from the kitchen into the corridor, to the end ... lights on...

Where’s this switch ?!

Oh no! ..

FUCK!!!

At the last second Dipper managed to touch the toilet before he utterly unpleasantly vomited. All thoughts and emotions were compressed into a dot, leaving the consciousness with a devastatingly pure emptiness.

At some point, it might even have seemed that Dipper had blacked out, but as soon as the last urge receded, he straightened leaning with his hands on the rim of the toilet bowl and stood on his unsteady legs and went to the sink, much more tired and much less drunk.

At least giving the face a splash and rinsing the mouth with a freshener will not hurt.

And what do we have here? Oh, nothing, just your dirty still green face with a week stubble and some substance smeared around your mouth.

Oh, gross, ew!

He pulled off his shirt right over his head, doused his face with cold water, rinsed his mouth and staggered into his room.

Well, that's my life now. Drinking, no permanent job, a broken heart ... what could be better?

Dipper hobbled to the bed and plumped on it, without even bothering to remove the veil and pull off his trousers.

At least here I can quit pretending, he thought, as the tears came down bombarding his pillow.

#pinecest #fanfiction #chasing ghosts

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merlevum · 6 years

Text

Hetalia Fanfiction - A Fairy Promise

Summary: When Alfred has to say good-bye to a very special friend.

For outside links please click here. There will be links to AO3 and FF.net.

"Alfred honey, I know you don't want to leave this place after just making friends, but you know we have no choice because of your father's job," a short plump woman said with honey blonde hair, which curled towards the end when it reached her shoulders.

"I'm fine mom. Really," a dejected Alfred said as he kept his gaze at the suitcase he was packing, rather than looking at his mother.

He really had no qualms with leaving England after living here for only a year. Not to mention when they returned, he could finally show his younger brother all the cool things America had to offer instead of the sometimes boring England. It was just, that he would miss the friends he made here, especially one in particular, who he could not just write a letter to or anything of the sort. In fact, he still had to tell his friend he would not be returning tonight, which was why the usually ecstatic grinning boy, had his brows knitted and a look of utter dejection on his face.

"Alright. I'm going to check on Mattie. You almost ready for bed?" his mother asked patting his back in small soothing circles. It was something she had always done when Alfred was upset, and he greatly appreciated his mother for doing so.

"Yeah, almost. You gonna read a story tonight?" he asked, looking up at his mother with expectant ocean blue eyes.

"Not tonight," his mother said with a small grin and shake of her head. "I'll be telling you one that my Gram used to tell me."

The boy stared at her wide eyed for a moment before shouting in joy at the prospect of hearing a new story. It had been the same stories for the past few nights, and Alfred was honestly tired of it. Now he would have to make sure to hurry and get done for bedtime. But he knew he had to keep out a set of clothes for later since he would have to out into the woods. He just hoped he could do so without alerting his mother; the last time he went, he almost got caught .

"I'll go and get ready. What kinda story is it tonight?" Alfred asked as he gathered up the clothes he would be sleeping in.

"A story about a knight and a dragon," his mother replied, walking behind him. Once they left his room, she went to talk to her other son, Matthew, while Alfred went into the bathroom.

Alfred made sure to change into his sleeping suit before he brushed through his hair once, and then brushed his teeth. It was the normal routine for him since he fought with his cowlick constantly. He learned that if he brushed his hair before going to bed the night before it usually tended to not be as bad. Once he was satisfied, he back to his mother, who was helping Matthew with a few small items to pack.

"Matthew, I know you want to take your polar bear with you, but you'll have to pack it tomorrow in your bag before the flight. Once the plane is high enough, I'll get him out for you. Okay?" his mother explained as Matthew only nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak. "Alright then. Go get ready for bed and meet me in Alfred's room."

Again, Matthew nodded before taking his polar bear into the bathroom with him. Alfred only watched the transaction since he knew better than to get in between Matthew and their parents. Since Alfred could remember, Matthew never really spoke up about anything and hid behind the polar bear he had gotten from one of their relatives. Ever since he got the bear, it never left his side besides to get washed. It was one of the main reasons why Matthew got teased in school as well, but Alfred made sure to stick up for him.

It was their parents wish though that Alfred not always fight Matthew's battles since Matthew needed to find his own voice. Yet the smaller of the two boys just never said anything unless he had to. Even in class, when he is called upon, he just mumbles into the fur of the bear. After half a semester, they stopped calling on Matthew. It got to the point where people literally forgot he even existed, which was not something their parents wanted to hear. Now Matthew was being forced out of his comfort zone. Alfred hated not being able to come to his brother's aid, but if his parents deemed it so, there was nothing he could do.

"You all set?" their mother said, when Alfred only stood there quietly.

"Yeah, all set," Alfred grinned at his mother before going to his room. "We gotta wait for Mattie first."

"Yes, I know. I told him to meet us in your room," his mother assured him as Alfred climbed into bed and she tucked him in. "Good?"

"Yup!" Alfred said knowing he had to scoot over since Matthew still needed room for when he came.

The two had shared a bed since the two could remember. Most people confused the two boys for twins, but really Alfred was older by a year. Not to mention, Matthew was born in Canada on one of their trips to family up there. He considered himself to be Canadian, which they never really corrected since everyone thought it was cute. Alfred teased Matthew about this constantly by telling him America was so much better. The two would fight a bit, but after a few minutes, the two would be the best of friends once again. The two were nothing alike, except they both ate food as if they were constantly starving. Alfred would more than occasionally see Matthew sneak into the kitchen in order to get something to eat before dinner or shortly after it. Of course, Matthew never told on Alfred when he went to sneak food out either. At times, the two even stole food together.

"Oh, Matthew. You all finished?" his mother asked as Matthew was suddenly in the doorway and moved towards the bed. He nodded at his mother before crawling in with Alfred, knowing that his brother had made room for him. "Did you both brush your teeth?"

Both boys nodded in response. Matthew cuddled his polar bear safely as his mother tucked him in.

"Very well done. Now, who's ready for a story about a knight and a dragon?" their mother asked as Matthew nodded and Alfred gave an excited shout. "Here goes. Once upon a time..."

It always started that way. The tradition of any fairy tale, and Alfred had never forgotten that, even when he grew older. But it was the belief in magic and the fae, which he had grown out of in the coming years. For now though, Alfred enjoyed the story of the knight who befriended a dragon who was not all that scary after all. It was a different story from most of the ones their mother had told the boys since she had started telling those tales, but it was nice. Especially since the two would end up having to make new friends once they moved back to the United States after living in England for a year.

Once the story was done, she tucked them in one last time before turning off the night, leaving only the night light on for the two. Matthew was a heavy sleeper, and so when he was finally snoring, Alfred made his escape, putting on the clothes he had kept out for the trip. After he was dressed, he crept down the stairs and past his parents' bedroom.

This was always the hard part, since his mother had what he liked to call a sixth sense for when he was going to get himself into trouble. Normally she would come to rescue and he would never understand how she knew where he was on more than one occasion. Thankfully though, when he went out to meet his friend, he was lucky enough to have avoided such encounters with her. But still he crept past the door trying desperately to not make a sound. When he was past the door it was home free all the way to the kitchen door.

Cracking it open slightly, he called out into the night. The two had decided that before Alfred came out into the night, he would call and his friend would come to escort him into the forest. Neither wanted the golden haired boy to be spirited away just because he was trying to meet with his friend. Within a few seconds of calling out into the dark, small light flitted across the backyard toward him. Instantly, Alfred knew it was him. The slight green glow to the light only confirmed his suspicions.

"Arthur!" Alfred said rather excited to see the small fairy as he made his way towards the boy.

"Hush, or do you want your mum to hear you?" Arthur said with a smile and a tone where he was not necessarily scolding Alfred, but rather teasing him.

Arthur looked to be in his early teen years, but on a much smaller scale. With messy wheat blonde hair, the green eyed fairy, could have blended in almost perfectly with the rest of the word, except for the strange wings that filled his back. They started at his shoulder bone and fanned out into four sections. They were not like the usual image of fairy wings, but Arthur had explained the wings most people believe fairies to have were actually the wings that belonged to the pixie, which he clearly was not. Alfred learned rather quickly that to call a fairy such as Arthur a pixie was a great insult, resulting in getting his ear cuffed or the one strand of hair that like to stick up, pulled on.

