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thewidowsghost · 3 years

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A Warrior's Destiny - Chapter 8

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Firepaw returns with a chaffinch gripped firmly between his teeth. He drops it in front of Tigerclaw, who stands waiting in the hollow.

"You're the first one back," meows the warrior.

"Yeah, but I've got loads more prey to fetch," Firepaw mewed quickly. "I buried it back - "

"I know exactly what you did," Tigerclaw grows. "I've been watching you."

A swish of bushes announces Graypaw's return. He is carrying a small squirrel in his mouth, which he drops beside Firepaw's chaffinch. "Yuck!" he spits. "Squirrels are too furry. I'll be picking hairs out of my teeth all evening."

Tigerclaw pays no attention to Graypaw's grumbling. "Ravenpaw's late," he observed. "We'll give him a bit longer and then return to camp."

"But what if he's been bitten by an adder?" Firepaw protests.

"Then it's his own fault," Tigerclaw replies coldly. "There's no room for fools in ThunderClan."

They wait in silence. Graypaw and Firepaw exchange glances, worried about Ravenpaw and (W/p)spark, who also hadn't returned. Tigerclaw sat motionless, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

Firepaw is the first to scent Ravenpaw's arrival. He jumps to his paws as the black cat leaps into the clearing, looking unusually pleased with himself. Dangling from his mouth is the long, diamond-patterned body of an adder. "Ravenpaw! Are you okay?" Firepaw calls.

(W/p)spark pads after the black cat, glancing at Tigerclaw, and then focuses on the apprentices.

"Hey!" meows Graypaw, rushing forward to admire Ravenpaw's catch. "Did that bite you?"

"He was too quick for it," (W/p)spark replies.

Ravenpaw purrs loudly at the praise, but then he catches Tigerclaw's eye and falls silent.

Tigerclaw fixes all three excited apprentices with a cold stare. "Come on," he says shortly. "Let's collect the rest of your prey and get back to camp."

. . .

Firepaw, Graypaw, and Ravenpaw enter the camp, strolling behind Tigerclaw, and in front of (W/p)spark. Their impressive day's catch hung from their mouth, Ravenpaw's snake draped across (W/p)spark's broad back. As they emerge from the gorse into the camp, a group of young kits scramble out of the nursery to watch them pass.

"Look!" Firepaw hears one of them say. "Apprentices, just back from hunting!" He recognizes the little tabby Yellowfang had hissed at the day before. Sitting next to him is a fluffy gray kit, no more than two moons old. A tiny black kit and a small tortoiseshell stand beside them.

"Isn't that the kittypet, Firepaw?" squeaks the gray kit.

"Yeah! Look at his orange fur!" mews the black one.

"They say he's a good hunter," the tortoiseshell adds. "He looks a bit like Lionheart. Do you suppose he's as good as him?"

"Is that a snake?" the little tabby asks (W/p)spark as she passes.

"Did you catch it?" pipes up the little black kit. "You're so brave!"

Ravenpaw drops back to grab his adder as (W/p)spark nuzzles each other kits affectionately, finishing off with Swiftkit, who had scrambled out of the nursery after the apprentices had padded off.

"No, Ravenpaw caught it," (W/p)spark replies."He's the brave one."

All at once, the five kits, their eyes sparkling with mischief, lunge at (W/p)spark.

The large warrior makes a show of staggering around, before she falls heavily to the ground, the kits squirming all over her.

"We got her!" Sunkit - (W/p)spark's half-sister, the little black kit - squeals with delight.

"Will you play with us, (W/p)spark?" the little gray kit - Cinderkit - asks, her eyes bright with question.

The large warrior's eyes twinkle with affection. "Of course," (W/p)spark replies and the kits squeal with delight again.

"Will you give us a badger ride?" Swiftkit asks, already scrambling up onto his half-sister's broad shoulders.

In response, (W/p)spark lurches dramatically and Swiftkit squeals, digging his tiny claws in (W/p)spark's shoulder. (W/p)spark crouches low to the ground and the kits scramble onto her shoulders.

Goldenflower and Frostfur exit the nursery, watching over their kits as (W/p)spark plays with them.

. . .

Firepaw peers over the brow of a bush-covered slope. Graypaw and Ravenpaw are crouched beside him. Next to them, a group of ThunderClan elders, queens, and warriors wait in teh undergrowth for Bluestar to give the signal.

Firepaw had not been to this place since his first journey with Lionheart and Tigerclaw. The steep-sided glade looks a lot different now. The rich greenness of the woods had been bleached away by the cold light of the full moon, and the leaves on the trees glow silver. At the bottom stands the large oaks that mark where the corner of Clan's territory touches the other three.

The air is thick with the warm scents of cats from other Clans. Firepaw can see them quite clearly in teh moonlight, moving about below in the grassy clearing that lies between the four oaks. In the center of the clearing, a large, jagged rock rises from the forest floor like a broken tooth.

"Look at all those cats down there!" hisses Ravenpaw under his breath.

"There's Crookedstar!" Graypaw hisses back. "RiverClan's leader."

"Where?" Firepaw mews, nudging Graypaw impatiently.

"That light-colored tabby, beside the Great Rock."

Firepaw follows Graypaw's nod and sees a huge tom, even bigger than Tigerclaw, sitting at the center of the clearing. His striped coat shines pale in the moonlight. Even from this distance, his old face shows the signs of a harsh life, and his mouth looks twisted, as if it had once been broken and had healed badly.

"Hey!" meows Graypaw. "Did you see Sandpaw spit when I told her I hoped she had a nice evening at home?"

"You bet!" Firepaw purrs.

(W/p)spark flicks the apprentice's with her tail, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "She's not that bad," (W/p)spark defends her best friend.

Bluestar stands, holding her tail high. She flicks it from one side to the other. Firepaw's heart misses a beat as the ThunderClan cats rise as one and bound through the bushes, down towards the meeting place. He races alongside them, feeling the wind rush in his ears and his paws tingle with anticipation.

The ThunderClan cats pause instinctively and Bluestar summons (W/p)spark with a flick of her tail. When (W/p)spark stops beside her leader, Bluestar nods and the troop moves forward into the clearing.

Once Bluestar dismisses her clan, (W/p)spark pads over to Mistyfoot and Stonefur, who are sitting near the Great Rock, Runningwind matching her pace.

Mistyfoot greets her friend with a purr.

(W/p)spark is about to say something when a loud yowl signals to all the cats for quiet.

Three cats sit silhouetted against teh moonlit sky on to of the Great Rock: Bluestar, Brokenstar, and Crookedstar.

The Clan leaders are about to begin the meeting. But where's Tallstar? (W/p)spark thinks.

"Surely they won't start the meeting without Tallstar?" Mistyfoot murmurs in (W/p)spark's ear.

"I don't know," (W/p)spark mutters back.

"Haven't you noticed? There isn't a single WindClan cat here," whispers Stonefur on the other side of Mistyfoot.

(W/p)spark can guess that similar conversations were going on all around them. As the other cats are gathering beneath the Great Rock, an unsettled murmuring rumbles in their throats.

"We can't start yet," yowls Runningwind from beside (W/p)spark. "Where are the WindClan representatives? We must wait until all the Clans are present."

On top of the rock, Bluestar steps forward. Her gray fur glows almost white in the moonlight. "Cats of all Clans, welcome," she meows in a clear voice. "It is true that WindClan is not present, but Brokenstar wishes to speak anyway."

Brokenstar pads noiselessly up to stand beside Bluestar. He surveys the crowd for a few moments,

his orange eyes burning. Then he takes a deep breath and begins. "Friends, I come to speak to you tonight about the needs of ShadowClan -"

But he is interrupted by raised, impatient voices from below.

"Where is Tallstar?" cries one.

"Where are the Windclan warriors?" yowls another.

Brokenstar stretches up to his full height and lashes his tail from side to side. "As the leader of ShadowClan, it is my right to address you here!" he growls in a voice full of menace. The crowd falls into an uneasy silence. All around him, Firepaw can smell the acrid tang of fear.

Brokenstar yowls again. "We all know that the hard time of leaf-bare, and late newleaf, have left us with little prey in our hunting grounds. But we also know that WindClan, RiverClan, and ThunderClan lost many kits in the freezing weather that came so late this season. ShadowClan did not lose kits. We are hardened to the cold north wind. Our kits are stronger than yours from the moment they are born. And so we find ourselves with many mouths to feed, and too little prey to feed them."

The crowd, still silent, listens anxiously.

"The needs of ShadowClan are simple. In order to survive, we must increase our hunting territory. That is why I insist that you allow ShadowClan warriors to hunt in your territories."

A shocked but muted growl ripples through the crowd.

"Share our hunting grounds?" calls the outraged voice of Tigerclaw.

"It is unprecedented!" cries a tortoiseshell queen from RiverClan. "The Clans have never shared hunting rights!"

"Should ShadowClan be punished because our kits thrive?" yowls Brokenstar from the Great Rock. "Do you want us to watch our young starve? You must share what you have with us."

"Must!" spits Smallear furiously from the back of the crowd.

"Must," repeats Brokenstar. "WindClan failed to understand this. In the end, we were forced to drive them out of their territory."

Snarls of outrage burst from the crowd, but Brokenstar's caterwaul rings loud above them: "And, if we have to, we will drive you all from your hunting grounds in order to feed our hungry kits."

There is instant silence. On the other side of the clearing, Firepaw hears a RiverClan apprentice start to mutter something, but he is quickly hushed by an elder.

Satisfied that he has every cat's attention, Brokenstar continues. "Each year, the Twolegs spoil more of our territory. At least one Clan must remain strong, if all the Clans are to survive. ShadowClan thrives while you all struggle. And there may come a time when you will need us to protect you."

"You doubt our strength?" (W/p)spark rises to her paws, her eyes full of rage. Her eyes narrow and the ShadowClan leader looks down at her, a furious light in his eyes.

"I do not ask for your answer now. You must each go away and consider my words. But bear this in mind: Would you prefer to share your prey, or be driven out and left homeless and starving?" Brokenstar snarls.

Warriors, elders, and apprentices look at one another in disbelief. In the anxious pause that follows, Crookedstar steps forward. "I have already agreed to allow ShadowClan some hunting rights in the river that runs through our territory," he meowed quietly, gazing down on his Clan.

Horror and humiliation ripples through the RiverClan cats at their leader's words.

"We were not consulted!" cries a grizzled silver tabby.

"I feel that this is best for our Clan. For all the Clans," Crookedstar explains, his voice heavy with

resignation. "There are plenty of fish in the river. It is better to share our prey than to spill blood fighting over it."

"And what of ThunderClan?" Smallear croaks. "Bluestar? Have you, too, agreed to this outrageous demand?"

Bluestar unwaveringly meets the old cat's gaze. "I have made no agreement with Brokenstar except that I shall discuss his proposal with my Clan after the Gathering."

"Well, at least that's something," mutters Graypaw in Firepaw's ear. "We'll show them we're not as soft as that yellow-bellied RiverClan."

Brokenstar speaks up again, his rasping voice sounding arrogant and strong after Crookedstar's surrender. "I also bring news that is important to the safety of your kits. A ShadowClan cat has turned rogue and spurned the warrior code. We chased her out of our camp, but we do not know where she is now. She looks like a mangy old creature, but she has a bite like TigerClan."

Firepaw's fur bristles. Could Brokenstar possibly be talking about Yellowfang? He pricked up his ears, curious to hear more.

Fury surges through (W/p)spark, her powerful shoulders rippling under her fur.

"She is dangerous. I warn you—do not offer shelter to her. And" - Brokenstar pauses dramatically - "until she is caught and killed, I urge you to keep a close eye on your kits."

(W/p)spark knows from the nervous growl that rumbles in the throats of the ThunderClan cats that they, too, had thought of Yellowfang. The bold she-cat had done nothing to endear herself to her reluctant hosts, and she guesses it won't take much to drum up hatred against her—even the words of a despised enemy like Brokenstar would be enough.

Making herself as small as she could, (W/p)spark creeps away.

Word Count: 2201 words

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imnotwolverine · 3 years

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The Accidental Family - Chapter 1

Henry Cavill x OFC multi-chapter

Chap 1 - Coming Home | Chap 2 >

Disclaimer: Fluff, some strong language

Word count: 2.364

Author’s note: Are you ready for some confused Henry-fluff, my baby sweets? I really could use something to focus on now we’re in full lockdown during the Christmas days *ugly cries* -- So, dear fellow quarantine babies: I hope you’ll enjoy the story!

Also, special thanks to my babe @darkbooksarwin for helping out with giving shape to this story and pointing me at some of the technicalities of brain injury and memory loss. ❤️

(Link to my Masterlist)

Say. What would you do if you’d one day wake up without a single memory of the last five years? Would you be like super soldier Hardcore Henry, defeating an army of bad guys? Would you return to the world in white robes, to help Hobbits on their journey to destroy one evil piece of jewellery? Or, would you perhaps be bed-ridden while you’re forced to watch yet another re-run of the Price Is Right on one far too small hospital tv?

Well, for Henry it was unfortunately the latter.

And where he had been ever enthusiastic to get back to work and pick up his life, the doctors thought otherwise, their voices all agreeing on one thing; he had to “take it easy”.

Take it easy? Take it easy?! He had just skipped five years of his life! Let’s be real now! One cannot “take it easy”, when one moment you’re the main character of one of Netflix’s hit series, working 14 hour workdays, only to find yourself bedridden the next. Didn’t they need him? Didn’t they need Superman? Geralt? ..Him?

It felt a bit like he had been the first Doctor to step into the Tardis. Confused, but sharp of mind. Or, perhaps the Gandalf comparison was better; he had fought the Balrog of Khazad-dûm - or in his case some ghost riding idiot on the M5 on his motorcycle, only to return to the world as a different person..in a different time, the past five years a bit of white noise in the back of his brain.

The one clear differentiation between him and Gandalf’s return being, that Henry had not lost “the One Ring”, but gained one, his left ring finger now sporting a pretty golden band that matched the one on the restless hands of the woman driving him home right this moment.

Returning his attention to her, he watched her, her fingers drumming on the steering wheel as her stormy blue eyes zipped over the chaotic traffic of the London city streets, her teeth biting in focus on her lower lip.

She was his wife, apparently - a thought that both amused and frightened him. How in the hacking hell could he not remember having a wife?

Henry had always been good with people. Remembering faces, names, little details. But with her? His wife? He couldn’t even remember where or how they'd met. Matter of fact: he couldn’t remember any woman with this kind of sweet, heart shaped face, her eyes the shade of midnight blue and her hair so golden it might have been woven by Rumplestiltskin herself.

This whole thing was rather absurd.

Had someone told him he would one day wake up in a hospital bed sporting grey streaks in his hair and a scar the size of a small coin on his skull, the memories of his past 5 years erased, he’d have laughed hard.

But, hello there new Henry, here you are.

Scratching at the edges of the itchy scar, Henry leaned into his arm, his aquamarine gaze quietly studying the blond woman.

*scratch scratch*

‘He-hey, don’t touch that.’ The blondine admonished, blindly swatting her hand in the direction of his shoulder - and missing - before she quickly reverted her attention back to the traffic, her foot pressing a bit too fiercely on the gas pedal, making the both of them jolt back in their seats.

‘WOA. CALM DOWN WOMAN.’ Henry gripped for the dashboard and gave her an exasperated look, her lips offering him a quick apologetic smile.

‘Sorry. You usually drive.’

There it was again, one of those strange references to a life he couldn’t remember. A life that included stacks of family pictures and a car with kids seats and the smell of baby wipes and fake forest mint - he’d get rid of that stupid air refreshener the moment he could.

‘Come on…’ His wife grumbled at the traffic, her lips turning in a pout of pure focus as she tried to push the nose of the car between two sporty low riders on the right lane. ‘MOVE BITCH.’

Henry’s eyes widened at her words, the both of them laughing before she could apologise again.

‘Good gods woman. And how often DID you drive?’

