#and the pain of existing is an unruly toddler | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

svnflowervol666 · 4 years

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harry doing baby bubs hair in the bathroom while she’s facetiming mitch 🥺

Word Count: 2.4k

Author’s Note: This made my heart melt. It’s in a puddle on the floor right now. That’s all.

“Baby, ye’ gotta sit still,” Harry huffed as he resituated his daughter on the bathroom counter for probably the fifth time that morning.

She was normally a patient and well-behaved child despite her ripe age of three, but today she was really showing her age.

“Want mummy do it!” she whined, smacking her pudgy toes against the inside of the sink.

“I know ye’ want mummy t’ do it. I want mummy to do it too, but she had t’ go t’ work early. ‘S just me and you today.”

Harry reached for the spray bottle filled with water with his right hand while keeping a firm grasp on his daughter’s unruly head of curly hair with his left, determined to tame the frizzy strands that seemed to have run wild while she slept the night before. A ponytail shouldn’t be this fucking hard. Should it?

He spritzed the bottle a few inches away from her head, trying to smooth down the baby hairs that littered her hair line. And he almost had it. That was, until his daughter tucked her head downward in agitation and caused Harry to lose his grip and the poofy tufts of chocolate brown hair to fall once more around her forehead and ears.

A exaggerated (but not really, it was well-deserved) groan erupted from Harry’s chest, and a feeling of defeat washed over him. He rubbed his tired eyes with the knuckles on his fingers. It wasn’t a big deal and he knew that, but the fact that he couldn’t do his daughter’s hair was making him feel like a failure of a father.

“What’s it gonna take for ye’ to stop squirmin’, huh? Will ye’ just be good so daddy can do your hair and we can get ya t’ nana’s?”

She was getting restless now, the hard stone making her tiny bum ache and her attention span dwindle down to the point of non-existance.

“Daddy, I want dowwwwwn,” she fussed as she balled her hands into fists and hit them on her knees in protest.

“I’ve got t’ fix your hair, lovie. Can’t have it hangin’ in your eyes. Just be still for a few seconds. Ye’ know what? Here. Play with this.”

Harry fished his cell phone out of his back pocket and placed the sleek device in his child’s lap. He was normally against letting her mess with his phone in fear that she’d accidentally delete an important file or call one of the dozens of influential figures he had saved in his contacts, but at this point he’d do just about anything to make her stop moving so that he could put her damn hair up.

Her eyes seemed to light up when she realized what she now held in her possession, fingers moving quickly to unlock the screen and cause whatever damage her heart desired. It didn’t take her long to realize that unlike her mother’s, Harry’s phone was locked with a passcode and she was unable to get into it.

“Fix it, daddy!” she exclaimed, raising the phone over her shoulder while Harry had finally managed to regather her hair into a somewhat presentable bundle.

He cursed under his breath and let her curly mane go once more, then took the phone back from his daughter. It was unlocked and back in her arms in a few seconds flat, to which Harry’s millionth attempt at corraling the curls he undoubtedly passed down to her began.

In an instant, she’d forgotten all about how antsy she was, now busying herself by opening random apps that caught her eye and pressing random keys that meant absolutely nothing to her because she was a three year old that couldn’t read, but it didn’t deter her from thinking she was a proper adult doing adult things on her very own cell phone.

Harry let out a sigh of relief when she seemed completely content, reaching once more for the spray bottle to rewet the comb he had been using to smooth over his daughter’s scalp. She put up no fight when he pulled her hair taut against her head, almost as if she had forgotten he was even there as her pudgy fingers tapped away on the glass screen.

The silver lining was now in reach, the finish line only a handful of long strides away. He was satisfied with his work. Sure, there were a few lumps and bumps, but nothing his wife or mother would fuss over, so he raised his arm up to his mouth to pull the neon pink hair band from his wrist with his teeth. As fate would have it, just as he began securing her ponytail with the hair tie, the flimsy elastic snapped and shot to the floor, leaving the toddler’s hair in a bird’s nest on top of her head and Harry’s patience at it’s end.

“You’ve got t’ be bloody kiddin’ me,” Harry groaned, having to turn his body away from his daughter as if the fuse attached to his last nerve was going to implode at any second.

He was now certain that whatever higher power in the sky was planning his demise on this bright and sunny Tuesday morning.

With the last bit of his dignity, he knelt down to open the cabinets and rummage through the bin with all of his daughter’s clips and bows until he found another hair tie that would match the outfit he’d picked out for her to wear. He kept a firm hand on her back as he jumbled around the contents of the container, just in case she lost her balance and fell backwards off of the counter (she didn’t really need the extra reinforcement, but he’d not quite been able to shake the over-protective dad persona that he’d adopted whenever she was much smaller and prone to flinging herself backward without warning). There was no additional pink hair tie in sight, so he was forced to go with a bright green one that didn’t compliment what she was wearing in the slightest, but it was just nana’s house, so who gives a shit, he thought to himself.

As he was regaining his stance from where he was balanced on his haunches, he heard a deep voice that wasn’t his daughter’s echo off the walls of the master bathroom.

“Hey, man! What’s goin’ o-,” the voice, which Harry now recognized as his best friend’s came to an abrupt hault when the camera focused and the man was able to see who was actually facetiming him at seven o’clock in the morning.

“Oh. You’re not Harry,” he toyed, trying to amuse the tiny girl he’d known and loved since the minute she was born.

“Mitchy!” Harry’s daughter yelled directly into the speaker of the phone, causing Mitch to hold his own phone several inches away from where he had it resting on the arm of his sofa.

“Hello, princess. Where’s your dad?”

“Right here,” Harry interjected with a grunt as he willed the pain in his knees (and back) away.

“Sorry, she’s messin’ with m’ phone. Must’ve called you on accident.”

“No worries. ‘S a lovely surprise. What’re you two doin’? You on baby duty this mornin’?”

Mitch could see Harry messing with the toddler’s hair, a purple comb balanced in between his teeth and locks of wavy, brown hair slipping in and out of the frame as he gathered it on top of her head.

“Yep,” Harry spoke through the comb, “And it’s not goin’ s’ great.”

“Judgin’ by the look on your face, I’d say so.”

“Haha. Very funny.”

“Mitchy!” Harry’s daughter called for him again as if to refocus the attention of this conversation back on herself.

“Yessss?”

“I see kitty?” her voice raising an octave as she asked to see the kitten he’d adopted a few months ago that she adored oh so much.

“Kitty’s sleepin’ with Sarah right now, bug. Can’t wake them or they’ll both be grumpy for the rest of the day. Why don’t you come over and visit and you can see all of us? We miss you,” Mitch pouted dramatically at the camera, making the small girl giggle in a way that made him smile right back at her.

He’d always been rather reserved, but had quite the soft spot for his close friend’s bub and couldn’t help but show her all of the affection that he could.

“Daddy, I go to Sarah’s house?” she jerked her head back to look at her father, whose life flashed before his eyes when the sudden movement almost caused his to drop her hair again.

Harry quickly turned her jaw back towards the mirror with his thumb to keep another disaster from occurring.

“Maybe later, petal. You’re going to nana’s today. Daddy and Mitch have to go t’ work.”

“You play songs?”

“Yeah. Gonna play some songs,” he laughed at his daughter’s earnest attempt at understanding what he did for a living.

“Are you bein’ good for ye’ dad?” Mitch asked, seeing Harry’s struggle and doing what he could to distract her while Harry smoothed the final lumps over her delicate head with the fine-toothed comb.

“Yeah, I bein’ good,” she gloated, flashing her tiny baby teeth.

“If that’s what ye’ want to call it,” Harry mumbled under his breath.

He wasn’t quiet enough for Mitch to not hear his snide comment, to which he let out a chuckle towards Harry.

“I take it you’ve got a bit of a fibber on your hands?” Mitch directed at Harry.

“No kiddin’,” Harry huffed, face concentrated on one stubborn tendril of hair that wouldn’t lay flat no matter how many times he brushed over it, “’Ve been trying to put her hair in a bloody ponytail for twenty minutes. I swear I’ve never seen a three year old with this much hair before in m’ life. Don’t know how her mum does this every mornin’.”

“’M afraid that hair’s all you, lover boy. Those curls are unmistakeable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Is your dad good at fixin’ your hair?” Mitch asked the toddler, knowing good and well he was giving leeway for Harry to be teased mercilessly by his ruthless toddler.

“No, I like mummy do my hair more. Daddy pulls it too much.”

“Listen here, you little monster. If ye’ would have sat still for two seconds, this would have been done ages ago and we could’ve been halfway t’ nana’s by now,” Harry stated very matter-of-factly.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mitch intervened, “Take it easy, mate. She’s three. It can’t be that bad.”

“I would absolutely love to see you babysit her for twenty-four hours. You’d be choking on your words.”

“I’d love that, actually,” Mitch snided, “What d’ya say, princess? Sleepover at uncle Mitch’s house with Sarah and the kitty?”

The three year old cheered excitedly, her chubby cheeks widening on the sides of her face at the thought of spending time with her favorite people in the world (aside from her mum and dad, of course).

“No, no, no!” Harry yelled frantically, “Hold still. ‘M almost done.”

He quickly looped the brightly-colored elastic around her bunch of hair that he held tightly in his hand as if an imaginary stopwatch was about to go off and signal that he was out of time and he’d lose control of her curls once more, for which he’d certainly burst into tears.

“Aha!” he held his hands above his head in victory when he was satisfied with the number of times he’d wrapped the hair tie around her hair.

“Finally.”

Harry was breathing heavily as if he had just run a marathon, making Mitch cheer him on sarcastically.

“Super dad does it again.”

“You’re not funny, Mitch.”

“‘M very funny, actually. Isn’t that right, bubs?”

“Uh-huh!” Harry’s daughter agreed, earning an eye roll from her father.

“Alright, we’re very late. Need t’ get goin’ before Jeff yells at daddy n’ I’m not sure I can handle much more today.”

Harry scooped up the pint-sized child from the sink by the belly and helped her stand, her hands still clasped around the phone surrounded in a baby pink case.

“See ye’ in a bit yeah?” Harry asked Mitch as he straightened his daughter’s shirt that had crinkled at the hem from sitting on the counter for so long.

“Yeah. Reckon it’s probably time to go wake Sarah. You be good for your dad and nana today. Alright, stinker butt?”

“I not stinky!” the girl cried, almost offended.

“You’re right. ‘M sorry. Your dad’s the stinky one.”

“Goodbyeeeeeeee, Mitch,” Harry sang monotonously into the speaker.

“Bye, Mitchy!” his daughter called after him.

“Bye, sweetheart. See ye’ at the sleepover.”

She began rattling off another excited spout of words, but was cut off as Harry reached down and pressed the red button on the screen, ending the call. He took the phone from her hands and slid it back into his pocket. His daughter was too busy buzzing from the high of being invited over to Mitch’s house to play with his kitten to throw a fit over being deprived of it, to which Harry was thankful.

“Did ye’ put your bunny in your backpack?”

She nodded her head, yes.

“And your blanket?”

She paused, lips pursing as she tried to recall whether or not she stuffed the worn, yet still comforting wad of fabric that she’s had since she was born into her bag.

“Better go check then,” Harry added, watching her as she booked it down the hall towards her room as if she was in a race against herself to make it there.

“Got it!” her tiny voice came trailing back into Harry’s bedroom, the corners of the blanket sticking out from the giant backpack that was nearly the size of her body strapped to her back.

The sight of her wobbling back into his line of sight with the oversized bag made him want to cry. She was still so tiny, but where had his sweet baby gone?

“Good gir-” he began to praise her before he realized what he was currently looking at.

In the midst of her running, she must have exerted herself a bit too harshly, for her curls that were styled perfectly just minutes ago were floofed around her head in a (not-so angelic) halo and the hair tie had slipped down dangerously low, mere inches from falling completely out.

Her inherited curls were one of the cutest things about her and anyone with even the worst vision would agree. But, god. At what cost?

“-YOUR HAIR!”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #dad!harry #dad!harry x reader #asks

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

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Compassion

Request: #90 for @nyx-goddess-of-choas – “Bite me.”

nyx-goddess-of-choas said:

Hey love! Can I make a drabble request? #90 "Bite me" with Bang Yongguk? Thanks so much love 😊❤❤

Pairing: Bang Yongguk x reader

Genre: vampire au / fluff

A/N: This world is something my dear friend Fawn here told me about one time. I know we talked about turning it into a series, but I knew when you sent in this request I just had to write it this way for you. I hope you like it! Also, happy birthday, Yongguk!

Word count: 1374

You looked over at the man who stood before you, shaking your head at him incredulously. “You did what?”

“Himchan is growing tired from looking after the vamplings, so I told him to bring them here,” Yongguk mentioned, his dark eyes untroubled by what he had just stated.

But you were bothered entirely.

When you had turned into a vampire two centuries ago, you hadn’t expected to feel any kind of compassion towards anyone else. You were already angry at the world, and the monster who had taken your life clearly had been at an advantage. You had been uncaring by his attack, hoping he would suck all life from you and allow you the opportunity to leave this world behind. You had already lost your family, your status and your home. There was nothing left to lose.

And yet, by some cursed miracle, you survived. Becoming a vampire didn’t make things better, but it wasn’t surprisingly worse, either. You found pleasure in finding your own slice of heaven away from the crowds and filth of the city, opting to travel to the mountains where you could hunt for your food, and build your own life in solitude.

You had found this lifestyle to work for you perfectly well until seventy years ago when you had stumbled across a hiker badly injured in the woods. Instead of coming home with your meal of deer as planned, you had brought the man back with you, hoping to heal him with your various herbs and medicine at home.

You had vowed from the first day you had woken as a vampire that you wouldn’t take the lives of others. It wasn’t your place to play God, nor did you wish to complicate your own existence further. That was one of the reasons living in isolation worked for you. Your cabin was far off the beaten track, and no one had disturbed once since moving to the region.

Yet your potions didn’t work, and the man was fading fast. He grabbed at your arm, his dark eyes pleading with you. “Please,” he managed to mumble and you had stared at him for an immeasurable moment before turning away.

“I can’t help you any further.”

“You can, I saw,” he croaked, his focus now on your mouth as if fangs would suddenly protrude and give him proof they existed. You kept your lips pressed in a firm line and shook your head again, leaving the room and the man behind.

In his final hours, your human attempted to tell you about himself. He told you his name and you had smiled upon hearing it. “Yongguk seems fitting for you.”

“And your name is? I wish to know the name of the woman who saved my life.”

You smiled ruefully. “You’re dying Yongguk; I haven’t saved you at all.”

“You will,” he confirmed and you merely stared at him again, uttering your name and then falling silent.

His breathing grew haggard and you felt it unbearable to watch as Yongguk’s energy seemed to deplete completely. His gaze never left yours though, no matter how exhausted he was from fighting through. It made you feel cruel. Your own death, whilst it had been painful initially, was over quickly. You had essentially left him to suffer to the very last breath that he took.

And right when he appeared as if he would leave you and this Earth behind, that compassion you never expected to feel again for humans was overruled by sudden desperation. You were lonely in the mountains. You wrestled with the very humanlike emotions, cursing Yongguk for reminding you of such things. And then you bit down on his wrist, tasting human blood for the first time as a vampire. You had expected to go crazy, become feverish from such a required taste for your kind. And yet you calmly stole what little resided within Yongguk, waiting to see what would come of your efforts.

He transitioned to being a vampire with ease, surprising you further with how well he fitted into your life here in the woods. Except he faced the problem of having empathy for others.

“I just found him lying there bleeding to death, what was I meant to do when he could still exist?”

And that was how you came across Himchan and he joined your small clan. However, he was a helpful companion to have. He had been an architect as a human, and between the three of you and Himchan’s blueprints, you were able to build an even grander cabin within the valley at the far corner of the forest. Himchan maintained connections with humans still, supplying you with furniture to decorate your new home with.

You decided you could cope with having Himchan in your world, but then when four other men crashed down in a plane over the forest three months ago, you had been beside yourself. “Yongguk, we can’t keep increasing our clan size! We’ll be noticed by others if we do so!”

“Am I meant to let them die?!”

You sighed heavily, reaching out to hold his hand tenderly. “If that is what fate had in store for-”

“I will take responsibility for them,” he claimed, walking away from you and stilling the hearts within the four men.

And those were the same four young men Yongguk had mentioned to you now. “We are not housing them. They are out of control right now! Unlike both you and Himchan who transitioned alone, a group of newly-turned vampires tend to be unruly and like toddlers or teenagers, depending on their mood.”

“Precisely. And Himchan’s home cannot handle so many vampires cramped within its walls. We have the room here and-”

“I was never maternal,” you told him firmly, shaking your head. “Not once as a human did I crave to mother anything. Now, you’ll expect me to mother your children!”

“My children?” he echoed with a laugh, shaking his head. “My love, they are not much younger than I was when you took my own life. Does that make me your child if you think of it that way? Because you have certainly done such sinful things with me if you consider our relationship as such.”

If you could have blushed you would have. Instead, you rolled your eyes and turned away from your lover. “Bite me.”

“You did so seventy years ago,” he reminded, a hint of amusement laced within his tone. Yongguk approached you, his hands soon roaming over your body, euphoria overwhelming every one of your senses as soon as he was flush against you. “But shall I do so anyway? You seem to moan louder when I do.”

You coughed and pulled away from his grip, shaking your head at him. “You’re tricking me.”

“We’ll be fine with them here. They just need to mature into their new skills and then move onto the next chapter in their existence. I very much so doubt they will want to live with us for years to come. After all, Himchan admitted that he has heard us from his own home when we are making love sometimes. If they’re living with us, do you think our children will appreciate such nuances?”

“The one mistake I made was turning you into a vampire,” you uttered, shaking your head. You were surprisingly embarrassed for a vampire who had endured such a long existence.

“I know,” he agreed, and you eyed Yongguk warily. He smiled. “But you chose to love this mistake of yours.”

“Perhaps that was the error I made, instead of turning you.”

“Would you like if I moved out of your bed then?”

You groaned. “I wasn’t saying that, yet-”

“You amuse me with how often you put up a fight. And yet it was you who helped Himchan and I take care of the men when they turned.”

“Well they needed proper sustenance, and I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you both.”

“And you will help them overcome their transitional period as well.”

“Two months,” you bartered and Yongguk grinned, scooping you up into his arms and kissing you passionately.

“For a woman who claims to have no heart, you certainly make mine feel full.”

_________________

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fanfic-ofbands · 5 years

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And One Thing Led To Another - Chapter 1

| Character Summary |

Banter To A Falter

GERARD gazed at his brother adoringly. Heck, he may be seventeen, but Mikey would always be Gerard’s baby brother. Said baby brother was currently deep in sleep, his mouth opened slightly as stifled snores escaped from time to time. He almost looked cute… almost.

Gerard smiled. He loved his brother, which was precisely why he needed to do this:

“Wake up fucker!” Gerard yelled as he launched himself onto his startled sibling. He landed right on top of Mikey, earning a furious gasp.

“What the fuck Gerard!” Mikey yelled.

“Good morning sunshine! Ya miss me?” Gerard asked, grinning broadly. He couldn’t help but laugh at Mikey’s unruly brown hair as he positioned himself so that he held most of his weight propped on his elbow while still draping over the now pissed Mikey.

“I did… right up until the moment you winded me you ass.” Mikey groaned, crossing his arms.

“Aw c’mon Mikes, don’t be that way. I only wanted to say hi.” Gerard pouted, earning an exasperated eye-roll from the younger Way.

“Is that so?” Mikey asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Yeah. Hi!” Gerard answered, flopping all his weight onto Mikey earning yet another groan.

“Gerard, fuck off. You’re making me cold.” Mikey whined.

“Hey, c’mon now. You know I can’t help it.” It was Gerard’s turn to cross his arms.

Mikey instantly regretted the complaint. It had been seven years since his older brother had been attacked and turned. You’d think he’d be used to the cold skin that came with the transformation, but alas, it was not something one could get used to quickly. Especially when exposed to it after being wrapped in his cozy confines of blankets.

“Sorry, Gee.” He offered a small, apologetic smile to the older of the two.

“Nah it’s all good. I’d be pissed too.” Gerard shrugged.

The two sat in silence for a while staring at the ceiling. The Way brothers had always been close, ever since they were toddlers. Practically inseparable. However, sharing their secret had made the bond even stronger which may come to a surprise to some people, but the Way brothers didn’t see any other outcome. They were too close.

But then again, not every sibling could say they got to keep such a large and dangerously precarious secret. How many kids had a vampire as an older brother?

No, Gerard wasn’t a ‘Dracula’ type vampire, an ‘Interview With A Vampire’ type, a ‘Vampire Diaries’ one, nor was he one of those weird ‘Twilight’ vamps. He was a real-life, un-living creature of the night… well, a creature in general. He could walk in sunlight perfectly fine; thank you very much. He was just incredibly susceptible to sunburn. His skin was incredibly pale – Mikey liked to call him Snow White because of the whole “skin as white as snow and hair as black as ebony” even if his hair was dyed at the moment – and exceptionally flammable. He’d found that out the hard way (smoking was now far too risky, unfortunately). Yes, his hearing and eyesight were incredible, even his strength and speed were supernatural, heck he was even allowed to age!

Ageing is a very complicated scenario actually. You see, vampires, real vampires, can… enforce ageing. No, they cannot die – they are still immortal to sense after all – but if vampires really want to, they can implement ageing. It’s incredibly useful when wanting to fit it or stay in place for long periods. All one must do is will it to happen. It’s hard to explain, but it’s almost as if there is a switch that causes the time lapse. To age, one must ‘flick the switch on’, if that makes sense of course. To revert to the age at which the vampire was turned, they ‘switch it off’. To retain an age, the ‘switch’ is ‘held in the middle’. Please keep in mind that these are strange and simplistic analogies that do not give the art justice.

It had taken four years for Gerard to become aware of such an ability, one which he used as soon as possible. So instead of looking seven years older than Mikey, he looked three. However, despite all the marvellous pros, there was one large con that outweighed them. His lust for blood.

Gerard craved the stuff. Blood fuelled his being now, and he hated it. Vampires, to stay reasonably healthy complexioned, comfortable and supernaturally advantaged to the utmost extent needed to feed every two to three days. Slight problem, Gerard despised feeding. Hated it. He loathed that he had to make human beings living blood bags for his own unnatural survival. He hadn’t chosen vampirism. Vampirism chose him.

It had found him in an alleyway at his lowest of lows, close to blackout drunk and incredibly high on a multitude of drugs. He was heartbroken and full of self-loathing merely looking for a way to forget for a night no matter the cost in the morning. Or so he had thought. Any amount of heartbreak was preferable to the self-loathing Gerard currently lived, no, existed with. Or maybe endured... either way, there weren’t many positives, in his own belief, to being a vampire.

“Gee? Gerard.” Mikey said, demanding his brother’s attention with a shove. A shove that shouldn’t have even budged the older brother what with the supernatural strength and all. But it did. And it caused Mikey to frown. Now that he thought about it, Gerard was colder than usual. Sure, being vampire had meant far lower temperatures, but Gerard was icy.

“Gerard,” Mikey said, a slight whine in his tone.

“Huh?” Gerard asked, unaware that he had been enraptured in his own thoughts yet again.

“I was asking how the cabin and the cycle went. How Frank is?” Mikey answered, annoyance obvious in his voice.

“Oh… Yeah, it was fine. Well, the usual anyway. Nothing abnormal. Frank, on the other hand, is currently passed out on the couch. We had to use the cellar this time. One of the neighbouring cabins was occupied, so he’s a little bruised up. But he’ll heal.” Gerard said, frowning a little.

To some, the conversation would be, to say the least, but to the way brothers, it was a part of their lives now.

To add onto what is already pretty unbelievable, Gerard was not only the supernatural but dated it too. Frank, a short, tattooed man with a slight case of hyperactivity, was a werewolf. Not a ‘Vampire Diaries’ werewolf, a ‘Teen Wolf’ type of a ‘Harry Potter’ breed, but a living, breathing werewolf.

Of course, lycanthropy is the typical trait of wolfmen. (They wouldn’t be a werewolf if they didn’t, now would they?) Of every lunar cycle – which lasts twenty-nine days – three nights are overshone with a full moon. This is the trigger. Something the many pieces of entertainment in our culture got correct. For these three nights, a werewolf will undergo their transformation: An excruciating experience for the poor soul who endures body is being recreated. Joints and bones are dislocated, muscles are transformed, and insides are relocated as a wolf form is taken. At the crack of dawn, the transformation is reversed, and the pain is experienced once more. For all werewolves, hormones are maxed and raging as their body prepares for the inevitable torment. Mood swings are prominent while specific needs make themselves known, all causing a very roller coaster-like-week for our werewolf Frank.

The reason he was “passed out on the couch” as because over those three days, sleep was not something he came by easily. The wolf form runs wild on those full-mooned nights. Hunting where it wants, running where it pleases but always returning to the old cabin outside New Jersey located in a national park. It was the closest thing the boys could get to seclusion. Unfortunately, this park was open for hunting every once and a while – mainly winter – making it an exceedingly exhausting and challenging time of year for Frank.

You’d think that running around as a wolf through the forest would be more tiring for the man; however, it hated being caged – the wolf that is – and it fought for escape from the confinement of the underground cellar of the cabin for hours without end throughout the night. Throwing itself against the cold and unforgiving reinforced steel door and barricade, trying in vain to dig at the concrete flooring and fight against the rock walls. So, after nights like the past few where Frank had to be locked up for the safety of a neighbouring family and camping hunters close to the cabin’s radius, Frank awoke to find himself bruised, swollen, bloodied and sometimes still broken.

One of the perks to Frank’s supernatural curse was his healing ability. Unlike Gerard, who could only be harmed by another vampire and otherwise comes out of a physical complication unscathed, Frank is injured just as easily as anyone else… he just heals much faster. A broken arm is perfectly fine after a few hours, a small cut in only seconds and bruises within minutes to half an hour. But this all depended on his condition. After three gruelling nights of physical agony and little to no sleep (even during the day he only slept a couple hours before the emotions and need to move became too much to handle), healing became a little more time-consuming. Bruises taking hours; cut's up to a day and breaks multiple.

“And, how are you?” Mikey asked Gerard, concern evident on his pointed features.

“I’m fine Mikes. It’s hard listening to it, but Frank is the concern here.” Gerard shrugged.

“That’s not what I’m talking about Gee,” Mikey sighed. Gerard knew what Mikey meant, he was just ignoring it. His brother was asking about his feeding schedule, but he could lie.

“I’m fine. It hasn’t been long.”

“You can’t lie to me, Gerard.” Shit. Well, there does that theory. “Now when was the last time you fed.” Mikey raised his eyebrows, not letting his brother getting out of it that easily.

“Not long,” Gerard replied quietly, looking anywhere but at Mikey.

“Bullshit Gee. You’ve got dark rings around your eyes, your pale… well paler and you are literally like ice. Now, when did you last feed?”

Damn, he’s good. Gerard thought before sighing.

“It’s probably been a good week? Week ‘n’ a half? I’m not too sure…” Gerard rubbed the back of his neck as Mikey scolded him. Not verbally, just with eye-contact. He was good at it.

“Gerard, you need to eat. You remember the last time you went too long without bl-“

“Yeah, yeah! I get it.” Gerard snapped, cutting Mikey off before he could finish the sentence, “It’s just hard y’know? Like, I shudder just thinking about it.” A very similar shudder ran up his spine.

“Gee, you’ve done it a hundred times before. You’ll be fine. You know they forget.” Mikey reasoned.

“Ugh, I know.”

Vampires were able to make their victims forget about the wound left after feeding and the very experience. It was like a venom that was injected through their fangs into the puncture wounds of the bite site, 'blissing out' the victim before they finished. The victim was left in a dazed state for a certain amount of time after the vampire has finished feeding, giving said attacker enough time to flee the scene. This of course only occurs when the victim is left alive.

“It’s just hard to find someone. And don’t you dare give me the whole, “It’s winter, Gerard. The marks are covered,” speech because that is only part of the difficulty.” Gerard retorted, becoming defensive.

“I don’t sound like that,” Mikey muttered, “and I know. You’ve explained this to me before. But it’s still easier. Just go into a bar, bite an alone, drunk stranger and leave. It’s that easy.” Mikey knew it wasn’t that easy, but he put on the low-difficulty mask for his brother. Gerard had always been the same. When he was little, he’d hated it when his mum had killed even the smallest of insects in the house, crying that they should be set free instead. Now that he was the potential killer, it was tormenting.

Gerard snorted. “’That easy’ my ass.”

“I’ve asked you before, and I’ll ask again; why don’t you just feed on me?”

“Because you’re my brother Mikey! I’m not turning you into a food source. We’ve been over this.”

“Gerard, please. You look like shit, and your hands are beginning to shake. Just this once, do it. It doesn’t have to be much, just enough to give you a clear mind for when you go and feed tonight.” Mikey pushed. A small, smug feeling began to harbour in his mind. He could see Gerard and his resolve wavering.

“C’mon, just a little. It can just be from my wrist. It’s no biggie, and you know you’d do the same for me.” Mikey knew he had one. Gerard was biting his lip and wringing his hands. It was his signs of defeat and self-beratement.

Gerard sighed heavily, “Fine. But as soon as you get weirded out, you tell me okay? And as soon as the venom starts kicking in you stop me.”

“Yeah, okay.” Mikey nodded.

They’d done this once before. Him, Mikey and their parents were on holiday at their great aunt’s and were rooming with a multitude of cousins. Gerard was four years into his new life and attending the first family gathering in three years.

He’d graduated, made do with the little knowledge he had of his new lifestyle and had just figured out how to start ageing again because despite being twenty-one, he still looked seventeen.

Mikey had just turned fifteen and knew about Gerard and his vampirism. He’d thought it was the coolest thing in the world when overlooking the actual use of people.

It was an extended stay. Five weeks at a private estate connected to a beach in a mansion type household. The boy’s mother had begged Gerard to come along, and he eventually agreed. What he hadn’t decided too, however, was one visit into town. Which meant he’d have to starve himself for far longer than usual. Once he had gotten through the first two weeks, and the signs were beginning to really show. Gerard played it off as a cold, but Mikey knew that his older brother hadn’t fed. He knew his brother would feed once a week – they had worked out time-frames together – and the end of the second week a lot closer than the start.

He’d found Gerard in the middle of the day laying on the shared bunk, shivering despite the forty-degree heat. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days - which wasn’t far off the mark – and strangely gaunt. How the rest of the family didn’t notice was astounding, but then again, none of them really paid him much mind. It had always been the same once he’d gotten a little older than twelve. He started delving into the world of art, darker imagery and more intense self-representation. The family began to treat him as an outcast and still did even at twenty-one.

Mikey had asked Gerard what the problem was, and in a heartbeat, Gerard admitted the problem. He was hiding away from everyone, so he didn’t lose control. He needed blood and didn’t know how to get it without a problem. (He hadn’t been allowed to take his car, his parents insisting he go with them – and he’d caved to that too). Mikey offered that he feed off him and it hadn’t taken much convincing.

And here they were again, the brothers undergoing a sense of déjà vu. Mikey offered his wrist to his brother, clenching his fist as he waited for the sharp stinging pain that he knew would occur. As Gerard held Mikey’s arm gingerly, slowly lowering his head towards the boy’s exposed wrist, Mikey started to hold his breath. Not just because of the pain that would come, but because of the feeling of euphoria he felt after being fed on for a while.

“Mikes, how are you gonna hide it at school?” Gerard asked suddenly, pulling back but the boy’s arm still in a light grip.

“I’ll just wear that Adidas wrist thing you gave me. It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Gerard answered almost absentmindedly as he lowered his head once more. Closing his eyes, he opened his mouth and exposed his fangs to the soft skin on the inside of Mikey’s wrist. He sighed a shaky breath before biting down and piercing the surface, a small flow of blood meeting his tongue.

Mikey hissed slightly as he felt his skin being punctured and then sucked on. Sure, it was weird, but he knew Gerard would do the same for him. He watched as Gerard began to breathe a little harder in between swallowing the small mouthfuls which were steadily increasing along with the grip on Mikey’s arm.

Gerard was now enraptured with the taste that flooded his mouth and groaned in content. His supernatural instincts took over causing him to sink his fangs deeper into Mikey’s wrist, moaning as the flow increased.

Mikey was now beginning to feel a slight wave of euphoria trickle into his mind. He’d barely noticed his brothers' grip tightening further, possibly causing bruises. He knew he needed to stop his brother now.

“Okay, Gee. That’s enough.” Mikey said, shaking his head willing the fuzzy feeling in his brain to go away. Gerard didn’t stop though as his breathing deepened.

“Gee… C’mon, stop now,” Mikey said, his voice becoming firmer. Still no response.

“Gerard!” He yelled.

Gerard’s eyes snapped open, his hazel eyes tinted red – a side effect while feeding. With a sharp intake of breath, Gerard unlatched his mouth from his brother's arm and sprung off the bed, slamming into the wall across the room.

“Fuck,” Gerard said shakily, a line of blood trailing down the side of his chin.

“Fuck! Shit, Mikey, I’m sorry. Fucking shit.” He apologised in between shaky breath and wrangling of his hair.

“Gerard. Gerard hey! It’s okay. It was only a little longer, I’m fine. Seriously.” Mikey said hastily, pressing a discarded shirt to his wrist.

“Better a little more from me than too much from someone else right?”

Gerard shook his head, “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Dude it’s all good. No, go clean yourself up, I need a lift to school.”

“Yeah… Yeah okay. Be ready in fifteen?”

“You got it,” Mikey replied. He was already walking to the bathroom, his clothes and wristbands in hand and a bandage in mind, oh and a coffee.

“Gerard, can you make me a coffee?!”

“Yeah. Yeah of course!” Gerard answered. He was still a little out of it, especially after licking the blood off his chin. He’d almost lost control, and yet Mikey was still able to reassure him.

He walked to the kitchen, bypassing the couch to see Frank snoring.

Gerard smiled. He had a gorgeous boyfriend and a brother who seemed to care about his wellbeing far too much. He wondered how he could even deserve such people in his life.

#and one thing led to another #mcr fanfiction #gerard way #vampire #frank iero #werewolf #mikey way #horror #body horror #blood #blood drinking #romance

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harrv · 6 years

Note

I saw this on my other fandom so I hope you don't mind. Make a list of your top 20 favorite fics. Then, tag 20 people (or as many as you like) ❤️

ooooh okay! i never made a long ass ficrec before so here we go *cracks knuckles*

[not in particular order!] [all are harry/louis]

~ also, i tag anyone who wants to do a fic rec! just say i tag u :)

1. Unbelievers by isthatyoularry / 136k

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

2. Young & Beautiful by Velvetoscar / 227k

Louis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name Zayn Malik means something, Niall Horan doesn’t stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and Harry Styles, only son of a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile and empty eyes.

3. Gods & Monsters by Velvetoscar / 201k

The instructions were simple: seduce and destroy Harry Styles. Not once did they discuss the option of Louis actually falling in love. So, naturally, that’s exactly what he did.

4. all we can do is keep breathing by @avocadolouie / 149k+ (as of june 7)

“Harry, I-I’m so sorry…” Louis stutters out, trying to keep his voice level and even, to portray a depiction of strength, but with the way Harry is looking at him, staring at him like he has a personal passage way straight to Louis’ soul, it’s so hard, nearly impossible.

That simple opening phrase, that short introductory acknowledgement that is often rushed out so easily, painlessly, at a safe distance. Giving a doctor the ability to portray empathy without true emotion, without feeling the full brunt and sheer force of the underlying pain itself.

But Louis feels it, he feels the crushing agony laced behind the phrase, he feels the weight of the painful words slipping from his lips, the cause and effect that the three-word expression holds. The distantly empty “I’m so sorry” that doctors throw out in self-preservation, isn’t at all empty for him. Louis recognizes it, he understands it, he feels it.

a fated story of two broken and battered boys who barely survived the unimaginable and how the love of one little brave girl defies all the odds and somehow puts them back together.

[more under the cut]

5. Empty Gold by rainbow_kings / 148k

AU where Louis Tomlinson attends the vigorous, demanding performing arts school: Guildhall in hopes to complete his theatre degree. He is a scholarship student, always having to work twice as hard to prove his worth which has caused him to feel resentment and anger towards his subordinate position.

Harry Styles is the wealthy, naturally gifted actor who effortlessly snatches all the main roles within the class. The complete contrast to everything Louis is.Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles have had bad blood and despised each other for the two years they attended Guildhall together, making each task a competition between each other.

In the final year, when Guildhall produces and performs an original play, Louis is heartbroken to learn the lead role has been been received to Harry and he’s the second role. He’s mostly terrified, however, when he realises he has to date Harry in the play as their characters. They come together through awkward stage kisses that transforms to hate sex, heated arguments, rehearsal times after lectures and baking carrot cake together.

6. Crave by @dimpled-halo / 89k

All eyes are on Louis Tomlinson to bring new talent to save Hanover Records from the mess the previous executive left behind. His newest artist, Harry Styles, is charismatic and everything Louis needs to revive the label. It’s up to Louis and his team to make Harry the star he was born to be. When Harry and Louis come face to face, it isn’t the first time they’ve met, and their worlds are about to be turned upside down.

7. Needing You More and More, Let’s Give Love A Try by supernope / 33k

When Harry gets pregnant after a one night stand, Louis helps him get everything together, from buying pregnancy clothes to taking him on a babymoon. Somewhere along the way, they realize that their feelings for each other are more than platonic.

