wait wait


this is the carolina instrumental w the backing vocals i love it


(this is a follow-up to my first story, which you can read here! i know it’s been forever but i have a whole saga planned with this kid!!!)

Some students are born gifted, some come across it later in life.

Everyone becomes gifted at some point or another. Gifts are not always positive in the eyes of the fae. In Tulip’s case, her gift was a gift of honesty. In Delphinus, before she was… taken, her gift was strength in puns, of all things.

“Good night,” your boss says, walking out of his office. His gift is a positive one, one of confidence. You nod a farewell, and duck your head back into your computer, reading through the research paper. Your own words on the Drosophila melanogaster blur in your eyes, and you sigh deeply, and heavily. Your head nods, but you shake your head. You can’t fall asleep here.

You used to not need a job, but the crippling financial times is one thing that escapes the fae. The library is possibly the only place a person without ability of human speech can work reasonably. You don’t have to speak to anyone, you don’t have to open your mouth, you just have to nod at your boss when you come in from your class, thumb through books, placing them on the right shelves, and nod at your boss as he leaves for the night.

You’re told of the mythology of the library, and as expected, you’re never opposed to granting sanctuary, but the wild eyes and the dull hearts of those who race through these halls, looking for that place of freedom, they are beyond your grasp.

You’re just the quiet one.

The clock strikes some time that you don’t pay attention to, and you decide it’s time to shut the library down for the night.

It’s silent, the deathly glow of the lamplight casting blue shades on your skin. You sigh deeply, and continue to walk through the voided campus.

And then you hear the tell tale squawk of crows.

You look up into a tree, and see Exodus, the crow who favors you. You wave at her, but there is no friendly returning squawk tonight. She only watches you, her eyes flickering with a colorless light between you, and the space beside you. You flick your eyes to the space beside you, and see nothing.

Which means it’s time to move.

You never, ever, run from the fae. They will immediately read this as a hunt, and they have never had a prey that they could not catch. 

You instead walk, quietly, silently, as you have always done, towards your dorm. Exodus follows, hovering just above you, and when you glance up, she continues to look back and forth between you and the empty space just to your right. Things that are to the right are things of goodness, right?

You know that’s a lie, a myth perpetuated by old wives, like your grandmother. She sent you a letter the other day, reminding you that yes, you can come home, no one cares about what you’ve done, not at home, at least. 

You can help but shed a tear in your depression, and that is your first mistake.

Your vision blurs, and realize you have done it, you have done the one thing that you refused to do, all these years.

You’ve opened up.

The figure next to you suddenly becomes solid, and Exodus erupts into screams of caution as you turn to look at the figure.


“Gifts. They’re all different,” she says, before vanishing in a shower of crow feathers.

When you regain yourself, you realize you’re collapsed onto your knees, staring at the pavement below you. Exodus is perched in front of you, her screams filling the dark night air.

You tremble, grasping onto the freezing cold pavement, the hard concrete digging into your knees through your jeans. The tears are frozen on your cheeks, and you know there’s no one else around you, not like before. You slowly stand, the chill of the area around you reaching your very bone.

No one can say you killed Marissa, no one can say what you did to her was unexpected, no one can say your gift was wasted on her.

But then again, no one knows what your real gift is.

You glance over to Exodus, a cold stare gracing your face, and she bows her head, falling silent.

You let your fingers trace the leafless branch of the oak tree next to you, and you feel the power within the wood.

Gifts are all different, some are granted gifts of power, some are granted gifts of genius, of beauty, of silence, as many believe you have been granted.

Some are also granted gifts only the fae can understand, much like your gift truly is. For, while silence is quite an enviably gift when words can destroy you so easily, the gift of crows is far more enviable when they are the reality that fights the dreams.



A.C.E - Callin’

me before watching season 4: wow i can’t wait to see how much character development is gonna happen now that keith’s piloting black and the team dynamics totally changed! everyone’s gonna be working together and improving together and there’s no one person in charge ‘cause they’re all kids trying to do their best as a team! exciting stuff!

me after watching season 4: