#''we were two winding roads seeking each other through separate ways... i thought you had blamed me‚ but no one had trapped me..

[maulfucker]

This song is making me want to start yet another fic to never finish,, "Tell me... Where is your hideout? Who are we running from? I'm starting to think that you were right, and now I'm afraid of letting go of your hand...." Maul giving up on his Mandalore plan and deciding to just stalk Kenobi to tell him about his vision. Staying illegally in Obi-Wan's room because I love putting these guys in situations (and because Maul would NOT leave him alone until Obi-Wan actually accepted Maul is right, which he won't). Following Obi-Wan to Utapau and helping him escape after the clones attack, feeling equal parts vindicated and enraged (because he was proved right but Sidious still won). Them being on the run together....

[blueberrypossum]

Just in the Nick of Time

Dastardly Danny x Reader

Hiya guys! Did I totally write about Danny saving you on a motorcycle from @bootyyy-shaker9000 and @greaser-wolf posts? Yes. Yes I did. I love writing these kind of scenes and I hope you guys enjoy!!

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️: There are inappropriate words and violence.

(I will be placing your friend’s words in pink so then the reader's words don't get mixed up.)

“Okay, I think that was just a little too easy.”

“Hey, don’t jinx us.”

Your friend held the window to the abandoned factory as you crawled through it, once your feet planted on the dumpster, you took a hold of the window frame and watched as they climbed through. 

You’ve both been staking out this place for weeks, following an opposing group of thieves that had recently robbed a bank. One thing that was easy with your job was that you didn’t steal from public places, but from other thieves and criminals, making the criminals run away from the law without an award, and no one suspecting you or your friend of having the prize. 

Your friend finally made it through the window and you hopped off the dumpster you both were standing on, your shoes splashing into a puddle as you landed on solid ground. You took in a huge breath, taking in the moist and breezy wind of the Hidden City.

You pulled out your phone and quickly texted Dastardly Danny, saying that you had a wonderful surprise and to meet you a few blocks from here.

You slinged your backpack over your shoulder as you both made your way down the alleyway, the flickering dim lights of the city casted a faint dust of yellow over you. Your fingers barely scraping over the brick wall as you checked to make sure the guards that were posted out front were still there. 

Your pocket vibrated and knew it was a text from Danny, but it would have to wait.

You raised your hand to stop your friend as you spotted the two yokai’s; a grey ram and a purple reptile stood still at the front of the warehouse. You brought your black covering closer as you turned to your friend.

“Okay, we’re going to wait until the daily van comes around and distracts them.”

“Ahhhh Y/N…..”

“Shhhh, you know to whisper.”

“Not when they already know we’re here!”

You were so worked up about getting out that you barely noticed the huge shadow that was casted over you, almost like a blanket. You instantly turned to see the huge lion yokai that loomed over you, his yellow and busted up teeth matched the mixed up lights that hung above. 

“Haha. Ah shitt RUNNN!” You called out and you both scattered in opposite directions as his golden paws came slamming in the spot you both squatted at mere seconds ago. 

You booked it past him, your legs carrying you down the long street as you heard the henchmen scream orders at each other. Your eyes barely caught your friend making it out, their figure disappearing into the night as they headed down twisted alleyways. Your heart prayed that they would be okay and raced away once the thieves gave chase towards you instead.

The backpack gravely weighed you down as you swerved into a tight alleyway, your body and the bag barely fitting as you pushed in between the red walls.

A yelp escaped your lips as a huge hand wrapped itself around your arm and turned to see the glowing eyes of the reptile, his mouth opening to let out a long hiss.  

“Let go!” You screamed and your mouth instantly went for his hand, your teeth sinking into his fingers. The yokai grunted and his grip on you eased just enough for you to shake him off and to continue on through the crack, a laugh whistling out of your throat as you made it fully through. As the henchmen chatted about how to get through, your eyes scanned around you to find a way out.

The alleyway leads you to a small, squared area, where the only way out were doors to buildings, the way you came, or a ladder leading up to the rooftops. The yokai’s started to punch and kick the bricks out of its structure and with each pound, fear started to tickle down your spine. Since you didn’t want to see if the doors were unlocked and wake up an upset homeowner, you turned tail to the ladder as the yokai’s started to make their way through the destroyed alleyway.

Of course you didn’t bring any weapons with you on this mission, your friend told you that they were just mindless idiots. 

You made your way up the ladder and the chase began with you sprinting across the flat rooftops and the three yokai’s after you. You heard one of them radio in about some van and you could hear the screeching tires of a car coming down the street below you and you let out several curse words as you hopped over another building. 

Luckily for you, you weren’t the only one who heard it. 

The reptile had caught up to you and his hands seized your backpack and pulled you back, the bag slamming into his chest along with your elbow. 

The purple yokai wheezed as you made contact with his stomach again with your elbow and then your heel against his foot. You continued onward once he buckled and you could feel your lungs start give out as you jumped to a lower building, and then lost every ounce of air when the ram landed on your back, sending you both down. 

A wheeze escaped your throat as you rolled over and then dodged a punch from his black hoof. Your hands scraped across the concrete roof as you tried to get onto your feet, but the lion yokai lept behind you, his claws digging into the backpack as he threw you through the air like a ragdoll. 

You held onto the straps as his claws ripped through the fabric and sent you flying off the roof, your body hopping off a hanging tarp from a crafting store, and rolled out onto the street, your bag barely giving you a soft landing. 

You groaned as pain rippled through your body and the street under you started to vibrate. Your eyes opened to see a pair of bright headlights starting to race towards you from a few blocks away, but that wasn’t the thing that made the ground under you move. 

You barely had time to roll over as you saw the motorcycle make its way through the alleyway near you and onto the street, the dark colors blazing against the hanging lights as the yokai tipped his large hat up. You watched as Danny extended a hand to you as the van raced closer, the lights illuminating his smirk.

“Hop on, toots!”

You couldn’t help but smile as you took his hand and he lifted you up effortlessly onto his bike, your arms wrapping tightly around him as his foot slammed onto the gas, the warm breath of the van barely touching you as you both took off. Even with the car chasing after you, you took in Danny’s comforting scent as you held on tighter, your fingers digging into his sides. You honestly thought for a second that you wouldn’t make it, and with your bruised ribs and your pounding head, you knew it would be hard to run. 

“How are ya holdin up? Where’s yer friend?”

“We got separated, and the empty lungs and busted up chest feels lovely.”

The rat yokai took a hard right, his tires barely being able to handle the friction and an eerie screech echoed through the night. You leaned yourself against him, his coat flying around you as the van continued to follow you throughout the city. A sigh escaped your lips as he ran his hand over yours for a split second before he had to make another quick turn. 

“Oh I’m so glad I texted you! After this, we are going to your favorite restaurant, my treat,” you screamed to him, a small gasp followed as the bike did a small bounce over a hill. The rat yokai chuckled as he looked back at you, his eyes narrowed due to the blistering wind, but they gleamed with excitement.

“I should be saving you more often then, doll,” he commented back and then went off road, the dark gravel of dirt and rocks was painted behind you as Danny took you both towards the shipping docks, the van stopping just for a split second and then continued to pursue. 

The chunks of earth nicked against your legs and you winced at the small but piercing pain. 

“Ah, Danny, sweetheart, you do have a plan to lose them, right?” You asked as the van was dangerously getting closer to the back of the bike, you could almost make out the yokai’s in the van. Your boyfriend’s head looked from left to right and then a double take as a devilish smile crossed his lips. 

“Yes I do, hold on, darling!” He hollered as he pushed further into the pedal, his hands working the handles as he led the van into the crowded part of the shipping docks, stacks of metal and work equipment littered the area. You let out a yelp as you lowered yourself into him, your eyes instinctively closing as he raced you both into rows of storage units, the roaring of the van getting closer as you buried yourself into him. The rat’s heart melted as you pressed yourself against him, but it also hardened at the sight of you scared and how bruises had already started to settle against your skin.

Oh yeah, he was going to make these yokai pay.

He moved his motorcycle ever so slightly to the right, his eyes finding the lever he had been seeking out throughout the whole shipping area. As you both passed it, his tail slapped the rod until it switched to its opposite side and Danny looked up to watch as the storage container being helped by a crane was dropped from its holding. The rat pulled his bike back to do a wheelie as the van was crushed beneath the weight of the metal, the cries of the yokai barely being heard as the front wheel of the motorcycle screeched against the sheet metal of the docks. 

Danny slowed the bike down until it came to a stop and you opened your eyes, shock spreading over your face as you took in the sight. Your grip on the rat loosened as he steadied the weight of him and the bike on his leg. You both were breathless as you watched the van catch on fire, but no one was running out of the vehicle. 

“Phew! Guess you can call that a close call, huh, toots?”

You rolled your eyes as you leaned back onto the bike, your tense muscles slowly started to let go of the stress and you could feel the full amount of pain your body was receiving.

Danny kicked out the kickstand and turned over towards you, a small smile of happiness crossing his stressed and dirty face as his mind finally accepted that you were safe.   

He then turned to you and reached out, his thumb barely grazing over your face as you leaned into his touch, your own hands encircling around his wrist. 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispered into your face and you both leaned into each other, your face going into his shoulder and his over your head as you both took in each other’s weight. 

After several minutes of resting and enjoying each other’s presence, the rat lifted himself off of you.

“So, what exactly did you get from these goons?”

You pulled the backpack off of your shoulders with a hiss and laid it into his lap, your hands leaning onto the bike as you pulled your phone to text your friend that you were safe along with the code you both created so that if one of you were kidnapped after being separated, you with know since you didn’t place the code.

Man your life was weird.

Danny opened the bag and let out a low whistle at the loot you had collected. Stacks of hundred bills were piled onto each other along with golden and silver belongings that yokai’s had placed into their banks. The rat pulled out a diamond about the size of a golf ball as you giggled. 

“That’s not even half of it.”

You winced as you touched your bruised eye and didn’t even realize that a trail of blood had traveled down your face from a gash on your head. Your body was sprinkled with dark marks and a slash mark was on your arm from the reptile. But, you’ve never felt more alive, as you took in the soggy smell of the harbor and watched as fog collected around your feet, you genuinely felt like you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. 

Danny watched in silence as these emotions crossed over your face, as your nose twitched slightly and your fingers continually twitched due to them being black and red. But he has never seen you so deep in your prime, how these were your golden moments, the excitement, the adventure, the sheer thrill that glowed around your body. 