8. The Night Sky is Changing Overhead by @domestic-harry / 124k

“Um, sorry, but I believe that’s actually mine,”

Harry said a bit awkwardly, pointing at the cup. The man huffed, slightly narrowing his blue eyes, “Nope, large Americano, dash of cream.” He held the coffee up closer to Harry and honestly, Harry knew exactly what was in the cup because it was his coffee.

“Right,” Harry slowly drawled out as if he was talking to a toddler, “Which would make that mine.”“

Look, I really don’t have time for this, I’m running late. And this,” he said before he took a sip from the cup, “Is mine.”

Harry’s jaw dropped and he held his hands out, failing them slightly, “Wha-you can’t just drink it!”

“Well I did, so, do you still want it or can I be on my way?” The man challenged.Harry shook his head disbelievingly, “Take it, but for the record, it says Harry on it.”

The man turned the cup around and a sharp laugh came out of his mouth, “Well, shit.” He looked at Harry, a smile stretched across his face as crinkles formed next to his eyes. “Thanks, Harry.”

9. the wonderlands by stylinsoncity / 150k

Harry’s daughter, Andy, is signed to Louis’ girl band. Her path to success is marked by competition, chaos, and for Harry, a love affair.

10. If I Was Stronger by haloeverlasting / 50k

Harry lets out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She feels tingly, and hot, and absolutely terrified, but the next time she looks in the mirror, she sees someone she knows intimately. She sees that girl with bright green eyes, and unruly hair, and parted lips, and she loses her breath a moment, because while she knows that girl inside and out, she hasn’t been honest with herself until… well, now.

“I might be gay.”

A Girl Direction AU where Louis holds universes inside her, and Harry just wants to hold her.

11. Now In A Minute by @avocadolouie / 150k

13 feels like yesterday for many people, but for Louis it actually was.More than anything in the world, Louis Tomlinson dreams of growing up. Simply skipping over all of the awkward, embarrassing years of teenage existence and getting on with life. Real life.

So when thirteen-year-old Louis wakes up in the body of his thirty-year-old self, he expected everything in his adult life to be picture perfect. And maybe it is. He has it all…or so it seems.

Except his favorite person and lifelong best mate, Harry Styles, is totally missing from the equation and Louis doesn’t understand why. He has a lot of catching up to do and as adult life turns out to be more than what he bargained for, Louis can’t help wondering why a life that seemed so perfect, feels so empty.

Or the 13 going on 30 au that should have been done years ago.

12. Fake It Till You Make It by @avocadolouie / 136k

In a twisted turn of events, Louis finds himself posing as the brother of his fiancé, Harry, for an annual company retreat.

Did he sign up for this? No.

Is he doing it anyway? Yes.

Can they actually pull this off? Probably not.

13. precious little thing by mercutionotromeo / 21k

Niall grins deviously and hits “make call”, putting his phone on speaker. They lean in close to peer down at the screen, heads knocking lightly together. Dull rings reverberate quietly around the room and mix with the monotonous buzz of the lights. It rings for a while - maybe six or seven times - then the other line picks up.

There’s a slow, steady inhale, and a low voice purrs, “Hi, sexy.”

Jesus - this guy has barely said two words, and both of them have made Harry’s cock twitch in his jeans. That’s not even getting to what those words are, and why he’s saying them, and how Harry’s stomach is dropping into his shoes at the mere thought of him saying… other words. Words like “cock”, and “please”, and “come”.

Also known as: a university AU featuring phone sex operator Louis, copious amounts of sweet, soft kink discovery, and Louis being Harry’s Daddy.

14. Say You’ll Remember by whisperdlullaby / 93k

au. louis and harry are best mates that are only half aware that they’re also soulmates. alternatively, louis goes to university and harry travels the world, and they always manage to find their way back to each other.

takes place over nine years, in which they love and hurt, make mistakes and learn, and above all, grow.

15. Grenadine Sunshine by @horsegirlharry / 18k

Harry’s only sixteen, it shows right now, and Louis wants…he wants so many things. He wants to taste the faint, sugary ghost of lip gloss, he wants to cup Harry’s face between his palms and swipe the shimmery wet shadows from beneath his eyes. He wants to show him everything he knows, even though he doesn’t know anything about this, about kissing boys or flirting with them or doing their makeup or even showing them it’s okay to want to wear makeup in the first place. Still, Louis just wants, wants and wants and wants. It’s what Harry does to him.

16. California Sold by isthatyoularry / 123k

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

17. Do Not Go Gentle by afirethatcannotdie / 70k

“This is all a game to you, isn’t it? Well, it’s not for me. This is a real life or death situation,” Louis says, spitting the words at him. “And I just don’t think you’re cut out for it.”

For a moment, they stare at each other in complete silence. Harry can feel his blood thrumming between his ears, can see Louis glaring at him, feels red-hot anger. And then all he feels, oppressively and desperately, is lust.

Suddenly Louis is surging up to him to press his lips against Harry’s. Harry walks the two of them backwards, pressing Louis back against the door. Louis oomphs in surprise and brings his hands under Harry’s scrub top, scratching at his lower back.

“Lock — oh — lock the… fucking door,” Louis mutters.

When Harry Styles starts his first day as a surgical intern, he expects a lot of things: to treat patients, to observe a surgery, to feel a bit overwhelmed. What he definitely doesn’t expect, however, is that the handsome guy he kicked out of his bed this morning is also an intern.A Grey’s Anatomy AU where tensions are high, Harry and Louis are hooking up in secret, and no one has time for love. Or do they?

18. Finding Lou by stylinsoncity / 60k

Louis is the nomadic stranger who wanders into Harry’s bookstore. Harry is the skeptic who falls for him.

19. Coax the Cold by MediaWhore / 86k

England, 1897.

English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

20. Here In The Afterglow by @fondleeds

“If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have many friends,” Louis whispers, the blossom of insecurity in his stomach unfurling and clawing its way into his throat.

Harry is silent for a long time, and then he speaks; a soft, slow uncurl that makes Louis’ stomach shake. “I’ll be your friend.”

-1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

#anonymous #whew thats it #thats a lot #also i didnt tag anyone bc im too tired to think of ppl sdsj its 1 am #and these arent only my fave fics ive got more but these are the only ones i could think of rn dfhdfdj #fic

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queenslasharchive · 6 years

Text

Pretender To The Throne (Chapter 1: My Fairy King (1967-1976))

Rolling Stone: “In the early 1970s, when [girlfriend Mary] Austin suggested they have a child together, Mercury allegedly responded, ‘I’d rather have a cat.’”

Some of Sky’s earliest memories were of Queen songs.

Most were off-key (read: horrible) renditions sung by his mother, but the words were still the same.

“In the land where horses born with eagle wings And honey bees have lost their stings There’s singing forever, ooh yeah… Lion’s den with fallow deer And rivers made from wine so clear Flow on and on forever…

Dragons fly like sparrows thru’ the air And baby lambs where Samson dares To go on on on on on on…”

My Fairy King was his favorite, right from the moment it came out on shiny vinyl record, when he was just six years old. He had his own copy too, played it so hard and so often that it was scratched and worn to high heaven.

But it wasn’t the same without his mother to hold him close and sing terribly in the wrong key, flubbing up the transitions and cues. She always tried, he had to give her credit. It was her favorite too.

She liked all of the songs about Rhye.

“It reminds of your Daddy, Rhys.” She would whisper to him, as they huddled together on an old futon, in their gross one-room apartment, the black mold on the ceiling grew in funny ways reminiscent of the animal crackers she would often pack away in his lunch-kit. “He was My Fairy King.” She would look away, almost wistful for a moment, before covering his tiny body in kisses that made him squeal indignantly, desperately trying to bat her hands away.

“And you're My Fairy Prince!” She would say. “So I’m going to eat you all up! Sugar and spice and everything nice!"

Making monster noises as she tickled the everliving daylights out of him. He would laugh until he was crying and breathless, watery eyes staring up at her with cheeks flushed pink.

"No, Mama!” He would protest in mock-offense. “I’m a boy! Those are for girls!”

“Ah!” She would pause as if it were some great revelation. “Snips, snails and puppy-dog tails! …Oh no, that doesn’t sound anything like my little Prince Rhye at all!"

She named him Rhye after the make-believe world that his father had created in his youth.

According to her, he used to tell stories about it to anyone who would listen and sketch out the most beautiful scenes in the margins of his notebooks. They grew closer during his last days at Isleworth Polytechnic, right before he transferred to Ealing Art College in London. He was so gifted, so smart. They only shared a few classes together in a handful of months, but it was enough to leave her smitten. He was charismatic, beautiful and almost as otherworldly as the dreams he’d had for himself.

He’d had the most lovely smile, those protruding teeth that she’d always found so adorable, but that he’d always expressly hated.

She loved how Sky had inherited that same smile.

When his adult teeth came in and the sight alone made him cry, she told him he looked positively exquisite in their distinctness. (Sky thought he looked like even more of a sideshow freak).

Of all the things in life, that were either foisted upon him or lovingly given, he actually picked the nickname Sky.

Coined it as a toddler when Rhye was too hard to say, it was a made up name anyway. Only his mother (and then Cole in later years)was allowed to call him that, or any little pet-names derived from it. Rhys. Rhy-Guy. Prince Rhye…

Rhye Halley Bulsara. Named after a pretend land, a comet and a man who didn’t even know he existed.

But that was okay.

It was okay, because he always had his mother. She was his everything. She loved him for his weird eyes (that his classmates always made fun of without fail. Until they realized he knew all his math facts and could easily prove them stupid. Or you know, use his teeny tiny fists to cave their faces in) and the bulky teeth too big for his mouth. She loved him for his sparkly tutus over his stripey tights and brightly colored wellies, (that always found their way into the biggest puddles as they walked down the crowded streets of New York City). She loved him for the little songs he would make-up as he marched all his stuffed bears across the floor and the way he scrunched up his speckled nose when he laughed.

She loved him because he was her son in every ounce, not just his father’s prodigal.

She was also the strongest woman he ever knew.

A single mother at nineteen, working two dead-end jobs just to keep them afloat, no insurance to speak of, no money for anything better, and no family to help her.

Then she woke up one morning to find her nine-month-old baby turned ashen gray, and with a fever that boiled beneath his skin like a blazing hellfire. He went from being able to crawl fervently and tug himself into standing positions on furniture, with a gummy smile, to not being able to raise his own head.

Polio.

The Crippler of Children.

Within mere hours he couldn’t breathe on his own, eyes blown wide and lips a swollen sickening gray-blue, gums a bloodless white. Already wearing the guise of a corpse.

The doctors told his mother that he wouldn’t last the night. They even asked if a baptism and last rites were something she wanted.

Nineteen years old and she realized that there was no word for a parent who loses a child. A widower loses a wife, a widow loses a husband, an orphan loses their parents, but no one was ever meant to outlive their child.

She could’ve collapsed to pieces right then and there.

She could’ve just given up on him, like all the doctors and medical personnel who already had, and simply let him go. To join the ranks of the ghost children who’d died of the same crippling disease within the same beige walls of the fever hospital. Instead, Roberta Rhodes, affectionately called Birdy by all who knew her, demanded the best care for her child.

She held him tight as they shoved a needle through the narrow slats of his spine to collect infected fluid. She sang every song she knew until her throat was raw as they bundled him up in an child-sized iron-lung to breathe for him. It was the late 60s, the heyday of polio was over, but for those few still unvaccinated, it never ended.

Sky, the tiny boy that they told her wouldn’t last the night, lived till morning.

And then he did it again and again and again.

The full-body paralysis set in after ten days of being at death’s door and the coming back was rough. It was months before he regained the use of his lungs independently. Longer still until his arms were back under his control.

He celebrated his first birthday in the hospital, looking eagerly at the fireworks that lit up the night sky, just outside his window. The next three birthdays were very much the same. Only for his third birthday: he got crutches, a hard plastic back-brace, and leg braces from his toes to his hips. Braces that had to be changed as he grew, lest they rip open his skin while he hobbled along.

He drew pictures and finger-painted across his chest plates, a million smiling sunflowers and bright hand prints adorned each and every one. The beginnings of his love for art.

By four, all he needed were the leg braces and the crutches. By six it was just the leg braces and within a few months, not even those anymore. The countless painful surgeries to release the tight bits and replace the dead tissue in his legs worked wonders. Of course they also left scars that puckered and resembled the limbs of a stitched up voodoo doll, but they worked.

He could run and jump and play, just like the rest of the children on the block.

He could bounce around in puddles with his brightly colored wellies and be a prince with a toy crown and a scepter made of cardboard and pipe-cleaners. A style he would never really grow out of… something only furthered by the fact he always got at least one toy crown or tiara for his birthday each year.

”My fairy king can see things… He rules the air and turns the tides That are not there for you and me Ooh yeah, he guides the winds… My fairy king can do right and nothing wrong…“

His eyes changed after the polio.

They had always been heterochromic, two different colors. The right, a sharp cerulean reminiscent of his namesake, the left, a rich chocolate brown like melted down Hershey’s bars. Hard and soft, all at once.

His mother had always found his eyes charming, a little piece of her and a little piece of his father. But after the polio, they changed. His pupils, the round little black discs in the center of his irises, exploded. They went from uniformly tiny circles to starbursts, with ragged edges stretched across both irises. The doctor who examined his eyes said that he’d never seen anything like it before, but that it was likely a birth defect. She just hadn’t noticed it beforehand.

That was a lie, as she had spent countless days and nights after his birth just staring at him. Trying to catalogue each and every feature. Nose? Hers. Skin tone? Hers. Cheek bones? Freddie’s. Hair? A mix of them both, her unruly curls with Freddie’s coloring. Eyelashes? Freddie’s.

Those beloved eyes had never had starbursts within them before.

But it was more than just his appearance.

It was what he could see with those eyes and do with the things he saw, that made all the difference…

The nurse had thick curly black hair like his own, big blue-gray eyes and wore a different outfit than the rest of them on the ward, hers looked older somehow, as if she’d come straight out of a sepia photograph. Wearing a strange bent flyaway cap on her head, one that did little to cover up much of anything at all. She would hum to herself quietly as she straightened up the blankets on his bed. But if he stared too long, the edges of her habit would darken and curl upwards, sparks flying and dying in front of his eyes.

He saw her a few times, but they never spoke.

Her lungs had been scorched into veritable ash by the fire that had sent the fever hospital into ruin during the early 1920s, they’d had to rebuild it from the ground up. So she wouldn’t have been able to speak to him anyway.

It was the first time he saw The Dead walk.

But it wasn’t the last.

His mother would hold him by the hand and tug him along when they walked through the city.

She had to, lest he stop to talk to those nice boys on the corner who’d died in the Revolutionary War, or the young Italian immigrant girl hovering around the flower shop, who’d lost her life in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire, not even that little girl huddled in the gutter with her sallow skin and soiled a white dress, who’d succumbed to a turn-of-the-century Yellow Fever epidemic.

His mother never saw the spirits, but the fact that he did was enough for her to believe in them.

Birdy Rhodes, being the exhausted young woman she was, with fine yet incorrigible blonde curls that would slip from her bun after a long waitressing shift and a childhood touch of magic that never quite left her; would never make her son feel like he was a freak for any of the things he could do or any of the things he couldn’t.

She just loved him with everything she had and did her best to be everything he needed her to be. Hell, she would’ve given him the whole world if it had been hers to give. As it stood, the best she could offer was a grand old name and all the blossoming love in her heart.

Sky may not have had the greatest clothes or technology or living arrangements or even a father, but he had love. Even in those early years, he’d had love.

From his mother, the center of his whole universe.

From the young couple who ran a small records store on 7th Avenue.

They always saved copies of the latest Queen records for the small family and either sold them the vinyl at a dirt-cheap price or gave them to him and his mother for free.

Surely they saw the same very distinctive teeth on him as they did on the frontman of the British band, the same cheekbones, the same dark hair, the same fledgling face shape. They knew. They had to have known. But they never said anything about it. Never called the newspapers or prodded with uncomfortable questions. They just loved. And gave some of that burgeoning love to him and his mother.

From the spirits who sought him out for comfort.

Apparently being earthbound was a fate worse than death. It was tantamount to living in a world full of muted grays and emptiness, except for people like him. Lighthouses, one spirit told him, a boy with the glassy eyes and hoarse voice of a diphtheria death, you’re like a shining lighthouse in a storm. You come in color, all warm oranges and yellows turned gold.

So a flashlight, he surmised.

From his Cole.

Coltrane Brennan was an Irish kid turned American expat, named after the great American saxophone player and the only reason Sky learned about his real Gift at all. The seeing dead people thing was only part of it. The easier part.

As it turned out, he could give out just as much love as he got, just in a different way. Cole taught him that.

Cole was the first.

It all started: with a bully stealing Sky’s ratty sketchbook as he sat quietly on the swings, scribbling away.

It ended: with Cole holding said sketchbook aloft, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, as well as a nasty cut on his forehead near his hairline, yet with a smile alight in sweet victory.

The bully lay crumpled in the dirt.

It also ended with Cole joining him, as Sky snatched back his sketchbook and planted one leg-braced orthotic shoe on the chubby blonde’s chest. A tiny six-year-old black-haired devil child who grit his ever-prominent buck teeth and hissed with pure venom: "Don’t you ever fight my battles for me again, Coltrane Brennan. Or I’ll knock your teeth in."

"You’d know all about teeth wouldn’t you?” Cole had wheezed, all two years older and indignant, a flush high in his cheeks.

Then he uttered those few accursed words: “Are you sure you aren't an elephant? You’ve got tusks just like one!…And those weirdo eyes to match!"

By the time a flustered teacher came to drag them both to the principal’s office, Cole was bleeding even more profusely than before and Sky was smiling smugly, two fistfuls of blonde hair in his grasp and one of Cole’s front-teeth embedded in his denim jeans.

They sat outside the office in silence, with only a small hard-backed chair between them. The only interruptions to the stillness were the squeak of Sky’s braces when he swung his legs off the ground or Cole’s pathetic sniffling as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from his face. Sky was scowling, still resolute in his righteous fury and absolution. Until he realized Cole wasn’t just sniffling from the blood…

He was crying.

Instantaneous guilt burnt in Sky’s chest like he’d swallowed a lit match, and poof, all the anger and indignation was gone. A rarity for him.

"Are you crying…?” He asked, softly.

But the moment Cole realized he’d been found out, he instantly straightened up in the stiff uncomfortable seat and turned away, as if pretending it was nothing at all. He snorted and scrubbed at his face with the one hand that wasn’t full of crumpled up bloody tissues. His voice shook when he spoke, wavering and hoarse. Damning evidence of the tears that boys like them just couldn’t admit.

“I'm not crying! Only babies cry! Little crippled babies just like you!"