‘Not too often. You were ever the gentleman.’ Her tongue poked out in sheer focus as she managed to squeeze the van into the new lane, a triumphant sigh escaping her lips before she looked back at him, making them both grin.

‘You okay, babe?’ She asked, halting the car again as they had to wait for a red light.

Babe. The simple word made his heart flutter ever so slightly, though he still wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing. An unease settled in his stomach as he looked ahead, the traffic a long string of red chimy lights that sparkled in the dusk of this cool May night, small pools of rain water mirroring the ache he must have caused this woman, his wife. Even as she now offered him a warm, sweet smile, he could see the tired hollowness that burnished her pretty face with dark eye circles and pale skin.

Henry wondered if SHE was okay, but then again..was he? He sighed and tried to relax as the car awoke again under the nervous press of her foot, his hand staying splayed out on the dash as he prayed to all that was holy that he wouldn’t get into yet another mind erasing traffic accident.

One was more than enough, thank you very much.

The night had wrapped the familiar Mews houses in a blanket of drab darkness and, as Henry waited for his wife to fight with the door lock, he could hear the hum of engines in the distance, this area about as quiet as you could find in the middle of London.

At least that hadn’t changed.

Smiling a little, he returned his attention to all the details he had somehow missed so much. The dents in the blue front door. The lock that wouldn’t budge before you’d twiddle with the key a little. And his trusty four pawed friend at the other side, nails tapping excitedly at the hardwood floors.

Home.

With a strange ache in his heart Henry followed the blonde woman into the house, her hand flicking over the light switch before Henry was attacked by a flurry of furry warmth and doggy licks.

‘KALLL! Kal, Kal, Kal! Hey good boy..’ Henry smiled as the large Akita near jumped up in his arms, excitement making the dog roll over onto his shoes, his proffered belly begging for a good scratch. Henry bent over to do just that, only to find himself grasping for his head as a sharp pain rushed up his scalp, a loud ring in his ears making him flinch.

‘Ah..!’ He exclaimed softly, but it wasn’t soft enough for the woman to miss, her feet quickly stepping back to him as she coddled him with soft finger strokes and gentle words.

‘Heyyyy..hey..calm.’ Henry could hear the slight worry in her voice, and he fought hard to open his eyes to at least look at her, unfamiliar love and care sparking between the both of them. ‘It’s okay.’ She breathed. ‘You’re okay. Let’s just..eh..get you up to bed, yea?’ She quickly stepped back and licked her lip, unsure of how to proceed with her stranger-of-a-husband.

Henry felt another painful jolt ring up through his skull, and so he could only nod in defeat, eyes clenching closed as he let the woman lead him up to the master bedroom.

Before long he was safely wrapped in the familiar smell of his own sheets, the bedroom a safe haven that had changed little except for the signs of a person that had slept on the other pillow, her smell still lingering.

That same smell now stepped into the doorway in the shapely appearance of dark jeans with hastily washed off toothpaste stains and a comfy cable knit sweater, long blond tresses cascading over her shoulders. She had taken the moment to get rid of their jackets and calm down Kal.

‘You comfortable? I’m just going to message the day nurse to give her an update on...’ The woman hesitated, and then simply shrugged.

‘Yea, thank you,..eh..’ Henry felt a lump form in his throat as he realised he couldn’t remember her name, his face turning a blank at the rise of her mischievous eyebrows.

Shit.

‘Say now Mr. Cavill, have you forgotten my ..name?’ Her tired lips curled up in a smile.

‘I …’

It’s like she was making him sweat on purpose, her smile growing ever so slightly.

‘Bee?’ He tried.

She chuckled, a silent relief unclenching the tightness in her shoulders. ‘Well there’s one thing you remember. Or did you pick that up when I was on the phone?’

‘It was the phone.’

She sighed, knowing it had been too good to be true, her head shaking. ‘Shucks. Anyways. It’s Phoebe, or Feebs. Though Bee is the general “go to”.’ She marched out to the larger dresser, her fingers quietly clicking open one of the doors to retrieve some fresh linens. ‘And I used to call you Bear, in case you wonder. But eh, I guess that’s for another time.’ She heaved the pile of white cotton in her arm and gave him a puzzled look. ‘Or, maybe never.’ She quickly turned on her heel, her lips barely managing to hide the sadness that licked at her words.

Henry smiled gently. ‘Thank you Phoebe-Bee.’

Her shoulders tensed up again. ‘I’ll..eh..be in one of the other -’

‘Wait, you’re not sleeping..?’ His voice trailed off as he looked at the slightly tousled sheets and pillow next to him - he knew she used to sleep there.

‘No, no. I’ll be right next -’

‘You can sleep here if you want.’

He had hoped the words would bring her comfort, but all he released was sorrow, a single tear sliding down her cheek as she looked over her shoulder at him.

‘I-I...oh, fuck, this is so silly.’ She quickly wiped the tear away, her body turning back again so she could hide the anguish that wrecked behind her light hearted facade. ‘I’m sorry, let’s just..’

‘Phoebe,’ Henry pleaded, earning a soft sniffle from her. ‘hey. Come now sweetheart. Come here.’

And like he hoped, these dark chocolate words did bring some sort of comfort, a short chuckle escaping her lips as she slowly shook her head. ‘You used to say that a lot.’

‘Well, you bet I did! And if you keep crying like that, I’ll come over to you instead!’ He pushed the sheets off, revealing his black boxers and two muscular long legs.

For a moment he could see her look down over her shoulder, look down at him, guilty eyes not daring to really look to much before Henry’s gentle arm wrapped around her back as he escorted her to the edge of the mattress, her body eagerly leaning into him as they both sat down, more tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Now, settle down, sugar.’ He hushed, brushing away some of the golden hair that curtained her stormy eyes.

Again he could feel a slight tingle in his loins, and, for all it was worth, Henry hoped that it could be a sign that he would remember her soon. Even if it was just a little. With a tender caress he brushed his palm over her back, his eyes studying her silhouette in the lowlights of the bedroom. She looked exhausted, her hands desperately clutching onto the messy white pile of sheets in her arms.

They sat like that for a moment. In a confusingly friendly manner, her breathing slowly calming and tears drying on her cheeks.

‘Hey. If you promise not to bite, neither will I, okay?’

His words were met with a confused rise of her left eyebrow. ‘What?’

‘Biting bed bugs I can survive, but biting wives? I’m..eh..hahah, not so sure.’

Finally, that sweet smile of hers returned. ‘Oh Bear.’

‘Hi Bee,’ He returned her sweet smile and moved up his hand to brush a thumb over her cheek. ‘let’s both get some sleep, okay?’

Slowly, hesitantly, her gaze merged with his, an uncertainty still lingering deep in her midnight blues as she nodded her head yes. ‘Okay.’

And so, minutes later, Henry found himself in his bed with a wife. His wife, her sweet soft snores heard moments after her head had hit the pillow, her blonde hair splayed out over the dove grey satin. Again, he felt his stomach wring, but now it was with guilt, because as he looked at her sleeping form, darkness hiding most of her face, he could still see the pull of her eyebrows, the concerns of life not leaving her even in her sleep.

Henry sighed quietly and turned on his back, his eyes studying the familiar ceiling above his head, dark beams running long lines over a canvas of white. He had a million questions he still needed answers to. And, from the way people had evaded some of his questions, he knew there was still a lot to unpack; he hadn’t even been allowed to use his phone or laptop in the hospital. Then again, now he at least had someone who probably knew it all.

A wife. How about that?

Smiling to himself, he wondered what he would do tomorrow now his every step was no longer monitored by the hawk-like eyes of the hospital staff. He could like..start making phone calls. Or send some e-mails. Or better yet... figure out what was up with the tiny details that referred to..children. Children’s seats. Smells. And.. did he see Lego pieces strewn around in the hallway?

Children, could you imagine? Henry, a dad? Sniffling in amusement, Henry turned his face back to the woman next to him. Where were the children anyways? Had she been a single mom when they met? Was a crazy ex now taking care of her brood? Did she miss them? Miss him? The ..old Henry?

No, don’t think of that.

Sighing again, Henry’s lips opened, the words so gentle he hoped it wouldn’t wake her. ‘Good night Bee.’ He watched as she shifted a little, but didn’t wake. ‘and thank you. This must be as weird for you as it’s for me, but at least we’re ..home, hmm?’ He watched her silhouette a moment longer and then turned away, the familiar streak of light from the streetlight seeping in through the cracked open door.

If only he could remember what had happened.

Chap 2 >

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#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fluff #multichapter #the accidental family #fluff #memory loss

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alien-witch-fangs-rp · 3 years

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Little Mage

Gudbrand sat with Aster bouncing around him, the happy little kit wasn't really paying attention to the lesson. More interested in the butterflies fluttering in the field, hopping with glee after them.

The giant of a man would sigh, the little one had no attention span for anything. But he did try to have patience, aware the other wasn't going to get any better at for a while. He could only try for his attention, looking over at the bright flightful insects as he thought before it dawned on him.

Taking a moment to lift his hand and flex his fingers, it had been a bit strange to have relearn harmless magic again. Giving testing flicks before making a colourful flittering light. Arching his brow slightly before sending it a little ahead of the undersized kit, and waited.

A short wait at the very least, his big blue eyes got wider at the sight of the pretty flickering light. Moving to go after it, forgetting his butterfly prey altogether. Leaping before it zipped past his nose, Gudbrand figured if he could get him to play for a bit he'd get tuckered out enough to sit still for a moment. So of course, he used the light for Aster to chase and catch or chase and lose for a moment. Getting him to eventually run and jump into his lap.

"Did you ssee?! Did you ssee?! Almossst caught," Aster would chirp excitedly, as Gudbrand attempts to wipe the dirt from the small Nov's face with effort.

He was bouncy as ever, twisting to chirp and whine at the clean.

"I did. I did, little mage. Quite the hunter you will be, but first. You need to learn how to control that spark of yours," Gudbrand would half chuckle, ruffling his fluff before having him settle down on the ground.

"Now. Little Mage, you have a big spark, and you do let out in brusts enough to be okay. But you do need to know how to channel it, give yourself a defense if I am never there for you," he'd mew softly, watching the little nov nod gently.

He would sigh softly, he didn't really want to be teaching him anything too violent. But he was aware what he was, and given that factor. It was better he did, even if personality wise he was kind of. A pushover. Innocent and kind despite every bit of bad that had happened. He dreaded the day that gentleness left.

Soon he'd shake his head of the thought, making Aster tip his head in confusion.

"Nothing little one. Now. Let's start. You'll need to focus for this, take this pebble for now and focus in on it what you want to happen to it," he'd mew gently, laying a small stone in Aster's palm.

Watching the effort of focus etch into his face, causing him to chuckle slightly. He knew he had a bit too much magic in him, nature blessed. The happier he was the more things blossomed. Angry and it would grow thick with thorns. But he didn't know the full of it yet. So this was more of test. He watch him.

Nothing.

Nothing

Nothing.

Maybe he is just too small for the spark rather than it being too big for him.

Pebble twitches. That caught him off guard by a bit. Okay he can move it.

He was half tempted to try and stop him as the pebble twitched more and cracked a little. But more. Hatched than genuine cracked apart.

He felt a shiver up his spine, like he wasn't supposed to see this at all. Little spindly legs would push out, and soon the focused effort left Aster's face. A tad surprised, before squealing excitedly.

"Look look! Desssmolt! Look, a dragon," the kit would squeak excited, shaking the the spidery dragon thing a bit.

Gudbrand didn't know how to respond beyond an awkward laugh. 'At least it's not alive,' he thought for a moment before the thing started moving more.

It pitted his gut, that wasn't something anyone could just do. Granting life to something with barely anything to use besides a single object that wasn't living to being with. Definitely the spark was too big and might even be a more dangerous thkng than he thought before hand.

He didn't know what he had on his hands but. He wasn't going to give up trying to give the little one a way to at least tame it enough.

He'd give a bit a shy chuckle when the kit gave him a confused look, ruffling his hair. Leading his hand to release the new creature into the grass. He doubted more would come from this, it was tiny even. Also figured he might have to show him real dragons at some point, because that wasn't it.

The kit wasn't upset, batting his own hands as a farewell to the creature. Knowing the phrase well, 'if you're not going to eat it, release it'.

Soon cocking his head to the side, "more lesson?"

Gudbrand would sigh a nod, "more of different lesson. Let's make a you a wand. But the type you think of. This will need a tooth or claw of yours, any wood you want, and few other things. And you craft from there. It might do you better than that other lesson. Okay?"

Aster would nod excitedly, clambering up Gudbrand fur cloak as he got up to take him inside for this. Cheering for the prospect before chanting for food, once in the hollowed tree.

The giant man would chuckle. Of course.

But he had some new worries now.

#kit!Aster #Little Mage

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twilights-800-cats · 4 years

Text

<< Allegiances || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || From the Beginning >>

Chapter 12

Mistyfoot relished the cooler dawn temperatures as she settled down with a starling, making sure to first brush away the dew from her spot with a sweep of her plumed tail. Most warriors had just gotten up and moving, and though Mistyfoot had wanted to sleep off yesterday’s journey she had one more thing to take care of that she hadn’t been able to do last night.

Nightpaw.

The small apprentice was busy this morning. Mistyfoot watched him travel in and out of the nursery with moss, looking more and more annoyed each time he was sent away. Mistyfoot had a moment to start her breakfast before Nightpaw would be available to talk, she guessed.

As she chewed her starling, Mistyfoot spotted Shadepaw heading for the elder’s den. The she-cat’s gait was stiff and her tail-tip was twitching, and beyond that, Mistyfoot recognized the spark in her eyes.

What has her tail in a twist? Mistyfoot wondered. Shadepaw had inherited her father’s temper – that much was public knowledge in ThunderClan – but otherwise she was a rather calm and collected cat. Now it seemed like she was barely keeping her frustration in her pelt. Must be some medicine cat thing.

Finally it seemed like Nightpaw was free from the nursery. The small tom staggered over to Mistyfoot, looking tired already. He flopped down and groaned, “Queens!”

“Ferncloud giving you a hard time?” Mistyfoot guessed.

“I’ve been running back and forth for moss since I woke up!” Nightpaw complained. “Ferncloud and Snowstep kept sending me back! Now my paws stink!”

Mistyfoot’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “This is their first litter,” she pointed out. “They want everything to be perfect. You can’t blame them for that.”

Nightpaw still looked cross. “Oh, as if you’d know!” he huffed. Mistyfoot took no offense from his tone, which was joking despite his annoyance. It all quickly faded. “What did you want to talk about? You’ve had another sign?”

“Hush!” Mistyfoot hissed, suddenly aware of every eye in camp. She took a moment to examine the warriors around them, looking for cats who might be staring… and unfortunately, locked eyes with the one cat she wished hadn’t been looking in her direction.

Tinystar.

“Not here,” Mistyfoot decided. There was something about Tinystar’s gaze, the way he was staring at her, that made her fur prickle. “In the forest. Sunhigh?”

Nightpaw nodded wordlessly.

Tinystar got to his paws and padded over. Mistyfoot’s heart thudded with every paw step he took. Had he overheard? Did he know? She fought not to tremble.

“Nightpaw, I want you to go on patrol with Graystripe and Whitepaw,” Tinystar meowed. “They’re heading to Fourtrees.”

Nightpaw looked perplexed. “But… Dustpelt had me on camp duties today,” he reminded his father.

Tinystar’s tail flicked. “Are you going to disobey your leader?” he queried, his tone low and serious.

Nightpaw’s eyes widened, and Mistyfoot’s saw them flash with rebelliousness – yet they tempered into a cold resignment. “No, Father,” he muttered, before turning and loping away.

Mistyfoot blinked in confusion – especially when Nightpaw met up with Graystripe and stated he was joining them. The thick-furred gray warrior looked surprised to see him.

Tinystar was already padding away when Mistyfoot switched her gaze to him. He never acts like that! She thought. Suddenly the starling between her paws seemed stale and unappetizing. Tinystar had only intervened in Nightpaw’s duties when he’d come to see her.

Did he… did he just try to stop Nightpaw from talking to me? Mistyfoot’s throat clenched, and a stone of guilt settled in her stomach. Has he just decided I’m not to interact with any apprentice? Does he think I’ll get his son killed?

“Hey, Mistyfoot?”

Cloudtail’s voice brought her out of her gloomy thoughts. The fluffy ginger-and-white she-cat was standing over her, tail-tip flicking from side to side. Her blue eyes sparked as she asked, “Want to come hunting?”

Mistyfoot nodded. She took one last bite of the starling, knowing it’d be wasted otherwise. Though it felt like eating bark, she swallowed. Hunting would be good, yes; it would get herself out of her own mind.

And maybe I can see Nightpaw in the forest while we’re out, Mistyfoot thought, trotting after Cloudtail. Maybe it’s all in my head, and Tinystar really wanted Nightpaw on that patrol…

———————————————————-

Mistyfoot did not end up meeting with Nightpaw at all for the rest of the the day. Every time she thought she had a chance, he’d been swept off on some other task, or she’d been asked to join another patrol, until finally Mistyfoot had padded in to camp to find Nightpaw sound asleep.

She felt badly. She didn’t want to keep him out of the loop – she’d promised, even if he didn’t end up leaving the Clan with her. As she settled down to sleep she resolved to meet with him the next morning – but the moment she left the warrior’s den she was swept up in the dawn patrol without a moment to check for Nightpaw’s whereabouts.

As she padded in to camp, muscles awake and ready for the day, she focused her attention on looking for Nightpaw. I just need to tell him one thing! She thought, annoyed. Why is everything conspiring to keep me from doing that?

Mistyfoot ducked her head into the apprentice’s den and sighed. Nightpaw was gone, and a quick look and scent around the clearing showed that Dustpelt was gone, too. Mistyfoot’s tail lashed. What in StarClan’s name was going on? Other apprentices weren’t even as busy as Nightpaw suddenly was! Had he misbehaved in some way? Have I?

Still, no cat was hounding her for a patrol – Mistyfoot had time to stretch her legs and look for Nightpaw herself, and maybe hunt on the way, too. She headed for the gorse tunnel, resolved.

“Mistyfoot?”

Mistyfoot halted, trying to keep her pelt from bristling at Graystripe as he approached. Whitepaw, his apprentice, padded up beside him.

“Want to come training with Whitepaw and I?” the older gray warrior asked.

Mistyfoot frowned, confused. “Why?” she asked. Crowding the training hollow with warriors who weren’t mentoring the apprentices within just wasn’t something ThunderClan did. What was the point?

Graystripe shrugged. “Something Tinystar wants to try,” he mewed. Mistyfoot found he was pointedly avoiding meeting her eye. “An order’s an order.”

It’s an order? She thought, her stomach twisting. Tinystar ordered this? Why? To rub in the fact that I’ll probably never have an apprentice again? To remind me of how badly I screwed it up with Shrewpaw?

Guilt would have pricked her paws yesterday, but now it was annoyance. She was tired of being constantly reminded that she had failed as a mentor. Still, an order was an order – Mistyfoot had to follow Graystripe to the training hollow, and look as if she was just fine with it.

———————————————————-

The sun was climbing overhead, and Mistyfoot was bored.

Graystripe and Whitepaw were training in the hollow, yes, but there was just nothing for Mistyfoot to do – Whitepaw was an older apprentice, and had already mastered basic techniques. Now it was up to Graystripe to cater the more advanced moves to his apprentice’s needs.

Spiderpaw and Mousefur joined them partway through, leaving Mistyfoot with even less to do. Despite her friendship with Mousefur, Mistyfoot couldn’t interrupt Spiderpaw’s training. All this was doing was making Mistyfoot miss Shrewpaw, making her agitated and anxious as she thought of all the things she could have done with him, had he lived.

Tinystar really must be punishing me, she decided. Because this is torture.

———————————————————-

Finally, after what seemed like an age, the training session was over.

Mistyfoot’s skull was pounding, her paws itching to be doing anything but sitting and watching. She looked up at the sky with dismay – evening was already upon the forest. She dug her claws into the sand. Was I really ordered to just waste an entire day doing nothing?

Punishing her was one thing – but making her sit like a lump was surely punishing the Clan as well! I could have been hunting or patrolling at least! She thought, lashing her tail. This is ridiculous!

Mistyfoot followed Graystripe and Whitepaw into camp, her tail dragging in the dust. Maybe I can go hunting to make up for it, she thought.

A flash of black caught her eye – Nightpaw was passing her!

Quickly Mistyfoot leaned down and hissed, “Meet me behind the nursery, as soon as possible!”

Whether Nightpaw had heard or not, Mistyfoot excused herself from Graystripe’s company and headed for the nursery. When she was sure no cat was watching, she slipped behind the brambles and into a small pocket of space between the nursery and the camp boundary. She waited there in the shadows, thorns pricking her pelt.

Finally Nightpaw appeared.

“I’m sorry!” he meowed immediately, his eyes wide. “I haven’t been able to get away at all!”

“Neither have I!” Mistyfoot breathed. “It’s been ridiculous – I just spent half the day sitting on my haunches watching apprentices train!”

Nightpaw looked ready to wail. “I-I don’t know what I did!” he sputtered. “Suddenly Tinystar is on my tail about everything I do! Even Dustpelt isn’t this bad! I didn’t tell anyone, Mistyfoot – not even Shadepaw, though I doubt she’d even listen to me… I swear it on my whiskers!”

Mistyfoot believed him; it was hard not to, from the earnest look in his eyes. She rested her tail on his shoulder. She couldn’t imagine being Tinystar’s kit – being Bluestar’s was bad enough. “We have time now,” she mewed. “And I do have more to say about my dreams.”

“Then hurry and tell me!” Nightpaw insisted. “Before we get caught!”

Mistyfoot opened her mouth to tell him about the lake and her plans to leave – but the brambles rustled at almost the exact same moment, and Tinystar pushed his way into the gap. His eyes were cold as ice as he looked upon his son and his former apprentice, his tail bristling with annoyance.

“What are you two doing here?” he demanded coldly.

Nightpaw flinched against Mistyfoot at his father’s tone. Mistyfoot frowned at Tinystar. “We’re just talking,” she insisted. “There’s no harm in that.”

Tinystar narrowed his eyes. “There is when it’s out of sight, when there’s work to be done,” he stated simply.

“I’ve been working all day,” Nightpaw complained. “I’m tired, Father!”

“So am I,” Mistyfoot agreed. Frustration smoldered in her belly. “We’ve been working twice as hard as any cat – I demand to know why!”

Tinystar’s silence filled the space behind the nursery with a chill that rivaled leaf-bare nights. It took all Mistyfoot had to keep her eyes locked on his. Nightpaw trembled beside her.

“I am Clan leader,” Tinystar hissed. “My word is law, and by the warrior code I expect obedience!”

Mistyfoot bristled.

“I will not have cats idling their time chatting when there is work to be done!” Tinystar went on, teeth bared. “Mistyfoot – since you seem to be obsessed with apprentices lately, you won’t mind taking care of the elders for the rest of the day. And Nightpaw – you will do anything but associate with this lazy excuse for a warrior - is that clear?”

Tinystar turned his back and pushed back out into camp, taking the coldness with him. Nightpaw slithered onto his belly, trembling, and whimpered.

Mistyfoot dug her claws into the earth, staring at the space her former mentor had been. He was right – his word was law – but he had never been this unfair or unreasonable before. What in StarClan’s name has gotten into him? He’s acting like…

Mistyfoot hunched her shoulders. For once, the thought of leaving the Clan seemed a good thing – even if it meant earning Tinystar’s anger legitimately.

#tb au #tb midnight

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deepintoforestwego · 5 years

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Is there anything behind my face?

She is born knowing three things.

First is that her skin is as white as snow, her lips as red as blood, her hair as black as ebony.

Second is that seven times seven men had died so that she should live.

Third is, she shouldn't exist.

( Harsh thing for child to know, much less from moment of her birth. And harsher yet, she is right.

Were we willing to waste time in such way, we could debate about morality, about whether sins of parents transfer to children, about personal responsibility and knowledge men shouldn't wield, about whether you can blame her for what her beauty drives men to anymore then you can blame fire for burning those who get close- but that isn't kind of right we are talking about here.

It is a simple truth, written in bones of world, in lifeblood of universe, in skin of night and face of day- the snow shouldn't become person, because it is impossible.

But magic never cared about such things.)

She has feared her mother from very start, you see, and perhaps that is where trouble started, or mayhaps that saved her life. She knew she shouldn't be, you see, but very little else, as she was still just a newborn, and had never seen human before, though parts of her belonged to them, of course.

And queen may have not slept in while, and was rather cold and hungry and scared, and quite dainty woman to be honest, but she had this way of holding herself that made people defer to her, and she was all wrapped up in ermine and gold velvet and pearls, and she oozed magic like an old fish oozed stench, and child could see bargain wrapping up around two of them, and well she knew nothing of sorcery and it's limitations, so she must be forgiven for assuming this woman was deity who created her.

(Like I said, it was bad idea all from the start.)

'' My goddess. You who made me.'' Said the girl, for her mother could be clever and careful when she put her mind to it, and had requested for girl to have knowledge befitting her age and station, because everything else would have been rather awkward for her, and more importantly bad for her mother's plans.

''Not exactly, my dear. I am a human, I am afraid.'' The queen answered, after some consideration, because she did like being called goddess, even though she associated it more with her young lovers and her poor mother, but it would be quite strange for princess to go around talking like that, and even queen, as hungry for flattery as she was, was made uncomfortable by thought of girl meant to be her daughter worshipping her.

''My mistress. You who own me.'' Girl stated, slowly, drawing out words, her throat feeling quite funny, speaking for first time, as languages and social norms and concepts and table manners filled her head as flood fills empty house, for girl had no memories and experiences to trouble incoming information.

''Well! That was nicely put, though accent could use some work, but not befitting somebody of your station. Try again, dear.'' Said the queen, as her face settled down in an expression more befitting on a cat who just snatched a canary, and closed her eyes, her eyelids fluttering as she imagined her servants speaking in that delightfully obedient tone, so sure of their place, below her, defined by her.

‘My mother. You who gave me life.’‘ She says, still kneeling, and years later she will forget, or try to, bury it down, of how the queen's s smile grew when she heard those words, how she sat down and embraced still kneeling girl, and flinched when her warm hands touched cold, hard skin. It bruised her arms a bit, as if she had tried to hug a statue left out too long in winter's winds.

''Yes, my dear.'' Queen said, clutching her dark hair in her fingers, embracing her so hard that she almost had trouble breathing, and breathed in her daughter's smell, harsh and sweet aroma of pitch, the comforting freshness of newly fallen snow, the sharp smell of iron and salt.

The princess, who still didn't know what perfumes were, smelled her mother, the scent of flowers and herbs permeating her clothing, and underneath it something gross and hot (she had not yet known what sweat and soft human skin were like) and wondered why they were so different, and decided that didn't matter.

They arrive to place that girl nameless supposes is to be her home in quarter of hour, faster than the queen had ever journeyed before, for magic is ever fed by passion and from the heart, and queen had been almost drunk on pride of her success, joy from what would that mean for her, from terror and euphoria girl's beauty awoke in her, and as she hadn't slept and eaten in some time, and had almost died, her emotions running high and mad, so it wouldn't be hard for her to jump over to another country.

''This is my castle.'' The mother tells her, showing her wooden ring fortress, as they stand before wooden doors of main hall, and great noise is coming from it. Were somebody to watch, they would probably think girl emotionless, the hollow heartless thing, for she shows neither fear nor wonder (well, if she wasn't so beautiful, that is, and they were able to focus on something else other than it). But truth is, she is still far too young to know about wealth and royal power, and has seen nothing but blizzard and woman she believes to be greatest sorceress in world. There is nothing yet ingrained in her to respond.

''Inside is your father, the king.'' Now this word sparks something in her, for the queen has judged it the knowledge very important, that she must learn as soon as possible. The girl knows now, that king is the most important man in world, and that if she is to be good she will be his heir and continue to make her mother proud and powerful.

She isn't sure she wants to be powerful. But mother is, and mother wants more, and mother made her so that is probably good.

She also knows what a father is. A male parent, who names you, one whom you have to respect, obey, love... but not as much as mother.

Doors open, and noise hurts but she doesn't yet know how to react. She follows mother's lead, and steps inside.

And rest of world stops for everybody else.

***

''My weregild.'' The mother coos, almost mews as she watches seven little bodies swing on rope, their faces that awful, strange purple people call blue for some reason though it's more of grey and lilac with pinch of black and scarlet, and smile doesn't leave her face, though at one point it grows stale and uncertain.

The princess learns what brothers are only later, when she has learnt enough to recognize guilt for what it is.

She doesn't yet have name for feelings that possess her, the way her stomach churns and turns at sight of those small, rotting bodies (she has never learnt what death was, it had been built in her from before she was an inkling of thought), swaying on wind as ravens come to feast.

Were she just a spell- child, body built and operated by magic, she would have felt nothing. She would have danced and spoke as her maker demanded. Were she a changeling, or just a creature snow and blood and ebony in truth, she would have looked with curiosity, or apathy, and noted how it was unjust, and how petty and strange humans are. And were she truly her mother's daughter, she would have said it was just, for as she had no childhood, so they should be denied to grow old.

But she was neither of those, so she learnt regret.

***

She doesn't like to think about her name. Much less discuss it. If you try to ask her about it, today, well good luck. Hope you will make it out with some teeth intact at least.

She has one name, and hundreds. It is same name, but always so different, like light reflecting off from one snowflake, viewed from different angles. Run away to so many countries, run for so long, and of course it is changed so many times, of course it is translated when she has such dumb name. She hates the original too, but she hates variations even more- what right do they have to change her name, to change anything about her and her damned story? And change it they do, oh yes, cutting off parts and rearranging them, calling her Snowdrop and Snow White and Snežana and Blanche-Neige and Branca de Neve and Albanix and Sneewittchen and Schneewittchen and she can't number them all, snow and whiteness everywhere...

She is well aware that her name is literal and obvious and dumb, and if you ever point it out it won't go well for you. Only once did one person ( a beautiful princess who belongs to death and dreams like her, and almost as much to flowers and briars as she belongs to snow and blood, those daughters of woods and curses), with accidental addition of too much drink, get her to talk about that, and this is what she said.

''Don't know who called me that first. I think it came from some poor bard who burst in songs about me until he died from lack of food and sleep. Detracted from glorifying me, see. Or wait, not a bard, bard's apprentice, about twelve. Might have had some Sight within him. Or it was my father, doesn't matter.

People picked it up because it was only fitting name, see. I couldn't be saddled with normal name, I was above it- and anybody else with that name would forever think of me, and it would never feel right for them. Except that now in some countries they do use my name, or version of it as a normal name so what waste of time, right?

Anyway point is they wanted to call me by something that could properly describe me and Beautiful was far too tacky and Ebony Black weird and Blood Red is just creepy so, here we are! Cheers!

The bitch never called me anything. Just my princess, my dear, my daughter. My, my, my. Always the same shit.'' And of course, this is the lie, though one she prefers to believe.

Truth is, she forgot it. She forgot all names, and only roles remained.

***

The queen did one true kindness to her, because anything else would have been incredibly harmful for her goals, and because she wasn't wholly bereft of morals and reason, and still it hurt.

She had made it, when she cast her spell, when she screamed her wish in reality, when she bargained, that her daughter would have mind befitting her seeming age. Because stupid daughter was useless, and better no child than one that had that kind of problems (queen was biggest supporter of leaving people who were anything less than perfect, or at least acceptable, to die in woods, whether they were loving father gone senile or caring brother whose arm had to be amputated), and because she hated associating with such people- and in her mind, whoever had limping leg or trembling hands, or who had problems with reading or remembering faces was worse than animal, for animals could be useful, and toothless dogs were to be put down.