You were a literal heartthrob, and you were worth more than the treasure he held within your hands, you were worth more than any bank vault or rich man’s home. 

He planted a kiss on the top of your head as he handed the bag back to you, his body turning to get back onto the motorcycle. 

“Alright, love, let’s go home,” he said and you let out a breathless laugh. It had felt like the night had just started, and now it done. But, when you climbed back onto the bike, the fire from the van raging behind you, and with Danny looking at you with pure devotion, you knew that this was just the beginning. 

[reyescarlos]

both of us are losing || a tarlos fic

word count: 4k || read on ao3

I know sometimes It's gonna rain But baby, can we make up now 'Cause I can't sleep through the pain

Carlos has always prided himself on his ability to keep his cool. He likes to think it’s what makes him a good officer and a great friend to those close to him. He’s patient and analytical. He examines a situation from all conceivable angles before drawing conclusions.

But even he has limits. Even he is capable of thinking with his heart over his head and, as expected, it hasn’t led him anywhere good.

Getting into an all-out screaming match isn’t how he could have seen his night ending but as he stands on the opposite side of the kitchen from TK, he doesn’t see how else this could go.

The evening had been going well until this point, the two sharing a quiet night in at Carlos’ place for dinner. As always, being able to share in TK’s company after a long day at work was the perfect antidote to a stressful shift. There’s never a greater comfort for him than to spend time with TK. It hardly ever matters what they’re doing. It’s always just enough to be around him.

These last three months they’ve been together have been a real highlight for him. Given the complicated path they took to this point, all Carlos wants to do is wrap himself up in moments like this where it’s just the two of them simply existing in the same space together.

With their meal done, they two work alongside each other in the kitchen doing dishes with TK on washing and Carlos on drying duties. TK’s phone chimes on the counter with an incoming call, the jingle echoing over the rush of the water from the tap.

“Grab that for me, would you?” TK asks, his hands covered in suds. “It’s probably my dad.”

Carlos drapes the dish towel he’s been using to dry plates with over his shoulder as he turns to pick up TK’s phone. His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach at the name he sees flashing across the screen. He stays frozen in place, unsure of what to think.

“It’s not the captain,” he says, his voice grave.

TK shuts off the faucet and looks over at him. Carlos holds the phone up for him to see the screen as well. TK sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I told him to stop calling,” he hisses, shaking his hand to get some water off before taking the phone from Carlos and rejecting the call.

Carlos blinks, his brain slowly processing what TK has just said.

“Wait, you’ve been speaking to him?”

TK sighs, ripping off a sheet of paper towel and drying his hands.

“It’s not like that. He wanted to apologize and see how I was. He left this long voicemail...it was so ridiculous. But then he called again and I figured he would keep doing it until we actually spoke.”

“When the hell did this happen and why am I only now hearing about it?”

Carlos’ voice sounds so different to him now and it’s evident that TK feels the same way because his boyfriend looks up at him like he’s someone else entirely.

“Carlos,” he says slowly. “Just listen to me, okay? I don’t want you getting worked up over this. I handled it and there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Handled what exactly? TK, what is going on here?”

“Nothing! That’s just it. There’s literally nothing going on here. God,” he groans.

“How can you expect me to believe that? Your ex is calling you. Repeatedly, apparently. Obviously something is happening. Don’t give me that.”

TK shakes his head and sighs.

“How long have you been talking to him, TK?” Carlos asks.

TK hesitates for a moment, pursing his lips before answering. “He reached out to me last week.”

Carlos stands up straighter, jaw clenched. “So seven whole days have gone by and you couldn’t find so much as a minute within any of them to tell me that your ex-fiancé reached out to you?”

“Ex-boyfriend!” TK corrects, as if that makes much of a difference in Carlos’ eyes right now.

He scoffs and shakes his head, wringing the dish towel in his hands. For a moment it’s too easy to pretend it’s Alex’s neck.

“Oh, well, pardon me then. That makes all of this so much better.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic here.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You must be joking. I don’t care what the label is. What this boils down to is the fact that you kept this from, TK. What else are you hiding from me?”

“That’s not fair. I didn’t do this on purpose, Carlos, and I’m not hiding anything. I just didn’t think anything of it.”

“And maybe that’s the real problem here. You actively chose not to tell me and you probably never would have if he didn’t call just now.”

“Do you honestly think Alex and I are getting back together or something? We haven’t been talking every day, catching up like we’re suddenly friends. I didn’t answer when he first tried.”

“But you obviously picked up at some point and didn’t think it was worth it to tell me.”

“Because it doesn’t matter. He just wanted to check in and say he was sorry for what happened back in New York. I told him that I was fine, that I moved on and that I’m happy so we can just drop the conversation. He’s nothing to me.”

“It does matter, TK. It matters so much and the fact that you can’t see that…,” he trails off, shaking his head.

TK pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is all coming out wrong.”

“Then explain it clearly because I’m not understanding how you could think I didn’t have a right to know. It’s about respect and transparency.”

“Carlos, there was never a threat here. Our relationship was never in danger. I love you so much. If nothing else, I need you to know that.”

Carlos’ vision swims for a moment, his eyes filling with tears born more so out of frustration than anything else. He’s always been an angry cryer.

“That’s not how you show someone you care about them. You don’t lie.”

TK runs a hand over his face. “I didn’t lie to you!”

“Omission isn't the truth either, TK. It amounts to the same. Screw technicalities.”

TK jerks back, blinking twice. Carlos struggles to stop his heart from racing, his chest from heaving. The silence that falls between them now is unbearable. Carlos’ ears ring with their exchange.

This divide between them seems so much larger than the counter that separates them. Carlos has been here before and the ghosts of his past relationships start to creep into the room, suffocating him.

Carlos bites back on his lower lip, swiping at his eye. He feels like a dam that’s ready to crack at any moment. There’s too much pressure building in his chest and if he’s not careful, he’ll explode in a way that may cause far too much damage.

What he needs is fresh air and time away. This isn’t where he needs to be, at least not in this moment.

“I just...I can’t. I can’t be around you right now.”

Carlos tosses the dish towel down on the counter and walks past TK out of the kitchen.

“Are you serious? Carlos, where are you going?”

“I’m going for a walk, okay? I need some air.”

“It’s getting late and you’re upset. You shouldn’t be outside.”

“Well I can’t stay here so I don’t have many options, now do I?” Carlos snaps, turning around to face TK.

His boyfriend stops dead in his tracks. His bottom lip crumbles a bit but Carlos looks away, stewing in the anger that has taken root in him. This feels wrong but this frustration has its claws in too deeply for him to apply reason to the situation.

Other people get to rant and rave. Carlos keeps far too much inside. Now that the lid has been lifted, the steam has to go somewhere.

Carlos turns back, snagging his keys off the coffee table as he hears TK draw nearer once more.

“Carlos. Carlos!” TK calls after him.

It’s the last thing he hears before slamming the front door shut behind him.

~*~*~

Alone with his thoughts proves itself to be an even worse place for him to be. Carlos has no idea how long he’s been walking around his neighborhood but it isn’t long enough for him to grow comfortable with the ugly thoughts swirling around in his head.

He pictures TK being pushed too far with this argument, seeking solace in something familiar, in Alex. Logically, he knows that would never happen. Alex broke something between the two of them that could never be repaired and yet that cruel, insidious voice in the back of his head whispers to him, conjuring up imaginary scenarios that feel far too vivid and real.

Had Carlos not traveled this same road before with partners in the past? He’s been burned so many times throughout the years that a part of him had been secretly holding its breath just waiting for the other shoe to drop with TK.

Carlos has long since learned how to live with that worry lingering in the recesses of his thoughts. Even when things were going well, life had a habit of proving to him why he should always remain cautious and vigilant.

Certainly he and TK had gotten off to a rocky, awkward start with each other. But once they managed to find their footing, things had been going extremely well. Perfectly, Carlos would venture to say.

But inevitably, the end would come in the form of a boyfriend finding some way to let him down. It was almost always when he’d invested so much of himself. Carlos was worried he’d wind up giving away so many pieces of himself that there would be nothing left.

He thinks of the look on TK’s face as he snapped at him just before leaving. It’s enough to make Carlos sick to his stomach. He knows his insecurity has just ripped the bit of fabric that’s been binding them together this whole time. All Carlos can do now is pray that isn’t something that can’t be salvaged.

Even though he felt justified in being upset over TK keeping the truth from him, Carlos knows his approach was all wrong. Being quick to give into anger wasn’t his usual speed but he slipped into it as easily as a hot bath.

Picking the night apart, Carlos realizes how much he felt ambushed by the sudden appearance of Alex in his life. The man was thousands of miles away and yet he had placed himself so prominently into the future Carlos was trying to work towards with TK. The past had a nasty habit of circling back, the old becoming new again.

What really troubled Carlos was the familiarity of tonight’s scenario. He’s been cheated on, dumped, ghosted. Just about every relationship ended in disaster but he’d been wrapping himself in the belief that this time around, things were finally different.

You’re a great guy but…

I think we’re better off as friends…

I’m sorry to do this to you…

He’s heard it all before and then some. Knowing that TK had been harboring a secret like this set something off within. He knows TK’s actions weren’t malicious. Now that he’s had time to replay it all and truly recount his boyfriend’s words, he knows TK was just trying in his own way to shield him.

Carlos’ head is a riot of thoughts but the most pressing one is that he needs to set things right with TK.

He rounds the corner to his block, slipping his phone out of his pocket as he ambles down the sidewalk. He wonders if TK will even be keen on answering him tonight. If his boyfriend still wants space, he’ll of course respect that but Carlos hates loose ends and this one is a gaping hole.

He pulls up TK’s name in his favorites and touches his thumb to the screen, pressing the phone against his ear as he walks up the short pathway to his door and unlocks it.

The phone rings as he steps inside and Carlos startles hearing the chime of a phone inside his home. He follows the sound to the living room where TK is sitting on the couch, eyes fixed to the door. His legs are pulled up to his chest, his arms folded on top of his knees. He looks so small, like a child that has just been reprimanded, the cuffs of his sweater pulled down over his hands.

TK’s eyes are rimmed pink, his face flushed. The man looks as if he’s aged a few years in the span of time Carlos had stepped away. It makes something in Carlos’ chest crack open.

He falters at the sight of him, ending the call. In the silence of the room now, he can only hear the ticking of the clock as it counts the seconds it takes for Carlos to find something to say.