Sky recoiled, his scowl deepening as the red-eyed older boy carried on running his mouth. "I told them not to steal your drawing stuff, cause there’s just no point really. You're soppy and sad enough as it is, without them messing with you…” Cole only managed to button his lips when there was a familiar fist pressing just under his swollen nose, against his chapped lips.

“I swear to God I’ll knock another one out if you don’t quit it! I’m not a crip and I’m not a baby, and don’t you ever forget it.” Sky spat, his funky eyes turned caustic.

It only abated as he forced himself to apologize. Temper having run away from him once again. It was his most adamant personality trait.

“But I am sorry about earlier... Thanks for getting my sketchbook back, I guess.” He bit his bottom lip and couldn’t look the older boy in the eyes.

“…Do you wanna see what I was drawing?“

Cole paused, then nodded. Curiosity alight in his green eyes.

Sky reached for where the teacher had roughly deposited both their backpacks, probably assuming they would be either sent home or in the office for a while, his ratty sketchbook was sitting on top. Hastily flung across both sacks as if the woman had no idea who it had belonged to. He dug through the heavily lined and crinkled pages to find his most recent creation.

”Oh.“ Cole leaned over to see properly. "That’s… really good actually."

Sky quirked an eyebrow. "Were you expecting something bad?”

“No! I just…” He peered even closer, almost close enough to brush his fingers across, but he didn’t dare. “It’s like a grown-up did it. Did you copy it from someplace?"

The younger boy shook his head. Looking down at the scene he’d drawn, a fairy Queen of spring with lush curls and a smile as she sat upon a mushroom cap, her gossamer wings folded beneath her and a tiara made of tree branches and new leaves twisted in her hair. She was looking up at her King, he was dressed in wintertime clothes, snowflakes adorned his cape and the winds brought life to his frosted wings. He was cold and still, with long dark hair and piercing dark eyes. She looked like the growth of new life, he looked like the one who took it all away. But still, they reached for each other.

"It’s the king and queen of Rhye."

He whispered, knowing very well that Rhye fell to ruin.

Good things didn’t stay.

He felt something warm fall on his hand and noticed a few ruddy droplets of blood. Cole was bleeding still, the older boy quickly turned away, sniffling back into the tissues as if that were somehow going to do the trick. ”Sorry…“ He mumbled, shame and embarrassment coloring in the contours of his voice.

"How bad is it? Let me see."

Sky commanded, sounding petulant as he reached out his hands. He gently caught Cole’s chin in one, then jumped back on recoil, like he’d just been electrocuted.

The moment he’d touched Cole’s sticky skin, desperate to see how bad it was so that he could make him feel better, his hand had felt like he’d stuck it into an open lit flame. It burned like holding the sun. He even flipped over his hand to gawk at his palm, certain that there had to be some kind of acid burn there or something.

There was nothing.

"What the bleeding heck was that?!” Cole squealed, pulling the tissues back from his face. His nose and mouth had aptly stopped bleeding. Even the cut on his forehead had stopped. As if the faucet of the gaping maw had run dry.

“You burned me!"

Cole looked incredulous at the accusation. "No I didn’t! You burned me!"

"Nuh uh!"

"Yeah huh!"

Then Cole’s expression changed, it turned surprised instead of upset, as his tongue poked at the inside of his cheek. "It's gone...” He whispered, wondrously. Looking at Sky with new eyes.

“What’s gone?"

"When you punched me, I bit a whole chunk out of my cheek! It’s why my mouth was bleeding so bad!” He took hold of the right side of his mouth and tried valiantly to flip it inside-out so that Sky could see. The younger boy couldn’t see anything except for spit and pink healthy skin.

“I don't see anything…"

"That’s the point! It’s gone…” He flipped it back over with eyes wide. “Gone.” He stressed again, as if Sky had missed it the first time. “Can mouths heal that fast?” Sky just shrugged, rubbing at his palm where the burn would’ve been, it tingled and itched, fingers twitching to do something else. Though he wasn’t quite sure what.

“How should I know?” He grumbled. “I’m not a doctor, I'm six."

He swung his creaky braced legs back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, trying to drown out the world. Cole stopped him with a hand on top of his own. Green eyes met his own strange ones. "Touch me again.” Sky furrowed his brows tight.

“What?"

”Touch me again!“ Cole demanded, jutting out his bottom lip. Sky rolled his eyes and did as requested, pressing his hand against Cole’s chin again. There was nothing. No burn, no toasting warmth or electric shock. Nothing at all. Cole frowned, disappointed as he reached up to touch the gaping slit on his forehead, still as garish as before. What he needed were some stitches, or some wound glue or something. "No!" He whined. "Do it like before!”

“I did." No, he didn’t.

He covered his stupid horse teeth with his hand and closed his eyes. I want Cole to feel better. I’m sorry for hurting him. It was a mistake. I’m sorry. I want to make him feel better. I’m sorry! He slammed his other hand against Cole’s chest. So hard that the older boy gave off a slight oomph. Fire burned between them. Like lightning against a black sky, everything was illuminated for just an instant. He saw spiderwebs of light scorch themselves across the backs of his eyelids, his mouth was full of ash. His nose was full of the stench of burning rubber.

When he finally let go and released his mouthful of air, he half expected smoldering embers to come out instead.

He blinked back into reality to find Cole staring at him slack-jawed, tissues turned limp in his hand. There was dried blood on his face, sure. But no burns. No swollen nose, no bruises, no black-eye and no cut on his forehead. It was almost like they had never been there at all.

”Whoa.“ They whispered at the same time, two pairs of eyes stretched wide as saucers.

He described the whole thing to his mother that night. She sipped her gross watery diner coffee and just listened. He ate pancakes covered in sprinkles and whipped cream. Wearing his plastic toy crown and sunset orange tights under his oversized yellow bumblebee sweater and clunky braces.

When he couldn’t talk anymore, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Mama, am I a freak?"

"No, baby."

"Then why can do the things I can do?"

She paused.

"Did you know that there’s a type of plankton, little tiny bits of fish, algae and debris in the ocean, that can glow in the dark? It's bioluminescent. They’re found in the Maldives, on this tiny little island. They call it The Sea of Stars.”

She had the same far-off look in her eyes that she did when she talked about his father. “Daddy seahorses give birth instead of mommies. Baby turtles are born knowing exactly what they have to do and where they have to go. Then they go back to the same spot to start the cycle all over again.

…Sometimes fall leaves change color to orange, sometimes yellow, sometimes red and sometimes not at all.

Your father and I, managed to make a perfect little boy and now he’s sitting right in front of me."

Her hands cupped his chin and there was no scent of sulfur or burning.

"All those things are miracles." She pressed another kiss to his cheek. "There will always be magic in the world, my little Prince. So enjoy it when and where you find it."

Cole was his best-friend from that day onward.

In every one of his scenes drawn in smudgy pencil or old pastels, there was a new face. A young blonde knight, a yellow dragon, and a sword held aloft beside his own.

Three years passed quickly, even faster than those he’d spent in the sanitarium/fever hospital.

Three years of pictures with the camera Cole got for his ninth birthday.

They used up so many rolls of film that it was hilarious. They never had their pictures on time. It would be months upon months before they got around to getting a recent roll developed and by then it wasn’t so recent anymore.

Cole’s mother would give him free piano lessons every Thursday and Friday, desperate for anyone who was even remotely gifted at it. As Cole, despite his namesake’s musical prowess, was as tone-deaf as they came.

Cole’s father loved listening to the music they made together, and even insisted on imparting some special knowledge on the boys himself.

He taught them how to dance.

But not just any kind of dancing, traditional Irish dances that made him feel like his feet were flying.

Suddenly the little boy, who’d spent his childhood in heavy cumbersome leg-braces, could keep up and do even better than someone without his painful history or messed-up scarred legs. He suddenly found beauty in a part of himself that he’d always hated, and it was because of Mr. Brennan.

He promised to take them both to a Ceili in Ireland when they were older. Where they could dance with more than just him or each other.

Luckily, because of Brooklyn’s burgeoning Irish community, they were in a few tiny competitions for step-dance, usually performing together and placing high. It was a running Brennan family joke that Sky was actually more Irish than the lot of them. With his skill in the dances, his ability to pick them up so quickly, that mop-top of jet black curls and porcelain skin envied by most of the dancing girls, he looked more like a boy come fresh from the Cliffs of Moher than a mix of Scandinavian and Persian. Not to mention how quickly he picked up a working knowledge of Irish Gaelic.

But when they weren’t in lessons or at school, they were laying sprawled on their bellies in the library, flipping through old musty books and sometimes reading aloud to one another.

Sky’s favorites were The Scarlet Pimpernel, Little Women, The Grimm Brothers’ Fairytales, Alice in Wonderland and Hans Christian Andersen’s Fairytales and Stories.

Cole’s were Dracula, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Edgar Allen Poe’s Complete Works, Carrie and 'Salem’s Lot.

He was pretty sure half of Cole’s horror obsession was rooted in trying to understand Sky and his assorted oddities. Or his Gifts as his mother and Cole liked to call them.

One afternoon, as they were flopped on the floor next to each other, legs kicked up and resting on the shelves. Fingers intertwined where nobody else could see, behind the stacks where they were by themselves. Cole regaled him with yet another half-baked theory.

"What if you’re a witch!"

Sky couldn’t help but laugh out-loud, but because it was a library, he tried to be quiet by just snorting into his free palm.

"No, really!" Cole squawked indignantly, waving his free hand around emphatically. "What if that’s why you can heal and see dead people! Sky, you’re downright spooky! You gotta be!” He looked over eagerly, probably hoping to see a revelation dawning in his best-friend’s eyes, instead what he saw was the younger boy practically dying of his own withheld laughter.

“Rhys…” He whined, plaintively, but the boy in question could only grin impishly.

“Sorry, Cole…” He hiccuped through his muffled laughter. “That sounds groovy and everything, but this isn’t an episode of Bewitched!”

He snickered again and Cole stuck out his tongue to blow him a raspberry.

Sky wasn’t exactly sure when his feelings for Cole became more than just best-friend feelings.

He knew that Cole was a boy and that a lot of people didn’t like it when boys had feelings for other boys. But what he felt for his best-friend didn’t feel like a bad thing. It was good. It felt warm and happy and safe.

They didn’t hold hands until they were by themselves. But he was pretty sure his mother knew, she just didn’t mind it. She would look at them fondly as they played buck-buck and stickball with the neighborhood kids and spent all night talking together afterwards, flopping onto and cramming into their one mattress, like sardines in a can.

She was just happy he was loved.

Cole’s parents likely suspected something as well. But Mrs. Brennan still gave Sky free piano lessons with a genuine silky smile on her face and Mr. Brennan would still eagerly teach them both how to play soccer, as well as dance.

Then they would have weekend tournaments. Mr. Brennan would race over and sweep both of them up into his hairy arms when he wanted to score without little feet getting in the way. Sky so often shrieked with joy and childhood abandon in those days, as he was held over the stocky Irishman’s shoulder for so long that his blood whooshed loudly in his ears.

He was loved.

It didn’t matter by who, or what, it just mattered that it happened. He was loved.

Then predictably… everything all went to shit.

Rhye fell, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

“Ah, then came man to savage in the night To run like thieves and to kill like knives To take away the power from the magic hand To bring about the ruin to the promised land, aah, aah…”

Sudden. Cardiac. Death.

Those were the three words a kind-eyed grandfatherly doctor told him at the hospital. His birthday was in just two days. He was turning nine on January 1st and wanted to see the smoggy sky full of lights once again, to see the ball drop in Time Square. But what did it matter…

Now that his whole world was dead and gone?

He’d been playing with Cole out in the snow that day, New York City was beautiful in the wintertime.

While he was making snow-angels, his mother had collapsed to the thinly carpeted floor of their studio apartment. As his little hands packed together fluffy snowballs with the same kind of pressure she likely felt in her chest, her heart beat erratically. He and Cole caught snow flurries on their tongues and compared the shapes caught in their soft mittened hands, while his mother’s heart stopped. He remembered blinking up at the overcast snowy sky above and grinning a toothy smile. While his mother’s organs stopped getting oxygen and the tissues died.

By the time ash filled his mouth and hellfire blazed beneath his skin, it was too late.

He was up and running towards the apartment without even a word to Cole, who chased after him, calling his name with concern alight in those Emerald Isle eyes. Shadows were flickering in the corners of Sky’s vision, and the present ghosts were all staring at him solemnly, even the spirits he had considered his friends. Their sadness was strangling him and he could barely breathe. Their hands reached for him, sporting vast empty holes where eyes would’ve gone. For the first time, he was genuinely afraid.

Your mother, your mother, your mother, your mother…

Their whispers followed him like a burial shroud. No matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t escape them.

“Prince Rhye? Rhys? Jesus, what’s wrong?!“ Cole yelled, forgetting just how fast Sky was without the braces and crutches. The snow was far too heavy to run through. "What did you see?! Sky!” He screeched.

Sky raced up the steps of his apartment building, nearly slipping over the edge numerous times and giving Cole mini heart-attacks as he did so. He threw open his front door and then…

Everything went horribly, frighteningly, devastatingly… quiet.

“They turn the milk into sour Like the blue in the blood of my veins Why can’t you see it? Fire burning in hell with the cry of screaming pain! Son of heaven set me free and let me go…

Sea turn dry, no salt from sand, Seasons fly no helping hand, Teeth don’t shine like pearls for poor man’s eyes, aah…”

There were fireworks on his birthday. The ball dropped in Time Square.

Just like every year, no matter what happened in his life, there was always a party.

That just happened to be the morning his mother was buried.

The snow held no joy for him anymore. The sky was gray, the ground was white and his heart was somewhere beneath the frozen dirt. The only reason he got through the miserable funeral at all, was the feeling of Cole’s arms around him, Mrs. Brennan humming Für Elise under her breath, and Mr. Brennan scooping him up to carry him out of the graveyard like small child. He buried his face in the Irishman’s stubbly neck and Mr. Brennan just rubbed his back sadly, whispering the story of Tír na nÓg.

Sky had just assumed that he would be with them afterwards.

The Brennans were not rich by any means, they all lived in the poor Irish/Immigrant bit of Brooklyn, but they had more than enough to feed another mouth. They had a place in their hearts for another son. A place in their modest home. A place in their lives.

They’d already taken him in, both mentally and physically, during that first night in the hospital. When it was confirmed that Birdy Rhodes had left this world.

But it was not to be.

Social Services came a-knocking on the very night of his birthday. To inform them all of its lovely archaic practices, which dictated that it didn’t matter how much the Brennans wanted to take care of Sky. Or how much Cole didn’t want to lose his best-friend (and perhaps more).

It simply read that if there was a living parent, the care of the child had to go to their living parent. And if that parent was somehow unfit, then it would take a miracle for him to be placed with them again. A miracle that would take years to come to fruition.

What that meant was, on the day after his birthday and the burial of his mother, Sky would be torn from their lives like a misplaced postage stamp. All packaged up and put on a plane to another country, where he would then be dumped on the father he’d never met. Who didn’t even know he existed. They didn’t see any issues with that at all.

Sky, or Rhye as his social-worker insisted on calling him, who was oft a well-behaved child (Ha!) unless pressed the wrong way, screamed and wailed like a banshee as he was dragged away from the Brennans and everything he knew.

Tiny, puffy-eyed, wearing rumpled hand-me-down pajamas and his current favorite toy crown gifted to him by Cole the night before, paired with an acidic scowl.

He refused to change when prompted and buried his face in his single overfilled rucksack whenever given a command.

His caseworker tried to placate him the whole flight, giving him snacks and little crafts to do. Write down everything you want your father to know about you, sweetheart! Make him a little card! But to no avail. He’d never even left New York City, let alone been on a plane and he couldn’t even bring himself to enjoy the experience. It was horrifying. Not even drawing or the smell of a few Brennan shirts that he’d borrowed could make things any better. He was like a small boat drifting away from his moorings. Something untethered to the earth or to anything at all.

You could’ve healed her if you’d been there. His inner voice chastised him mercilessly. What’s the use of having a Gift like that if you can’t even save the ones you love? If you can’t even save yourself?

He spent the night at the American Embassy in London, sleeping on a few uncomfortable chairs pushed together to make some sort of semblance of a bed.

The officials were trying to get in contact with his father. Something made remarkably difficult by the fact that he was a celebrity and a deathly private celebrity at that. Who had body guards and people trained specifically to avoid the paparazzi and crazy fans at all costs.

He cried himself to sleep that night, jet-lagged and sick with grief. Wishing he was back in New York City, on his shitty shared mattress but still held tight in his mother’s gentle embrace. I love you, my little Prince Rhye. I love you so much.

Not even singing to himself helped. He just cried even harder.

It felt strange not to take solace in the few emotions he understood, like indignation and anger.

“Someone, someone has drained the colour from my wings… Broken my fairy circle ring And shamed the king in all his pride Changed the winds and wronged the tides…

Mother Mercury… Mercury… Look what they’ve done to me! I cannot run, I cannot hide…”

Nothing was right anymore, everything was broken into bits and no matter how hard he tried to put them back together again, it was to no avail.

It was incurably eviscerated.

His life and his heart.

All Sky could do was cry.

#fic #submission #au #freddie: parent #5-10k #series: pretender to the throne #author: brooklynbugleboy #relationship: platonic #theme: parenting #theme: death

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cosmetizeblog-blog · 5 years

Text

6 Best Shampoos and Conditioners for your little munchkins

Babies are like a blooming flower; fresh, beautiful and invigorating. Their skin is ultra soft and extra sensitive. One has to be very careful while selecting the baby products, especially when it comes to shampoos and conditioner.

With the market being swamped with all kinds of baby products, it becomes a daunting task for the parent to select the right product for their toddlers. But worry not, we have curated the list of best shampoos and conditioners for your little ones.

Mixed Chicks Kids Shampoo

Shampoos formulated with sulfate can strip away natural oils from the hair making them dry and brittle. Hence it is always recommended to go for sulphate free shampoo for your little ones.

Mixed Chicks Kids Shampoo is a sulfate-free natural shampoo which is very gentle and natural. It will make sure that your kids bathing time will be enjoyable and fuss-free. This shampoo effectively removes dirt and grime from the hair and makes them shinier and smoother. It is tear free and is ideal for coily, wavy, curly and straight hair.

Mixed Chicks Kids Leave-in Conditioner Leave-in conditioners are usually applied to towel dried hair after you shampoo and condition them. They provide extra moisture and reduces frizz, thereby making styling easier.

This Leave-in conditioner is designed for your little munchkins. It is free from any harsh chemicals, is colorless as well as fragrance and paraben free.

It eliminates frizz and defines curls in a matter of few minutes and increases shine and elasticity of hair. Mixed chicks doesn't engage in any animal testing thereby making their products cruelty free as well.

Paul Mitchell Kids Baby Don't Cry Shampoo

Chamomile is known for its innumerable medicinal benefits. It has a very calming effect and is used to improve skin and hair health.