The girl had barely settled in her new form, though she walked with grace unparalleled and strode with pride and strength only queen herself could outshine, when she began changing and growing. She didn't know how to feel about that, as she wasn't normal girl, and already half way past through puberty, and nobody would ever tease her, or think her anything less but most beautiful creature they had ever seen.

(Creature. A step up from thing.)

Still, it felt strange, and uncomfortable, and very wicked to have her change and grow before she had truly had chance to enjoy her girlhood. The queen, who was very clever, and knew how to nurse man from brink of death as well as she knew how to craft a drink to paralyze an ox for six hours, explained her how everything about her body worked, and how those changes were completely natural, and how she would soon grow taller and how her face would get slimmer and more mature. In fact, she was growing up at same pace as most girls did, and that delighted queen greatly, for woman grown was an enemy, and eternally young girl was useless, and not to mention a great annoyance.

(That was part of why she waited so long, until she was ready to cast her spell. It took time to find information, and to convince everybody she had lost her reason, but she wanted to put it off as far as possible, because raising child was such dull and taxing affair, and she really didn't need additional source of wrinkles.)

The princess had never woken up her parents and nurses in middle of night with her incessant crying. She had never fallen and scraped her knee and broken in hysterics. She had never climbed tree. She had never played ball. She had never been carried in her father's arms. She had never been told bedtime stories. She had never learned to read, or been tutored in counting. Her mother had never explained to her how to comb her hair. She had never had it explained to her how children are born, nor what marriage was. She had never muddied her dress. She had never played with kittens.

(She had never needed to have dying explained to her.)

She wasn't naive (spell-girls built by men often were, inexperience and weakness and dependence of child in an adult body, but her mother had grander, more arrogant fantasies, though no less sick), she wasn't stupid, she wasn't lost. She had grown, and adapted to her world, and soon all things she missed, all knowledge and experience she wasn't born with, granted by magic, became part of her.

But lacuna where her childhood should have been remained, raw and gaping, as if somebody had pulled out all her teeth before she had chance to bite a crust of bread.

***

She learns at her mother's knee.

She learns from her father, of course, because she is made the heir, and she learns history and geography and riding and politics and swordfighting and wielding axe, but it doesn't matter that much. Her father is a pale figure in her life, and ordinary man trembling before her, dead when she is three, and her mother walks through world as if she is above it, and hemlock and lily-of-the-valley grow behind her.

There was much to learn at the queen's feet, even things no child should learn, even things queen never intended to teach her. Part of it was that such were times- in those days castles were small and wooden, and courts less formal and complicated, and queens themselves worked, mending clothes and pulling their weight. It could have lessened them, made them normal women in eyes of their subjects, but her mother knew how to wrap dignity and mystery around herself. She knew how to make people kneel.

Her mother taught her domestic arts, of course. She was good, dutiful wife, and more over not sort of woman who shrank away from her duty and hard work. But more important, she taught her daughter, though girl could never be sure whether by accident or intent, how to look beautiful when doing it, how to look powerful as she spun thread, exalted as she made her own bed. When queen mended her husband's head, he lowered his head and reverently expressed his gratitude.

She taught her spellcraft, by observance at least. It was power that queen couldn't truly have shared with her even if she wanted (and she would have rather sheared her own hair than given up one of her secrets). Her mother was skilled, learned mage, if not particularly powerful by talent alone. She drew her power from gems, herbs, potions, from rings that turned you invisible, cloaks that allowed you to fly, seven mile boots.

Snow White had leanings of witch, it seemed. Hers was power of rituals and motions, of rites and ceremonies, of dances under harvest moon that changed fate of kings, of hair ribbons cut by seven grandmothers over mountain river on which mill was built to make friendship sour... or she would have, had she ever been taught. But she had been made heir, and there was much to learn, and being witch or priestess wouldn't have been good for her (pity, she would have made a good völva, she was pretty sure). She did pick up few things, though, but it was unavoidable.

Blood and mirrors, all she learnt.

***

She wondered what it was that made her beautiful.

Her skin? Her skin, so white that it blinded, white as snow that covered ground swiftly after the last harvests, like snow in which travellers met their demise, like snow that stopped wars. Her skin, which was always smooth and tight and hard, like marble, whose touch was always cool, which didn't grow blue even when she stood wet on roof during whole winter night, which always carried chill of a dead man in itself, even during midsummer.

Her lips? Her lips, with their perfect shape, and their full colour, which never paled or chapped, as if they were painted on, colour of blood seeping from fresh venison, colour of blood gushing from child's cut arteries, lips that tasted of iron and salt and minced flesh, that left bruises on cheeks they kissed, which could withstand warmth of broth just pulled from hearth (though she despised heat to such amount that she felt uneasy to spend more than few hours in room in which fireplace was lit).

Her hair? Her hair, so long and wild, spreading out like crown of ancient tree, slipping down below her waist, and yet somehow it never got tangled up in world around it, slipping like snake through all obstacles, black as ebony, as handles of spears that pierced children, as frames of windows that kept out wind and rain. Left and right it reached, like shadow of branches, like hands of bogeys, and never it got tangled, never did it get torn or weak.

Some said that when she had been growing up, that she had never had to suffer zits, or growth spurts, or ungainly limbs, that she had simply slipped in perfect ladylike adulthood. Others yet said that she suffered all indignities of childhood, of being teenager, and yet she was most beautiful of them all.

She wondered what it was that made people beautiful. There was woman with most stunning purple eyes, like lilac blossoms, like dusk sky, and people agreed she was very beautiful, but were disgusted by sight of her shoulders, filled with short, fat, coarse black hairs. There was tall man, very strong and muscled, in way that would have drawn him much attention, were it not for his crooked yellow teeth, dull chin and broken nose. There were children who had cutest, sweetest faces, with shining eyes and soft lips, who walked with bent backs and reedy fingers. It seemed all very much strange and whimsical and cruel to her, and very much useless and foolish.

She was beautiful. No, she was fair. Were she malnourished and her face slashed and mutilated, were she turned in beast, in worm or featherless bird (those two were equally dreary things, in her mother's opinion) still she would have been the best of them. When she came to doors, though they were closed, inside men waited and stopped breathing, awaiting her. They trailed after her, excited to earn her favour. Still she was a girl, and magic inside her was settling, so she wasn't fairest in the world, but one day wars would be waged for her, because of her, in her name. One day, when she had grown bitter and harsh and so much angrier, at gaze of her people would prostate themselves, and shake from being in same room with her, and they would not sleep, memories muddled and drunk, and in dreams they would swear to her again and again, for fear and love would mingle in one.

Her mother was beautiful, and sorceress, and she had killed and fucked and loved, and she had much gold, and she could make fields prosper and cows miscarry with her spells, and men dreaded her, and respected her, and loved her. Her grandmother called her Freyja made human, and paid for it.

Snow White had been called goddess, and valkyrie, and many more things. And she may have possessed spark of that true, primordial beauty, but she was mortal still. Gods were born and could die but not like men. Snow White breathed, and slept, and she could cut herself, and she could get lost, and she had thrown tantrums before, and were you to cut her throat she would die. She was not a goddess, to rule over skies and dead, at best she was an image, a shadow, a mask, shallow surface layer of divine beauty, not enough to charm stars in kneeling before her, but heavy enough that it crushed her.

(When she was young, she saw her mother's mirror once. It's frame was twisted and strained thing, contorted in ways that were hard to look at, like a dying snake experiencing a seizure. The glass was colour of frozen mercury, and reflection in it wasn't opposite of reality, and sometimes it churned and twisted, making little waves, and always it whispered.

Most people stayed away from it, and even the queen couldn't bear to be too long in room with it, but the princess was drawn to it, like iron to magnet.

''Oh. You are like me.'' Whispered the mirror, in toneless voice that echoed in her head, and it pulsed like heart, and writhed like worms in waves, and sighed as she put her cold fingers over it's surface, neither chill nor warm.)

***

It was easy to become a king, she learnt. You had to be born a prince, or earn king's favour, or lie to enough people so they would bow to you, or kill enough of them, preferably previous king too. All in all, it seemed very stupid and unfair to Snow White, who didn't really get why people needed kings, but said nothing because she knew what was appropriate, and because she was raised to inherit kingdom and didn't really think of how unjust it was outside of random musings.

It wasn't easy to become a queen, no matter what some thought and said. Any woman could be married to king, depending on how picky he was, and how much politics demanded from him, and how much he disrespected her rights. But only few became queens, true rulers, because they were taught not to seek respect and power, because they were beaten back, because game was set against them, because they were declawed and defanged and chained since earliest age, because they were taught to find pride and comfort in being silenced and starved. It took certain rare amount of cleverness and stubbornness and dedication, and, perhaps, ruthlessness, to become queen.

But Snow White didn't have to worry about that. Her mother loved her, and worked hard to ensure that her daughter would never have to go through all the trouble and misery she had to dredge through, and still she would get so much more. It was so hard for her poor mother, after all, to stand and suggest her idea to the king as he was busy being enraptured by his daughter.

How could he refuse her? How could he name anybody else but his most incredible daughter as his heir (the queen gritted her teeth), how could he dishonour her by not offering her everything he had? And would not people rebel if anybody else ruled them, would not enemies beg to be stricken down by her? So he thought, and declared, and people were outraged and shocked until they had seen her, and then ambassadors returned to their kings weeping, telling them they have been become traitors, for never could their hearts belong to anybody but queen Snow White.

Thus, thought it was expected that she would be married, for that is what normal people did, and beauty didn't prevent people from grumbling when they weren't near her, there was never much pressure for that, and everybody understood that no man would be worthy of her, and all would be blessed to have her as bride, and they would only be consorts, never kings.

It was taken for granted that there would be no problem finding suitors for her, aside from possibly having to deal with wars that rejected suitors would bring to their footsteps ( something that would easily be dealt with, not only because the king was good warrior, and the queen even better sorceress, but because any invader would have to carve their path through whole nation of berserkers ready to die for their princess, and even more ready to tear apart any who would dare to try to steal her away). It was also taken for granted that king would have to pay no dowry, and that indeed princes would be ones bleeding their people dry in hopes of winning her over.

As was only proper, the queen had been one to choose her son-in-law, for the princess had asked her so, for her mother had assured her countless times of how much she cared, how smart she was, and how much more experienced, and she would be able to choose only the best for her dear daughter, a man whose kingdom would always provide for her, a man who would be her age and always kind to her, for those were hefty favours to ask in marriage, her mother told her. Kind husband was something you had to earn, as the queen did, but since she was such kind mother and her daughter so special, she would get all the spoils without any work.

And truly, the queen chose well. Prince was the same (apparent) age as Snow White, and he was sole heir of nearby kingdom, richer and greater than one her father ruled (so greater that only thing that kept it from swallowing up their home, aside from their king's courtesy, was the queen, who knew all plans and desires of their neighbours, and could hold off the harvest and spring for years). He was said to be canny but honest, and rather good with sword and bow but pleasant, never one to seek out bloodshed. He was honourable and fair, and though well liked by ladies, hadn't dishonoured even one.

It sounded like bullshit to her, to be honest. Even her father, who was fair and wise, had his moments- he loved brawl, especially when he broke somebody's bones. And Snow White, well, she kept herself away from people, and never harmed anybody (but never helped out either), and still she had cruelty built in down to smallest piece of herself. Still, there were no whispers, no juicy gossip, and mirror found nothing unsatisfying and dangerous about him (for her mother would never lend her greatest treasure to somebody who would damage it), and so it was that Snow White was to be engaged.

The princess had met his parents, once or twice, for they sometimes rode out near borders of her country, and she had scried them, once she learnt where she was to be wed, in bronze mirror she had and rarely used for anything else. The king was thin, wiry man, with wild graying beard and wry voice, covered in pale old scars, and missing few teeth, and otherwise utterly unremarkable. His wife, a merchant's daughter they said he married for love, was short and warm woman, as sweet and well beloved as fat, greased meal in late autumn, with face as round as apple and eyes like chestnuts, or so flatterers said.

The prince was very handsome, they said. He was of fine face and figure, strong and healthy, with teeth that were nearly white, and warm eyes like amber, with flickers of gold inside it. His skin was of warm, ruddy tone, and he moved with energetic, dangerous strength and grace, as if he had fire inside himself. With his auburn hair, like wood in fall, and his clothes, all gold and russet, he was said to be as beautiful as sunrise.

He wasn't, and she envied him for that. She envied them all, him for his ordinary beauty, his mother for her soft, sweet features, his father for being unremarkable and gray.

( Snow White was a human girl, and so she was often prey to all misfortunes that plagued them, even teen woes. But as wrapped up in magic and mystery as she was, even that had to be unusual.

Truth is, Snow White is envious of everybody. There isn't a single face, single body she doesn't desire more than hers. She desires form that some would find boring, nothing special, perhaps even funny or repulsive. She envies her mother's fallen rival, her father's former lady, her brother's mother, for she is famous for her eyes as blue as sea, but princess finds neither salt nor waves nor fishes nor thousand shades and forms of water in them. She envies the cook's apprentice, for though she is known as very attractive woman, and it brings her trouble occasionally, she can talk to her brothers without them shaking with glee as they look at her. She envies her prince's mother, who is loved and respected for reasons that have nothing to do with beauty.

She has had her fair share of crushes, never acted on because they weren't appropriate for somebody of her status, because her mother wouldn't be satisfied with her choice, because they couldn't stop drooling when she passed. And so they all died, candle flames extinguished before they were anything more than a spark, leaving her to choke on guilt and longing and bitterness, to suffocate in impossible, petty desires.

She had never desired anybody because of their looks. She couldn't, because she had never been able to perceive beauty in people, because she had herself to rate them against. She looked at finest examples of human beauty and found thousand flaws, looked at them and saw how artificial it was, how dependent on right time and place and taste. Snow White could be skinned alive and have her bones broken and her head split open and covered in dirt and yet anywhere in world they would proclaim her the most beautiful.

But she couldn't be loved or desired. She was too stark and sharp and terrible for that. She wasn't a girl whose hand you could hold, woman who you could lay against, a person to hug and kiss and laugh with. Everything in her was hard and cold, like ice sculpture. She was there to be looked at, not loved. Because even as humans adored beautiful people, they didn't love ones who had truly been beautiful.

Human beauty was shallow, false and thin. All humans were equally beautiful, and they just had to work more or less on convincing others to find them attractive. But Snow White bore true beauty, heavy as mountain, truer than her father's blade. Primordial, essential, actual, her beauty was a true, divine thing, real and defined in mutable, shapeless world of human misconceptions. She was a marble statue trapped among embroidered caricatures, and she envied them so much.)

So she held no hopes, and received a grand surprise. For though her prince's eyes seemed ready to fall out of his skull, and bliss sparkled in them as tears gathered on edges, after some time he composed himself and gave her warm, cocky smile, and bowed and kissed her hand and talked with her.

They talked. They rode on horses. He laughed at her embroidery. She rolled eyes at his jokes. They showed each other their favourite hiding places. They sparred with hands and swords. He lost to her in race and she in archery. They walked in woods and put their knowledge of animals and herbs to trial. She learnt that he was truly as good and honest as he was rumoured to be, but easily bored, and he could get lost daydreaming, and loved to go sight seeing, and fussed too much about his clothes. He learnt that she liked to forage berries, and kept falcons, and hated jewellery, and was horrible dancer. They had even argued few times!

She fell in love with him, a little. Enough that they kept contact when she ran away. Enough that he wanted to expose queen's crimes. Enough that he wanted to give her honour of burial. Enough that when he died, she walked away.

Enough that he said nothing, when she commissioned shoes for her mother.

('' I wish he'd at least pretend to treat me like person.'' She had whispered, standing alone in his father's corridors, and when she met him she believed he was somehow immune to her beauty , that he saw person underneath.

''Stop with that!'' She shouted, when men offered her their hearts, and they did, and only later she noticed that some people adored her in quiet, steadfast way, no less terrible but much subtler, because they didn't want to die for her, they wanted to serve her.

''I love you.'' She told him, and of course he said yes, of course he loved her, he had to, even as he laid dying, and years later she kept wondering whether she imagined something russet and golden running at end of corridors.)