“You’re still here.”

TK looks wounded at the statement. “Would you rather I not be?” TK asks quietly, chin propped up on his arms.

Carlos toys with his keys before dropping them into the dish on the coffee table.

“Of course not,” Carlos replies, walking around the table to sit on the couch as well.

He leaves a bit of space between them, still unsure of what footing they stand on with each other. It’s reassuring to see TK now, to know that he at least still wants to be around him and talk this whole thing out.

“I’m sorry about walking out like that. I just needed to clear my head.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m the one that got us to that point.”

TK lets out a shaky breath and continues. “I’ve never seen you that upset before.”

Carlos shrugs. “I don’t usually get angry, especially not like that. I wasn’t myself and that wasn’t right.”

“You’re allowed to get mad, Carlos. If something bothers you, it’s only natural.”

Carlos shakes his head. “I don’t like giving into that.” He falls silent for a moment. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I hate how this feels; this isn’t us. I don’t want you and I to end tonight on a bad note and have it spill over into tomorrow.”

TK stares at him for a moment and shakes his head as if to clear it.

“What?” Carlos prompts.

TK licks his lips and unfurls himself. “I’ve never been with anyone who thought like that. All my exes, our bad moods stayed with us for however long it took to fizzle out on its own.”

Carlos doesn’t like the sound of that at all.

“That’s not how I operate. Tomorrow is its own day. It shouldn’t inherit the troubles from today. I don’t like going to bed angry.”

It was an old adage his family swore by and Carlos had adopted the philosophy for himself as well. Harboring negative feelings was a disservice to everyone.

TK looks at him for a moment before lowering his gaze to his hands.

“I’m sorry I got defensive. I was totally in the wrong with this. I’ve been thinking it all over and seeing it from your perspective. I fucked up. Honestly, this whole time I knew I was messing up. You must hate me.”

“I could never hate you, T. You know that. I just needed some time to clear my head but I wasn’t walking out on us, I promise. I just needed to be alone and work some stuff out.”

TK sighs, letting out a relieved breath. Carlos feels guilty for making him worry.

“Did you find that peace of mind you were looking for?”

Carlos chuckles tersely. “Sort of. I realized the real reason why I blew up didn’t really have anything to do with you specifically. It was old insecurities rearing their heads and I caved. I thought I was past everything and all it took was one instance to show me that I’ve still got some things I need to work on.”

“Past what exactly? What kind of insecurities?”

Carlos sighs. He isn’t sure how to touch on his concerns now. It sounds so trivial and childish in his own head. He fears what TK will think if he brings himself to disclose what he’s been grappling with all evening.

“I know how much he means to you. Hell, you wanted to marry this guy, build a future with him. I’m not holding that against you, of course. It’s just...what you guys had clearly counted for a lot. If you had decided to continue talking to him or to even see him again, I couldn’t compete with that.”

TK’s brows furrow, reaching for his hand.

“Carlos, please listen to me. You win out each and every time in every possible way. Alex meant something to me. Past tense. As in used to but not anymore. I chose wrong with him but I know that I’ve got it right with you. That isn’t something I’ve ever doubted since meeting you.”

Carlos looks away, chewing on his lip. It isn’t like him to show his anxiousness like this and yet here he is, a ball of nerves.

“Talk to me, Los. What are you thinking?”

TK’s been so candid with him about his life back in New York, all the highs and lows of his battles with substances and depression. In Carlos’ eyes, those are real issues, true upsets that rank so much higher on a list than pesky confidence issues. But if he can’t be open with the man he’s in love with, Carlos realizes that there isn’t anyone else he can talk this out with. And besides, he reasons, his thoughts and feelings will always matter with TK.

“I’m not usually the first choice someone makes. Or...if I am, they always seem to inevitably look elsewhere. I never seem to be enough in the long run. Seeing that he called you, it scared me. I know that you love me and that we’re happy and good together. I know that we have something real and solid here. Rationally I know that you all ended on horrible terms. But even with all that in mind, I’m always so scared of losing you one day. I’ve had boyfriends run back to their exes before. I panicked thinking it could be the case here.”

“That’s never going to happen with me, Carlos. Never,” TK says quickly.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, actually I do. I know it for a fact. I am so incredibly in love with you. I never thought I could ever be this happy with someone and yet, here you are. All mine. I’ll say it to you every day and you can bet I’ll make it my mission to show you too. I don’t ever want you to doubt your importance in my life. I don’t know what I’d be now if we never got together. Alex is barely a thought and on those extremely rare moments when he comes across my mind, all I can think is how goddamn lucky I was that I dodged a bullet there.”

TK laces their fingers, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I had no idea you’ve been through all of that in the past. Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s dumb. That’s no reason to flip out like I did.”

“Of course it is; it makes total sense. I didn’t mean to add to that, to be another person on that list. But I swear to you, I will never make a mistake like this again. I wasn’t trying to hide anything or be sneaky going behind your back. I didn’t tell you because I honestly didn’t want you to feel like you had any reason to worry because you truly don’t. I feel nothing towards Alex or any other guy for that matter. But I see how not telling you was way worse. I should have been upfront from the second he called me.”

TK sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “I’ve still got a lot of learning to do.”

“So do I,” Carlos says, searching TK’s eyes. “God, I was being so stupid and ridiculous.”

TK frowns and inches closer. “Shh, no, you weren’t. Your reaction was completely justified, a hundred percent. I didn’t mean to make you scared and I’m so sorry you were ever with anyone that made you feel less than. You’re the greatest part of my life, Carlos Reyes. The absolute best part. There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t felt like the luckiest guy in the world for being loved by you. You’re so much more than I ever thought I’d have.”

Carlos smiles at the reassurance. All the same, he can’t help but to feel foolish.

“Still, I’m so embarrassed,” he chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Why? You don’t ever have to be embarrassed around me.”

“I made something out of nothing and just showed you what a massive insecure mess I can be. Not exactly the finest quality.”

“If you say one more negative thing about my boyfriend I’ll...well, I don’t have an actual threat here. I’ll just be very upset.” TK kisses at his temple. “I love every part of you, even the messy bits. God knows I’m made mostly of parts like that and you still love me anyway. I don’t want you keeping up appearances or downplaying your emotions for me. Whatever you’re feeling or thinking, I want to know because it’s valid, Los.”

TK brings Carlos’ hand to his mouth, lips skimming along the back.

“You’re not a machine. It’s okay to feel things. And, to be fair, I went about this whole Alex thing totally wrong. I should’ve said something; I shouldn’t have kept that from you. This one’s on me. If an ex you were serious about did that, I’d want to know.”

“So you forgive me?” Carlos asks.

TK frowns, tracing the outline of Carlos’ jaw. “Babe, there’s nothing to forgive here. I’m not mad at you. I was upset with myself.”

“I snapped, walked out, and I made you cry. Those are criminal offenses in my book.”

TK laughs and shakes his head. “It’s nothing we can’t bounce back from, right?”

“Right. We’re okay. Better than that, even. We’re prepared if anymore exes decide to come out of the woodwork.”

TK laughs and nods in agreement. “Definitely. So, have we passed the ready-for-bed test now?”

Carlos hums in thought, standing up from the couch and tugging TK towards him.

“Not yet. There’s just one final step until we get the all clear,” he says.

TK smirks knowingly and tips his head up for Carlos to capture his lips. Carlos frames his boyfriend’s face in his hands, mouth moving over TK’s steadily. He kisses him deeply, casting out all the residual doubt and fear that’s knocking about, clearing it all like cobwebs from the darkest corners of his head.

He pulls back enough to stare into TK’s eyes, those gorgeous green irises teeming with so much love and affection. How Carlos allowed himself to give in to misgivings seems inconceivable now. No one has ever looked at him the way TK does.

“Okay, now we’re ready.”

Ready to put this whole argument behind them, ready to sleep, ready to tackle whatever obstacles may try to stand in their way.

As they walk hand in hand towards his bedroom now, Carlos feels as if he’s leaving so much behind. For all that he’s given away to people throughout the years, he’s struck by just how much the man holding on to him has given him back in return. And that, Carlos realizes, isn’t something anyone stands a chance of taking away.

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 33)

The large round eyes, belonging to the auburn fox, flutter from left and right, back to left, before it takes a deep breath and leaves its safe pot to seek food for the day. The night’s hefty downpour prevented it from going out, and now it’s hungry. The new world order has made it a lot easier to find food, which also means that the feeling of hunger is seldom reminded. But during the night, its stomach has been rumbling for something tasty, a bird or anything really. On soft paws, the fox hurries across the grass before stopping abruptly, to check that the coast is clear. But its home environment, a forest somewhere in Virginia, is deserted and free from danger. It had been a long time since this fox had experienced a hunting season, or heard the sound of quad bikes smelling of exhaust fumes pulling through its natural habitat. The fox hurries on, but just a few meters on it stops abruptly again, pricks up its ears when a rustle is heard. Silently, the fox hurries into a bush, at the same time as the grass is split some distance away by a pair of worn Keen hiking boots. The sun plays through the rustling foliage; a soft clatter, a result of the soft breeze that pulls through the forest.

After rain comes sunshine, it’s said. But the crooked male who stumbles between the tree trunks with trailing steps, has no idea of ​​the beauty of mother nature that surrounds him. Nor any idea that he was once a thinking, living being. Many months have passed and time has not been gentle on him. A piece, large as a clenched fist, of his cheek is ripped out, but it doesn’t worry him. He totally lacks the ability to feel, to reason about whether he needs to see a doctor or put a bandaid on it. That time is over. The only instinct that remains and clings to the man’s poisoned, dead consciousness is hunger. An incurable, constant hunger for meat. That’s what drives the man forward through the forest, without, unlike the fox, being on his guard. It’s also this inattention that is reminded when a 5.45 mm bullet penetrates his skull, between the ear and the eye. The loud sound makes the fox give up his attempted excursion and rush back to his burrow.

Daryl tears his eyes from the walker who collapses on the ground like a shattered house of cards, and glances to his left. 

“Home run.” He says as Mila lowers the rifle. “Ya’ wanna let me have a fair chance?” “It was you who said we should compete.” Mila threads the rifle’s shoulder strap over her arm and gives him a cheeky smile. “Gotta level up your game, Dixon. It’s not a contest if I let you win.”

“Hmpf...”

Mila starts walking and Daryl follows. He should have suspected that she was competitive. So far, she leads with eight hits against his three. 