This Shampoo is the tearless kids' shampoo which is infused with tear-free neutral pH and goodness of chamomile and cornflower extracts that calms and soothes the scalp. It gently cleanses hair leaving scalp fresh and moisturized.

Paul Mitchell Kids Baby Don't Cry Shampoo is ideal for children of all ages and has a unique blend of extracts that hydrate your baby's skin and stops moisture loss. It makes bath time a fun time.

Mixed Chicks kids conditioner

Many studies have shown Safflower seed oil has pain-relieving effects, is anti-inflammatory and also has antioxidant benefits.

This gentle conditioner is enriched with safflower seed oil that softens the hair and leaves them more manageable. Mixed chicks kids conditioner is fragrance-free and has no artificial color which ensures that it doesn't cause any harm to your kid's precious hair. Now say goodbye to the frizzes and tangled hair with mixed chicks kids conditioner.

Paul Mitchell Kids Taming Spray

A Paraben is used as a preservative to stop the growth of bacteria and fungus in shampoos. There is a doubt that it is associated with certain forms of breast cancer. Hence to play it safe many companies are not using them in their products.

Paul Mitchell Kids Taming Spray is a paraben free shampoo that is specially designed to detangle kids’ unruly hair and make them easy to manage. It also helps in reviving children's morning hair and reduces static.

Thanks to this taming spray, gliding comb through damp hair have become as easy as pie.

Mixed Chicks Kids Tangle-tamer

This tangle tamer is a unique formula to detangle all types of hair effortlessly. It is formulated especially for kids and makes styling quicker, easier and pain-free. Mixed chicks kids tangle tamer doesn’t contain any harsh chemicals and is paraben free.

All you need is to spray this tangle tamer on bedhead or existing curls to reduce frizz and style as desired.

You can buy these products from cosmetize.com, an online shop trusted by thousands of UK customers and share your experience with us. If you need any further information please feel free to contact us or drop a comment down below.

#kids shampoo #Kids shampoo and conditioner #mixed chicks hair #shampoo for kids #paul mitchell #Paul Mitchell Taming Spray

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ilcuoreardendo-fic · 7 years

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Can we get a part two for your recent post about obi running from Vader I loved the first part❤️

Acquisition - Part II

(This got away from me and into the 2000 word zone. Mostly Obi-Wan and toddler Luke. A part III is percolating.)

________________________________

The world was endlessnight and the night was on fire, the air so thick and hot, it was a struggle todraw breath. His muscles screamed, his mind screamed, but he raised hislightsaber, swung it, felt the tension of the cut along fibula, femur, tibia.The air grew thicker with the sour odor of charred flesh, heavy and distinct,even over the odor of lava. Eyes peered up at him from the dark, red, thengold, then blue as the Tatooine sky.

“Obi!”

Something warm and vaguely sticky plopped against his cheek,twitched and gripped at him like a fleshy starfish. Obi-Wan opened his eyes,blinked, found Luke clambering onto the sofa, using Obi-Wan’s face as ahand-hold.

Across the room, through the gap in the deep blue curtains,Obi-Wan could see the faintest blue tinge of dawn.

Luke squirmed on top of him, sliding into the crook of hisarm, wedged himself in between Obi-Wan and the back of the sofa, laid his headon Obi-Wan’s chest and stuck his thumb in his mouth. In a moment, he wasasleep. This was a typical part of the morning for them. Luke woke early,climbed over the safety rails on his bed and joined Obi-Wan on the couch.

Obi-Wan had only been in Vader’s home a standard month, butalready it felt like he’d never been anywhere but, like the two years he’dspent running and worrying were part of a dream. Some part of him whisperedthat he should be worried about that, but another part pointed out that it was fartoo early to think such heavy thoughts.

He stroked Luke’s fine blonde hair, let himself be lulledinto a light doze by the toddler’s steady breathing.

When next he woke, it was to full dawn pouring through thegap in the curtain, Luke’s foot lodged in his side and the boy making speedernoises as he drove his fingers around the patterns of Obi-Wan’s tunic. He satup, pulling Luke with him and wincing as his neck protested the odd angles he’dspent the night in. After weeks of sleeping on it, he had to admit the couchwasn’t going to get any more comfortable. He thought of the lush bed in hisgiven quarters, dismissed it readily. Luke’s room was on the opposite end ofthe hall from it and from Vader’s.

Luke patted Obi-Wan’s cheek. “Obi. Breakfast. Waffle?”

“Yes, Luke. We can have waffles.”

Obi-Wan didn’t bother changing, Luke or himself. He tightenedthe band around his hair, pushed his feet into soft slippers and walked out of theroom in his sleep pants and tunic, carrying Luke on his hip. A year ago, such athing was unfathomable; he’d needed to be prepared and ready to run at amoment’s notice. Two and half years ago, waking up was followed by morningmeditations and that was immediately followed by bathing and dressing.

But back then he wasn’t a pet Jedi in a gilded cage. Orlooking after an energetic two year old with whom breakfast was always anadventure in what kind of palette of colors Luke could make of their clothing.

This morning started with purple calla berries on the collarof Obi-Wan’s tunic, from Luke offering him a taste-test of the fruit andmissing his mouth by…quite a bit. Then came a dusting of sugar and sticky syrupon the thighs of his pants as he helped Luke prepare his waffle, only to havethe boy Force push a slice of it off the plate and into Obi-Wan’s lap.

The final touch came when Luke tired of shoving pieces ofwaffle into his mouth and decided to pour himself more blue milk. Instead ofasking Obi-Wan–who had been trying to instill some measure of table manners inthe child – or the service droid for more, he managed to levitate the pitchertoward him and immediately dropped it on the tray of his high chair, dripping ablue mess into his lap and onto the floor.

Luckily, Obi-Wan had taken to only filling the pitcher 1/3full, so there wasn’t much to waste. But as he moved the tray aside, Lukelooked up at him with large eyes, mouth a round “O” and his lower lip began totremble.

Damn.

“Luke, it’s okay.” Obi-Wan knelt next to the chair, soakingblue milk into the knees of his pants and mopping off the tray with one clothnapkin, using another to wipe Luke’s hands. “Accidents happen. Luckily, thisone was just a sticky accident.” Luke sniffled. A tear rolled down his cheekand Obi-Wan knew the next moment he’d open his mouth and the screaming wouldstart and something would probably break. Last time it had been the mirror thathung in the living room. “A very sticky accident. A “need a bath” stickyaccident. With Dewba?”

Luke blinked, mouth closing, tantrum abating. “Dewba!”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, lifting Luke from the chair.“Let’s go see if Dewba wants a post-breakfast bath.”

Dewba was a well-worn rubber Dewback that kept Luke companyduring every bath. As Dewba went on an undersea adventure, Obi-Wan scrubbed thesyrup and milk from Luke’s skin, gently washed his hair, pale blonde turningdark under the water and for a moment he flashed on a sunny morning, years ago,Anakin right out of the ‘fresher, tunic sticking wetly to his back, Padawanbraid a damp and unruly mess, shorn hair dripping, running to the table toshove a still hot biscuit in his mouth.

When he found his way back to the present, Luke was staringat him, head cocked, eyes too perceptive for a two year old, but then…he wasn’tjust any two year old, was he?

“Obi sad.”

“Sometimes,” he said. Then he wiped a swathe of bubbles onthe tip of Luke’s nose. “But you help make me not sad, little one.”

Luke’s grin rivaled the morning sun.

After his bath, Obi-Wan settled Luke into the play pen he’dset up in his quarters, leaving him plenty of toys to occupy himself with andlocking the gate. While Luke had rudimentary control over the force, his finemotor control was non-existent. He might be able to break the pen during atantrum, but they would deal with that if and when it happened.

Returning to the ‘fresher with clean clothes, he drained thetub, started the shower, stripped and tossed his soiled clothes down the chutefor the service droids to deal with.

It was a challenge to not linger under the hot spray allmorning, despite his Jedi training, despite the collar around his neck that,he’d heard, had been known to short-circuit when submerged and electrocute itswearer. Vader had assured him this collar was much better insulated than thecheaper offshoots, but Obi-Wan didn’t like to risk it, didn’t want to relivethe few times the collar had been put to work. Once had been through his ownattempt at using the Force. He’d unthinkingly reached out to steady a piece ofdécor Luke upended and found himself on his knees, having forgotten for amoment how to stand, how to breathe. The other was at the hand of the Emperor,once Palpatine had gotten wind that the Jedi Vader had been stalking was not,in fact, dead, but living in his apprentice’s home and looking after his son.It hadn’t taken the force to feel Vader’s rage when he found a screaming Lukestanding outside of Obi-Wan’s rooms while Obi-Wan lay near comatose on thefloor at the Emperor’s feet, his body on fire.

He wasn’t sure what Vader had said or did to smooth thingsover. He only ever saw the Emperor at arranged meetings after that day and nostormtroopers came calling, so he chose not to examine it too deeply.

Once showered, he stood in front of the mirror to remove thelast week’s growth from his face. After he’d returned with Vader and Luke, he’dbegun to grow back the beard that had been, well, a signature part of his lookfor years. No point in hiding who he was anymore. Then one morning, he’d founda tube of Depil Cream waiting on the corner of his vanity.

It wasn’t a battle he was going to pick.

His hair he’d unintentionally grown long over the course ofhis two years on the run. He’d cut it once or twice with his own lightsaberwhen it got to be too much. He smiled a little at the thought that it waslonger than Qui-Gon’s hair ever was and combed it through, weaving it into itsusual plait, auburn and strands of silver twined together down to the middle ofhis back.

Dressed in another loose tunic, this one more appropriatefor daily wear, and slim cut trousers, he pulled on another pair of slippers.He had little need of boots these days, had only worn them the few times he’daccompanied Vader to the Imperial Palace for the Emperor’s inspection of body,mind and demeanor. I am here to serveLord Vader, Majesty. I am here toattend to young Luke.

Obi-Wan retreated from the ‘fresher, found Luke buildinglarge structures with his blocks and then, frown of concentration on his face,knocking them down with the force.

Obi-Wan stepped into the playpen and knelt, picking up oneof the blocks. The set was blue and silver with an Aurebesh letter etched intoeach one. They were rather fetching for a child’s toys and something in Obi-Wanlonged for his lost river stone, though—he touched the collar around histhroat—at this point, it would only bring him pain. He wished he could reachout and touch the Force. He wished he could sink deeply into meditation, notjust close his eyes and clear his mind and listen to his breathing.

Another block construction crumbled around him, one of themtumbling into his lap and he looked up to see Luke biting his lip.

“Would you like your block?” Obi-Wan asked, lifting the toyfrom his lap.

Luke nodded. “Can you take it from me? Without your hands,” he finished, as Luke started tocrawl toward him.

Luke tilted his head, staring at Obi-Wan, then staring atthe block. Then Obi-Wan felt the lightest tug against his fingers and the blockfloated away from him, wobbling dangerously before steadying, and falling justshort of Luke’s toes.

“Very good!”

Luke laughed and Obi-Wan was flooded with warmth, wishing hecould share fully in the moment, wishing he could touch the boy’s mind with hisown. It hurt, but it didn’t hurt as much as he’d thought it would, didn’twarrant the hesitance with which he’d approached the boy’s abilities. He knewVader was teaching his son. It was only right that Obi-Wan, too, give the childwhat he could.

“Want to try again?”

Obi-Wan didn’t push. When Luke became tired and fussy, theystopped their Force exercises and found something on the Holo to watch beforeLuke took his nap. After Luke’s nap and a rather uneventful (apart from oneGala fruit smearing itself across the window), Obi-Wan told stories heremembered hearing as a youngling and then followed Luke’s lead in playing hideand seek, of which Luke won most of their games.

“Obi bright!” Luke exclaimed, when he’d found Obi-Wan forthe third time

In the evening, after dinner and bath time, they sat on theterrace of the apartment, looking out over the city. Luke liked to watch thespeeders and occasional passenger freighters as they passed by. His favoritethings were the speeder bikes and more than once Obi-Wan had been grateful forthe terrace energy field that kept Luke from tumbling over the edge as he triedto get a closer look.

Tonight, they sat on one of the loungers, watching thetraffic fly by like shooting stars. Luke lay on Obi-Wan’s chest, his head onhis shoulder and it wasn’t long before he dozed off. Not long after, Obi-Wanfollowed, reveling in the warmth of the child and the evening and breathing inthe sweet scent of delicate soap. He didn’t dream.

He woke to someone pulling Luke out of his arms, his heartlurching as he sat up, blearily trying to follow the boy, until he heard Luke’ssleepy but enthusiastic murmur. “Daddy.”

“Easy, Obi-Wan.” The too-deep voice and hiss of therespirator brought Obi-Wan fully awake.

Heart in his throat, Obi-Wan stopped himself from jumpingout of the lounger. Even after weeks with the Force inhibitor, he still wasn’tused to not sensing Vader’s presence in the apartments, whenever he returnedfrom whatever business he’d been on.

He watched Vader cradle look against his shoulder, the boywhispering sleepily of his day, forgetting half of it as he drifted in and out.

“Sounds like a very busy day. Which means it’s bed time. Saygood night to Obi-Wan,”

“Night, Obi,” Luke murmured, blinking sleep-eyed up at himand tilting his face expectantly.

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment beneath the placid expression ofVader’s mask, then stepped close and placed a kiss on the boy’s forehead. “Goodnight,Luke.” He touched the boy’s temple lightly with the tips of his fingers. “Thebest of dreams.”

Vader turned and carried Luke toward the terrace doors. Obi-Wancounted several minutes and then trailed along behind them. When he arrived inhallway for the bedrooms, Vader was standing outside Luke’s closed door.

He continued past as if that was his intention in the firstplace, only to be stopped by gloved fingers curling lightly around his wrist.The grip felt completely human, as if warm fingers lay under those gloves.

Obi-Wan raised his head, eyes focusing on the middle of expressionlessmask.

“Obi-Wan,” Vader said. There may have been amusement there,gone so fast that Obi-Wan was scarce sure he heard it, replaced with a slightexasperation and an undercurrent of command. “Sleep in your own room.”

Then Vader brushed past him and headed down the hallway,away from the bedrooms.

Obi-Wan stared at Luke’s closed door, though of the safewarmth and quiet behind it, thought how horrible it would be to sully thatsanctuary, touched the edges of his collar and remembered fire rushing throughhim, the struggle to breathe.

Then he turned and walked to his own room, closing andlocking the door behind him.

#vaderwan #obikin #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #darth vader #obiwanxvader #luke skywalker #toddler luke #obi wan #ilcuoreardendo prompts #star wars #star wars: revenge of the sith #acquisition #swfic

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dreadhaus-literature · 7 years

Text

"Little Shop of Horrors.”

“What are you doing?”

Talalelei, or known more commonly as Dot, heard her twin but didn’t see the need to actually answer him—because it should be obvious what she was doing. The large shop around them was as it always was; arranged just so, with curiously cute, post-mortem memoirs lining the shelves and display cases. Attached to the Mortuary that was a mixture of legitimate and not, the Post-Op Horror Shoppe was primarily managed and run by Dot’s twin brother Etano—known more commonly as Tod.

The Omega in question was sitting behind the register, two-toned eyes watching Dot’s curly-head bob up and down the rows of trinkets and keepsakes, running a feather duster over them—not that they needed to be dusted. That was precisely why Tod had asked what she was doing in the first place. When Dot didn’t answer, Tod’s face didn’t change expression; he was used to Dot’s selective answering, which drove some members of their splintered Tribe absolutely insane—namely Jax, who would barrage her with questions until her extensive patience snapped like a brittle rose vine. The Omega and his twin arguably had the most patience out of anyone in the Family, save for their Patriarch, but there had been changes in habits and behavior in Dot the last handful of years. The only one close enough to notice was Tod, because he and Dot were mainly the only two running the Family businesses. The ones supposed to be responsible for that, the duo known as the Alpha Twins, were a mixture of responsible and unreliable…as strange as that might sound to an outsider trying to understand the Tribal dynamic. What it meant was that as long as the places weren’t burning to the ground or being infiltrated by outsiders, the Alphas wanted to be left alone to do what they did best—roam and cause hell. This left a massive gap in responsibility that fell to their number two, the Omega, Tod. Tod was young, just under 30, but he had an old soul and despite what went on behind those hazel-green eyes he had a calming presence about him that enabled him to handle stress and heavy responsibility with ease. One would never know of the hazel-eyed beast crouched just beneath the surface of deeply tanned skin.

As Dot continued her unnecessary cleaning and straightening of their merchandise, Tod shifted on his stool, long legs easily reaching the floor so that his black boots scuffed at the freshly polished tiles. His own russet curls were shaven up to the top of his ears, with the top curls hanging long enough to fall into his eyes when he leaned forward. He was constantly shaking the unruly, chocolate-silk strands from in front of his angled features. Tod’s features were softer than his older brothers’ tended to be; his cheekbones were high but accented by dimples deep enough to rest a piece of hard candy in them. His mouth was full, his chin curved which only served to highlight the length of his strong jaw—inherited from his Father. What struck people about Tod was different from the way Luvon, one of his older brothers, seemed like you’d break your hand on his sharply cut face; it was his eyes. Tod’s eyes might as well be lit from the back, shining so brightly that the hazel almost went gold on occasion. They resembled precious gemstones, hard and unforgiving when you’d finally pushed him too far; they were eyes that seemed far too old, almost ancient, for such a fresh, handsome face. Tod’s quiet handsomeness seemed to suit his personality, being that he wasn’t aggressive like Cavon or Jax, or even arrogant like his cousin-turned-brother, Zaos. Tod was who he was, to outsiders, even if he himself didn’t quite know…who he was, somedays. Those two-toned eyes were a tell of something deeper, a giveaway if someone was smart enough to know what questions to ask—not that Tod was an open book. He kept his secrets guarded closely, locking the beast in a cage so he could try and live a semblance of a normal life but where Dot seemed to be flourishing these past few years, in a way Tod had never seen before, he was withering. He didn’t quite understand it and if he weren’t so emotionally mature, he might have resented his twin for her happiness. She seemed…like she found her lifemate. The word sent a barb of pain through Tod’s muscled chest like a thorn through the heart and he reached one tatted hand up to push his curls away from his shadowed face. If Dot had found his lifemate, then why hadn’t he? Logically that might not have made sense, but then the Dreadful Tribe were a family of shapeshifters powered by emotions. It didn’t have to make logical sense because the entire premise of lifemates wasn’t based on logic; it was based on feeling. So if Dot found her lifemate, Tod felt he was justified in wondering where his was…even if he’d given up hope on finding his mate years before most of his kind did.