***

When she is queen, she will keep her chambers bare.

Everything about her will be bare, and simple, and cold. They will say, her husband’s people, when they are far away from her, that it is because she comes from colder, humbler, more barbarian kingdom that she is unused to fine luxury (she likes simple things because she spent so much time in the woods, they say, not understanding how rich, how elaborate, how beautiful everything was there, roots mingling and binding each other in knotwork, impossible shapes in bark, flowers worth more than jewels everywhere around her.)

There will be no excess, no luxury in her sanctuary. No tapestries, no costly furniture, no mirrors. Only bare, chill stone and bed to uphold a minor illusion of normalcy ( a girl of ice and death born, she has slept on Forest floor, and dreamed in mines, and slumbered in coffin of glass and gold). No satin, no velvet, no silk, no gowns or embroidery or crown, for she has no need of them.

No jewellry. Nobody will again tell her she is as precious as gems at her throat.

***

She doesn't dream. She remembers. She remembers memories that are not hers, lodged in between her flesh and bones.

She remembers winter. Always, always it is with her, more crucial than breath, than her name, almost as important as her beauty. She remembers cold of Niflheimr and of coming of first spring. She remembers snowflakes forming in clouds and melting on human faces, the mountain tips lined with white, the ice covering pines, the frost on abandoned blades, the rime that gathers at hem of lost shawls, the chill creeping over river's stones, the snowdrops rising from forming poodles, the crunch of frozen ground as her mother goes to border of Forest.

She remembers having bark, which protected her from rain, and wind, from cold and bugs. She remembers having roots, digging through soil, pulling water and minerals from ground, reaching out to taste sunlight. She remembers how it felt when sap coursed through her, her branches swaying on wind, her leaves remaining green even in winter as those of her neighbours turned brown and red and fell, remembers feeding on rotting flowers and grass caressing her trunk, the seeds falling and spreading, birds making nest in her crown, the queen's knife cutting branches off, off, off.

She remembers being warm, and flowing, being inside the veins. She remembers being child crying for parents lost to plague, the leper cast out of town, the old woman begging for scraps. She remembers warm, concerned voices of mothers who aren't hers, remembers being father, and having gray hair, and being hungry, and told she is ugly (in waking world she cannot imagine that feeling bad, but in dream it is, remembers childhoods that aren't hers. She remembers being scared of bleeding, being cold, and queen saving her/him/them, of being servants and obeying all her wishes, being trusted, and she remembers the blade, the curse, flowing over figure made out of snow until it turns pink, staining and clotting upon ebony talismans.

She dreams of hands upon her throat, and dying, and melting, losing everything, going to no hall, rejoining earth and water and coldness, and it is so peaceful that she almost regrets when she wakes up...

These are terrors that follow her in her dreams. In waking world, she cannot escape seven boys, running after her like most loyal dogs, begging to serve her.

***

At edge of every kingdom there is Forest.

There is difference between a forest and the Forest, just as there is difference between beautiful person and Snow White. The first is just bunch of trees and animals, which, perhaps bit scary at night, can be cut down and cleared away. But the Forests, are so much more, existing outside of civilized world, thinking and feeling and hungering, holding darkness and treasures and monsters within. Place where secrets are born, where miracles go to die, where Quests are done.

The Forests don't like people. They say that Forests were forged from Ymir's dying curse, and therefore there is terrible, chaotic power in them. Thousands of years ago, they marched against them, marched against whole world, and in three days humanity was crushed. For the Forests were grown before intelligent life came to be, and they despised men and their accomplishments. And so no weapon, no spell, no thing made by mortal hands held power within Forests. The strongest sorcerers were rendered powerless, and sharpest blade failed to cut.

It waits for her. Castle where she grew was far away from Forests, so far away that you couldn't even see it on horizon, even as a dark line, but Snow White felt it every day. Being a human girl, somewhat, she didn't know how to feel about it, and sometimes she could ignore it so well that she forgot it's existence, and sometimes it occupied all her thoughts.

(Were she only a spell-child, she would have noticed nothing. Were she a changeling, each day she would have felt same, and knew exact reason why. But mortal she was, and thus she was plagued with uncertain heart.)

Whether she wants or not, someday she will go to the Forest. Things like her must, just as snow must fall. She is too strange and cursed, even for a world full only of witches. She is meant for legends, and some tale will dig it's claws in her, and every tale has it's beginnings in Forest, even ones who have nothing to do with them. And she dreads when that day comes, because in Forest no spell can last, and what shall happen to her then?

(They are at her mother's hidden halls, as they are at every of her birthdays. She is seven, but to rest of the world she is twenty. She rides out, and huntsman accompanies her.

She is always accompanied by somebody, of course, because she must be protected, because always there is danger she would be kidnapped, for who wouldn't want to possess her? The huntsman is young, and good looking, or so she supposes. To her he looks like washed out, boring bunch of bones and flesh, but other girls say he is handsome, and to his misfortune queen agrees. But he is young, and he wants to live, and he is smart, but he has got conscience and she is so beautiful, that he breaks down and confesses everything.

A mother willing to kill her own daughter, and eat her intestines. Sounds horrible, but once they spend some time with princess people understand, even if they believe she was born like them. To live alongside somebody so beautiful, to be outshined while you grew older, weaker, as death came closer, that was horrible enough, but knowledge that nothing you ever do will help you come even closer to impossible ideal that is Snow white is horrible enough. Nobody could live with her, no more than they could gaze in Sun for years.

And besides, beauty like that, it doesn't belong to this world, doesn't come from it, and as such isn't meant to exist there. Beauty like that, it is meant for higher, greater places, not this dreary, low world. It is meant to be a tragedy, a warning, something to mourn for forever even if we never had it. Girls like that, they exist to be beautiful corpses, because no matter what they say, it doesn't matter because nobody will care for anything else but their faces, so this way they do favour to everybody. You can't blame the queen, they say, and after all, makes sense for one who created her to be one to get rid of her.

For first time in her measly seven years of life, Snow White understands how her mother thinks. And she knows what will happen were she to face her.

She turns, and runs in heart of the Forest, in darkness, because it's monsters are at least honest.)

***

She is five hundred and sixty three years old when she sacrifices first child to escape.

Oh, not in usual sense, not yet anyway (it will be little bit longer before she drags children to crossroads at midnight and spills their blood and cooks their hearts to buy escape). Of course, she has killed young people, and somebody's children before, some of them her own descendants, but she has never sacrificed any child. She hasn't taken something innocent and powerless and blameless and cut it's life short to buy few more seconds, because that isn't how story goes. people tell it, and they believe, and souls are dragged from death to relieve it. And hers is simplest story. The queen is powerful, and she desires her death, and Snow White runs until she is caught and put in glass coffin, and then everything begins anew.

She has lived near village for some seven years by then, wrapped up in shawls and masks, because even though it doesn't stop people from gazing in awe it stops them from kneeling, because they only feel her beauty, don't see true miracle of her face. She has kept out of troubles, and even worked in mines so help the village, and she has scried lost children and horses in ice and coins, and brought them home from deep dark woods. And yet, man whose broken leg she healed heard rumours, and connected dots, and went in wide world to tell the queen. And what could she do, but take off her shawls and masks and go down, as they parted before her, as they knelt, and drag his only daughter from her home with but a smile.

''You did a cruel, horrible thing. You were hurting, and you wanted to settle accounts, so you decided to be unfair as well. it didn't help you in the end, but you decided destroying something small and blameless will make you feel better.'' The old, ugly woman with burned face and shadowed hood, dressed in grey and russet tells her, as they hide in cave, as she tends Snow White's wounds and ignores her beauty, as she holds her even as death tries to drag her down. Snow White ignores it- the world had walked over, broken and spat out Cinderella, letting her be nothing but slave, nothing but ceaseless, unpaid servant, nothing but role assigned by her story. She doesn't understand revenge because she has no hope, no happiness, no way out from her life, but Snow White won't be broken like that. Snow White will be strong for them both.

''Do you love me? Do you dare think you are worthy of sight of me? Prove it to me!'' She roars, cackles, smirks as traitor cries, as lighting races from her mother's shining rings, and girl cries and nods, laughs and bows and jumps in front of blazing magic to protect the fairest thing in the world.

For @slavicwitchling ‘s birthday, hope you like it my dear. Sequel to this drabble.

#character:snow white #Story:Snow White #fairy tale retelling #fantasy

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espytalks · 4 years

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ive been drawing for quite a while. and looking through my old art, i found ive been drawing online for a whole flippin decade. wow.

so here’s 10 drawings ive done over the last 10 years, with commentary. it’s a long one, though, so be careful.

2010:

I had to dig through my deviantart for these first two. This pikachu is the first thing i ever posted online! i remember drawing this in ms paint with a mouse. i remember being very proud of this, and in a way, i still think it’s cute. it has a “drawing my kid done that i hung on a fridge’ vibe.

i didn’t do much around this time. i barely knew how the internet worked, and i mainly read instead of drawing. i did some pokemon sprite edits though, for some reason. i remember really liking doing that.

2011:

i’m pretty sure i drew this mew in gimp. also with a mouse, because i had no idea tablets existed. ive always been super into pokemon, and around this time i think i was watching a lot of mickey mouse cartoons? it’d explain the weird style.

i’m impressed with the shading, though. i did the best with what i knew, and what i could figure out on my own. not pictured is the hundreds of mickey sketches i did around this time, or the self insert oc i made lol.

2012: oh no it’s pony time. i spent about 5 years drawing primarily these things. kinda wish i hadn’t in hindsight, but ah well.

i had this program on my ds that i could draw and post my art on, and i was using it a lot around this time. a lot of my art has this sketchy look to it, because of that. i remember i had quite a few followers on it, or at least i think i did. i dunno if that website still exists, or if anyone even uses it anymore.

but anyways, this drawing is super cute. ya can’t go wrong with a sleeping pone. i forgot the cutie mark, tho. i always forget minor important details like that. either that or i drew her as a filly. can’t remember.

2013: yeah, i think this as vent art? can’t remember, but i drew it on that same program. i put a lot of effort into the perspective. this was based on my room at the time, btw.

2014: i believe this was for a new artist’s training grounds on eqd. i must’ve had a tablet by now, cause i can see tapering in the lineart. it was a big deal for me, and it sucks that i can’t remember what the first ting i drew with it was. i think it was some sketches.

but you can definitely see some improvement by now. i was really getting used to drawing this one thing. but a lot of people following me seemed to like my art back then. it was called cute, and expressive and cartoony.

i think this was around the time i was at my best, as far as notes and interaction goes.

2015: *megalovania intensifies*

i was super into undertale at the time. and 2014-15 was when i started to try and draw other things aside from ponies. you cal tell my poses and anatomy is mega awkward and kinda bad here, but this was a major improvement for me.

2016: i was a fan of steven universe since it first aired, but i very rarely drew fanart for it. but as i was getting more comfortable with drawing peole, i got more ambitious with the characters i tried to draw.

i also from around this point on tried to get better at traditional art. and i think this was the first inktober i tried, but i don’t think it was the first i finished.

i really liked this drawing. and i may or may not have a wip redraw of this going on right now. wish me luck!

2017: KNOOOOOXXXXX I LOVE YOU, YOU PRECIOUS BOI

this is my favorite drawing. i peaked here and i will never be as good and pure as this single icon i did. it’s purple, he’s happy, it’s PASTEL AND SPARKES!!!!

i also got super into bendy and the ink machine this year, which sparked a renewed interest in trying to improve in drawing, and also led me to create my favorite oc ever.

i think i improved a lot around this time. my shapes and anatomy became cleaner and more consistent. on a technical level, i think this is where i started getting really good as an artist.

2018: i don’t think i improved a lot this year. i honestly feel like ive stagnated since then, and depression hasn’t helped.

it’s a tough choice between this and the hollow knight drawing for best drawing of the year, but this is my personal favorite. sorry, mm, but mickey will always win out in my opinion. i know ya liked the other one though, and it’s also really good.

i like how this turned out, and i’m so glad it’s got the most notes of anything else ive drawn. it’s pretty, and i love the style. this is how i wish i drew all the time.

2019: and finally we have this.

i don’t care how poorly this did. i was proud of myself for doing this. it’s cute and pretty and i like it. I created a vague story where she’s a little astronomer who’s like, caged for some reason, but now she’s free.

in hindsight, i think i coulda done a lot better, but i still like it. it’s one of my favorites that ive done this year. i wish i drew more this year, but the last few months ive been super depressed. it’s been hard to want to draw anything, and i feel so uncreative and mediocre.

i’m hoping next year i’ll be better, and i’ll have stuff in my personal life more sorted out, and i won’t feel as bad.

this was nice, though. i’m glad i looked through my old art. maybe i’ll figure out what i’m missing, and get back on track. and maybe i’ll finish these wips i have going on lol. we’ll see.

happy new year, everyone. and may this next decade be even better for us all as creators, and as people.

#espy talks

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need1etail · 5 years

Text

TaS - Chapter One

Alderpaw shuddered as a cool breeze drifted through the entrance of the leader’s den. He couldn’t believe leafbare was already here, so soon. Not long ago, he had been trekking beneath warm, blue skies, almost home from his quest. He sighed.

“So?” Snowbush’s mew snapped Alderpaw out of his thoughts. He turned back to the white-and-ginger tom, whose tail was twitching. He sat next to his mate, Lilyheart. Her pelt was rising as she stared at Bramblestar. “Are we going to get Violetkit back?”

Alderpaw cringed. He’d been wanting to avoid any conversation about Violetkit lately. The thought of the young kit made his belly churn and his chest ache. He didn’t know if she was okay or not, like Twigkit was here, in ThunderClan.

Bramblestar sighed and shared a glance with Leafpool, then Squirrelflight. The deputy’s eyes were cold. “Snowbush, Lilyheart,” he began, blinking at the two cats. “I understand how much you care about Violetkit and Twigkit’s well-beings, but . . .” He paused, as though he needed to choose his words carefully. “Bringing Violetkit back to ThunderClan wouldn’t be worth the trouble.” Lilyheart’s pelt rose and Squirrelflight scoffed. Bramblestar knew he had made a mistake.

“All kits are worth it, Bramblestar,” Lilyheart hissed. Alderpaw’s heart ached for the she-cat. She might be thinking of Seedpaw. Her sister had died in the flood, trying to find the Stick of Fallen Warriors. He wasn’t alive at the time, but Squirrelflight told him how distraught Lilyheart was after her sister’s death. “Violetkit and Twigkit need each other!” Her voice broke.

“Lilyheart, there is nothing we can do now,” her leader sighed. “I am sorry. I cannot cause a war between ThunderClan and ShadowClan.”

Lilyheart hissed and rushed out of the den, her eyes glassy with emotion. Alderpaw’s pelt prickled.

Snowbush let out a long sigh. “I’ll take care of her,” he meowed. “She’s grieving, Bramblestar.”

“I understand.” Bramblestar dipped his head to the younger warrior. “If there is anything else I can do to help, please, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“How are the other kits?” Alderpaw spoke up, getting to his paws. They were close to Violetkit, just like Lilyheart was.

“They’re grieving as well,” Snowbush murmured. His eyes were beginning to glass over with tears. “I’ll go check on them. Thank you for speaking with Lilyheart, Bramblestar.” Alderpaw watched him slink out of the den, his tail dragging in the dirt.

“Let’s return to the medicine den, Alderpaw,” Leafpool meowed, exiting the den behind Snowbush.

Alderpaw looked at Bramblestar, who was staring at his paws with a dull look in his eyes. Alderpaw wished he could speak to his father about Violetkit, but he decided against it. It seemed that Squirrelflight wanted to speak to him anyway.

Alderpaw took a long, deep breath through his nose when he left the den, taking in the crisp, leaffall air. Half of him longed for greenleaf back, but the other half enjoyed the cool air and the changing of the leaves. The ones that already fell crackled under his paws.