They’re heading west. A few days earlier, Glenn, Rick and Sasha returned to the Safe-Zone after a run, announcing that they had passed a mall they hadn’t seen before. As it got dark, all three agreed that it would be foolhardy to go in and investigate. Instead, Daryl suggested that he take on the task; leave early and check the place out.

“Take someone with you.” was the only thing Rick said before heading off to bed. 

In front of Daryl, Mila’s trotting on towards their goal as fast as her feet manage. The untied boot laces bounces around her feet, whips up fallen leaves. They have accomplished about 2 miles which is halfway according to Rick’s description, made their way through woods and abandoned streets. Not taking the car was a conscious choice; Daryl wanted to do the walk. In nature he can breathe, he needs it and all its simplicity as if it were oxygen. He can not imagine spending the day with anyone else then her, on foot, on a mission to explore. Neither more nor less, yet everything.

“How far did they say it was?” Mila turns and looks at him; the long hair forms a fan around her face of the rapid movement. 

“‘Bout halfway.” He replies.

“And we’re supposed to do what again?”

“Scout the place for supplies, then go back another day if it’s any good.” Daryl offers Mila his hand as she makes her way over a big branch, lying in their path. “Ya’ had anything in mind?”

“Carol asked for some new fancy kitchen knives.”

“Course she did.” Daryl grimaces, amused by Carol’s request, and climbs the branch. 

“You go way back, you two, huh?” Mila squints at him.  

Daryl squints back at her; Mila’s sapphire blue eyes are curious and gleams in the dancing sunlight that penetrates the dense foliage above. He shrugs a little. 

“No more than anyone else.”

Mila lifts her eyebrows at him, she wants to hear more. Daryl sighs.

“We just-” He pauses, doesn’t really know what to say. “Get each other. Somehow.” How should he describe their friendship? Carol is one of his closest, most dearest friends. She’s warm, kind, fierce and she has a haunting ability to read his mind; knows what he thinks without him uttering a single word. Might be a mother’s instinct, or it might be something else, but Daryl values her ability immensely, not being very good with words himself. In the beginning, way back, he felt irritated, exposed and vulnerable in Carol’s presence. Could just as well be because he was a full blown ass to everything and everyone, but Carol made him feel human, made him feel like ‘someone’. She helped him find purpose and meaning in the group, never doubted him. Gosh, if it wasn’t for Carol, he thinks and looks at Mila, he would never be where he is; here, with Mila, being able to talk with her, not sounding like a buffoon or a total piece of shit. Crap, without Carol’s tremendous influence, Mila would probably have shunned him like the plague. He’d never in his life thought he’d soften up like this, but right now- He owes Carol everything for believing in him, not giving up. What if he’s been a good influence on her as well?

Out of nowhere, Mila says:

“You’ve gone through a lot together. Of course that must be more than friendship, that’s-” She searches for words. “-family. Strong bonds. Growing together, always having each others back. That’s valuable.”

“She’s great.” Daryl says and looks at Mila; wow, she really put words on his feelings. 

“Invaluable, I would say.” Mila smiles. “Who could have dreamed of having a babysitter in the middle of a zombie apocalypse? One who’s also chef, baker, friend- a hell of a soldier.” She chuckles and grins at him. “And here I am, with you. Hell, I might switch to Carol, now that I think of it. She’s awesome.”

Daryl takes up a handful of leaves and throws at her. Mila laughs and leans in, pulls him into a kiss, lips with a lingering taste of this morning’s breakfast; coffee black as hell and the blantest looking bowl of oatmeal Daryl’s ever seen. Her lips sweep over his and Daryl, still holding onto the crossbow, puts his arm around her neck and replies the kiss, feeling her soft hair brush against his arm. 

”I guess I get to work a little extra then.” He says with a smirk. “I won’t start baking though.”

“You sure?” She raises her eyebrows. “I'm pretty convincing.” 

For you and the kid I’d probably do whatever the hell you wanted, if you asked me to, Daryl thinks. Damn, he would go through fire and water for ‘em.

“Let’s get this over with.” He puts a loop of her hair behind her ear. ”come on, Jersey.”

With his arms still resting around her neck, they continue to walk. Above them the treetops rattle pleasantly in the wind. The birds chirp and some distance away two squirrels perform their dance for each other around a thick tree trunk, wiggling their tails and noses simultaneously. But something’s disturbing the overall peaceful atmosphere. Maybe it’s intuition, but something's not quite right. Something in the distance makes Daryl stop abruptly. All of his muscles tenses and Daryl pricks up his ears, just like the fox he saw earlier. Male voices, more than two. Like a laser pointer, his gaze moves from left to right, frantically scouting for the slightest movement, the slightest deviation from the green vegetation around them. Suddenly he sees it. Ten meters in front of where they have haltered, the greenery, scattered with a few trees and bushes, opens into a paved road. On the other side of the road lies two buildings. It’s the dirty, black pickup parked in front of one of the buildings that has caught his attention. That and the armed men surrounding it. 

“Down!”

“What?”

Before Mila has the chance to react, Daryl grabs her by the jacket and forces her to crouch. He raises a dirty index finger in front of his lips, as a sign that she should be dead quiet. Mila looks around, understands that he has seen something she has not seen yet. The sound of voices at a distance makes her look beyond the trees and bushes and she catches sight of the pickup. Carefully they make their way over to a pair of bushes that separates wilderness from domesticated. He pulls her down in the tall grass behind the foliage, out of sight, but the men in the parking lot don’t take notice of what’s happening in the vegetation at the other side of the road. Their attention lies fully on the boxes of ammunition they carry out of the run down building. They stack them on the covered truck bed, then return inside to grab some more, like a running band. Mila scouts through the foliage.

“Anyone you’ve seen before?” She asks in a low voice.

“Nah.” Daryl shakes his head while he follows a man with shoulder-length blond hair with his eyes. The blonde man disappears into the building and another comes out with yet another box. “Nah, they’re new.”

While five of the men fill the truck bed with boxes and cartons, the sixth man is standing on guard, armed with an automatic rifle, eyes searching the surrounding for any dangers, or other people. 

“Maybe we should lie low for awhile.” Mila states. 

Yeah, certainly feels foolish to make themselves known. Instead they lay low behind the bushes, watching the unknown group from a distance. Daryl looks at Mila’s profile; her forehead is furrowed and she seems to think, while biting on her lower lip. 

“Whatcha thinkin’?”

“There’s-“ She counts. ”-six of them. There’s two of us. And I’m not good at math, but-” Once again Mila peers through the foliage. “And one doesn’t need that much ammunition unless there’s a threat.” She mumbles. “Or if you yourself is the threat.”

Daryl doesn’t answer. He thought exactly the same. There’s two possible scenarios for the reason behind this hoarding and he doesn’t like any of ‘em. His thoughts wander back in time, to the prison and the Governor, beheading Herschel and splitting the group, which caused him to flee headlong with Beth. An unpleasant sensation begins to take shape inside his stomach, a bundle of painful memories cutting his insides like barbed wire. There can’t be another Governor situation, not another battle. No more losses.  

“Wonder where they’re staying.” Mila continues. “You think they have their own Safe-Zone somewhere?”

“More like Alamo.” Daryl replies, considering the heavy armor. “Ain’t lookin’ too good.”

“As long as we stay far away, we should be fine.” 

Mila pats him on the knee and turns her eyes away from the gun shop. She makes herself comfortable, takes off her backpack, opens it and takes out two plastic bottles of water, followed by a half filled bottle of vodka. Daryl grins.

“Ya’ got a problem, Jersey.” He says and receives a bottle of water. 

“I know.” She says. “If you happen to stumble across an AA meeting I promise you I’d attend, without hesitating.”  

“Been like this for long?” He drinks and looks at Mila over the clear plastic bottle. “The drinkin’ I mean.”

“My family has a long tradition of desertion, foolish luck and malicious alcoholism. I’m not exactly surprised.” Mila fiddles with the cap of the vodka bottle. “Luckily I have a quite high tolerance. Besides, I can’t really stop either. It’s considered a disease I’ve heard.” She grins amused. “Back in Russia they’d die of laughter if they heard.” She pauses and squints at Daryl in the sun. “You’d like me to stop, right?”

“You do you.” Daryl responds. Ain’t his business to tell her what to do. Nor his right to.

“That’s new.” Mila says. 

“Doesn’t seem to be that much of a problem, that’s all.” 

“Good for me then. I didn’t plan to stop, not yet at least.”

“Take ya’ time.” Daryl says. “As long as ya’ safe. And the kid. Ya’ doin’ fine.”

“Might be hard to put your head around, but I was actually quite deep in the shit a couple of months ago. Though-” Mila pauses. “I’d lie if I said I didn’t feel guilty. This-” She nods at the bottle. “No kid should grow up around it. I mean, I did and that didn’t go well. I’d throw myself over a cliff if anything happened to Juri, but-” She sighs. “I have flaws, demons. But I’ve sworn to myself, and Juri, that he’s safe, no matter how wasted or fucked up I am.”

Daryl reaches out his arm, pulls her towards him. 

“He wouldn’t be more safe with anyone else.” Daryl says and squeezes her a little. “Ya’ doin’ good, Jersey. Drunk or not.”

A bang, the sound of the door to the pickup’s flatbed closing, makes them both jump in the grass. They turn their heads and look through the foliage, seeing the men step into the car and onto the loaded flatbed.

“Let’s go.” They hear one of them holler.

The engine starts and they drive out of the deserted parking lot in front of the gun shop, turn left and disappear.

“Coast is clear.” Mila declares. “Let’s get going.”

[kpopfanfictrash]

Wasteland, Baby!

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader

Word Count: 3,098

Warnings: post-apocalyptic, depression, themes of death

Summary: A songfic, inspired by the song of the same title by Hozier (I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for months and finally decided to post)

The end of the world was not as terrible as everyone thought it would be.

Or – that is what you have told yourself since, citing the mantra to keep the demons at bay. On the days when it does not work, when you cannot convince yourself of this fact, it is hard – near-impossible – to get out of bed.

Today is a good day. Today, the end of the world is not so terrible.

Yesterday was a bad day.

Yesterday, Yoongi tried for twenty-four minutes to coax you from under the sheets. Eventually, he gave up and left to chop more wood for the fire. Six minutes into his absence, you woke in a sweat-soaked terror, hands scrambling through blankets to seek out his warmth. Visions flashed through your mind, one after the other, like the worst kind of picture show.