There was no concrete proof that Dot had found her lifemate; she never brought anyone around and though her status updates on various social media profiles sometimes harkened to there being a special someone in her life, Dot always showed up to any family events or tribal meetings on her own. A natural-born empath, Tod could read his twin’s mood easily and picked up on the fluctuations of her heart or the warmth that radiated off her in iridescent waves of rose gold when a certain tone would chime from her phone. Given his twin was habitually single, it would be a marked difference that she had now opened her heart to someone but something stopped Tod from prying too deeply to know the truth. He could have easily used the common mental path between the twins to probe Dot’s memories, or even glanced down at her phone when the lock screen would light up with a picture he didn’t recognize—but something kept him from lingering on the pretty face in the picture or from searching for the truth. If he were honest with himself, he held himself back out of fear that Dot would have found her eternal mate, leaving him to the bleak existence that had taken over his life. The decline started six years ago, when colors started to fade. It wasn’t to say he saw in black and white, but more so that the world around him seemed duller, so that the pop of flowers was lost on him as he walked up the sidewalk to work every day, the brightness of the sun just an irritant that urged him inside a little quicker. A year after that, he started to notice food had no taste. He ate out of biological need to do so, but even his Father’s intricate dishes, crafted with passion and love, sat dully on his tongue. The last couple years he noticed a lack of interest in skateboarding, surfing, and even his lifelong love affair with music was beginning to suffer. His calloused fingers no longer ached to feel the strings of his guitar or the polished ivory of piano keys. His iPod no longer sat drained of battery by noon; some days he forgot the music player was in his pocket at all, the songs no longer a siren’s beckon to help him through his numerous daily tasks. Tod knew what was happening to him; some called it Shifter Sickness. It usually afflicts shapeshifters much older than the young werewolf, shifters who have spent the majority of their long lives without the anchoring, loving completion of their mate. Symptoms of the Sickness range from color blindness, loss of senses such as taste or even eyesight or hearing, to willful recklessness which can lead to a whole slew of problems. Shifters who succumb to the Sickness eventually either go Rabid and must be put down like wild animals, or they choose to do it themselves before it gets to that point of no return, ending their suffering with some dignity still intact. Tod seemed to be a special case, being afflicted so young, but there was something special about him that differed from the rest of his Tribe; Tod had a stranger sharing his body. Tod referred to the beast as the Ancient, but that was partially because he didn’t know the wolf spirit’s name. The hostile being sharing his body refused to tell him.

Animal shifters, usually known as Weres, are gifted a spirit animal at birth by the Great Giver, Kalama. These spirits are usually kin, ancestors of the infant who immediately bond with the child and become one with the shifter as they grow into their power. By the time a shifter finds their lifemate, they should be indistinguishable from the spirit they receive at birth, bonded in every way; that was how it was supposed to go, so that they can be the strongest, best version of themselves for their lifemate. Yet in rare instances, for reasons that only make sense to the Insidious Deity, a child is given an ancient spirit rather than kin. This ancient spirit is its own entity, so assimilating with the spirit becomes that much harder because the spirit refuses to be taken over. The two must learn to co-exist, but the spirit Tod received at birth has refused, steadfastly, to bond with the pup; when he was younger, the Ancient was nothing short of a bully, growling and snarling at the toddler anytime he tried to approach the beast forever crouched in the corner of his mind. As he’s grown, both in stature, maturity, and power, Tod has learned to exist around the beast, who seems content to wither away from Shifter Sickness right alongside Tod. The Ancient, from what Tod had been able to glean from sharing headspace with the old beast, had known his lifemate already in a past life and lost her. Empathetic as he was, Tod could understand why it made the Ancient bitter and cruel, losing a lifemate was akin to a death sentence for a shifter—not to mention the unbearable heartbreak—but it was hard to spend the last three decades on the sole receiving end of sharp teeth made harsh from loss and pain. With the spirit in his body uncaring whether they survived the Sickness, Tod was finding he was fighting a losing battle. He wasn’t sure his tenuous hold on his life could take the sharp pain of finding out his twin had found her mate. As awful as it was, one thing all Dreadful’s shared in common was that none of them, not even their Patriarch, had found their lifemate. It was the only thing that unified the Tribe, and to any outsider looking in, would also highlight why they were so broken, splintered off like branches ripped from the proverbial tree by force—and never in nature could a tree grow back together on its own.

Tod was pulled from his thoughts at the register’s phone ringing, drawing those bright eyes from Dot to the coffin-shaped cradle. Picking it up, he cleared his throat.

“Post-Op Horror Shoppe, what’s haunting you today?”

There was a laugh on the other side of the phone that reminded Tod of what flowers sounded like, whispering in the night breeze beneath a full moon. It warmed him immediately, lighting a fire in the depth of his belly that raced up through his ribcage, sending his heart against his chest like the tribal drums of his homeland. The breath literally slammed out of him, and the beast, always so restless and agitated inside his head, went rigid and still, ears standing straight up as if straining to pick up even the echo of the musical notes they’d just been treated to. Staring at the top of the register, Tod became very much aware at just how bright red the ruby eyes of the sugar skull wood carvings on display were. In the split second he was left staring at them, he was reminded of Dot’s explanation of where they’d come from. ‘Inspired by someone sweet as sugar, and lethal enough to remind someone death’s always waiting just around the corner,’ Dot had sing-songed as she set up the new merchandise that had come in last Halloween. For some reason, that sentence had stuck out even with what was known as a ‘Dreadful memory’, as something he should remember for the future. He hadn’t known why at the time, and truthfully he didn’t know why that same sentence seemed relevant now. It was a reason that Tod couldn’t place, but the memory swirled in his mind made hazy as the voice on the other end spoke to him and stripped the wolf down to his bones.

“That’s a cute way to answer the phone. I was um, actually looking for Dot?”

A pang of jealousy barbed Tod straight through, so that those two-toned eyes snapped up from the register to glower at Dot—who immediately gave him a look, one hip cocked to the side as if she was ready to meet his anger with her own…without knowing what he was angry about.

“The hell’s that look for?” Dot snapped, drawing Tod’s attention to his change in demeanor and he blinked a few times, feeling his canines shrink back down in his mouth. Without prompting, they’d lengthened as if he was about to use them.

“…Nothing,” Tod muttered, before he spoke more clearly into the phone to the woman with the silken voice, his own baritone richer than honey—a drastic change from the way he’d just spoken to Dot. “Dot’s right here, just a moment.”

“Thank you!”

Tod held out the phone for Dot, who walked over and snatched it out of his hand, pointing at him with her other hand. “You better quit giving me the stink-eye, Toddles, or I’ll kick you out before she gets here.”

“She?” Tod prompted but was ignored, as Dot put the receiver to her ear.

“Is that my sweet thing?”

Was that Dot’s ‘sweet thing’? Tod truthfully didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be. If the woman on the other end of the phone happened to belong to his twin…well that meant she was spoken for. Despite a strange laxness involving personal space and items, inspired by a culture that emphasized sharing, the Dreadful’s were a possessive group that would resort to violence if boundaries weren’t respected. It went without saying that should a Dreadful ever actually find their lifemate, they would resort to murder to keep them. But the other side of that, meant that at least…Tod might get to meet her. He found himself torn and unsure what he was wishing for, his sharp teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek as he stared at Dot openly, keen ears picking up the conversation effortlessly though inwardly he found himself leaning forward in the hopes of hearing that voice again.

“I tried calling you a couple times, but let me guess, did you have your headphones in and couldn’t hear it?”

“No, seems my twin just decided not to tell me my phone was ringing.” Dot turned, staring at Tod blatantly. Tod glanced down at Dot’s cell phone next to the register; Dot must have had the volume off as there was no way either of them would have missed it ringing but as Tod illuminated the screen to check the missed calls…he found himself staring at the lock screen’s wallpaper. Green eyes, high cheek bones, and full, painted red lips greeted him with a smile and a face so striking he felt as if the stool had fallen out from under him and sent him crashing through the earth. Why…why had he not checked Dot’s phone before this?! The highlight of this beautiful woman’s face spoke of satin sheets and the love affairs written in novels, timeless fairy tales that made the big bad wolf in him very literally salivate. The Ancient in his mind sprang forward with such ferocity that Tod’s entire body jerked in response, the green bleeding out of his eyes so there was nothing but hazel-gold staring at the illuminated touchscreen. ‘It’s her…’ The growl in Tod’s mind wasn’t unfamiliar, but the Ancient speaking to him willingly was. Truth be told, Tod didn’t know if the Ancient was even aware of him, right now; the beast seemed to be so fixated on the picture that nothing, and no one, could break that focus. The attention the Ancient was paying the picture only allowed for Tod to memorize the beautiful woman’s face, imprinting her onto his memory and some part of him, bone-deep, knew he would never, ever forget this moment...the first time he saw her.

“Are you outside, baby?” Dot placed one hand on her hip, eyes on the ground as she listened to Felina’s candy-sweet voice. “Perfect! Okay, just have your driver drop you out front, Tod and I are waiting for you inside!”

Tod had no idea what he was feeling. It was like he’d swallowed a bucket of ice water, cubes and all, and it sat upon his belly like a weight so that the tips of his tatted fingers trembled. Was this…anticipation? Nerves? He couldn’t ever remember feeling like this before, as if he couldn’t sit still. He stood up abruptly, almost knocking his stool over behind his towering frame, one hand coming up to push through his curls. She was coming inside? Was the woman on the phone the same one on Dot’s lock screen? It had to be, that had to be her, and she was coming here?

‘Calm down, boy.’

Tod’s spine went rigid as the Ancient addressed him, using a tone that Tod had never heard before. The only time the Ancient ever spoke to him was to snap or snarl at him about being weak or useless, but this tone almost sounded…fatherly. Tod allowed himself to inhale, bringing air to lungs starved by the anticipation he was unused to feeling. The Ancient was sitting on his haunches in the back of Tod’s mind, and Tod was able to see him clearly, as he always could; the brown wolf was massive in size, with a long snout and fur-tipped ears that added several inches to his already towering height. Even Tod’s impressive stature, nearly able to lock shoulders with his Alpha brothers despite their age difference, had a hard time accommodating the Ancient’s massive, muscular frame. The Ancient’s eyes gleamed at Tod, those sharp teeth snapping together as he spoke. ‘Now isn’t the time to go to pieces. She’ll be here soon.’ Tod wanted to ask who she was, but the Ancient didn’t need the prompting question. ‘Our lifemate.’ The air that Tod had managed to inhale left him in a rush, his body reacting with primal relief so that he took a step back and used the register display counter to support himself, his hands gripping the glass, his back to Dot finishing up her phone call. Lifemate? No, that…that couldn’t be, lifemates come to those already ready to receive them—‘Don’t you dare try and throw the Insidious One’s teachings in my face. I am not wrong. You feel it in your bones. That is her. She is ours, and she was mine long before she was yours.’ The Ancient snarled at him in a familiar tone, lacking patience and were Tod in a different state of mind he might be able to understand it. After all, the Ancient lost his lifemate once before.

‘Yes, and I do not intend to lose her again. Get it together.’

“The hell is your deal?” Dot hung up the phone, but her eyes were on Tod. He was acting strangely, appearing shaken up and he was one of the calmer members of the Tribe. It caused Dot to shake her head. “I swear, you picked the worst day to act like a mental patient. Can you get it together?”

Tod released a breathless chuckle at being told the same thing in the span of ten seconds.

“What are you laughing at?” Dot quirked a brow. Tod shook his head.

“Nothing,” he shook his head as he turned around, placing his hands flat on the register counter, nodding toward the phone. “Who’s coming by?”

That wasn’t an easy question for Dot to answer and it showed as her gaze slid to the side, one hand coming up to scratch her curls. How does one even attempt to describe Felina? Never correctly or adequately, if Dot were to answer her own question; she considered herself more than adept at words but they seemed to fall short or pale in comparison to her girlfriend of nine years this month and it left Dot unsure where to begin.

It had been surprisingly easy to hide her lengthy, meaningful relationship even from her twin, if that showed any indication of the splinters in the Lakhani Tribe, but it also presented a unique problem because now that it was time to bring Felina around the Family, Dot wasn’t sure how to do it. Out of everyone in the Family, Tod was the easiest one to talk to and that was precisely why Dot had decided to start with him.

The conversation between girlfriends had started off innocently enough. It had been a couple nights previous, Dot was lounging on the couch with her laptop in her lap, messing with her iTunes library when Felina came home from work and sank down onto the floor beside Dot, so she could rest her head on Dot’s tummy and just watch the organization of the music on the laptop’s screen. Dot had been alternating between running her fingers through Felina’s soft hair in a massaging attempt to relax her hard-working girlfriend, and syncing her iPod. It wasn’t until Dot muttered something under her breath about Tod not purchasing new music like he’d promised that Felina really started to get curious about one of Dot’s many brothers. To hear her girlfriend tell it, Dot had more than she could count on both hands, with the way Tribal law works and how her Father was Chieftain and thus Guardian of many. Felina had never met this Chieftain, or Dot’s brothers—not even Dot’s twin, which she was pleasantly surprised to find was a common trait she and Dot shared; being the oldest in a set of twins. Dot had proceeded to pull up an IM system on her laptop to shoot Tod a message about why he hadn’t purchased the new music and Felina watched the exchange between the two with a smile on her pretty face, finding the way Tod responded, and his use of emoji’s, to be cute. Not to mention…the picture next to his IM’s showed a strong profile and bouncy brown curls that looked softer than satin. Felina had found herself staring at the picture even more than the words on the screen, trying to imagine what Tod sounded like, what voice would match such a handsome profile, a curious stirring in her chest not unlike what she’d felt when she and Dot became an item. It led Felina to asking about Tod, which Dot had answered distractedly about…until she realized Felina’s questions were probing and curious, clearly wanting to know more than just his name and birth order in the Family. For all the problems presented when it came to introducing her beloved mate to her rowdy Tribe, Dot realized that one thing she hadn’t counted on…was that it was going to happen. Dot had every intention of marrying Felina one day and for all her desires to keep her beautiful girlfriend to herself…Dot wanted to get married a certain way so eloping was out of the question.

So Dot bit the bullet and asked Felina if she finally wanted to come see the businesses that would be added to her Empire someday. After so many years of being kept in the dark in regard to the family that…would one day be hers, Felina leapt at the opportunity to come by the Mortuary, where Dot informed her Tod often worked. Felina had so many questions! What was Tod like? Did he and Dot look a lot alike? Did they act alike? Images of that strong profile and beckoning curls flashed in Felina’s mind as she tried to contain her excitement asking Dot those questions, who laughed in response and continued to tell her, “You’ll have to wait and see!”

The time for waiting was almost over, as Dot sprung the news on Tod, resting her upper half on the register counter as she leaned in toward Tod.

“So here’s the deal,” she began, lifting one sharp nail to tap on the glass top as she began rapid-firing points at her twin. “My girlfriend of nine years on the 26th is coming here to see the Mortuary and Shoppe, and--”

“I’m sorry, did you say nine years?” Tod interrupted almost immediately, incredulous at the number that just rolled off Dot’s tongue.

“Don’t interrupt?” Dot posed it as a question but it wasn’t; it was laced with attitude and indignation, her palm coming out in protest. “I’m trying to prep you, you need to listen.”

“Prep me? Dot what the hell,” Tod pushed a hand through his curls, sounding exasperated. “If you wanted to prep me, why didn’t you tell me, I don’t know, hours ago when we opened for the day that your girlfriend--”

“Lifemate.” Dot corrected, turning her hand over to inspect her nails. Tod’s hand slammed down on the counter without him realizing it.

“…Lifemate,” he amended before continuing. “I think I deserved more than five minutes to learn that I’m about to meet your lifemate. This is a huge deal, Dot.”

“Can you try not to sound like Dad? You’re younger than me.”

“Thirty seconds literally does not constitute being younger than you.”

“Uhm…yes it does.” Dot shot back. “And it was more like 45 seconds.”

“Did you ask Dad? Did he count?”

“I don’t need to ask him shit to know! I was there!”

“There is no way you remember back that far,” Tod shook his head, pushing away from the counter toward the storage room, giving Dot one hell of a side-eye. “Our memories are good but they’re not that good.”

“Lucca says he remembers his birth!”

“Lucca…is Lucca.” Tod gripped the door handle to the back room and pushed the door open.

Dot rounded the counter to follow after him. “Where are you going? Felina’s going to be here any minute!”

Tod tried and failed to ignore the flip of his stomach at hearing Felina’s name, bumping the door open with one broad shoulder should Dot decide to follow him inside the back room—which was actually a hallway that led to several back rooms, ranging from inventory and back stock, a bathroom, a couple offices—including one for security—and a break room with a small kitchen and dining area. Tod made a beeline for the bathroom, Dot hot on his heels.

“Since you decided not to tell me…Fe…” Tod tripped over the name, the dulcet namesake trapped in his throat so that he quickly cleared it and had to start over. “Since you didn’t tell me she was coming until just now, I just want to make sure I’m presentable.”

Dot didn’t miss much, and she certainly didn’t miss when her twin was acting strange. Strange was a relative term for the Tribe, but this was new behavior; Tod wasn’t necessarily as emotionless as Lucca (the boy was like a void where emotions went to die, which was saying something about a Family that ran on emotion) but Dot hadn’t missed the way Tod had been slowly shutting down over the past few years. No one spoke about Shifter Sickness but everyone knew the signs and everyone knew Tod had been displaying them. He ate but only just enough, his music no longer filled the Shoppe during downtime, and his easy-going smiles were fewer and far between. He was still the go-to when someone had a problem, he was still the responsible Omega with the weight of the Tribe on his broad shoulders, but it seemed the only thing that drove him forward was that sense of duty. It was a somewhat scary thought to imagine what would happen to Tod should those duties ever disappear; it wasn’t often Dot was grateful for the Alphas’ absence from the Family but at least with Tod having to pick up so much of their slack, he knew he had to stick around, he had to fight the urge to give in to what the Ancient in his head likely always told him—that it was easier to go Rabid than spend his life waiting for his lifemate. Tod had a lot of love to give, and no one to give it to; Dot couldn’t imagine how it must feel because she was lucky enough to have the woman of her dreams to give her love to, every day.

The woman of Dot’s dreams, her lifemate, Felina, seemed to be having a curious effect on her brother, though. As Tod ducked into the bathroom, moving toward the sink to fix the collar of his shirt, to check his unruly curls and try to comb them into some semblance of presentable, Dot just leaned against the doorway with her arms folded and stared at him. Tod always presented himself well, he was one half of the public face of the Dreadful businesses but she’d never seen him…primp before. And while yes, meeting a shifter’s lifemate is supposed to be treated with respect and it’s expected that you’ll take it seriously, this felt different. Dot could feel the change in Tod, the rise of his emotions and the resulting waves of amber-gold excitement that were rolling off that tall frame like the ocean rushing to meet the shore after the tide breaks. Tod was excited, even if he didn’t know why, and Dot thought it went further than just the hope that her finding her lifemate meant he still had a chance. Tod had always had a chance to find his lifemate, so why was this different? Why was Felina different?