Twigkit was sitting outside the medicine den, playing with an orange leaf in her tiny paws. Alderpaw felt guilt rush through him when he saw her. I wish we could bring Violetkit back, he wanted to tell her.

Leafpool pressed against her apprentice, as if she read his mind. “She still has Leafkit, Honeykit, and Larkkit,” she murmured to him as they slipped into the den.

“But they’re nearly five moons old,” Alderpaw reminded her. “They’re far too boisterous for Twigkit.” He sighed and shook his head. “Violetkit and Twigkit need each other.” Anger rushed through him. “Bramblestar could at least do something.”

Leafpool sighed as she began to sort through thyme. “Bramblestar just wants peace.” She blinked at him. “I’m sure that Violetkit is okay in ShadowClan.”

Alderpaw’s heart ached as he thought of Needlepaw ripping Violetkit away from her sister, completely ignoring the kits’ cries. He remembered Tawnypelt’s cold demeanor toward Bramblestar and Squirrelflight. Anger overpowered Alderpaw’s sadness as he thought of Needlepaw. How dare she hurt the kits this way. He growled to himself.

Twigkit’s squeal of excitement caught Alderpaw’s attention. The gray kitten batted the leaf into the air, then leaped, her short tail whipping to balance her as she spun in the air. Nimbly, she caught the leaf between her forepaws.

“She’s agile. I think one day she’ll be able to jump higher than anyone in ThunderClan.” Leafpool watched with approval sparking in her eyes. “Her ears haven’t opened yet. I wonder if they ever will.”

Alderpaw nodded, looking at her folded ears. They were cute. He watched as she tumbled into the medicine den, knocking into a pile of borage. She jumped to her paws and shuffled them. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

Alderpaw sighed. “Don’t worry about it dear,” he mewed. “Why don’t you play with Briarlight for a bit?” He turned to the brown she-cat, who brightened at the idea of playing with the kit.

“Yes!” Briarlight purred, getting herself up on her front paws. “Come on, Twiggy, let’s head outside and play with a moss ball.”

Twigkit squeaked in excitement as she rushed out of the den. Briarlight followed close behind. She blinked when Graystripe nearly ran into her. “Hey, dad!” she purred, rubbing against him. “Are you here for your joints again?”

Graystripe sighed and shook his head. “Not mine,” he told her, “your mother’s.”

“Aw,” Briarlight mewed. “Tell her I hope she feels better.”

“I will,” her father promised. He watched her leave the den, his eyes sparkling at her with pride. “She’s doing so well.” His purr was so loud. Alderpaw was glad the elder was happy. “By the way, Leafpool and Alderpaw, Bramblestar wants to see you.”

Alderpaw blinked in surprise. We were just there, he thought. Why didn’t he ask us to stay?

“You should probably hurry,” Graystripe pushed the rest of the way into the den, “Russetstar is with him.”

Alderpaw’s ears perked. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I just did.” The old gray tom purred and grabbed the comfrey he needed between his jaws, before leaving the den.

Alderpaw left the den behind Graystripe and glanced at Twigkit. Did something happen to Violetkit? Anxiety grasped at his chest with two cold claws. Was Needlepaw not able to keep her promise? He glanced at Twigkit, who seemed to want to follow him. “Stay here with Briarlight, okay?” he told her.

“Yeah,” Briarlight purred, nudging the kit. “Come on, little branch, I’ll race you to the fresh-kill pile.”

Twigkit brightened. “Okay!” she squeaked. The two cats dashed toward the fresh-kill pile. Briarlight lifted her legs to make it so that she could run faster, and Alderpaw could see the awe on Twigkit’s face.

“Come on, Alderpaw,” Leafpool meowed.

Alderpaw nodded. He noticed Lilyheart and Daisy stretched outside the nursery, soaking up the meager warmth. Leaffall left a chill in the air, but the cliff of the stone hollow sheltered the camp from the blustery breeze that was stirring the branches outside. Leafkit, Larkkit, and Honeykit were nosing around the fallen beech, poking their noses through the gaps in the woven walls of the apprentice’s den.

“There’s so much room inside!” Leafkit cried.

“I want a nest in the middle,” Larkkit announced.

“Sparkpaw’s nest is there already,” Honeykit sighed. “I can see it.”

Alderpaw missed his days in the apprentice den with an ache. He missed training with his sister, not that he didn’t enjoy being a medicine cat. Sparkpaw was his best friend, now that his journey was over, him and his sister barely spent time together.

Leafpool’s mew distracted Alderpaw from his thoughts. “I hope the patrols come back soon,” she mewed. “The fresh-kill pile is empty.”

Alderpaw glanced at the bare patch of earth. Ivypool, Whitewing, and Dovewing paced beside it. It seemed that one of them had given the last bit of prey to Briarlight and Twigkit. Hadn’t they brought prey back from their own patrol? Perhaps they’d met Russetstar before they had a chance to hunt. They gazed through narrowed eyes at the muscular ginger she-cat as she stood beside Bramblestar on the Highledge. Squirrelflight was there as well, not hiding her clear anger at the ShadowClan leader, and so was Jayflight, who sat next to his mother, shuffling his paws in impatience.

Alderpaw’s pelt prickled as he sat next to Bramblestar. He seemed distracted as he gazed at Russetstar. Alderpaw couldn’t tell if he was angry at the leader or if he was only thinking about Violetkit. A twinge of anger at his father flickered in Alderpaw’s chest for letting Violetkit go so easy.

Then he sighed and turned to them, his expression grave. “Littlecloud is dying.” He lowered his gaze from Leafpool. Alderpaw knew the two medicine cats were very close.

Leafpool’s eyes darkened with grief. “Is he suffering?”

“Snowbird is with him now,” Russetstar told her. “She’s given him poppy seeds to ease his pain, but she doesn’t know what else to do.” There was a flash of desperation in Russetstar’s eyes. Alderpaw suddenly felt bad for the leader. Littlecloud wasn’t just her medicine cat, he was her friend. She must have lost a lot of friends already, depending on her age.

Leafpool flicked her tail. “If only you’d chosen a medicine cat apprentice moons ago,” she fretted. “Littlecloud would have someone to care for him properly.”

“And ShadowClan would have a medicine cat after him,” Squirrelflight huffed.

Russetstar’s fur ruffled as she glared at the bold deputy. “I didn’t come here for your deputy to lecture me!”

Squirrelflight stepped toward her. “Yes, you came here to ask for help,” she spat. Bramblestar sent his mate a warning glance, but she didn’t back down. “After you took Violetkit, you expect us to help you?”

Russetstar sneered. “I would have gladly gone to any other Clan,” she growled, “but Leafpool is one of Littlecloud’s closest medicine cat friends. I decided ThunderClan would be the best to ask.”

Alderpaw looked at his mother, blinking at her. She had been nothing but kind to Twigkit since ShadowClan took Violetkit away. She seemed to want the black-and-white kitten back s much as Lilyheart and Snowbush. But, there was no use getting Russetstar all worked up. If she needed help, Alderpaw knew they should be kind and respectful. “Can I help?” he asked, his voice soft.

Jayflight spoke up from beside Squirrelflight for the first time. “You are not borrowing the medicine cat apprentice,” he told Russetstar, his eyes narrowing. Alderpaw saw how unnerved the russet leader got as he stared at her with his unblinking, blind gaze. He remembered feeling that same way when Jayflight stared directly at him. But now, he was used to Jayflight’s eyes trained on him, especially since they spent a lot of time together, even before the journey to SkyClan.

Russetstar’s unnerved expression changed to a scowl. “I don’t want an apprentice. Littlecloud needs proper care.”

Alderpaw twitched his tail in indignation. I can care for Littlecloud just as well as Leafpool.

“I’ll go then,” Leafpool announced.

“Thank you.” Russetstar let out a sigh of relief. “Grassheart’s kits are due any day. Dawnpelt and Snowbird will be able to help her when she’s kitting, but it’s her first litter. I’d prefer to have a medicine cat close by to help if there are any difficulties.”

Leafpool nodded while Alderpaw shifted his paws. It sounded strange to hear the ShadowClan leader speak with such concern about her Clanmates. After the night Russetstar invaded the camp, Alderpaw felt that the she-cat was only ruthless and cruel. Had he been wrong? Hope flared in his chest. Maybe Violetkit was as safe and loved in ShadowClan as Twigkit was in ThunderClan.

“I’ll fetch the herbs and come as soon as I am able to.” Leafpool turned toward Jayflight. She sighed and blinked at him. “Can you please take care of Alderpaw while I’m away?”

Alderpaw looked at his cousin with a smile. Jayflight’s whiskers twitched in what Alderpaw could guess was frustration. “Very well,” he huffed. “It’s not like I’ve spent half his life as a medicine cat training him, anyway.” Alderpaw laughed and pressed against Jayflight. “You better be on your best behavior, Alder.”

“Promise, big brother,” Alderpaw purred, nudging him with his shoulder.

“Alderpaw, why don’t you help me carry the herbs,” Leafpool mewed. “I won’t be able to carry them all myself.” She then glanced at Jayflight. “Can you care for the Clan while we’re gone?”

“Fine,” Jayflight huffed. “Just send Alderpaw straight back when you’re finished.” Alderpaw could tell that the gray tabby wasn’t angry at Alderpaw, but at Leafpool. Being treated like a medicine cat when you’re a warrior must be frustrating. He nosed his way past Alderpaw and Leafpool. “Let’s see how well you know your herbs before you leave.”

Alderpaw began to follow, but he felt Bramblestar's tail run down his spine. “Wait.”

Alderpaw glanced back in surprised as Bramblestar dipped his head to Russetstar. “You should leave now. Your Clan must need you at a time like this. Leafpool will travel to your camp as soon as she can.”

Russetstar nodded. “Thank you for your help,” she mewed in a formal fashion. Alderpaw wondered what it had cost her to come to ThunderClan for their assistance. ShadowClan cats were not known for swallowing their pride. Chin high, Russetstar padded past Alderpaw and leaped down the tumble of rocks. She crossed the clearing, avoiding the curious of Whitewing, Ivypool, and Dovewing. She disappeared through the thorn tunnel.

Alderpaw faced Bramblestar expectantly. Why had he asked him to wait? Did he have news about Violetkit after all?

“We’re sending a patrol.” Bramblestar’s mew was soft. Squirrelflight’s eyes were scanning the clearing as if searching for twitching ears among her Clanmates. But Dovewing and Whitewing were talking to each other, heads close. Ivypool had followed Russetstar out of the camp. Lilyheart and Daisy were still dozing, Brackenfur now with them, while the kits clambered along the fallen beech. Twigkit and Briarlight were playing with the moss ball once more. Bramblestar went on: “To search for SkyClan.”

Alderpaw’s heart leapt. Thank StarClan! Anger clawed its way though Alderpaw as he remembered his failed journey to find SkyClan. The idea of Darktail’s vicious rogues driving out the long-lost Clan from their home in the gorge made him feel sick. He found one cat, Frecklewish, who he was sure died to Darktail’s claws.

StarClan’s prophecy had been hard to understand since the beginning: Embrace what you find in the shadows, for only they can clear the sky. But it had led to the quest: Bramblestar and Sandstorm had been convinced that they must find SkyClan. Instead, Alderpaw and Needlepaw had found Twigkit and Violetkit, abandoned in a shadowy tunnel. Everyone believed now that the two motherless kits would “clear the sky”, but Alderpaw couldn’t help wondering if they needed to find SkyClan after all. He wanted to finish what he started. “Can I go?”

“We’re sending Squirrelflight, Lionblaze, and Rosepetal,” Bramblestar told him. “We need you here.”

Alderpaw blinked, disappointment replacing his excitement. Half of him felt sorry for Lionblaze and Rosepetal: they just got home from their journey, wouldn’t they want to rest? But he knew Bramblestar was only sending them because they knew the way to the gorge.

“As far as the rest of the Clan knows,” Squirrelflight continued for Bramblestar, “we’re searching for Twigkit and Violetkit’s parents.”

Alderpaw tensed. “Then Twigkit mustn’t hear about it. I don’t want her getting her hopes up.” When he’d found Twigkit and Violetkit, they were only a few days old. No queen would abandon kits so young unless she had no choice, was completely heartless, or she was dead.

Bramblestar shifted his paws. “The Clan will be as worried as you about getting Twigkit’s hopes up unnecessarily. No cat will want to tell her anything. All Twigkit will now is that a patrol is out . . . well, patrolling.”

Alderpaw glanced at the top of the hollow, remembering the long journey to the gorge. Then he looked at Squirrelflight. “Do you think you’ll find SkyClan.”

“Only StarClan knows.” Squirrelflight blinked at Alderpaw, then glanced behind him to the medicine den. “You’d better get back to your duties. It looks like some cats are waiting for you.”

Alderpaw glanced over his shoulder, following his mother’s gaze. He expected to see Jayflight beckoning to him in impatience. Instead, he saw little Twigkit, shifting her paws in impatience, at the edge of the clearing, her eyes fixed on him. How long had she been there? Had she overheard their conversation?

As Bramblestar and Squirrelflight turned toward their den, Alderpaw scrambled down the tumble of rocks.

Twigkit scampered across the clearing to meet him. “Leafpool says you’re going to ShadowClan.” Her eyes were bright with excitement. “Can I come?”

Alderpaw blinked at her, wishing she could. She hadn’t seen her sister since they’d been separated half a moon ago. He wondered for a moment whether to ask Leafpool or Bramblestar for permission. Then he imagined telling Twigkit they needed to leave ShadowClan, taking her sister away from her once more. His heart ached.

“Can I?” Twigkit asked again, lifting her front paws hopefully.

“No,” Alderpaw told her, regret in his mew. “You’re too young to leave camp.”

Sadness glistened in Twigkit’s green eyes.

“I’m sorry—” he began. But before he could finish, Twigkit hared toward the nursery.

“Wait there!” she called to him. “I won’t be long!”

He watched her go, wondering what she was up to.

Beside the honeysuckle wall of the elder’s den, in a dip that caught the morning sun, Graystripe was washing comfrey pulp into Millie’s fur. Millie’s eyes were half-closed, satisfaction showing in the slits as she worked the herb into her spine. Alderpaw dipped his head as he caught Graystripe’s yellow gaze.

Graystripe lifted his muzzle, green pulp staining his jaws. “Let me know if you need help gathering more comfrey before the frosts comes,” he called. “I may not be fast enough for mice these days but I sure can stalk herbs.”

Millie purred. “You can hunt mice as well as any warrior, my dear,” she told him.

“Why bother,” Graystripe asked, “when I can let the youngsters catch them for me?”

Twigkit squeezed out of the narrow entrance of the bramble nursery. Alderpaw could see that she was carrying a red feather between her jaws.

She trotted toward him and laid it carefully at his paws. “Will you give this to Violetkit?”

“A feather?” Alderpaw looked at it, a pang in his heart. It seemed like a small offer, but Twigkit was staring at it with an excited spark in her eyes.

“Violetkit found one before they took her away,” she told Alderpaw. “She wore it behind her ear cause she thought it was pretty. It was smaller than this one, but Violetkit left hers behind and Lilyheart accidentally threw it away when she was cleaning out the old bedding. But I found this one at the edge of the camp the other day, and I knew Violetkit would love it.” She stared up at Alderpaw, eagerness glistening in her kitten-blue eyes. “You’ll take it to her, won’t you? And tell her it was from me?”

Guilt prickled through Alderpaw’s pelt. If it weren’t for the prophecy StarClan had shared with him, the Clans wouldn’t have squabbled over the kits. They’d still be together, not in different Clans. They could play together instead of sending feathers by messenger. At least they’re alive. Alderpaw shook out his pelt. If it weren’t for the prophecy, he and Needlepaw might never have found them, and they’d have died, alone under the Thunderpath.

He licked Twigkit fondly on the head. “Of course I’ll give it to her. And I’ll tell her that you’re thinking of her.” As Twigkit nuzzled his cheek, purring, he picked up the feather and headed toward the medicine den.