"Sorry. Listen I really need to talk to you about something important!" Alfred watched as the small fairy's rather large and thick eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but nodded all the same.

"To the fairy circle then," Arthur said with a nod of his head. His voice soft in Alfred's ear as the fairy flew up to it and spoke, knowing humans could not hear as well as most creatures.

Normally a fairy circle would not be considered a place a human would be safe, but honestly, Arthur used it as a place to make sure Alfred stayed safe from the more dangerous creatures who roamed the woods besides the usual fairies. Thanks to Alfred's cheerful disposition, he had befriended many of the fairies who called that circle their home and so was able to use it when he needed to without having to fear the wrath the fairies. In fact, on more than one occasion, the fairies had protected Alfred and Matthew from some of the more powerful creatures who still decided they needed to hunt down humans. So when Arthur said they were going to go to the circle, Alfred knew Arthur would listen to anything he said.

Arthur quickly led Alfred through the backyard and into the forest which surrounded a small part of his house. The forest was the first place Alfred and Arthur had met. And it had quickly become their playground unless it was at night. The only times they met so late was if Alfred had something important to discuss with the fairy, who he just needed some to give him advice when he couldn't tell his parents. To Alfred, Arthur became a big brother figure, something his parents could never replace. It took another ten minutes for Alfred and Arthur to make their way through the forest and to the fairy circle. Arthur magicked a light for Alfred, lest he fall on the roots or other plants. Although normally Alfred told Arthur he was old enough not to need help, Alfred was oddly silent tonight.

The circle was rather large compared to most of the fairy circles people were warned to stay away from, but when Arthur explained how old the fairy circle was, Alfred only sat there in awe. It was composed of different sized rocks, which were moved every year if needed be, considering it seemed the fairies in this particular area had grown slightly over the years. After a few minutes, to allow Alfred to settle down in the grass, Arthur flew to his shoulder and stood there, waiting for the other to start saying whatever was needed.

"I know we've been friends, but I'm going away," Alfred said rather bluntly, knowing that it was the only way to get out what he wanted to say. "I don't want to leave, well, I mean I do. But I don't want to leave you! You're my best friend!"

Alfred allowed the fairy a few moments to let the new information sink in before watching him set off into the air. He could see the hurt in the other's eyes as he sat there. Tears threatening to overflow in the Alfred's face. Within seconds, Alfred felt small hands begin pat his check before going back to Alfred's shoulder.

"It's alright lad. I understand. Why not make a promise with me? Let's promise to always remember one another and perhaps if the world allows for it, meet again?" Arthur suggested, hoping to make the boy feel better.

Sniffling, Alfred only nodded before stopping in mid-nod. "But mom said not to make deals with fairies."

"Yes, you don't want to make a deal. But a promise is different. A deal is something along the lines of you getting a sort of gift, if you will, from me and I get something in exchange. Here we just promise to remember and not forget our friendship. I would never lead you astray," Arthur explained before he flew back towards Alfred's face. He held out a tiny slender hand to the boy, who looked even more on the verge of tears.

Alfred then nodded and placed one of his fingers into the fairy's hand before breaking down into sobs, which raked through his body. The fairy then spent near an hour comforting the poor boy and telling him all the wonderful fun the other would have in his new home. When Alfred was finished wiping the tears from his eyes, Arthur took the boy back to his home safely before saying one final good bye and good night. He never forgot the dark blonde haired, ocean blue eyed, boy who played with him. But the same could not be said for the boy.

#fanfic: a fairy promise #spazio writes #hetalia fanfiction #usuk

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awed-frog · 7 years

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Hi! I'm really interested in seeing Human Cas as the end of his arc, and I've seen that you have one or two opinions really cool about that too so I was wondering if you would elaborate what you think of it?

Hi! Man, that is one complicated question! Thanks for giving me the opportunity to talk about it - this is going to be a bit long and quite possibly overly nerdy, so I apologize in advance.

First of all - as @thejabberwock said last week, the idea that Cas needs to become human in order to complete some kind of character development or be worthy of a human’s love or whatever else is slightly horrifying.