It was a dumb question to ask, and if anyone had had the audacity to ask Dot why Felina was different she’d likely rake them over the coals for being too dumb or blind to not see why her girlfriend was different. Felina was intelligent, she was ambitious and driven; the Syndicate she was groomed to take over even at such a young age was a testament to what strength she had, both in her spine and her mind. She was formidable, lethal, both in conference room meetings and when it came to dealing with any who opposed her, be it over business or otherwise. And do not get Dot started on how beautiful Felina was, inside and out; so much so that Dot had taken to a very creepy habit of mildly stalking the other woman from the first moment the Matriarch had laid eyes on her. That’s all it had taken for Dot to know Felina was the woman she wanted, no, needed to share the rest of her life with and there was only one word for shifters to describe such an all-encompassing love. Lifemate. It went beyond lust, beyond love, so that no matter what lifetime the girls existed in, they would find each other. Dot could feel Felina’s presence, whether her girlfriend was physically near or across the city; Dot craved the touch of those soft, manicured fingers and she never felt more loved or special than when those gorgeous green eyes would rest on her. There was nothing like waking up beside Felina every day, and knowing that at the end of each day, no matter what may have transpired during the day, she got to come home to the only one she would ever need. That was why Dot was so overprotective, so doting—Felina deserved the world and deserved to know how much better she made the world and so Dot never stopped trying to ensure she never forgot. It was no secret that Felina was desirable, Dot wasn’t blind and given how possessive she was over Felina, of course she saw the looks of blatant desire Felina garners anytime they’re out together. Soft, lush curves on a frame petite enough to be broken yet so perfect one would hate to only be able to have her once, hair softer than silk, a smile that could melt or freeze hearts at will…Felina was the total package no matter how anyone looked at her.

But the only way Tod would know all these things, without ever having met her…was if she was his lifemate, too. And it was apparent that he did, or he wouldn’t be in the bathroom fixing his hair like he was 15 years old again, experiencing his first crush. For all her jealousy, for all her possessive need to keep and claim her lifemate, Dot found she wasn’t experiencing that terrible, black rage that accompanied someone planning to make a move on what was hers. Was it possible that they shared a lifemate? …They were twins, so she supposed it couldn’t be impossible…though she wasn’t knowledgeable enough on the Giver’s texts and teachings to know for sure whether this sort of thing ever happened. It usually went that a shifter’s true lifemate was theirs and theirs alone, and given how murderously possessive and jealous one gets over their lifemate (oh, the amount of times Drette has made an appearance just to brutally punish someone for getting too close to Felina…) it was mildly unheard of to share a lifemate…but it wasn’t impossible. And the more Dot stood there and thought about it, watching Tod carefully align his collar and then drop down to buff a scuff out of his boot with his thumb, the more she thought it made sense. The Lakhani Tribe was shattered, splintered off and distant and the more years passed the more it seemed nothing would ever bring the Tribe back together again. It was not for lack of trying by their Patriarch, who more or less demanded they all at least live near one another rather than scattered across continents. It was just, there was nothing to hold the together, no desire to be near one another save for the Alpha Twins, who were almost always together, or how Dot and Tod worked side by side to keep the businesses going. The Giver, the Deity the recognized as their own, was all about doing things with purpose, leaving just enough for one to fashion either their noose or their salvation—it was still far, far too early to tell but seeing this new life in her twin who had all but given up on himself, Dot was left wondering if Felina wasn’t the gift to the Tribe from the Giver, a means for them all to become a Family with her at the center. Felina had certainly turned Dot’s life around and given it proper meaning, so was it truly so far-fetched her perfect girl would be able to do the same for the Family? She didn’t know, but she had a distinct feeling she was about to find out.

“So,” Tod tried for his normal, casual tone, but he wasn’t sure how well he did. “What’s she like?”

“Felina?” Dot deliberately said her name, just to watch the way Tod smiled involuntarily as a result. Dot said nothing about that, just shifted so the doorframe was at the center of her back. “She’s literally perfect.”

Tod chuckled. “Well, I guess I can’t argue with that. Given your lesbian status, you would know.”

Dot laughed, gesturing with one hand out. “See. I told you, I’ve always told you, once I find the perfect girl you’ll never have to doubt me because why the hell wouldn’t I know? And she’s got it all, Tod. She’s funny, she for some reason thinks I’m funny, she’s wicked smart, and my god just wait until you see her in shorts.”

Tod swallowed thickly, incisors lengthening in his mouth at the thought that put in his head.

“So, ah,” he floundered for a moment, trying to reign himself in. “You two have really been together for nine years?”

Dot nodded. “Happiest nine years of my life.”

Tod could believe it, since he was having the happiest fifteen minutes of his life since hearing her voice, seeing her picture, and learning he was about to be meeting her. He straightened up, running his hands over his dark jeans before turning to gesture to Dot.

“How do I look?”

Dot perked a brow, pushing off the doorframe to come over. She reached up, moving his curls from their carefully combed position so they brushed against his forehead and framed those two-toned eyes—before pinching his nose and giving it a tug.

“Like a dork. But lucky for you, she loves me, and you take after me, so she’s gonna love you.” Dot released his nose, gesturing at his hair and using his unruly curls as an example. “Just be yourself.”

Tod laughed, pushing a hand through his curls as he nodded. “Okay. Myself, can do.”

“Oh my god, please don’t be awkward.”

Tod made a face. “I’m not awkward.”

“Maybe you should just stay in here?” Dot tapped her chin, glancing around the bathroom. “I could tell Felina you fell in the toilet.”

“…Dot, your girlfriend may think you’re funny but I don’t.”

“She thinks I’m very funny.”

“I’m happy your girlfriend is nice to you.”

“…Tod, say Felina.”

Tod almost pulled a handful of curls out in surprise at Dot’s demand. “What?!”

“Say her name.” Dot smirked, tilting her head back to stare up at him expectantly.

Tod was literally saved by the Shoppe doorbell sounding the death march, indicating Felina was here. It was impossible to miss that beautiful laughter sounding at her delighted surprise at the personal touch of the chime, the sound washing over Tod so that he felt it bone deep, the Ancient in his head near salivating at the sound. Dot’s excited laughter picked up, his twin letting off a squeal as she rushed out of the bathroom and back down the hall to greet her lifemate.

“Baby!” Dot flung open the back room door, already exclaiming to get Felina’s attention. Her lifemate was gazing around at the emporium around her, taking in the different items with a curious smile on her face—one that upped in wattage as Dot crossed the store with her arms open to envelop her in a hug.

Tod was moving on auto-pilot when he came out from the back of the shop. It was as if his body was moving on it’s own, driven forward because he was dying to see her, to lay eyes on the flesh and blood that seemed too good to be true…and the moment he ducked back into the shop, the moment his two-toned eyes locked onto her, he could have sworn he was dreaming.

Tod had a photographer for a younger brother. He’d seen images that seemed too good to be true, pictures of places that couldn’t possibly exist because they were just too pretty. Even if he’d believed Felina’s picture was too beautiful for her to actually be real, he was seeing her now, and it was as if the world was dropping away piece by piece so the only thing he was seeing was her. Felina’s attention was on Dot, unsurprising considering Dot’s penchant for touchy-feely greetings, but all that did was grant Tod the striking image of Felina’s profile as the young woman gazed up at his sister, her green eyes more precious than the gemstone that would pale in comparison. Her smile sent a burning smear across his chest so that his breath caught in his throat, her perfectly painted lips red as blood and no doubt every bit as sweet. His mouth ran dry as the Ancient crouched in his mind moved closer to the surface, a ripple of power feeding his muscles as if to push him forward to act upon the most primal reaction he’s ever felt in his life. She wasn’t real, she couldn’t be real…Giver help him, she was beautiful. He stood in a stupor in the back room door, the weight of the door at his back but he paid it no mind, his body tuning itself to the angelic presence before him without conscious thought. When Felina leaned into Dot’s greeting kiss, Tod felt his lips burn with the desire to feel her kiss, instead. When Felina put her hand on Dot’s arm, his arm reacted as if she’d touched him, instead. And when she finally turned, felt him staring, the moment she locked eyes with him Tod knew he would never forget this moment. It was only a split second, the two left staring at one another, but he saw the way she reacted to him, the way he stole her breath the same way she’d stolen his. He devoured her in an instant, without ever having to lay a finger on her satin-soft, fair skin; did she feel it? Did she feel the way his heart was pushing at the limits of his ribs, straining for her? Did she hear the Ancient’s howl in her head the way he heard it in his? It was a howl of possession, of completion, of spending so many lonely days and nights with nothing but the promise of maybe some day…some day had come.

She was here.

“Sweetheart, this is my twin, Tod.” Dot turned, gesturing at Tod with a slight frown. “Tod, this is my girlfriend, Felina.”

Felina should have been prepared for Tod. She’d seen his picture before, she had some idea of what he looked like, but the picture hadn’t done him justice. Tod was incredibly tall, which was something for her to notice given she had plenty of tall siblings herself, and he was well-built with an array of brightly colored tattoos racing up his muscular forearms to his neck to match striking, two-toned eyes. A curious, seemingly constantly changing mixture of hazel and green, Tod’s eyes weren’t lit like fire but rather like sunlight streaming through a diamond, so that Felina found it hard to look away. He certainly didn’t look away from her, even as he stepped down around from the register and came over to meet her properly. The way he moved reminded her of a casual yet confident man who seemed older than he was; he was Dot’s twin, so he was younger than she was…but he didn’t seem it. He carried himself as if he were much older, yet when he extended his tatted hand out to her, the smile he gave her was boyish, dimples drawing attention to sharp, white teeth and beautiful curls that just begged to be touched.

“Nice to meet you, Felina.” Tod’s large hand was poised, fingers open, for hers as his deep voice enveloped her in warmth not unlike how Dot always greeted her.

“Y-You too, Tod. It’s nice to finally get to meet you.” Felina slipped her hand into his a little breathlessly, taken by surprise when her voice failed her. Her voice died completely when Tod closed his hand around hers, his fingers turning her hand so that when he moved it up toward himself, she almost thought he was going to kiss the back of her hand—a gesture that wasn’t foreign to the young leader. She was a woman of standing, of affluence and power, so she was used to the formal, honored way of being greeted. What she hadn’t expected was Tod to move their joined hands to his chest, to feel the strong, powerful beat of his heart through the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Welcome to the family.” The gesture was tribal, a gesture of reverence and significant in allowing her to feel the beat of his heart, so that his welcome could be perceived as genuine. After all, one doesn’t show or expose their heart to just anyone.

“…T-Thank you,” Felina tightened her fingers around Tod’s without thinking, and she felt his heart stir in response. For a woman who was not easily affected by romantic gestures, there was a stirring in her own chest that shouldn’t have been there, and she found it hard to maintain staring up at Tod, who seemingly had no problem keeping his eyes on her.

Dot glanced between her girlfriend and her twin with a knowing smirk on her face. Yeah…she had definitely been right.

Tod’s release of Felina’s hand was reluctant and slow, and when she slipped her fingers from his he felt more bereft than he’d ever experienced in his life. He covered the feeling by shoving his hand through his curls, hoping the feel of his hand would help erase the loss of her silk-soft touch.

“And this,” Dot gestured around the shop, “is the Shoppe. Well, one of them. You’ll find there’s a few in the family.”

“Do they all sell this sort of stuff?” Felina asked, glancing around at Dot’s gesturing. She was acutely aware of Tod’s presence at her back.

“No—well, Zaos, his shop has some things like this, but it’s real. Not novelty, not keepsakes.”

“You’re…planning to introduce her to Zaos?” Tod asked, lifting both brows. There was clear hesitation in his voice that had Felina glancing up at him curiously.

“Is…Zaos bad?” Felina glanced between the twins. “I know you said the Alphas were pretty bad, but Zaos is too?”

“Zaos is hard to explain.” Dot started, pursing her lips in thought. “But…I’m beginning to think you two will hit it off.”

For reasons he didn’t want to think too deeply about, Tod felt jealous about that. Did Dot think he and Felina would hit it off? It would be a fair assumption, since Dot did bring Felina around to meet him first, and that helped quell the temper he didn’t have.

“And Tod, yes I’m planning to introduce her to everyone.” Dot turned back to her twin, giving him a pointed look. “This is my mate, my future wife. Everyone needs to meet her.”

Tod was about to respond when Felina turned back to look up at him, and he found himself distracted by giving her a smile, again. He’d never felt it so easy to smile before but she coaxed them out of him without even trying; it was the way she stared up at him, the way the light from the shop windows caught and held the emerald of her eyes, highlighting long lashes and skin that was begging for his touch. The tips of his fingers literally twitched at his side with the thought of how soft she must feel, how her small fingers would tremble against his when he took her face between his hands and kissed her—

“I wanted her to meet you first,” Dot’s continuing comments drew Tod’s attention, tearing those two-toned eyes from Felina. “Felina actually expressed interest in coming by and seeing the shop, and meeting you.”

“She wanted to meet me?” Tod asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

Felina turned, giving Dot a pointed look, her smile a little strained from embarrassment. “Really, baby?”

Dot noticed and totally continued anyway. “Oh definitely, Toddles. It was the other day when I was giving you what for about not ordering the music for our iTunes library. Felina liked that one comment you made, what was it you said?”

Even though Dot was looking at Felina to supply the comment, Tod answered. “Was it when I told you that the time you were taking to IM me to bitch was all time you could spend downloading the music yourself? And then I put the thinking face emoji?”

Dot gestured, “Yes, but I think you worded it like, ‘Pretty sure the download time for songs is less than the time it’s taking to download your bitching’.”

Felina couldn’t help it; just like the night she’d read it over IM, she burst out laughing, one hand coming up to cover her giggles the best she could. But the twins joined in her laughter, urged on by the melodious sound. Tod couldn’t believe how infectious Felina’s laughter was, or the fact that he’d managed to make her laugh. Him!

“Yeah, for whatever reason Felina found that funny and decided she wanted to meet you. I didn’t see the harm.” Dot gestured with her palm out flat, turning from Tod to Felina. “And he was extremely excited to meet you. Even went to check his hair before you got here.”

“Woooow,” Tod leaned back a bit, both eyebrows raised, before he leaned forward toward Dot as the register phone began ringing. “Maybe you should get the phone since you seem like you have a ton to say.”

Dot swore under her breath, scurrying off to answer the ringing phone, leaving Tod and Felina standing together still near the door. Tod watched after his twin for a moment before he turned back to her girlfriend, giving her that dimpled smile. Felina gazed up at him through her thick lashes, a little tease in her velvet tone.

“Did you…really go brush your hair for me?”

Tod laughed, reaching up to push some of the bouncing ringlets from in front of his face with a nod. “Yep, I sure did.”

Felina’s laugh was soft, a touch shy, her eyes riveted to the gesture and the way Tod’s strong arm rippled with unused strength as he moved those curls from in front of his eyes. Tod was undeniably handsome, the resemblance to Dot apparent in their eyes, the shape of their mouths, and those curls. They also smiled the same, as if prompting you to say something, as if whatever it was you did say was the most important thing in the world for them to hear. It was strange, the way Tod made her feel; every time those hazel eyes flashed at her, a little more gold than green, she felt as if she was looking at someone she’d known for a long, long time—but she’d never met Tod before, she would definitely remember him. On top of that, there was the way he made her feel, a touch nervous but in a way she’d never experienced before. Felina had been on the receiving end of Drette’s affection, the way the other woman used fear and force to sometimes tantalize Felina’s fetishes and make her feel cherished and needed in a, “if I can’t have you, no one can,” sort of way, but Tod wasn’t threatening her. He wasn’t necessarily looking at her like he was going to wrap his fingers around her throat, but she’d felt the callouses and the strength behind his hand and he was looking at her in a way that made her very aware…that she was a woman. She could feel his eyes lingering on the swell of her breasts when she mimed breathing, something she did to comfort outsiders because her still heart didn’t need air to function—because it wasn’t, right now. Even when she wasn’t looking directly at him, those bright eyes swept over her and left a strange velvet touch behind, like the brush of cool water against her skin. He followed the curve of her waist, the tuck-in at her ribs and the swell of her hips—she had no way of knowing whether his eyes lingered on her backside when she’d turned to glance around the shop but his eyes had been on her legs when she’d turned back around. It was one thing for Felina to know and understand how beautiful and desirable she was; it wasn’t something she thought about or necessarily cared about, because she was dating Dot and had been for a very long time. Attention wasn’t something she cared about from outsiders, but Tod didn’t feel like an outsider. From the moment she’d locked eyes with him, the way he looked at her, as if he wanted her entirely, made her feel such a curious mixture of vulnerable and powerful she didn’t know how to react—as though she could bring him to his knees…or sink to her knees for him.

“Since you’re going to be…marrying Dot someday, did you want a tour of what’ll all be yours?” Tod gestured with his head, catching Felina’s attention as if he needed to have it. Felina nodded immediately.

“Yeah! I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what this shop really even is.”

Tod stepped forward, his hand moving to the small of Felina’s back as he took her a little ways from the double shop entrance doors. She could feel the heat of his touch through her shirt and tried desperately not to think about it, instead left to focus on his soft baritone.

“This shop is an extension of the Mortuary next door,” Tod began, “it’s a place where you can purchase custom trinkets of all sorts to help honor or commemorate a lost loved one.” Tod reached up with his free hand, picking up the hand of a skeleton doll on a display shelf, making it wave down at Felina. “Or if you’re just really into Halloween and don’t want to wait until the holiday season rolls around, you can stop in here for your decoration fix.”

Felina laughed, waving back at the skeleton. She found she liked Tod’s sense of humor; it was a blend of sarcasm and just genuine humor, and it complimented his smile.

“So, say my pet goldfish died. Could I come here to get something for that?”

“Hm,” Tod put on a thoughtful expression, before leading Felina up the aisle way a little more. Sure enough, he stopped at a shelf of ceramic tombstones for fishbowls, gesturing at them. “I’d recommend this. I handle the engraving myself, so we can honor…”

“Sparky.” Felina blurted out, which earned her a laugh from Tod.

“We can definitely honor Sparky the Goldfish with a custom engraved tombstone.”

“That is so cute,” Felina reached up, feeling the rough weight of the tombstone before glancing around again. The aisles of the shop weren’t necessarily as uniformed as a normal store would be; they seemed to follow almost an ‘S’ pattern, like a snake or a winding river. The shelves themselves were grouped according to like items, such as items for cats, dogs, or assorted pets, while other shelves were grouped to hold urns or garden decorations. Felina’s pretty green eyes could see all sorts of things, from hanging lights for decorating gravestones, to Christmas tree ornaments, and even a section for clothes that featured a sign that read, “Custom line coming soon.” The register area was set up to look antique, though behind the L-shaped counter there was a computer that likely served to supplement what the old time register couldn’t do—Felina could understand that was more for the aesthetic of the shop. The shop was a catch-all for all things harkening to death and it was pleasantly packed with items, the décor what one might expect in a place of oddities. From macabre artwork, skeleton shaped candy and even decorative soaps, this place seemed like the perfect place to satisfy a morbid itch.