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chainsawbettyloo · 7 years

Note

Bitch you know its incest and ship it anyways??? please go outside and realize that incest is immoral

Corrin came to an abrupt halt right in front of the armory, slapped his closed fist into the palm of his other hand and came very close to saying out loud, “I really want to suck Xander’s cock.”

Thankfully, he managed to keep that rather lewd statement to himself, which was a very good thing because Sakura and Elise were conversing with one another only a few feet away. That would not have been a fun thing to bounce back from, especially since he didn’t want to have to spend the next twenty minutes explaining that kind of thing to those two. Elise probably wouldn’t care but Sakura...he wasn’t even sure she knew what sex was, let alone what a blowjob was. Regardless, despite the near snafu, he still really did want to suck Xander’s dick right then, at that moment. He just needed to go about finding him.

He set off, fully expecting to having to search for a while to find him but, to his surprise, all he had to do to find him was to turn around. Standing a short distance away, right outside the arena, conversing with a smiling Laslow, was Xander. A little startled that it was that easy but happy he didn’t have to spend an extraordinarily long time just looking, Corrin dashed over to them, probably looking a bit too eager as he went. As he neared, Xander turned and smiled down at him.

“Hello, there, my little prince.” He said, reaching out with one hand towards him.

“Hello, Xander. Hello, Laslow.” Corrin responded, panting a little. Skidding to a halt beside them, he offered up a smile and took hold of the hand offered to him, “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Oh, no, I was just finishing up.” Laslow said, returning the grin before turning to look back up at Xander, “I will take my leave now, my lord. Don’t hesitate to call for me if you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you, Laslow.”

With that, Laslow gave a short bow then smoothly strode away, towards the spa, Corrin noted. Probably hoping to catch a peek of something he shouldn’t be seeing. That one played a dangerous game, especially with Xander has his Lord. Warm fingers suddenly brushed gently against his cheek, causing him to start slightly. Turning back towards Xander, Corrin felt his heartbeat pick up a little when a warm, adoring gaze met his home.

“And what can I do for you, my little prince?” Xander asked softly.

“Are you busy right now?”

“Not at all. For now, my time is entirely devoted to you.”

“Perfect,” Corrin grinned widely, “come with me, then.”

Without waiting for a reply, he began tugging him somewhere that he knew no one would bother him. Unbeknownst to everyone else, there was a small alcove underneath the steps of their main hall - the entrance was practically invisible to the naked eye, unless you knew where it was already. It was a bit uncivilized to be giving a blowjob in such a location but going back to his bedroom was just asking for an unwelcomed interruption. He had quickly learned that the majority of the army didn’t know how to knock so he had to be extra careful during more intimate times. This was a time that he didn’t want to have to be careful. Right now, he wanted to be messy, and entirely focused on the act alone.

Chuckling softly, Xander allowed himself to be tugged around. Without asking what or where, he followed easily after Corrin, nodding greeting to anyone who called. Thankfully, they managed to reach the destination without anyone really stopping or noticing them. Leading Xander down carefully (it was a bit slick and slippery), Corrin slipped into the small alcove then tugged Xander in as well.

“What are you planning, my little prince?” Xander asked, his voice laced with amusement.

Corrin just smiled in response, tugging Xander even further in. Once he was sure that they were completely hidden from everyone outside, he gently pushed Xander up against one of the walls, sunk to his knees in front of him and began to make quick work on getting his trousers open. Underneath his armor was just a regular pair of trousers that everything else was pulled over. Practice, practice, practice had made Corrin a master of quickly working around it - finding the perfect ways to push and pull so he could get where he needed to go.

The abruptness of his actions earned a little surprised grunt from Xander, but he made no move to make it stop. Instead, a quick glance up showed him smiling slightly, two bright splashes of red staining his pale cheeks. Already, there was a spark of lusty fire blazing in his dark eyes. He knew where this was going, and wanted it. If anything, that just made Corrin even more eager. Heart now thundering in his chest, his own cock hardening in anticipation, he managed to get Xander’s trousers opened, showed his hand inside, and was immediately greeted by an intensely hard, incredibly hot length of rigid steel.

Normally, he’d take the time to play and tease him a little but his patience was seriously being tested. Right now, he didn’t want to waste time with foreplay (that could always come later). So, instead, he maneuvered his way into Xander’s underwear and whipped out what he really wanted. Xander’s cock - Xander’s beautiful, amazing cock. Thick, long, veiny with a perfect amount of blond pubic hairs at the base. It was absolutely gorgeous, and it was all Corrin’s. And it was very, very hard. Precum was already dripping down from the stolen, engorged head.

Without any hesitation, Corrin opened his mouth up wide, popped the head into his mouth and sunk all the way down to the base in one smooth, fluid motion. His head begin to swim as the strong taste of Xander’s cock flooded his mouth. Masculine, earthy with just a hint of something entirely unique that was all Xander. It was probably a bit lewd but if asked to answer honestly, the question of if he could bottle up this scent so he could smell it whenever, he would have to say yes. Overhead, Xander gasped loudly, a delicious shiver racing through his muscular body. A hand (which was missing the gauntlets he normally used) rested on the top of his head. Thick, strong fingers weaved through his hair, stroking, gripping, urging him to keep going.

He was more than happy to do so. Setting his hands on Xander’s hips, he set a slow, steady pace at first. Fast was good but he wanted to feel every single inch of Xander’s delectable, amazing cock going in and out of his mouth. Tonguing the underside, loving the feel of the veins against his tongue, he didn’t even try to keep the excess saliva from slipping free. Pretty soon, it’d be nothing more than an afterthought. Applying a gentle suction, he slipped back all the way to the head, lovingly swirled his tongue around it, scooping up all traces of precum and swallowing them down before slowly sinking back down to the bottom. Over and over, he repeated the motion until he had Xander shivering underneath his hands.

“Gods!” Xander groaned, hips violently shaking. The hand on his head was now tightly gripping onto his hair, “Corrin!”

There was no music in any world that was more beautiful than that. Figuring that he had had his fun and knowing Xander probably wasn’t going to be able to last much longer (blowjobs were his weakness, after all), Corrin set a new pace: faster, harder, with an extra emphasis on suction. Hollowing out his cheeks, completely forgetting about his own painful erection pushing up against the confines of his trousers, Corrin focused everything on the cock in his mouth. Not much longer, not much longer at all now. He could feel every twitch, pulse and shiver against his tongue. Above him, intensely hot mews and gasps of pleasure were raining down on him.

Glancing up, though it was a bit hard to see with such a rapid pace, he found Xander, despite being obviously overrun with pleasure, was looking straight down at him. Mouth wide open, cheeks dyed a beautiful shade of crimson and blond hair mussed, he was truly a sight to behold. That alone would have him nearly coming in his pants but having Xander watching him, so completely unable to look away, combined with the sensation of being mouth fucked by him was just a little too much. Breathing hard, drool streaming down from his mouth, Corrin reached down to his crotch, made it to almost going through the arduous process of getting his own cock out when Xander suddenly let out a gasping, low moan. Throwing his head back, his back arched as he spent himself in Corrin’s mouth.

Coming to a stop, Corrin gently sucked on the ejaculating cock, coaxing out every last bit, which he swallowed quickly. Once everything was out, he slid off Xander’s steadily softening cock, letting it fall from his lips. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he took a moment to catch his breath then looked up. Still a beautiful shade of red, Xander was panting hard, his dark eyes dazed and hazy. Smiling widely, Corrin got to his feet, reached up to cup Xander’s cheeks and pulled him down for a kiss.

“Now, you.” Xander rasped, his voice sending a shiver racing throughout Corrin’s body.

Yanking him around, Xander pushed him up against the wall, shoved a large thigh between his legs and pushed up against his erection. A white hot, lightning bolt of pleasure raced up his spine then exploded in vibrant sparks inside his mind. Gasping loudly, Corrin threw his arms around Xander’s shoulders, dragging him close, and began to grind against him. Given how wound up he already was, it was surprising when he came just moments later.

Clenching his teeth together, struggling to keep from making a noticeable amount of noise, Corrin collapsed against Xander’s larger body, body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. Inside his pants, his orgasm burst from the head of his cock, spraying hot lengths of jizz all over his underwear. Gasping, fingers and toes tingling, he slumped back so he could smile lazily up at Xander. Dark eyes watched him, taking in every inch of him, practically licking him with their heated, wanting gaze.

“Do you still have some time?” Corrin asked softly, reaching up to play with the curl of hair that hung in front of Xander’s face.

“For you, I have all the time in the world.” Xander replied huskily, before swooping down to capture his lips in a kiss once more.

#fe:14 #fire emblem fates #corriander #lol #Anonymous

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ezra-blue · 7 years

Text

You’ve Got Something - 42

For @baronvonriktenstein‘s Messy!AU

42: A Spark of Inspiration

Hakkai finds something he didn’t realize he still had.

Word Count: ~4000

WARNING FOR SUICIDAL IDEATIONS.

42: A Spark of Inspiration

It was fortunate, so Hakkai thought, that he had the foresight to break down and keep all the boxes he'd used when he was moving in the bakery supplies. They were coming in tremendously handy now.

All of Hakkai's shirts and sweaters fit in two boxes. Hakkai wrote Sanzo's name on it, anticipating, “He's a bit smaller than me, but... perhaps he'll still like them.” His slacks fit in an empty stand mixer box.

His little tchotchkes, the little knick-knacks he'd picked up on his occasional trips here and there, Koumyou liked those sorts of things, so he wrapped each of them in tissues and leftover bubble wrap and packed them neatly. His books, too, but he took less care with them, the hardcovers on bottom and the paperbacks on top, then marked both boxes with his name.

The kitchen, Toudai would like his kitchen goods for however long he had left to enjoy them. He packed the pots and pans, wrapped up nice and neat, and sealed them, writing his name clearly so he would see it, hoping he would understand when he wasn't there to explain.

It was all so simple, so obvious, a mere calculation of common sense and best intentions. Cut and dry. It had to be that way. Hakkai had found it surprisingly easy to plan it all out, he just had to calmly arrange everything in such a way that it could be easily dealt with when it was no longer in his hands. Like Sharak making certain all the breads were in the proof box before she left, like preparing the day's orders the day prior, trusting that whoever came next would take care of things. A simple, mundane reality.

Then, it was the aprons. Hakkai had assumed most of the pantry supplies would, sadly, go to waste, but perhaps someone would like his aprons. He'd somehow accumulated a few, though he could only wear one at a time; capricious, wasteful, he thought now. They'd made him so happy when he could rotate through them based on his mood, the lemon pattern with the polka-dot straps for making fruit salads, the red pinstripes for grilling steak, the red and green one just for Christmas cookies. His fingers shook as he took down his favorite apron, the green vines that suited his eyes and tastes so well, and stuffed it into the box with less care than the rest, then halted when he found a plain black apron beneath.

His heart twisted in his breast. Even touching it reminded him of the man who favored it, of his crooked smile, of his wine-warm eyes, the fall of his hair across his shoulders and back, his clumsy fingers warm when Hakkai would slide his hands over the backs of his palms and guide him through. Suddenly, Hakkai couldn't breathe, he was dissociating, he was trying to be there not here, even though he knew he would never be there again. He threw the apron back and stumbled back. “Stop, stop,” he told himself, clutching at his head, throat constricting around the words. His head was so full, the room was too full, even the boxes lined up on the floor were too much.

It was a noise that broke him out of it: “Mrowr?” Ryuu wound around his ankles, and Hakkai startled back to the present.

“Oh.” He crouched and picked him up, stroking his chest and belly, “Oh, it's you.” He carried him towards the sofa, deliberately stepping around the black apron and keeping his eyes on him. If he buried his fingers in the soft, downy fur down his back, his fingers couldn't shake. “My pretty kitty,” he whispered, muttering praise with no joy in his timbre. He settled on the sofa, as Ryuu, clearly happy to be receiving any sort of attention and completely unable to understand Hakkai as he wondered: “What to do with you, little one?” Ryuu mewed back as if in answer, curling around in Hakkai's lap and turning to groom his hands and palms. Hakkai winced as Ryuu licked across his wrists, his rough tongue abrading the bruised skin. Hakkai had tried to keep them covered, but the bruises were still ugly shades of yellow and purple, and the cuts were still raw and wept if he bent his hands the wrong way. He tried to tug his sleeves over them, ashamed to have them, even more ashamed that anyone would want to give them attention. The very thought made his hands start to shake again. “Ryuu, no.” He kneaded down Ryuu's back, distracting him from trying to clean the thin little lines of blood that stained his cuffs. Poor, silly thing, he couldn't understand.

“I'm sorry, little one.” He ran his palm down Ryuu's back. “I had meant to give you a good life, when we met. It seemed like serendipity that I would meet someone as singular as you in as dire of straits as we did, but... ah, that's never worked for me, has it?” He stroked Ryuu a few times more, silently considering his silky fur, his curious trills. “I should... Perhaps I should rehome you, instead of just putting a bit of masking tape with a name on it on your side and hoping for the best.” He tried to laugh, but the sound was hollow and wrong, and Ryuu twisted around to study him. That wrought the guilt that lived in him. “I'm so sorry, Ryuu.” He rubbed the shallow fur between Ryuu's eyes, and Ryuu closed his eyes with contentment, until Hakkai ruffled down his mane, murmuring, “I can't stay with you anymore.” Ryuu responded by rubbing his chin against the bottom of Hakkai's palm, as if marking him, but Hakkai just massaged his face, trying to wick what happiness he could out of his furry friend. It didn't rebuff the feeling that joy was dead. “I... You're all I have left of him now, aren't you?” Ryuu rubbed his cheek into Hakkai's palm, as the memory struck like a bolt.

Gojyo driving him to the shelter, of entreating him to pick a friend, of Ryuu hissing at Gojyo as soon as looking at him, of Gojyo's content smile at seeing Hakkai so happy nonetheless. And yet, it had all happened for the silliest reason:

“So I wouldn't be lonely.” Hakkai absently scratched Ryuu's ears. “I lived alone, just my own paltry little soul in this house, and he worried that I was lonely. I told that silly joke about getting a cat so many times he believed it, he thought I meant it, and he led me to you so I could be happy...” His breath hitched, the words garbled up around his too-thick tongue, and he clenched down on Ryuu's mane, resulting in an unhappy noise from Ryuu. His heart was starting to tremble, beating far too fast, his skin clammy and raising in goosebumps, and he couldn't breathe. “Oh, Gojyo...” He shivered through his panic. “You meant so well for me. You were so wonderful, so kind, so gentle, and I...” His breath hitched, then failed. “I... You... Why did you even...”

Ryuu rubbed his chin against Hakkai's hand again, and the jingle of Ryuu's tag broke Hakkai from his dissociation. “Ah.” He blinked a few times. “He said... he put my number on here. So you could come back to me if you got away somehow.” He choked on a watery chuckle. “I'll have to... I should take that back. You'll have a new place to call home soon.” He gently worked the tag loose of the collar, a little red heart. He turned it over in his hand, running his eyes over the text for the first time:

“If found, return to Hakkai. 530-938-7858. All my love, Gojyo.”

Hakkai's hands started to shake again. He couldn't have read that right. “Love?”

Gojyo had never said that word to him. Nobody did.

“Love.”

Not Father, who would only withdraw himself from alcohol and work to glare at him and Kanan, to whisper that they looked so much like their mother and skulk away.

“Love.”

Kanan, yes, but her love had withdrawn when she realized how deep, how dark, how desperate his love and need to be loved back was, and then had withered away with the rest of her.

Nii, never. Hakkai had wished he could be loved, but he had sunk so low to think that their shared antipathy for anyone they agreed was lower than them was a good substitute. Someone he could hate with.

Gojyo was nothing like that.

“Love.” Hakkai couldn't breathe again, barely able to squeak, “All of it?”

Had Gojyo just never said it? Had he hoped Hakkai would see this and understand? Had he been too shy to say it first? Terrified that Hakkai would reject him, as if he weren't a deep void of affection so desperate to be filled and made whole that he would invite darkness itself to complete him?

All of it. Hakkai had taken all of it and he would never be able to give it back.