Ashen faces, choked breathing, bloody splotches. Deadened gaze.

In the end, the world did not end with bloodlust and rage – but with folly.

It was folly that humans chose to live so close to one another, packed into homes stacked on top of the other. It was humans who were so dependent on technology that they could not survive once it disappeared. Once there were not enough people to run the power plants and take care of the phone grids.

Truly, Yoongi is the only reason you are alive. On most days, you can convince yourself this is a good thing. When the disease first emerged, Yoongi was the one monitoring it all from his phone. In those days, he came home from the lab later than usual, brow permanently furrowed and sandwich crumbs on his sweater.

Those were the days when you were his anchor, when you were the one who coaxed him in and out of bed. Yoongi was your workaholic pathologist boyfriend and you were his rock. Now, the situation is reversed and you find this to be oddly appropriate. Everything should be flipped at the end of the world.

It was when the airports began closing Yoongi demanded you leave.

“Today,” he said, slamming the apartment door as he entered.

You looked up from your workstation, surprised by his appearance. Architecture papers were spread out before you, half-finished buildings drawn in blue and white lines. Typically, Yoongi did not get home until after dinner on weekdays. You were used to the hours spent alone, sketching at your table.

“Today… what?”  

Yoongi’s eyes were red-rimmed; evidence of his many late nights. Circling your table, he came to a stop at the wardrobe. “My place outside the city,” Yoongi said, avoiding the question. “We can go there. Wait it out.”

“Wait what out?”

He paused before the drawer, one mustard-colored sock dangling over his hand. Swallowing, Yoongi seemed to wrestle with something. “Maybe nothing,” he said quietly. “Or… maybe something.”

You stared at him for a moment, debating how to respond. Granted, you thought Yoongi had gone insane. Everyone was saying this would blow over, like all the other scares. Avian Flu, Swine Flu and a million other Flus. Yoongi seemed serious though, as though he had not slept in weeks and likely, that was so. Everyone in Yoongi’s lab had been working overtime to search for a cure. Yoongi was one of the first among them to recognize the truth.

As an outsider, you were biased by precedent. As a human, you had always survived. This is another folly of humans – they think themselves invincible. They assume because they have survived thus far, they will continue to do so.

Most of the world’s population assumed this. Then again, most of the world’s population is now dead.

Something in Yoongi’s eyes convinced you. “Okay,” you said, standing up from your stool. It was better to humor him, at least. “What do I do?”

Forty minutes and one hastily packed trunk later, you two sped off down the highway. Few cars were on the road that day – in the early time of the sickness, most people stayed in. They quarantined themselves, only venturing out when absolutely necessary. It was merely a flu at that point – the world did not yet understand.

It was from Yoongi’s cabin you watched the world fall apart. The footage was horrifying – riots, looting when the hospitals became dead zones, and then the airports, and then everywhere. The TV stayed on until the cabin ran out of power, until the people were gone and there was nothing left to be said. You watched as, one by one, newscasters silently replaced one another. No one explained why, but you both knew the truth.

The world’s population was decimated in a matter of days. You and Yoongi watched it all happen, huddled on your couch and immobile with shock.

You two were lucky, you suppose. Yoongi kept his cabin stocked for his work rampages; the times he got a research hunch and would seclude himself for weeks in his reading. The cabin held everything one needed for the end of the world – canned goods, water purifiers, emergency candles and matches. The rations held out remarkably well while you determined a new way to survive.

Now, it has been three months since the lights went out.

For weeks you slept on edge, waking at the slightest brush of wind on the window. Living alone was a new kind of terror. Living in the city, there were dangers, but technology was always present to keep you protected. It warned you of intruders, kept the doors shut and updated you on your surroundings. No longer.

One month after the end, you ventured out in Yoongi’s car. Yoongi decided that, based on his research, most of the virus would be dead by that time. It needed living hosts to survive. Still, it was a risk and he would not let you leave the confines of the vehicle.

The closest town to the cabin was once called Roshone – a small, miniscule lake village of maybe two thousand. You say once because now, just two people remain. 

You and Yoongi.

The drive through the streets was silent, chillingly so. Unplowed snow crunched under your tires. Yoongi peered out from the windshield, searching for life but finding nothing to speak of. No footprints in the snow, no flashes of movement from the corner of your eyes.

Many doors were marked with red x’s of paint – a makeshift Passover you quickly averted your gaze from. After about an hour, you returned to the cabin. This was the first of your dark days. For three days following, you did not rouse from your bed.

That was when you believed the world had truly ended; you two were merely ghosts, biding your time until you joined all the rest.

The silence was the worst part.

There were many days you forgot to speak, going from sunup to sundown with nary a word. Philosophy is what separates humanity from animals and so, when humanity is dead, what separates you then? What makes you different from the rest of the mammals when there is no one to talk to? Nothing. And so, you continued your motions of living – but only enough to survive. A gross pantomime of what you were before.

Yoongi clung to his routines. 

He woke early each morning, as he did in the city. As long as there were beans, he made coffee over a fire. When the beans ran out, Yoongi heated plain water for tea. When his computer died, he dug out books from his study and poured over those. What he was searching for, you did not ask. It all seemed futile to you.

Yoongi had never been a very positive person and so, in many ways, he was better equipped for the end. Perhaps this is why he adapted better than you. He had a stoic realness about him which suited the end times.

When you needed food, Yoongi learned how to shoot. He researched how to garden and found books to prepare for the springtime. The sight nearly made you laugh, watching him read about plants. Yoongi had always made fun of Namjoon and his bonsai trees. Remembering, you winced, heart tightening at the memory. Namjoon was a cold dose of realism you could not ignore.

All of your neighbors stayed when you two fled from the city. You do not know if they made it out. Somehow, you doubt it.

You often find yourself wondering which was be worse – the disease, or its aftermath. Anything must be better than this. Anything but this silence, this sadness, this agonizing nothingness which tears you apart and –

Banging open the door, Yoongi walks in.

His entrance reminds you of that day so long ago when he convinced you to flee. Remembering, you stare blankly at him from the bed. Yoongi is framed by the door; silvery light filters past and for a moment, he seems like some kind of savior.

Then, he is over the threshold and the door is pulled shut. Dropping a bag to the ground, he shakes dust from his shoulders. The light disappears and he is no longer a savior, merely Yoongi.

Stubborn, brave, wonderfully human Yoongi.

“I found more candles,” he says, removing his jacket. The cabin is small – only three rooms, the front of which contains a bed, kitchen and sofa. Crossing to the bed, he settles beside you. Yoongi’s hand covers yours, his eyes dark and sad. “How are you today?”

Glancing past him, you stare at the bag. “You found candles? Where?”

Yoongi’s lips tighten in a way which lets you know you will not like the answer. “I went into town again.”

Swiftly, your gaze moves to his. “Yoongi! That could be dangerous!”

He exhales, rubbing his thumb against yours. “There’s no one there, babe.”

“… No one?”

“No.”

Quietly, you let this statement sink in. A month prior, his words would have crippled you. Now, it simply seems… usual. This fact should give you alarm. It should not be normal for you to think of an entire town dead and not feel some remorse. It should spark sadness, at least – or maybe some sort of horror, outrage, or despair.

Lowering his head, Yoongi brushes his lips to your hand. “Y/N,” he says, against your skin.

“Yes?” 

He slowly looks up. “I feel numb.”

Freezing, you take in his expression. Yoongi stares back at you, helpless and you realize with shock he was counting on this. He was counting on there being someone left but finally, the evidence is too great and he is giving up. Yoongi, your steadfast in this ocean of madness – the one who coaxes you out of bed, who convinces you to make a plan – has given in.

He truly thought you were not alone.

And now, he does.

You can see it in his gaze. There is a haunted fear which can be explained in no other way. It is one thing to treat this as a vacation, a temporary respite before getting back to your life – it is another thing to accept this is reality.

Hesitantly, you push yourself into a seated position. Carding your hands through his hair, you examine his face. Yoongi’s locks are long, shaggy across the front where you cut them poorly with scissors.

“Numb?” 

Gently, he closes his eyes. “Maybe you were right.” Lowering himself on his side, Yoongi scoots back to make room. “Maybe there isn’t a point anymore. Maybe we should just… sleep. I don’t know.”

His arm slips over your waist, pulling you into him. His breathing softens, warm on your throat and normally, you would sleep, too – except Yoongi is not supposed to be numb. He is not supposed to be the pointless one, the aimless one. The entire time you have known him, Min Yoongi has been driven by something. Without that…

The world has not yet ended, you realize.

It ends when you both think it has.

His snores rattle your body, letting you know he is sleeping. Once you are certain, you slip from his arms and lower both feet on the floor. The floorboards are cold, making you shiver. Pulling on his jacket, you deeply inhale. It smells like Yoongi, but not city Yoongi.

City Yoongi always wore the same jeans, used the same laundry detergent and slept in the same bed. He smelled of chemicals from the lab, shampoo from CVS and some fancy cologne. This Yoongi smells like woodsmoke; metal and iron and the bitter taste of wind.

It is not a bad smell. Glancing over your shoulder, you find him asleep, like a rock. Yoongi does not move, one arm dangled over the mattress to drag on the floor. Without pausing to think, you grab the keys of his car and walk into the cold.

Seated behind the wheel of Yoongi’s black Ford Taurus, you stifle a shiver. There is a knife on the floor of the passenger’s side. You glance at this quickly before looking away. Hopefully you will not need to use it. As you pull from the driveway, you follow Yoongi’s earlier tracks into town. It has been a long time since you drove. Even longer, since you went out alone.

The engine seems loud – near-deafening, compared to the silence of Main Street. Your gaze flicks uneasily over each storefront; despite Yoongi’s insistence that they are deserted, it is hard not to imagine the worst.

Pulling into a parking space – even at the end of the world, some habits die hard – you turn off the engine and sit for a moment. Your hands are shaking, clutching the wheel and you force yourself to let go.

Outside, the winter air is crisp on your skin. Despite the lack of humanity, the world has not yet noticed the void. Or, if it has, it does not care. The snow crunches beneath your feet as you cross the street, peering into a shop to pause on its curb. 

The windows are dusty, untouched for months and the tables inside have not fared much better.