“And you run this place?” Felina turned back to Tod, who had been patiently waiting while she took her assessment of the place.

“I do,” he nodded, feeling a semblance of pride that she seemed impressed by that.

“I really like it.”

“Yeah?” Tod leaned forward, as if needing to hear that reassurance again.

Felina nodded, smiling up at him. “Yeah.”

“Maybe you’ll stop by more often, now that you know I’m—that it’s here?” Tod quickly amended his statement.

“Definitely,” Felina nodded again. “I’ll definitely be back.”

Tod released a laugh that sounded relieved, feeling the Ancient’s smirk of approval inside his head. The beast was wholly convinced this was their lifemate, his lifemate reborn, but Tod could hardly catch his breath enough to think about that. How could he? He was too busy enveloped in her presence, basking in the sweet scent of her beneath his sharp nose, or the way her body brushed against his as they walked and talked. The way she stopped and the items she picked up to examine stuck out at him, bringing him new appreciation to the shop that he spent so much time and effort on, every day—just her simple admission that she liked this place enough to come back validated his years of work making the shop what it was. If she, a woman of undeniable class and taste, could approve of this place…then maybe she’d approve of him, too, someday. He didn’t know what to make of the thought, or the desire that he wanted his sister’s lifemate to like him…he just knew that he did. He liked Felina, to the extent that the word seemed to pale entirely in comparison. This was what he could remember reading about, being told about the meeting of lifemates and how it would be the single most poignant thing to ever happen to him. Walking with her now, his hand guiding her, his body moving with hers as if it had always been, Tod had no other way to explain the way he felt…though he would have accepted love at first sight, too.

“And uh, you know,” Tod spoke up, catching Felina’s attention as they walked. “It would be incredibly rude of me not to invite you out for brunch to help console you over the loss of Sparky.”

Felina recognized Tod’s playful game and couldn’t help but play along; he had such an easy-going way about him, and he made her smile. She sniffed delicately, nodding. “Yes, I…think that will help fill the void left behind. He was such a good fish.”

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Tod did his best not to chuckle, or give away his excitement that Felina accepted his offer. “If it makes you feel any better, I happen to know a great sushi place not far from here? I’d be happy to take you there.”

Felina almost stopped walking, her jaw dropping a little. How did he know her favorite?!

“Sushi—Tod! What the hell did I tell you about going through my phone?!” Dot’s sharp reprimand of Tod gave away his secret curiosity in regard to Felina but he didn’t seem fazed by it.

“N-Not to mention, isn’t it a little ironic, not to mention morbid, to take me to a sushi place after my fish just died?” Felina added on, staring up at Tod.

Tod just winked down at Felina still semi-tucked under the hollow of his broad shoulder. “In my family, it’s custom to devour what tries to leave, so it stays apart of you forever.”

Felina didn’t know why, couldn’t possibly know why, but that calm baritone delivering such a line between sharpened white teeth sent a horrible shiver down her spine—was it excitement, or fear? She had no way of knowing, only that the first meeting of her girlfriend’s Family has left her…wanting more in the worst way.

“Come on, we’re going to brunch, my treat.” Tod held out his arm for Felina. “I need to get to know the woman who is going to be marrying my sister.”

There was a clear implication that hung in the air, something Tod knew Dot would pick up on—it remained to be seen whether Felina would be able to feel his intent, his interest in her…and just where that would lead the two of them.

#{collection} : a tribe called mine #{character} : tod dreadful #{character} : dot dreadful #{theme} : for monica

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obscuraxrp · 7 years

Photo

The smoke settles to reveal LEE YEONG, a 31 year old rakshasa-blooded of Sunseong. He is a gardener & sewing specialist who appears to be adept in shapeshifting and contaminant immunity --- but like most things in Sunseong, there must be more to him than meets the eye.

FACECLAIM: Jung Taekwoon (Leo), VIXX

APPEARANCE:

Due to Lee Yeong’s weak control over his beastly form, the left side of his face shows some distinct features attributed to his Rakshasa heritage. The side of his face shows scarring (left by an alpha wolf), running from the bridge of his nose, across his high cheekbone and ending in the middle of a fleshy cheek. His left eye is completely white with tiny silver and golden specks. The hungrier for human flesh Yeong gets, the more golden those specks twinkle. They will slowly swallow the silver specks until the hunger is sated. When no silver specks are left, it is only a matter of time before Yeong loses his humanity to his beastly nature. The tips of his left sideburns are distinctly blue, indicative of his vibrantly blue fur. In full beast form, Yeong resembles his father Rakshasa (though his bulk and size is similar to this). In human-like form, Yeong is quite tall (almost 6ft) but his true, beastly form towers over any ordinary being – up to 7ft. His limbs will then be twice as thick as any human’s and his eyes will glow. In human form, Yeong’s hair is light brown but quite unruly.

BIOGRAPHY:

Your first memory is of darkness and cold. Then, yellow eyes and a threatening yet curious growl. They’re not your parents but you make due. At first, you’re just as small as they are, and just as hairy. Where they are raven-haired, you own a beautiful coat of blue fur but this is just a minor detail and easily overlooked. You have canines after all,just like them. Then your fangs grow and not even your teeth are similar now. It doesn’t bother them, however, and they continue to raise the beast-blooded babe who is now a toddler on unstable hindlegs. You grow an additional set of limbs that they don’t have when you finally find yourself steady on all fours but you refuse to feel embarrassed about it.

When you shift to human form for the first time, they do not flinch or attack. They had always smelled it on you; the scent of a foreign being, odd yet innocent. They had accepted you regardless of the smells you brought and the strange skin you inhabit. But you feel a sense of loss you cannot communicate, not even when you grow and you are no longer smaller than they are. While as a child you were just as big, you are now a giant among your kin. And they are faster than you, more agile and so in sync with their beastly nature that leaves you envying and wishing for your blue fur to turn black and your silver eyes to turn yellow and your bones to rearrange so you can be just as small.

At least you cannot speak, just like them, and you communicate with growls, barks, chirps and whines that will always extend more meaning than speech ever could. Not that you know what speaking entails. You howl when it is dark and you are silent when it is light. But you also hiss, snarl, grunt, puff, purr and roar and they do not understand why. Their eyes flash dangerously, a ripple shakes their fur and shudders their forms as they bare their teeth to you for a second time. You stop communicating your unnatural sounds because they fall on deaf ears.

You find out you can climb trees and it amazes you at first, until you realise that your brothers can’t follow. With your tail between your legs, you come down and accept the ferocious, preaching bite at your nape because you deserved it for scaring the little ones. The next time you find yourself in a tree, you are scared. You do not understand the expressions on the long, hairless and skinny beings with funny faces but you recognise the visage of anger and disdain. Alpha often wears the same expression. You flee as they chase and it doesn’t matter how much you whimper and meow, bark or growl, they cannot understand you. They do not speak your language although their mouths are moving and sounds are produced. The tree holds your weight but your claws are too sharp and as you shift, your muscles heavy against the bark, it snaps. You tumble to the forest floor and break one of your extra limbs but before you can howl, they incarcerate you and attempt to torch your flank.

Your fur is no longer blue, but it’s not black either; or grey like that of the mother who raised you as her own. You have only seen this colour one time before, when the father who raised you as his own was torn apart by Alpha. A deep red colour now paints your hair and spreads across the mossy forest floors littered with scattered bodies. You don’t know what they were but you are aware of them being lifeless now. Dead. You are as vicious like Alpha now. So, you flee, ignoring the throbbing limb that drags behind you and smacks your right hindleg. When you arrive, Mother doesn’t recognise you and Alpha drags his canines across your snout. You escape with your life hanging precariously in the balance. You no longer smell like yourself.

When you shift to human form the next time, your broken limb vanishes along with its twin but phantom pain continues to plague you as you drag your bruised body through the muddy grounds and into a low cave where the stone scrapes against your knee caps and chafes your palms. You are different from them, you know. They were your family but you were never just like them. Instead, you are similar to the hairless beings with angry faces who you slaughtered in the woods a little ways from your small cave. As sleep captures your consciousness, you wonder why you are not perfectly just like themeither.

You wake to darkness and cold but this time no intrigued yellow eyes peer into your soul. Your knees throb and you notice that you are naked. Hunger drags its claws through the walls of your stomach and you dry heave because you haven’t eaten in days due to heavy storms and fleeing prey. Still, you manage to clamber out of your sanctuary back into the wild where you belong. The mossy grounds tickle your bare feet, wayward branches slap into your face and scratch your delicate skin and the earthy smell of rain tickles your nostrils but you no longer feel safe in the environment that used to embrace your existence wholeheartedly.

Desperately, you start into a sprint; pushing at trees, kicking leaves and snarling into the ominously silent air as you run, following the faint but lingering scent of meat. Fleas prickle at your eyes and tease your hair but you pay them no heed as sharp fangs slice cleanly through tender pink meat. The corpses smell, rapidly deteriorating underneath the onslaught of extreme weather conditions, but their flesh remains largely intact. You fight viciously with your own mind to ignore the despaired upturned faces as you attempt to sate yourself on your victims’ bodies. You are so engrossed in the act that you do not hear the near-silent approach of footsteps or the faint clinking of metal against metal as another being you have not yet encountered happens upon the crime scene.

They see but are unseeing. Scarred eyes fall upon your pitiful, cannibalistic form and you shiver but excitement rushes through your veins as you recognise white eyes as your own. You finally shake the fleas from your wild mane. Desperate for interaction and acceptance, you approach the being that looks similar to you in ways the others did not and soon you find yourself leaning into a searching, petting hand. They take you away from the wild that was once your home and into an unfamiliar one with new smells and overwhelming impressions. You jitter in fear and insecurity, your mouth still red from the meat you consumed. But they shush you and their voice is pleasing to your ears that you let the sound melt your nerves away. When you recognise the smell of wet dog, you get excited. You are not alone with the strange scarred-eyed being. The presence of the dogs calms you and eases the transition from your home in the woodlands to sheltered sanctuary in the city.

You are given clothes. The fabric feels softer than the freshest moss and you first drag it across your cheeks, revelling in its texture. Next, you let your eyes feast on the vibrant colours and intriguing patterns and for the first time in your near-human life, you smile – all blunt pearly whites. Those who wear clothes also wear names and although you don’t understand the sounds that tumble off foreign lips, you acknowledge the word that is associated with you. Especially when you displease the one who now owns you, the one who wears the name of Minsong, as their voice drips with disappointment – coating the name that is yours. You are Yeong, but you speak their name first. They are pleased, and you continue to learn. Your clothes tear often but you can mend them now. You haven’t shifted in weeks. You only look half beastly.

You are so curious, sniffing all you touch and touching all you see. Within a few months of getting used to your new home, you venture out of the small cave they call a room which you were given. Tailed by Hei, Miss Lazer and Yun, you are on a mission to explore the greater cave that is Minsong’s home. You especially love the backyard and you destroy it first before Minsong teaches you how to nurture and grow. You are allowed to tend to the pots and dirt, the plants and flowers until you touch what you can’t and end up imprisoned once more. You whimper as the effects of Fae magic assault your system. You recognise Minsong for what he is and you mourn the loss of similarity those white eyes used to bring. You are not like Minsong and you force yourself to cease your attempts to understand why not. Minsong helps your body to fight contamination. You find out your body has toxic properties of its own.

Years pass but living life in the skin of a long, hairless and skinny being with a funny face remains challenging. You know what speaking means but you refuse when you can. You spend your nights curled up against Bora’s fur because she reminds you of Mother. Sometimes you go out, trailing after Minsong with sharp curious eyes and – more often than not – reaching out to grasp the hem of the man’s leather jacket with trembling spidery fingers – the dull thudding of boots surprisingly calming to your sensitive ears. The world is big and loud and fast and grey, oh so grey, closing in on your wildness and you feel suffocated in an environment that was not supposed to be your paradise. But the customers at the café are nice and the neighbour with the overgrown garden has a warm, kind smile that makes you feel all tingly inside. They sometimes pet your mane and allow you to roar your appreciation. You wonder if this is what happiness is like. So you endure, you obey and remain loyal to the scarred-eyed Fae who took you from one life and gave you another, nurturing your once lonely soul. You will never be like him but that’s ok. You are you, after all.

CHARACTERIZATION:

Raised in the wilderness, Yeong was a Rakshasa cub abandoned by his witch mother who feared ostracisation by fellow villagers. He was meant to have been eaten by the forest inhabitants but instead was accepted as part of a wolf pack. His home was a dense, widespread woodlands in a remote area located far from Sunseong city. He grew up a curious cub that was forced into being a pup. He was a playful, cheerful being who, since a young age, yearned for acceptance, closeness and affection. He hadn’t been in contact with any other beings, safe for the wolves in his pack and the prey the pack hunted. Because he was reprimanded for any feline or even human characteristics, Yeong repressed those until, at age 15, human hunters happened upon the beast-blooded teenager in their pursuit of supernaturals.

Yeong is quite a gentle soul, something which he unknowingly inherited from his mother – who, despite being cowardly, was a good and pure-natured witch. However, the Rakshasa within Yeong resurfaced and broke through its self-inflicted bondage when Yeong’s life was threatened by assassins. When, out of necessity for survival, Yeong feasted on the remains of the hunters he murdered, his heritage and true nature was awakened. Yeong is someone who, despite being generally benevolent, is a cannibalistic being with a thirst for evil and a passion for carnage. He retains most of his animal-like qualities which help him cope with the malevolent tendencies of his personality. The gift of a name makes Yeong more human and he is aware of humanity as a result. He suffers from a near-insatiable hunger which is sometimes dulled to a faint throbbing need by the odd body Minsong brings home for Yeong to devour. Sometimes one can find Yeong dining on practically spoiled food. Yeong is weak against / allergic to pure brass materials and is afraid of fire.

Yeong is both light and dark; a person who tries to enjoy life and likes to nurture it, who is gentle, loyal and kind, sweet and innocent and yet vicious, unpredictable, observant, cruel and wicked. Yeong is also slow-witted, able to be outsmarted by most humans or supernaturals, and easily fooled. However, make no mistake in thinking he is dumb. Most of what Yeong touches will eventually perish. When Yeong feels empowered by his Rakshasa blood, he is more likely to prey on the vulnerable, to manipulate the situation in his favour or could easily be swayed to attack. He is hostile to Minsong’s enemies. Yeong is also passionate in everything he does. While he has not yet experienced romantic love, it can be assumed that he will be a passionate lover, attentive to the needs and desires of his significant other. He will remain with them until the bitter end, or until his loyalties and alignments shift.

Due to his childhood in the woods, Yeong has not been blessed with a practised ability to grasp and retain control over his beastly features. While Minsong provides ongoing help and training to Yeong, the beast-blooded male can never completely disguise his Rakshasa genes. Because of this, and the fact that he has not yet been properly integrated into human society, Yeong remains largely within close perimeters of Minsong’s home and café and occupies himself with gardening and sewing whatever items of fabric gets torn. The act of sewing calms his chaotic mind and gardening is an occupation Yeong honestly enjoys. Furthermore, art – especially cartoons – fascinate Yeong and he can spend hours watching it. Yeong is illiterate. Whenever Yeong goes out of the house, Minsong usually accompanies him but since the death of the Lord, Minsong has been allowing Yeong to go out more on his own.

SPECIALTIES:

· Natural Weaponry

Enhanced Bite (innate ability) – Yeong owns a particularly strong set of jaws, with feline fangs that are almost impossible to break. His jaw muscles, sturdy jaw structure and sharp and resilient teeth can tear through flesh easily and even crack bones. His bite is powerful.

Enhanced Mauling (innate ability) – Yeong possesses the skills and innate power to rip other beings to shreds with pure force or a powerful strike of his strong, long limbs. He relies on his own strength and sharp claws in the attack which may leave him exposed to fast attacks.

Venomous Claws (innate ability) – Yeong has a body which can generate its own venom. It seeps into the bone structure of his claws when he extends them and is cut off when his claws retract. However. Yeong can choose to secrete the poison or keep the substance encased within his claws. He has only recently discovered this ability after having begun his training in Contaminant Immunity, which revealed the existence of a contaminant substance production within his own body. When Yeong decides to use the venom, his victim will be contaminated once cut with his claws. The venom can have a variety of effects based on the gravity of the other being’s injuries, ranging from sedation, paralysis to instant death. Some Fae may be immune to Yeong’s venom.

· Enhanced Senses [Vision, Smell, Hearing] (innate ability) – Due to his heritage and childhood in the wild, Yeong possesses several enhanced senses. His enhanced vision allows him to see with amazing clarity and detail, distance and colour. However, his eyes are sensitive to sunlight and Yeong prefers to wander in dim light, or even at night. His hearing is incredibly sharp and accurate. He can hear over a measurable distance and pick up various sounds, which he can decipher and pinpoint their location. Loud sounds can scare Yeong in his human form but agitate his beastly form. When too many sounds are interrupting his hearing, Yeong prefers to find a quiet place to dull the sensitivity. Yeong can detect specific persons (after having already met them once), species and substances, locate their origin and track targets with their nose. He can also detect sickness or contamination in another being, as well as aroused states (excretion of hormones).

· Shapeshifting (rank I) – Yeong can shapeshift into full beastly form. However, this also brings with the shift a more beastly mind.

· Cannibalism Empowerment (innate ability) – Yeong gains strength from cannibalism. He becomes stronger, faster and more durable from indulging in the act of cannibalism. When he eats humans and beast-blooded humans alike himself, the effect is almost immediate. He also draws sustenance from the act and it further slows down his aging. However, eating human(-like) flesh puts a strain on his mental health and promotes his more evilly inclined natures.

· Magic Detection (innate ability) – This is an ability innate to most beast-blooded persons but Yeong does not quite understand it yet. It is an unpredictable ability which is not always activated. Yeong struggles with defining the magical signatures he smells (which is the only sense linked to this ability) and can often only determine that someone is not fully human, but can’t pinpoint their exact species. Yeong categorises other magical beings as “smells like me” and “doesn’t smell like me”. In the former category, he places all wolf-like and cat-like beings, including other children of Rakshasa; whereas other beast-blooded and magical beings are placed in the latter category – which proves that his abilities of magic detection are faulty.

· Contaminant Immunity (rank I) – By necessity, Yeong was offered to be taught a magical ability that would protect him from any toxins in Minsong’s home. The little magic which Yeong has is nurtured and supported by the Fae’s guidance, and has resulted in Yeong having been able to strengthen his own immune system. He is now immune to some known poisonous Fae plants, some viruses and bacteria that often plague a human’s immune system and is immune against his own venom, even when he generates a lethal amount of it within his own body.

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