Interestingly, this whole theme - supernatural creatures giving up their identity to find love - is not some old mythology trope, because in Western mythology and folklore, love between a human and a supernatural creature simply doesn’t work, and there’s no way around it. On the one end of the spectrum, you’ve got your god/human relationships, and there what happens is generally a) human spies on god’s true form, dies horribly, b) god tries to do something nice for human, kills him horribly in freak accident, c) god’s friend gets jealous, human dies horribly, d) human gets pregnant, dies horribly, e) human has a lick of sense, turns down god, is raped or turns into a tree, or f) love story is disregarded because the important bit is that a hero is born, and behold. On the other end of the spectrum, you get your selkie/fae storylines, and I keep seeing posts on tumblr like Don’t hide your selkie’s pelt, #trust and #respect, and I’m sure OP means well, but that’s plain bullshit. The whole point of those stories is that you can’t change your fundamental nature, and those creatures may love a human for a time, but ultimately they belong in their own realm and that’s sad and heartbreaking, but also how the world works. So, if a selkie finds her pelt, she will desert her family even if she truly loves her human husband (and often she does: that’s the tragedy); if you sleep with a sidhe, she’ll probably come back as a pregnant doe and deliver a human baby for you and then fuck off, because she can’t help it; and in the rare cases (I know only of one) where a fae is actively trying to deny the call of the wild to be with you, well, you’ll fuck it up, because that’s what humans do (and plese, do ask me about it - that story is too long for this post but is also the best story EVER). So, well - traditionally, this stuff doesn’t work, but I’m not sure it has to do with racism and cautionary tales - after all, there are plenty of stories about men marrying princess ‘from beyond the sea’ and whatever - I think we simply know in our bones that when it comes to the divine, we’re outgunned and we should be very careful - and sticking your dick into something that’s been alive for five centuries is not a good way of being careful.

So, long and winding introduction aside - if a supernatural creature giving up their immortality to be with their human lover is not a mythology trope, where the hell does it come from?

Well - in part, it comes from the other part of our humanity: fairy tales. Now, unlike myths, fairy tales are more about teaching good behaviour than God and the afterlife, and what tends to happen there is that men are pushed to become more of what they are, while women are invited to become less of what they are (just as it happens in real life). In fairy tales, men leave their houses and their countries, pretend to be noblemen, make use of magical objects, lie through their teeth, fight outsized opponents and ultimately end up with a title and a bride. Women, on the other hand, generally keep their eyes down, accept shitty gifts gratefully, clean when they’re told to, and put others first. Giving up a piece of yourself in order to belong - that’s not what gods do; it’s what women do, and this propaganda has been so successful that we all live like that, mostly without even realizing it - we accept that our life is ours (sort of) only until we become mothers or wives; and then we put aside our own ambitions and focus on our husband’s and kids’. In this sense, it is telling that a selkie - a creature of folklore and myth - will go back to the sea and fuck you very much, but the girl who lived in an apple (an old fairy tale from Bologna), like many of her fruity friends, is freed from the enchantment when she’s eighteen - and she promptly marries the prince who’d been obsessing over the mysterious hottie who came out of his fruit bowl every night.

It’s also important to stress, however, that traditional fairy tales are only partly at fault for our selfish asses wanting angels and selkies to drop everything and cook us dinner every night: much of the blame (if not all, let’s be honest) is on Andersen’s The Little Mermaid - where, let’s not forget about it, what the mermaid wants is not only love, but also an immortal soul and access to the Christian Heaven - stuff monsters like her don’t have. And, well - I think in time Andersen’s tales came to be seen as some universal thing, when in reality they were very personal nightmares of Andersen himself - a tortured, unhappy, repressed bisexual man who’d been abused in his childhood and presumably tried to get past his own inability to have a fulfilling emotional and sexual life by writing overly grotesque and decidely anti-women stories.

(We all know about The Little Mermaid, but another highlight would be Red Shoes, in which a selfish girl who has the nerve to go to Mass wearing red shoes finds they are enchanted and can’t stop dancing until her feet are chopped off with an axe; charmingly, the heroine is named after Andersen’s half-sister.)

If we consider this precedent, I think what @thejabberwock said is spot-on: for Cas, becoming human includes some element of self-mutilation: just like the little mermaid had to give up her voice and her family, Cas would lose something irreplaceable by choosing to leave Heaven behind. And also - narratively, that choice would frame him as ‘the woman in the relationship’ once and for all, because male heroes just don’t do this stuff; and that, in my opinion, would be a huge loss. What I find so fascinating about Dean and Cas slowly falling for each other is the careful balance of traditional gender roles and how neither character is boxed in; how Dean, our muscle car and hard rock hero, is often pushed into what would be the woman’s role - only he’s not pushed at all, but walks there willingy, and that’s plain spectacular.

That said, the SPN universe chose to frame the opposition between humans and non humans has been framed in a slightly different way from traditional storytelling - even if the narrative isn’t always coherent.

So, if we’re talking specifically about angels, the original idea is that angels 1) don’t have free will and 2) can’t have feelings like a human does - a point that is clearly implied in the first one, because true free will and the ability of make your own choices are the fundamental prerequisites for forming your own opinions - and feelings. Now, in theory, it makes sense that angels wouldn’t have either; despite the daydreams of some truly adorable fanart (Gabriel holding baby Cas, for instance), angels aren’t born; they’re created in order to serve God, and that’s their only mission. Heaven started to unravel only because God left, and this is where we see the SPN narrative starting to fray - because their angels generally have both free will and feelings. From Zachariah’s refusal to serve humans to Uriel betraying his brothers to Gabriel’s anger and Balthazar’s insouciance, there’s not a robotic servant of God in sight, and I know it’s objectively difficult to write feeling-less character who are also engaging, but I always found that all those angels wishing things for themselves sort of cheapened Cas’ own journey towards humanity. Because, well, Cas becoming human only makes sense, in my opinion (and this is how the story’s being framed), in an I want to make my own choices and experience love kind of way, but in this case - from what we’ve seen, both with other angels and with Cas himself, it’s perfectly possible for angels to behave and feel like humans do, so why would Cas need to give up his Grace?

Another point is that Cas’ already given up his ‘angelhood’ in every way that matters. He’s rebelled against Heaven, he’s refused orders, he’s been tortured and silenced and imprisoned, and he’s chosen humanity (Dean) over and over and over again. Hell - as far we know, Cas isn’t even interested in God any longer, and surely heeding God’s will is, like, item one in the job description?

(By the way - Cas’ reaction to God’s coming back - that was important, show. What the hell were you thinking about? How is it possible that the subject was never discussed again? Uuuuugh.)

Furthermore, Cas hates being human. He’s tried it before, and we know he didn’t like it - at all. The storm of emotions, the need to look after your body, eating and drinking, the acute knowledge of not being powerful enough to defend yourself and your loved ones against dangers you know are there - Cas does not long to become human; what he wants is to belong, and what he needs, narratively, is the possibility to make a choice that’s not either/or - to be with the Winchesters not because Heaven hates him and not because he’s got no other friends, but because he feels loved and welcomed and wants to live with them 24/7 (feels he’s worthy of their love) - so, if anything, that’s where his character arc should be going.

As a last point - something that will never happen but would be absolutely hilarious is the David Eddings solution: in his novels, an immortal sorceress chose to renounce her powers and her eternal life to be with the (fully human) man she loved, only to find out her soul couldn’t be ripped apart like that and instead, the gods had chosen to grant her beloved immortality and powers of his own. I always found that a very sweet twist and a good compromise on the whole mortal partner + immortal partner = heartbreak thing, and man, it’d be so much fun to see Dean turn into an angel out of the blue and zapping himself all over the place by mistake as he learns to fly (and later using that ability to freak out Sam and check on Claire and have dinner with Jody). A girl can dream, right?

(All that said, I understand why so many writers, myself included, keep making Cas human in one way or another: for some it’s a question of fluff and hurt/comfort, and for others a chance to explore this tragedy, this impossible, unconceivable thing: an angel choosing to Fall for a human being - an angel choosing to love, fully and unreservedly, the mess and chaos and guilt and bad dreams that we all carry deep in our hearts. Just - wow.)

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the-heirs-magic · 4 years

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Chapter One: Sawyer

Sawyer Caliembra draped herself over the second-story railing, scanning her eyes across the dance hall. Women with thick, puffy dress skirts and frilly tops twirled around, covering the white marble tiles with drawings of babies holding arrows on them. Men stood around a long table covered in white and gold silk, talking loudly while gorging themselves on expensive wine and meats. All around the guests were grey stone walls, high enough to reach the heavens. Arched windows sprinkled around, mosaics of Sawyer's family implanted in them. Hanging from the ceiling was a large crystal chandelier with each candle lit aflame. Light danced around, casting shadows in hard to reach places while also lighting the Royals' pudgy red faces drenched in sweat despite the cold weather outside.

The hall was full of every rich, royal catastrophe in the Realm, each intent on completely ignoring their duties to enjoy this week-long mess created by Sawyer's dear mother. They were all celebrating Winter Collide; the change from hot, sticky weather to cold, nippy weather. Sawyer's mother thought it fit to create this party for Gods knows what reason. Empress Ahelissa never took orders, only gave them. In reality, it only gave these horrid creatures an excuse to forget all the major political uproars in the Realm.

During these uninterestingly extravagant get-togethers, Sawyer and her elder brother, Elye, would be giving the Royals' kids a tour of Sawyer's colossal sized castle. Instead of going off with the kids, however, Sawyer feigned sickness so she could spy on the Royals. Hell of a job she was doing, though.

Earlier this quarter, a riot had erupted in the poor cites of Afearea after Ahelissa declared prices to be raised on all goods in the Regions. "Economic growth, darling," she had told Sawyer when the riots started. The people of Afearea were being arrested or hung for the outbursts. News spread fast and soon the other poor cities in other Regions began rioting. Sawyer was concerned that not enough was being done to fix it. The people of Afearea were the kindest Sawyer had ever met, so to hear that they were rioting broke her heart. Nevertheless, no one cared enough to try something better, and now they were here at this party, ignoring it like the people of Afearea are nothing. Except, of course, those who have money.

Sawyer heaved a sigh and turned around, leaning her back against the railing and putting the party behind her. It was then she heard the hurried footsteps, stopping right by her. She turned her head, catching a glimpse of Priam Cephyros, her handsome fiance, darting between rooms down the servent halls. She simply watched him for a moment, then lifted herself from the railing and strode towards him. "Looking for something?" she asked him, crossing her arms as he halted in front of her.

He stared at her, eyes wide like he was terrified of something. He was gasping for his breath, seemingly exhausted from running. "Alcaeus has been arrested for crimes against the Royals."

Sawyer didn't have a chance to respond, or even think of a response, as Priam snatched her hand and dragged her down the hall with him. He swerved into empty rooms, searched, then dashed out, keeping a tight grip on Sawyer's hand. "What," Sawyer managed to get out. "in the Realm are you looking for?"

Priam stopped, eyes set forward. He released her hand. "Elye?" he called out. Sawyer peeked over Priam's shoulder and saw her brother talking to four other kids. Elye smiled, however, he quickly turned his expression to that of concern. "Prince Priam, what's the matter?" he asked with apprehension. Sawyer beat Priam to the news, her heart hammering in her chest. Elye turned to the other kids and Sawyer could only imagine his award-winning smile. "I believe we should go to my chambers."

One of the kids nodded his head, his dark curls bouncing. "It is not safe out here." Maynard Mortor said. Sawyer's heart hammered harder, but this time not with terror.

Elye's chambers were big, with five different rooms connected to his living room. The living room was full of books and papers scattered across desks. In the middle of the room were three different couched stitched with an expensive cloth. A small table sat to the side of one couch, a cup sitting on it next to a book. Elye took the couch closest to the door, Priam taking the seat next to him. On the second couch sat the twins of Emothae: Cedar and Laurel Alyssum. Next to them sat Lady Vivian Brenton of Arilun, Eclia. On the last couch sat Maynard Mokor, the prince of Pegroven and the man Sawyer has never seemed to contain herself around. With other couches occupied, however, Sawyer took a seat next to Mokor, hands clasped tightly together. "So," Elye sat back, stretching his legs out a bit. "Tell me what happened."