At last, you inhale and push open the door. It is unlocked, as though the former owner left in a rush. You winkle your nose at the staleness of air. Flies buzz past when the door swings shut behind you. Shadows stretch before you, elongating the worst parts of your imagination. Beneath the sweet smell of chocolate and sugar is a damp, rancid stench you know all too well.

You shiver. The virus should be dead but always, there is this fear. What if?

Ignoring this – and the back room from whence the smell stems – you cross the room and duck behind the register. Bags, boxes and canisters line the shelves at eye-level. Grasping the first one you see, you grit your teeth together and bolt towards the door.

Outside, seated in the driver’s seat, you finally exhale. Lowering your head to the steering wheel, you sit still for a second. Vision blurring, you stare at the vinyl wheel of the car. So many people are gone. The sheer magnitude always weighs on you, wondering why you survived when so many did not.

You glance sideways. The bag you took lies on the floor, beside the knife. For some reason, the image strikes you as funny. Your upper lip twitches.

Taking that bag makes you a thief. You have never stolen something before.

Of course, in this hellish landscape where the word means nothing, you find yourself a criminal. 

A laugh escapes, too loud in the silence. Clasping trembling fingers over your mouth, you attempt to shove it back in, only to realize – why? No one is here. There is no one around to be quiet for and so, you laugh. 

Again. 

And again, until tears mix with the madness and slide down your cheeks.

Did Yoongi say he felt numb? Did you ever feel numb? Right now, you are the opposite. You are every emotion ever felt in the universe; a black hole drawing everything in and spitting out nothing. You are bursting, so full of anger you think you might break. 

Full of sadness, as well. And hope.

It is a long time before you can see clearly enough to turn on the engine. Stubbornly, the car catches beneath you and in the fading rays of twilight, you drive back to the cabin. As you go, you keep wiping tears with one hand. It is lucky that no one else is on the road, since you are certainly a hazard to the silence’s safety.

As the cabin comes into view, you recognize something is wrong.

The front door is ajar, which is not how you left it. Footsteps are stamped in the snow – fresh ones, frantic ones which are not your own. Throwing the car into park, you stare at the doorway. Reaching out, you grab both bag and knife from the seat. The weapon seems foolish to hold, since you are not a killer, but you do so anyways.

Yoongi barrels around the side of the house.

He comes to a stop at the door, chest heaving. His eyes are wide, gun trained on your head. 

Yoongi pauses. 

“I,” he exhales, squinting into the cold. “…Y/N?”

“It’s me.” Regaining motion, you push open the door. Hurriedly, you drop the knife to the ground. “Yoongi, it’s me.” 

“Y/N.” He repeats your name, slightly lost. “What are you doing?”

Unsure what to say, you walk towards him. Once he is there, your feet falter. “Here,” you say, thrusting the small bag upon him. “I – I went and got you coffee.”

Yoongi does not move. He stares at the package, not understanding. Wind ruffles his hair, exposing pale skin and hesitantly, Yoongi reaches out a hand. “Coffee?” he murmurs. Turning the bag over in his palm, he looks up. “Why?”

Staring at him, you feel oddly exposed. You thought you knew Yoongi, but here in this dead world, everything is new.

“Because,” you whisper, feeling somewhat foolish. “You like coffee. You need it… for, you know.”

To not be numb anymore.

Yoongi does not move for a moment. He stands there, bag of beans in one hand and looks wonderingly at you. Then, he drops the bag to the snow and crushes you hard to his chest.

Yoongi buries his face in your neck, exhaling brokenly. For the second time in the same hour, your vision blurs. Hugging him tightly, you burrow your face in his sweater. His large hand strokes your hair, winding in strands and keeping you firm in his arms.

Yoongi chuckles when he feels you wipe your nose on his front. “You know I’m still here?” he whispers into the shell of your ear. “Right?”

You nod, pulling back to see him. Tears cling to your lashes, and you blink them away. For the first time in months, you feel the breeze on your skin. It does not make you feel numb, but alive. The rustle of the wild is all around you.

The world is not dead – merely holding its breath.

Yoongi stares back.

“I know.” Lifting on tip toe, you brush a kiss to his lips. “I know. I’m here too, okay?”

Swallowing a smile, Yoongi nods. “I know.”

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG171!

- … Yeah, reasoning that “The Gardener” would be the worst title for a Flesh episode was a correct hunch, and the induced feeling was indeed “Ewwwwwwwwwww”.

Amazing contrast between the locus amoenus, with wind (that we could occasionally hear through the windchime), plants, maybe a stream gurgling (I think I heard some water?), Jared’s wheelbarrow, birds chirping (regarding the species, Alex said they were “Meat Birds”.)… and the whimpers, moans and sobs of pain, plus that terrifying scream followed by weeping when Jared took care of the “pruning”. Jonny, why.

- We’ve had a few unique “statement” formats in the journey: The Stranger’s poem (MAG165), The End’s coroner report (MAG168), and now The Flesh’s… botanical textbook? I felt like this one was a bit different in the way Jared really didn’t seem to exert much control over the domain (since he asked Jon to “hear about [his] garden”), unlike, for example, Oliver, who had given his own observations; and because… the victims felt so far away from a direct narration? There were layers upon layers narratively removing us from them (… although we could physically hear their moans of pain, directly in front of us): Jon giving the domain’s statement, and the domain explaining how to handle these people. The only direct glimpse of them was the small section towards the end of each case. Jared mentioned that the current rule seemed to be “just people using each other up”, which Jon repeated when proceeding with the smiting, and it really found an echo in the way the statements have felt less… subjective, and instead removed and distant? Not really allowing people’s voices to be heard, except for a brief moment? I wonder if it was a Flesh-thing, or if it’s installing something as they get closer to the Panopticon – the principle of this episode felt so Beholding, observing from afar things that were happening right in front of us…

- The domain’s statement was extremely organised every time:

* The genus and species for the plant-people (the root of their fear in Latin-ish and their own name), followed by the cultivated variety (the exterior result). It was incredibly nasty since in the nomenclature, the “species” of plants… doesn’t take an uppercase. And here it was people’s name, as if they were reduced to simple objects and common nouns.

* The way to prepare the living conditions: soil, temperature, light.

* The way to ensure growth and the necessary regular “care”.

* People’s inner experience and feelings in the state they’re in.

* The observed result, advertisement-like.

… It took me a while, and I’m really not sure about it, but I heard/understood:

* “Cultivation notes for [Fortisium] reese, commonly known as the ‘Gristlebloom Orchid’”: with the mention of “aggressive dehydration” and “they must always and forever be more”, toxic culture about the standards regarding muscle mass, with extreme and aggressive body-building. * “Cultivation notes for Gracilium patricia, commonly known as the ‘Bone Rose’”: toxic culture about thinness. * “Cultivation notes for [Sicarium] leopold, commonly known as the ‘Cutaway Tulip’”: toxic culture regarding plastic surgery, especially to remove traces of ageing. * “Cultivation notes for Supremium maeve, commonly known as the ‘Lily of the Damned’”: that one was a bit trickier, and seemed to be a mix of the pain coming from disability, and the obsession of a separation between body and soul?

I’m not sure about the names (my Latin is old, rusty, unreliable), but as far as I can tell through digging a bit, the roots would make sense for each: “fortis” (strong), “gracilis” (thin, tight, skinny, lean), “sicarius” (murderer) or “sica” (dagger), “superus” (above, higher; “supremus honor”, the superlative, referring to the last honours given to the deceased). … Except the declensions don’t work. “Fortisium” isn’t a form that can exist at all, as far as I can tell, same for “supremium”.

But you know what all of these have in common?

Latin words with –(i)um just slapped on to the end (regardless of whether that makes any grammatical sense).

- So. I need to make a whole separate Point about it, because if I’m right, it’s absolutely hilarious: The Eye, and Jonathan “Admittedly, if Martin speaks Polish in the same way he ‘speaks Latin’ then he might be talking nonsense again” Sims, might not know shit about Latin either.

(I’m not shaming anyone for not knowing anything about Latin, I’m not super confident about what I’m saying here either (it’s old stuff and I was very privileged to study it a bit!): but I’m shaming Jon HARD for complaining about Martin’s lack of knowledge of it… if it turns out that he, too, was absolutely shit at it. JON.)

- I’m not sure, but I feel like Jon’s tone has been getting more and more gleeful when telling the “statement” recently? It was a bit more pitying/sympathetic at the beginning of the journey, while there has been a form of… ravishment and tender, carnivorous pride? with The Desolation and now The Flesh. So, uhoh. Is Jon getting desensitised again along the journey, as he re-experiences the Fears…?

- The idea of Martin meeting Jared had been thrown around for fun and almost like a joke (Alex voicing two characters in the same room, interacting with each other), I’m so glad it happened! I still can’t understand 95% of what Jared is saying, even without the Distortion’s static! Yoohoo!

And the tiny thing I like about Jared is how… contrarily to Jonah’s complaints (MAG160: “I was a little put out when that idiot Jared Hopworth misinterpreted my letters and attacked the Institute too soon, before you were even out of the hospital” – Jonah, it wasn’t because Jared was an “idiot”, it’s because YOU messed up that one), Jared is a quick-thinker, very fast at understanding the situation, very straightforwardly logical when it comes to Jon seeking him out?

(MAG131) JARED: … What do you want? ARCHIVIST: I, uh… I want a favour. JARED: For letting me out? ARCHIVIST: Yes. JARED: Alright. ARCHIVIST: Oh. O–okay. D–do you need to know… wh–what it is? JARED: Not much you could want, comin’ to me. Put summat in. Take summat out. Which is it? ARCHIVIST: Take something out. A bone. A–a rib, probably. So–something I won’t miss.

(MAG171) ARCHIVIST: You know why I’m here? [WINDCHIME IN THE BACKGROUND] JARED: I can guess. Took a bit to figure out which rib was aching. But when I did… well. Obvious, really. [OMINOUS SHIFTING, CRACKING AND POPPING] Why shouldn’t you want it back? ARCHIVIST: [SHARP EXHALE] It’s too late for that now…! JARED: Not really, but… whatever. […] So, is there any way this doesn’t end in me dead? I’m guessing that’s on the docket if you’re here. Unless you’re just here to smell the flowers.

Jared had assumed Jon was here for the rib, and it would have been a logical thought (Jon had the power to get back what was his)… and Jared immediately corrected his assumption when Jon explained that it wasn’t the case, leading to Jared deducing that Jon was just here to kill him. I’m not sure many avatars would have been able to understand this that quickly.