Hakkai's heart felt like an imploding star, its compacted mass collapsing and tearing everything around it to subparticulate matter and destroying it. The void opened, and Hakkai, shaking to pieces, stared in. He couldn't feel himself quaking, couldn't feel his mind go haywire, he only knew the singular thought that became clear:

Go.

He was running, he was running, he couldn't breathe and he was running, he was in his car, the engine revved and growled, and he was in motion. He didn't know where he was going, but it didn't matter anymore. He still recalled the last image he saw of his father's life, the twisted metal in a pool of black fluid of a car wrapped around a tree, he remembered the sight of Kanan's desiccated body and knew he could never be granted such a peaceful suffocation, he put his foot down hard in hopes he carried himself to the gates of Hell at the highest gear.

He was blinded, not seeing road or tree, barely sensing lights or signs, hearing car horns blaring as he reached the main road, but he didn't care, he didn't care, because all he could think about was what he'd lost. What he'd given up.

That smile. That soothing voice that always seemed to laugh a little, as warm and rich as red wine and so smooth despite the cigarette that was never far from that kind mouth. Those big hands, how clever, how skilled, how surprisingly nimble, that wiry body and its broad shoulders, those long legs. That kind soul and drowning-deep heart. The gentle man who hurried to his side unprompted when he was ill.

"... I'm your boyfriend, and all, so it's my job to make sure you're okay."

"You need to be more careful when you say those silly, sweet things..."

The smooth operator who could make him feel wanted and desired with a wink and a cake order. The patient lug who'd tolerate being pushed around on his day off to dig holes and plant flowers at his behest. Who searched for reasons to compliment him. Who tried so hard to impress him at every turn. Who never looked at him with anything less than adoration.

Even when Hakkai was failing to tell him he'd betrayed him.

He turned a corner fast, too fast, tires squealing, mouth running as fast as the engine: “You loved me, didn't you?” The light turned red over him, but he sped through. “You gave yourself away, you hid it so poorly, and I was too gun-shy to see it for what it was!”

He could hear Gojyo's voice in his memories, barely a rasp, so broken, so tired, “Why would you wanna be with a jobless slob?”

His voice wobbling down the line, like a cry for help he couldn't voice, “I miss you.”

His Gojyo, doubled over in pain and rasping unintelligibly down the line, “I love you I love you IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou--”

How had he missed it?

“DON'T LEAVE! Please don't leave. Don't go!”

Why hadn't he reached out first, why hadn't he done something, why hadn't he just trusted him, why couldn't he answer any of his own stupid questions? “He was right in front of me!” He peeled around another corner, scenting burning rubber, gasoline. He didn't flinch at the thought of the explosion, but it didn't come, his tires still squealing, engine still roaring, mind still racing. “Why would I go back to someone I knew would hurt me?!”

Gojyo hadn't just given him a piece of his heart, Hakkai was seeing that now. Gojyo had gradually carved his own heart out of his chest whole, and he'd been precarious laying it out on a platter and trying desperately to present it to him as best as his unpracticed hands possibly could, and he'd thrown it away. Hakkai might as well have taken a knife to him.

He deserved punishment. Like Father slapping him when he talked back, like Grandmother forcing him to recite rosaries, like the switch to his backside when the rosaries didn't chide. If not because he had done so wrong, because he had sinned, he'd hurt someone dear to him, then because he couldn't stand to live in his own skin like this a second longer.

Maybe he'd hit a tree. Or a pole. Or another car. Maybe he'd just find a bridge over deep water and drive off of it. Maybe, he thought, laughing, he'd drive into the duck pond at the park and drown in a puddle. He was pathetic enough. He wasn't worth the glory of a ball of fire.

Maybe they'd never recover his body. He'd rot in obscurity and never disturb another soul and that was what he DESERVED.

And then screeching metal roared in his ear.

Hakkai's last survival instincts took over and he slammed on the brakes, and suddenly, his world shook to a halt. He could breathe for a second. He'd somehow stopped in the middle of an intersection, and someone was honking at him. He took a deep breath, got out of the intersection and drove into the nearest parking lot. He threw the car into park, killed the engine, and let his head fall onto the wheel, gulping in air.

His heart hadn't stopped racing, but his mind was starting to slow. He was starting to compose himself again, starting to collect everything that had exploded out with the pain of that revelation. “You're not done here,” he reminded himself in a whisper. He couldn't leave any regrets. He had to rehome Ryuu properly. He should at least drive some of the items he was giving to charity to the collection centers himself. He had to write a very, very long and sincere letter of apology to those few people who may have still given a damn about him. He should try to apologize to Gojyo one more time. He deserved that much, at least.

He turned the key. The engine growled, then sputtered, then … failed.

Hakkai's eyes went wide, and he tried to turn the car on again. The engine tried to turn over, but didn't. Wouldn't. He tried over and over, but nothing, and the dying noises from his car sounded worse every time. He felt himself start to shake again – if he'd been any steadier, perhaps he could have handled this, but no, he was so close to falling apart already that this would just send him spiraling again, but even knowing that wasn't stopping it.

It was a knock on his window that broke him out of it. Hakkai flinched, expecting a police officer, but when he turned to roll down his window, it was not. For a long moment, Hakkai stared out at the man looking down at him, the angular jawline, the scars on his face, those big hands – one all wrapped in gauze – and that lean body, and the red hair – cropped too close. He was looking at Gojyo for the first time in days and he thought he might just disintegrate here and now.

An unspeakable sensation, like fire and ice at the same time, speared through them each.

You look so broken, he wanted to say, as Gojyo, eyebrows raised, took him in, because even as far gone as he was, he couldn't miss the hangdog look of pain that passed over his features. He had so many questions. Why was Gojyo here? Why would he approach him? What happened to his hair? What happened to his hand? Before Hakkai could bring himself to break the silence, Gojyo put on a thin smile and bent down to talk into the window.

“Hey.” Gojyo quirked an eyebrow, then patted the side of the car. “Thought I recognized your little blue here.” Hakkai could feel him clipping his sentences short, excising the endearments that usually peppered his words. “So, uh, car trouble?”

Hakkai wanted to ask, 'what are you doing here?' until he realized they were in the parking lot of a grocery store, and Gojyo still needed to eat without him to take care of him. Instead, he could only manage a nod. Gojyo clicked his tongue, then patted the hood of the car. “I don't have my toolbox, but would you mind if I took a look?”

Hakkai nodded again, not trusting his mouth for a second, and popped the hood. “Please,” he rasped, hardly meaning to. Gojyo smiled for him again, patting the side of the car, then lifted himself to his feet and circled to the front of the car. Hakkai craned over the wheel as Gojyo leaned down into his car, his muscles on display through his thin tee-shirt, his slender neck. Imagine, Hakkai thought, after what I did, he still has room in his heart to be this kind. Gojyo spent all of thirty seconds looking into the engine, when Hakkai heard the last thing he ever expected to hear: laughter. Rich, warm, wild laughter. Gojyo actually tossed his head back for a second, laughing to the sky, before wiping his brow and circling to the window again, still composing himself. He actually had to wipe a tear away as he held something out for Hakkai: “The spark plug.” He grinned like a madman. “I never did get a chance to replace that, did I?”

Oh. Oh.

Hakkai had to choke back a watery laugh. “I... I suppose not.”

They both laughed, together in this strange small universe for a moment. When the moment ended, though, they were just two men staring at one another with so much wreckage between them neither knew where to begin. When the laughter died, Gojyo cleared his throat and tried to put a businesslike voice back on. “Uh, so, I actually don't have my phone – long story – but I got my number memorized. If you let me borrow your phone, I can call Gat for a tow and he'll take the car in.” Gojyo peered around Hakkai to see the clock. “It's a little late, so I'll fix her up first thing in the morning. How 'bout for now, I take you home and see what I can do about getting you a ride to the bakery in the morning?”

“I don't think I'll be going in tomorrow.” Hakkai said it without thinking, but clammed up before further explanation escaped him. How could he lay his woes on Gojyo? Especially when despite everything, Gojyo was still being so kind to him? Gojyo, for his part, quirked an eyebrow, then shrugged.

“Okay, then. Uh, I'll get you home, if that's alright. Can I borrow your phone?”

Hakkai unlocked his phone and passed it over to him. He hoped Gojyo would ignore that his own name was still at the top of his contacts list, the contact image framed around his smiling face. For his part, he tried to ignore Gojyo's warm, familiar baritone as he spoke with the other mechanic at the shop and fidgeted with his still-sore hands as he waited, unsure of what else to do with himself. The tow truck arrived shortly, and Hakkai was surprised to see the bakery's morning janitor driving. He'd seen him, but they'd never exchanged names or more than a word or two, but when Gat caught his eye and gave him a stiff nod, he wondered if maybe the fates had engineered this. If there was a reason Gojyo had come to him now, if there were no such things as coincidences.

Perhaps the heavens were giving him one last opportunity to apologize.

He got out of the car and stood at Gojyo's side, leaving just a little space between them, as Gojyo and Gat had a brief conversation. Hakkai couldn't help but notice that Gat was staring at Gojyo's hair too – the haircut must have been very recent, and Hakkai shivered to think about it. Finally, Gat nodded, hooked his car to the tow truck, and Gojyo returned his attention to Hakkai, already putting on a smile as if with chisel and hammer. Hakkai had never wanted to see Gojyo sad, but knowing he was forcing it abraded still-bleeding wounds, even as Gojyo pushed on like a professional: "So, I can give you a ride home, if you'd like." He paused, brow knitting up. "Hey, you don't look so good, are you--"

"It's nothing." Hakkai swallowed the salt in his throat. "I... I don't want to go home."

Gojyo's frown told Hakkai he clearly didn't understand. "Uh. Okay. Where would you like to go? I can take you, uh, to the bakery? To Mr. Sanzo's place? Anywhere you'd like to go, call me your chariot." Gojyo smiled again, and that just twisted the knife in Hakkai a notch deeper. He wanted to call Gojyo so many other things, but though it was unfair and likely a little selfish, he had to ask this much of Gojyo:

"With you." Hakkai grounded himself and let his face fall in submission. "Wherever you're going, just take me with you."

He felt Gojyo run his focus over him, and dared to glance up just as Gojyo shrugged his shoulders. "I was just headed home. My place is kind of a huge mess--"

"So is mine, I don't care. Just..."

"You're a little shaken up and maybe don't wanna be alone right now." Gojyo finished Hakkai's sentence, albeit without the veil of pretense or propriety Hakkai would have sheathed his words in had he only been able to compose them quickly enough. Luckily, Gojyo actually sounded a little relieved, and scraped his fingers back through his cropped locks. "If you're sure, then okay, but don't say I didn't warn ya."

Hakkai didn't care what he was about to walk into. This was his chance at penance. His Gojyo, wonderful Gojyo, was no longer his, but instead just another innocent who'd been hurt by Hakkai's selfish need for love. Let his victim be the architect of his punishment, or at least draw the first lines.

He tried to solidify himself around that thought as he got into Gojyo's car with his grocery bags at his feet, as Gojyo held a hand out the window under the cloudy sky before leaving it rolled down and lighting up a cigarette. Gojyo was the flame that had lit his life. Let Gojyo be the match to ignite his funeral pyre.

The gathering rainclouds darkened.

#You've Got Something #my writing #fanfiction #cw suicide mention

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iwritestuffsometimes · 7 years

Text

Kinda Hot In May

“Where are we?” She asked.

“Nowhere special.” Hunter grinned. He shut the engine off and jumped out of the car. He ran around and opened the passenger door before she had a chance.

She smiled and took his outstretched hand. “Then why are we here?” She watched his face as he pulled out his phone. He winked and held up a finger, signaling her to wait as he made a call.

“Hello? … yeah. We’re here. Just pulled in….. yeah. That sounds about right… towards the trees or towards the way we came?..... thought so. Okay. Thanks.” He hung up. She waited for an explanation. None came. He slid aviator sunglasses over his eyes. “Wanna help me?” He opened the back hatch on his car and motioned to the picnic supplies he’d packed without her knowing.

She laughed and kissed his cheek. “A sunset picnic?” She reached for the lightest looking objects; the blankets.

“Sort of.” He shrugged and hefted the cooler out of the vehicle with one hand while he shut the hatch with the other. He reached for her hand again.

“Where to?” She asked.

“Uhhhh…” He scanned the ground for a minute, turning in a circle once before pointing in a general direction. “Somewhere over there.” He nodded.

They walked a fair distance away from his car and she smoothed one blanket on the grass and wrapped the other around her shoulders before she sat down. The air wasn’t cold; she just liked the feel of the material. She kicked off her shoes and crossed her legs underneath her. Hunter laughed. “Make your self at home, why dontcha?” He sat beside her and placed the cooler in front of the both of them.

“Don’t mind if I do.” She stuck her tongue out at him as she carefully emptied the contents of the cooler. He turned his phone on again, connecting it to a small set of portable speakers that she hadn’t seen him pull out. “Toby Keith.” She turned the corners of her mouth down in approval. “This ones a classic.”

“It’s a theme.” He shrugged.

“Theme to what?” She tossed a red grape into the air and tried to catch it with her mouth. It landed on the blanket some feet away. She giggled.

“Slick.” He barely concealed a laugh.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You can’t do it either.”

“Wanna bet?” He raised an eyebrow.

She picked another grape and held it out to him. “More than anything.” He took the offered fruit and chucked it a few centimeters above his upturned face. He looked back at her proudly. She shook her head. “uh-uh. Doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Wasn’t high enough.”

“We never agreed on a height limit.” The light changed on his face; the sun setting quickly. He took his sunglasses off. She sighed. He frowned. “What was that?”

“You’re just so hot.” She squished her face at him.

He pushed her shoulder. “You’re insane.” He leaned over and kissed her lips.

She grinned and scooted closer to him, pushing the food out of the way. Her hands wound in his shirtfront as she pulled herself into him. His hand rested low on her hip, his thumb ghosting circles on the bend of her thigh. Her tongue licked at his top lip. He pulled back for half a second, looking at her with half lidded eyes. She shrugged. He drew her closer, effectively sitting her over his lap. Her hands fell onto his biceps as he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her again. His lips dragged from her jaw and down to the hollow of her neck. She threaded her hands through the hair at the back of his neck. He bit at her pulse point. She mewed. He grinned. His phone rang. He groaned.

“Don’t answer it.” She was breathless.

He sighed and fell onto his back, looking up at her while he picked up his phone and answered. “Yeah?... kay. Thanks.” He sighed and sat back up. He kissed her cheek. “Happy Fourth of July.” He smirked.

She frowned. “It’s the middle of May.”

“Well yeah. But you wont get to spend the 4th with me.” He hugged her tightly only to release her and scoot her off his lap. He pointed at the sky behind her. “So I figured we can celebrate now.” As soon as he finished speaking, the world lit up with red, white, and blue, their ears erupted with a loud bang.

She gasped. “You win everything.” She turned and lay back against him, nestling her head into his shoulder. “How’d you manage this?”

“Pulled a few strings. Bought some slightly illegal fireworks from a peach shop in Georgia.” He shrugged and his shoulder grated under her. “I know a guy who knows a guy who smoothed it over with the local police.”

She turned back around to look at him. “When’d you get to be such a badboy? Buying illegal stuff and smoothing things other with cops.” He smirked proudly. “You’re even hotter than I thought.” She winked.

“Takes one to know one.” He joked.

She laughed loudly. “I immediately take it back.”

Another firework went off, spattering white sparks across the darkening sky. “Shut up and watch the show.”

a/n Is there a point to this one other than make out fluff and fireworks? No. Is it still fun to write? yep. It was requested about 2 years ago or somethin though so I’m glad I finally got around to writing it. reviews are always appreciated.

and my giveaway is still running.

kaythanksmateloveyoutoobye

#iwritestuffsometimes hh #hunter hayes #hunter hayes fanfiction #hunter hayes imagines #oneshot #fluff #ftlow

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thewidowsghost · 3 years

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A Warrior's Destiny - Chapter 8

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