Priam told the room about Alcaeus being arrested. How they found journals upon journals full of "treason" and "evidence to the riots." He wrote about the Realm, the Regions, the Royals, and their awful doings. "But he is a royal," Sawyer interjected. Priam slapped his hand against his knee. "I know," he said bitterly. Elye patted Priam's back gently. Priam took a deep breath, then continued. "I was in the dance hall and overheard his father talk about him, so I asked if Aclaeus was here. The man told me his son was arrested. Empress has made plans for a public hanging from the crimes he's committed against the Realm. "What crimes?" Laurel asked, her eyes flashing from grey to red, a sign of faries becoming angry. Priam shook his head. "I don't know." Ceder clicked his tongue. "Keeping journals about Royals isn't illegal," he said. "And neither is writing about this hell forsaken Realm," Mokor muttered, his skin steaming. Vivian snorted, gaining everyone's attention.

"Are you serious? If he wrote derogatory things about us, why shouldn't he be hung?"

"Vivian, kindly shut up," Sawyer replied, earning a glare. "Mind your tongue, Lady Vivian," Mokor warned, his dark grey eye flicking from Vivian to Sawyer. Sawyer returned her attention to Priam. "How did she gather that his journals were the cause of the riot?" she asked him, releasing her hands from their hold.

Priam sat back and heaved a sigh. "I'm not sure. No one but her and her guards has read them." Priam looked at Elye. "What do we do?"

Elye sat back, tilting his head to the ceiling. His eyes squinted and Sawyer knew that he was thinking. "We need those journals," he said, dropping his eyes back to the room of people that was now quiet. For a while, it stayed like that. Elye looked at everyone, waiting for an answer. When he got none he simply stood and clapped his hands, wringing them together. "Alright, we need Magnolia. And a plan."

They found Magnolia wandering the snow-covered courtyard, her wings swishing delicately behind her. The sunlight glinted off her wings, glitter and color washing over them. "Hello, Magnolia," Elye said. Magnolia stopped and turned her head, glitter shining against her pale face. Her light pink hair fell over her shoulders and her face was painted with a design of her Region; a common tradition with faries. She smiled. "Why hello," She curtsied, tugging her white dress skirts out. Magnolia was almost goddess-like, beauty encompassing every part of her, from the inside to the out. Faries and Faes were beautiful, but Magnolia went beyond beauty and she truly knew. Her voice was soft when she spoke and she was poised with absolute elegance. Sawyer was slightly jealous. "Did you hear about Acleaus?" Elye asked. Magnolia's face didn't falter. She nodded her head. "A tragedy. Unfair if I dare say." She flattened out the wrinkles of her skirt. "We will have to do something. I won't be able to enjoy tea time here otherwise." She frowned, turning her attention to Sawyer. "And of course for you, dear."

Sawyer shifted, her hands grabbing each other again. "Thanks, Mags," she muttered. Aclaeus was Sawyer's best friend and comrade and every single Region knew it. They trained together, had free time together, taught lessons together. If it weren't for Priam, Sawyer was sure Aclaeus and her would-be married on the spot, although she didn't love him like that. She knew it would strain them, and that, she is thankful for Priam and their contract. Aclaeus was strong, but Sawyer was afraid he wouldn't last long.

"A conspiracy against the Empress herself. That is quite dangerous of you all." Vivian broke in, her hands on her hips. "You could all be arrested for treason right here on the spot."

Mokor clenched his hands, his tail flicking and ears twitching with irritation. "Be quiet, Vivian," he muttered through clenched teeth. Vivian scoffed. "I don't think the demon should be talking to be like that. What would your mother say if she heard you getting into trouble?"

Elye clapped his hands together. "My Lady, I don't believe you should be speaking to any of us the way you are at the moment." he made sure to emphasize Lady, which made Vivian shudder. "But, dear..." She tried, but Elye simply shook his head, a grimace appearing at the word dear. "If you don't want to be here, no one is forcing you to be here. So do us all a favor and be quiet." Vivian gaped at him, appalled. Elye turned to Magnolia and smiled at her. "Maybe they'll let us speak to Aclaeus?" Elye asked. Magnolia returned the smile with her own, gentle and reassuring. "Possibly. Let us go ask." Magnolia turned and began walking through the courtyard, hiking her dress skirts up to keep them from dragging through the snow. Elye and Priam followed, Vivian hurrying behind Elye. "That girl is unbelievable," Laurell muttered. "Honestly," Cedar agreed. The twins begin following the group, leaving Sawyer and Mokor alone. "You're not going, are you, princess." Mokor's voice was smooth and deep. He always spoke low but this time, his voice bounced against the open courtyard. "No," Sawyer muttered, watching the group disappear into the commons. "I'm going to go find my mother." She turned and retreated inside from where they had come. Mokor followed but said nothing. They walked in comfortable silence together, Sawyer leading him through the maze of chambers back to the dance hall. "You know," Mokor began, breaking the silence. "Priam has a thing for your brother."

The comment startled Sawyer and she snorted. "Where in the Realm did that come from?" She glanced at him, his face staring ahead of them, a seriousness to his lips. Then, he smiled. "Demon intellect. I can just tell," he said, not looking at her. She rolled her eyes, glancing back in front of her. "It's not hard to tell," she replied. "They've been going behind mother's back for years now."

Mokor laughed. "And yet you continue your contract with him," he said. Sawyer shrugged. "It allows him to be close to Elye without raising suspicion," she replied quietly, clenching her skirts slightly.

Sawyer remembered the first day she found out about them. It made her feel completely stupid. She had wandered to Elye's rooms late at night, wanting some help with studies. She entered without knocking, as she always had, and there they were, on his couch, kissing and holding each other. Sawyer cried, Priam apologized, Elye begged her not to say anything.

"Listen, Sawyer," Mokor stopped, grabbing Sawyer's hand and turning her to him. "Whatever happens with her, ou mother, we'll get Aclaeus out. I don't believe his treason. I don't believe he didn't write anything that isn't true." Sawyer studied the hopefulness in Mokor's red-tinted face. She nodded her head. "I hope you're right," she said, removing her hand from his hold and continuing to the dance hall.

The dance hall was still full and alive when Mokor and Sawyer arrived, pushing themselves through swishing lords and ladies. They pulled themselves to the dining table and while Mokor grabbed a drink and some food, Swyer scanned the hall, looking for her parents. She spotted the two in their thrones, her father looking at her mother lovingly as she spoke. Sawyer quickly pushed herself through the crowd once more, climbing the stairs to the thrones. Her father spotted her and Mokor, beaming at them. "Sawyer! Prince Maynard!" he exclaimed. Mokor bowed. "Emperor Sargarus, Empress Ahelissa, thank you for having my family and I. This party is wonderful as always," he said, the pitch of his voice rising slightly. Sawyer's father sat back in his throne, a grin on his face. His cheeks were red and Sawyer wondered if he had a lot of ale. She turned her attention to her mother, who sat elegantly in her throne, her legs crossed with her arm propped on them, her chin resting in her hand. She smiled slightly, her eyes glaring at Mokor. "Thank you for your kind words, Prince," she replied softly. "Mother," Sawyer said. Her mother turned her attention to Sawyer, her eyes going soft. "My beautiful daughter. What brings you both here? You children are usually about exploring the castle. What is this special occasion?" She shifted her self, sitting up and fixing her posture. "It's about Alcaeus," Sawyer responded, clenching her hands again. Ahelissa set her face, glowering at the name. "What about him, dear?" Though her words were soft, there was poison in them, a warning not to press the issue too much. Sawyer knew this tone all too well.

"Mother, I heard an awful rumor that he was arrested." Sawyer feigned stupidity, forcing her eyes to well up with tears. "That can't be true, can it?" Ahelissa's face softened slightly, buying into Sawyer's act. "Oh, dear, maybe we should talk about this somewhere else?" Sawyer's lip trembled. "Mother!" She cried.

Ahelissa and Sargarus both rose from their throne. "Come with us. You too, young Prince." The Empress and Emperor hurried the two off, ignoring the stares from the others. Sawyer glanced at Mokor who gave her a dumbfounded look. She grinned at him only slightly, immediately returning to her sadness. She caught Mokor shaking his head from the corner of her eye.

#chapter 1 #the heirs magic #sawyer caliembra

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