- Fun thing about Jared’s gym is that both Martin and Jon knew about it separately: Martin read the statements about “J” (MAG090), and Jon had been directly told about it by Jared in MAG131:

(MAG090, Ross Davenport) “It was text only, and read, ‘Your perfect body is here. Become all you can be.’ […] The man who stood there was, without a doubt, the biggest guy I had ever seen, and bear in mind I spend my time hanging out with bodybuilders. He had to hunch down to fit through the doorway, and was almost twice as wide as I was. Most of his body was covered in a loose tracksuit, and I could see clear stitch marks where it had been enlarged for him. Embroidered onto the chest was the letter ‘J’. […] J was there, standing his full height. A distended, jagged body bared in all its twisted grandeur, and he shook his head in frustration. He said something, I think, but I couldn’t make it out. It might have been ‘too soon’. I try to remember some of them in detail, the confusion of limbs and joints and muscles, but all I can remember is the happy, joyful way they called to me. Told me that the pain was worth it. It makes me sick that a small, sharp part of me wishes I’d stayed to listen.”

(MAG131) JARED: Some of my mates, the ones I helped find their proper bodies, they listened, and went to feed the hunger. Not me though. I never was that ambitious.

(MAG171) JARED: So, is there any way this doesn’t end in me dead? I’m guessing that’s on the docket if you’re here. Unless you’re just here to smell the flowers. [WINDCHIME IN THE BACKGROUND] ARCHIVIST: … No. I can’t let you carry on like this. What happened, Jared? I thought you only worked on the willing. JARED: … What? Says who? Oooh, the gym! [THROATY LAUGH] I mean, yeah. They wanted to change, but they were still scared. First at what I’d do to them, then at what would happen if the world couldn’t handle their beautiful new bodies. Not like I was doing it out of the goodness of my heart. [SNORT] Hearts.

BUT WOW JON, WHY THAT ASSUMPTION?? Jon knew perfectly well already that Jared… hadn’t limited himself to the gym, that he had been, and still was, an Avatar Of Many Talents.

(MAG017) ARCHIVIST: I asked Martin to try and hunt down Mr. Adekoya himself for a follow-up, but have been informed that he passed away in 2006. He was found lying dead in the middle of the road on the night of April 17th. Despite the fact that there were no crushing or trauma marks on the body, the inquest ruled it a hit-and-run car accident due to the mangled position in which he was found. It was a closed casket funeral.

(MAG049, Gregory Pryor) “Hector looked at the paper, typed something into his phone and threw it away as he walked off. It was an address in Stockwell, and an instruction: ‘Ask for Jared.’ […] He pulled back the tarpaulin covering Hector’s body and cracked his knuckles. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound of him doing that. Then… he reached into Hector. No cutting, no saws, he just… reached in. And I realised why the room was soundproofed. Because it turned out Hector wasn’t dead. And it was going to be a while before Jared got around to his lungs or throat. […] There is… no way to describe what it feels like, to have bone pulled out of you through your unbroken skin. […] I slammed the door shut and ran into the street, through the people still wandering Stockwell in the evening, and away. My now empty left arm hanging limply by my side. I didn’t stop running for a very long time. […] The doctors amputated the arm in the end, and I’m getting used to the prosthetic. But I can still feel it sometimes, like it’s still there. I know it’s just phantom limb syndrome but… sometimes I swear it feels like my bone’s still out there, twisting in someone else’s arm…” ARCHIVIST: Statement ends. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume this butcher to be Jared Hopworth. It seems that if Mr Adekoya’s account from statement #9991006 is accurate, then Hopworth has found new ways to profit from his abilities in the eight years since his acquisition of The Boneturner’s Tale.

(MAG131) JARED: I wandered around for a bit. Worked a lotta jobs where it didn’t matter what you looked like. There’s always a spot for someone who can get rid of people. You must have heard about me. I left plenty of people scared and crying, itching to tell someone what happened to ‘em. Some of them must have made it to you. […] The letters started comin’ in about two years ago. Good white paper, large print. Nice and simple. Dunno who sent them; they were never signed, and I dunno how they kept finding me. There was never much in them; normally just a name, and a place, or a time. I ignored the first couple, but they kept coming, and eventually I got curious. So, I followed the instructions in one of ‘em. I found Regan Hasnain of 70 Clairmont Gardens, and that got rid of most of my doubts. I don’t blame people for thinking that all bones are the same, most people don’t have much experience – but it’s not true. There are good bones, and there are bad bones, and Regan Hasnain had some very good bones in her. They were solid, healthy, and they jumped at my touch. I didn’t doubt the letters again. They came pretty regular after that. And they always led to summat good. Quality bones, a new mate, or some unlucky fool who wouldn’t look at me for the fear. It got so I trusted them.

He’s been a butcher (with a bit of “artisty” vibe already, in the way he was twisting bones), he’s been a coach/gym adviser, he’s been an assassin-for-hire, and now a gardener. Terrible man, and wow, the range, the flexibility. So what the heck, Jon. Why the focus on the “willing”, you knew it wasn’t true – or at least, not all of it.

… Was it once again a case of Jon trying to hope that there were a few mostly harmless avatars? A bit like how he behaved towards Oliver? Hence the focus on the “willing”?

(MAG171) ARCHIVIST: … No. I can’t let you carry on like this. What happened, Jared? I thought you only worked on the willing. JARED: … What? Says who? […] Anyway: willing, unwilling; don’t work like that anymore, does it? You made sure of that. MARTIN: That’s… not fair. JARED: And what? MARTIN: I… JARED: [CRACK] MARTIN: I, uh… JARED: So what? Don’t really matter now, does it? ARCHIVIST: … No. [INHALE] No, it doesn’t.

After all, if avatars could hypothetically survive without causing much pain to “unwilling” people, it would mean that Jon might be able to sustain himself in another way than by terrorising “unwilling” people. It just feels a bit surprising, indeed, that it would still be a concern of Jon’s (a preoccupation that followed him for the entirety of season 4)… given that they’re in the apocalypse right now. But there is also still the underlying question of what would happen to people, and to Jon himself, if the apocalypse was to be undone and, even regardless of this, the fact that Jon seems to be evaluating which avatars “deserve” to get smote.

I mostly wonder: if they hadn’t walked on Jared causing even more pain to people, and if Jared had been more passive in the garden, would Jon have spared him? Jon presented it as his reason for smiting him, but I’m… really not sure it was his actual one…

(- Jared’s jokes… “Not like I was doing it out of the goodness of my heart. [SNORT] Hearts.”…

We knew he canonically had Many, Melanie had mentioned it:

(MAG131) MELANIE: I stabbed him in three different hearts. Didn’t work. If you want to go hunting for a fourth, knock yourself out.

But that joke… Jared, please.)

- I know there were many screams about homophobic Jared in the fandom, but personally:

(MAG171) JARED: Oh! And who’s this? Your boyfriend? MARTIN: Hum– ARCHIVIST: Yes. Actually. JARED: Oh. [A BIRD’S CHIRP FALLS FLAT] Mm. … So, is there any way this doesn’t end in me dead?

… I heard it as either “Jared would have said that anyway if one of them had been a woman” and/or Jared was Shooting His Shot with Martin.

- Jon&Martin Are Together, season 5 edition:

(MAG161) ARCHIVIST: No, it’s– [SIGH] I love you, I just… I need more time.

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: “The screams may linger on the distant breeze, and your eye may wander beyond the curtains from time to time, but you and the one you love are, it seems… safe. […] There within the thing that pretends to be a cabin is the one you love. […] The one you love is always near, so close that refuge sometimes feels a prison.

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: What do you want. HELEN: To say hello! And check up on the happy couple~ [LAUGHS AND LAUGHS, ECHOING] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] HELEN: I always knew you crazy kids would make it work!

(MAG167) MARTIN: Ssso. If you say Gertrude wouldn’t have been able to go on without a reason… ARCHIVIST: Yes, Martin, you are my reason. MARTIN: Just wanted to make you say it…!

(MAG170) MARTIN: I’m… I’m in love, eh! I am in love, and I will not forget that, I will – not – forget. I am Martin Black–

(MAG171) JARED: Not really, but… whatever. … Oh! And who’s this? Your boyfriend? MARTIN: Hum– ARCHIVIST: Yes. Actually.

(+ Technically, Jude’s “valet”: it was derogatory, but at the same time… her own frame of reference was her devotion for Agnes as a god/woman, so.)

- Martin, polite boy who says “Please” and manages to get what he wanted:

(MAG171) JARED: Right. So are we doing this or what? I reckon I can get a few good hits in before I go down. Give you a little something to remember me by. ARCHIVIST: … No you won’t. JARED: [HUFF] No. Maybe not. But you’ve gotta try, haven’t you? MARTIN: Please don’t. JARED: What? MARTIN: You’ve already made your mark. [SILENCE] [WINDCHIME IN THE BACKGROUND] JARED: [THROATY LAUGH] Fine. Consider it a favour.

(Also, really laughing that Martin is canonically “little”. At least to Jared (“Don’t fret yourself, little man.”), which, uh, might not actually say much.)

- :D The return of Jon reminding Martin to not touch dangerous stuff!

(MAG113) MARTIN: Ooh! Ooh! There’s a book in this one. ARCHIVIST: [HASTILY] Don’t… touch it! MARTIN: Ooh… OH! Right. Yes. ARCHIVIST: Let’s… not touch any books we don’t know. MARTIN: Right. ARCHIVIST: Step back.

(MAG165) ARCHIVIST: Either way, best not to actually climb onto the thing, if we could help it. MARTIN: Fine – by – me, eh! Never really liked merry-go-rounds anyway.

(MAG171) ARCHIVIST: Don’t – touch – anything. MARTIN: I wasn’t planning to, uh…! Are they still… alive?

Martin…

- Martin stayed for the “statement”! They learned from MAG170, to prevent him from getting lost again, uh…

- Technically, we didn’t “learn” anything new regarding Jon-in-the-new-world: he admitted since the season 5 trailer that to some part of him, the horror felt “right”. He mentioned that “guilt” was protecting him from embracing the things he was made to experience. We know he consumes fears, is fed by it. There have been multiple jabs from avatars about how Jon is tailored for this world because of his connection to The Eye and/or his role as “Archivist”(/Archive) and/or as the tool used to bring the apocalypse, leading him to be at his peak in the current events – in control, above all other avatars, all-knowing:

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Don’t worry, Jon. You’ll get used to it here – in the world that we have made.”

(Season 5 trailer) MARTIN: Are you still… [SIGH] “feeling it”? Seeing everything? ARCHIVIST: Yes, I, I’m trying not to, but… all of the fear, th–the anguish, i–it just… [INHALE] It keeps coming at me in waves, rolling over me, filling my head with such… awful sights. MARTIN: … I’m sorry. That sounds… [SMALL EXHALE] That sounds horrible. ARCHIVIST: … I wish it was, Martin. I really wish it was. … But it feels… right. [MIRTHLESS HUFF]

(MAG161) ARCHIVIST: … Besides… G… [SHAKY EXHALE] Grief… is healthy. I–if nothing else, it pushes away the other feelings that that… thing wants me to experience.

(MAG163) MARTIN: … How do you know all this stuff? [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: Not sure…! I just do.

(MAG164) MARTIN: A–alright, but… but how do you know that– ARCHIVIST: I just do. I just know it. [SILENCE] [SHUFFLING] MARTIN: You’ve been knowing a lot lately. ARCHIVIST: … Yes. MARTIN: A lot more than you used to. ARCHIVIST: Y… [SIGH] Yeah. And it, it feels more… deliberate. L–like I have more control now. MARTIN: Okay. So… how much can you see? What else do you know? ARCHIVIST: Uh… Maybe everything…! MARTIN: What’d you mean, “everything”? ARCHIVIST: I don’t… Ask me a question. O–one I can’t… possibly know already. […] HELEN: Hello, Jon! [FOOTSTEPS] [THE DOOR CREAKS CLOSE] ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] How did you find us? HELEN: Oh! I thought you’d know everything by this point. […] And please: my name is “Helen”. ARCHIVIST: Like you said, I can know everything now. Including how much of a lie that really is. HELEN: Don’t mistake “complication” for “falsehood”, dear Archivist.

(MAG165) MARTIN: But. You said we needed to go through these places. … Is that even going to work here? ARCHIVIST: Uh… [EXHALE] We need to go through them… metaphorically. MARTIN: Mm… ! ARCHIVIST: Psychologically, we need to… “experience” them.

(MAG166) HELEN: We’re all here, Martin. The Stranger; The Buried; The Desolation; all of us. But The Eye still rules. All this fear is being performed for its benefit. And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are afraid. And Jon, well… he is part of The Eye; a very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say… shift its focus. Turn the one into the other. And for those of us whose very existence relies on being feared, well… To be turned into a victim destroys us utterly. And very, very painfully.

(MAG168, Oliver Banks) ARCHIVIST: “This report is being sent to: [STATIC FADES] The Great Eye, that watches all who linger in terror, and gorges itself on the sufferings of those under its unrelenting, stuporous gaze! And its Archive, which draws knowledge of this suffering unto itself.”

(MAG169) JUDE: You’re not scared, though, are you, Archivist? ARCHIVIST: … I can feel the pain of every person you have trapped here. My own isn’t all that different. JUDE: Yeah, but you like seeing their pain, don’t you? Their fear? ARCHIVIST: … Yes. JUDE: You and that stupid Eye, god, you make me sick! Lording it over everybody like you own the place? You’re just leeches, voyeurs, parasites on the real monsters. […] Oooh, I see! I get it. You finally get a sniff of power, and the first thing you do is try to settle some old scores. MARTIN: [LOUDER COUGHS] JUDE: Play the big man, get off on good old-fashioned petty revenge~! […] I’m happy in this world. I belong here. And so do you. MARTIN: [COUGHS] [STATIC RISING: LOW AND SPIRALLING, PRESSURING] JUDE: Uh! Listen… Listen… [BREATHLESS CHUCKLING] You’re enjoying this, right? ‘Course you are! You want to use those powers of yours to hurt people, you want to murder everybody who can’t fight back at you now? I can help you…! [DIGITAL GLITCHING SOUNDS] MARTIN: Just DIE already!! JUDE: You’re… not… better… than… me! [SCREAMS]

(MAG171) ARCHIVIST: It takes a skilled gardener to get them to grow like this. The curling, cascading intricacies of collagen and marrow… it takes devotion. MARTIN: Jon. [FOOTSTEPS STOP] [WHIMPERS IN THE BACKGROUND] ARCHIVIST: … S–sorry. MARTIN: You sound like you think they’re beautiful. [FOOTSTEPS RESUME] ARCHIVIST: Don’t you? [SILENCE] […] JARED: Anyway: willing, unwilling; don’t work like that anymore, does it? You made sure of that. MARTIN: That’s… not fair. JARED: And what? MARTIN: I… JARED: [CRACK] MARTIN: I, uh… JARED: So what? Don’t really matter now, does it? ARCHIVIST: … No. [INHALE] No, it doesn’t. […] JARED: [LONG MEATY INHALE, EXHALE] Cheers for that! ARCHIVIST: … Don’t. MARTIN: Jon, are you… alright? ARCHIVIST: Yeah, hum… Sorry. MARTIN: No, it, it’s alright. JARED: Is it really that bad? Seeing what I’ve done here? Or… uh! Is it maybe that deep down, you think it’s as beautiful as I do? ARCHIVIST: Shut up! [WINDCHIME IN THE BACKGROUND] JARED: It’s a shame…! Who’s gonna look after the garden when I’m gone? There are a few real pretty ones. Who knows: maybe they’ll uproot and start landscaping themselves…! That’d be nice. Then again, maybe it’ll just grow wild. ARCHIVIST: I don’t care. JARED: … No. You don’t, do you? ARCHIVIST: … I can’t… There’s too many. I can’t save everyone. [EXHALE] I c–, I can’t save anyone.

Jon judging that something terrifying was “beautiful” is not new: he described the Dark Sun that way… but then he was at his peak of Beholding!avatar-casually-traumatising-innocents. Right now, I’m concerned about the mix of little slips (Jon implying the garden was “beautiful” and describing it with ravishment, almost falling into statement-mode even though there was no static yet), Jon’s reluctance to try and intervene from the start, and the fact he sounds like he’s… lost hope of doing anything worthwhile or good for the situation. He was defiant and a bit hopeful back when they left the cabin (“Gertrude didn’t think so. […] But she’s dead. Let’s find out for ourselves.”) and that part seems to be eroding. We know that the statements seem to be affecting him (Martin noticed something afterwards, and was concerned again after the smiting) but I’m fearing that Jon is currently losing himself a bit, at least in… forgetting to reject the things that used to disgust him. Re-traumatisation, re-desensibilisation as they’re going through all the domains? If it’s the case, in what state will Jon reach the Panopticon…

- I’m a bit squinting at Jon’s wording here:

(MAG171) JARED: It’s a shame…! Who’s gonna look after the garden when I’m gone? There are a few real pretty ones. Who knows: maybe they’ll uproot and start landscaping themselves…! That’d be nice. Then again, maybe it’ll just grow wild. ARCHIVIST: I don’t care. JARED: … No. You don’t, do you? ARCHIVIST: … I can’t… There’s too many. I can’t save everyone. [EXHALE] I c–, I can’t save anyone. JARED: If you say so. … So.

Because it seems to me that Jon was implying that he could, in theory, save people from the domains, on a case-by-case basis? He didn’t say it was impossible per se: he first said there were “too many”, and that he couldn’t save “everyone”, before concluding that he couldn’t save “anyone”. But he managed with Martin! (I don’t think that it could work in practice: the world is now ruled by the Fears, so “freeing” someone from a Fear would likely just lead to them getting caught by another domain, or dying/disappearing/collapsing because they can’t sustain themself, etc. But, in theory, it felt like Jon was admitting that he might have the power to save punctual people with his powers?)

Jon has pointed out to Martin, multiples times, that they were in-between the domains and that it wasn’t worth it to try and interact with people. Although he has been interacting with avatars, Jon has been very reluctant to even try to do this with regular people, or even to know what was happening to them once they had left the domains:

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: I–ignore them, they’re not… Just ignore them. MARTIN: … They’re not… real? [VOICES SHOUTING IN THE DISTANCE] ARCHIVIST: [MIRTHLESS CHUCKLING] No…! They’re real; they were… normal people before the– … Before me. But now they’re here, meat for the grinder. I just mean there’s no point… talking to them. MARTIN: Don’t be a prick, Jon. Hey! I’m, I’m sorry about him. He’s–he’s going through a lot – well… we all are, I suppose, but well… “Hi”, I guess. [SILENCE] Hello? ARCHIVIST: They won’t hear you, Martin, they’re all… too busy waiting to die. […] MARTIN: What’re you doing here? [PLASTIC RATTLING] It’s dangerous. Could… get yourself blown up, like all these poor… [PLASTIC RATTLING] Who d’you think they were? Really don’t see why they can’t just… go round, picked a better place to… [STEPS THROUGH LIQUID] [SIGH] I guess there… aren’t really any “better” places anymore, are there? [STEPS THROUGH LIQUID] It’s all this. Or worse, or… or different.

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: We’re fine. MARTIN: A–are we? I mean, that place is– … I don’t, I don’t feel fine, okay, and you were there a long time doing your… y–you–your guidebook, which, you know, I get it, but that place is… I–it’s–it’s infectious, and, I don’t– ARCHIVIST: We’re not infected, Martin, that place, it– … It isn’t for us. […] MARTIN: Are we safe, traveling like this? ARCHIVIST: Yes… Yes, sort of, we’re… I don’t know how to phrase it, we’re… something between a pilgrim and a moth. We can walk through these little worlds of terror, watching them; separate, and untouched. MARTIN: [NERVOUS CHUCKLING] That’s not as comforting as you might think. ARCHIVIST: I like it better than the alternative…!

(MAG165) MARTIN: What about the merry-go-round? With her gone, is it, is it still th– ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t know! MARTIN: [CHUCKLING] Yes you do! ARCHIVIST: I–I don’t… want to know, plea– We need to go. [BAG JOSTLING] Please.

(MAG169) MARTIN: Oh, it’s not just your revenge though, is it? Destroying her… it would help all those people in there, wouldn’t it? ARCHIVIST: … Maybe? It’s… [INHALE] Like I said, I can’t see the future. It wouldn’t free them, if that’s what you’re asking. “Free” doesn’t really exist in this place. MARTIN: Apart from us. ARCHIVIST: I suppose. I–in a sense, though… [CHUCKLING] how much of that is because we are trapped in our own quest to– MARTIN: Okay, let’s, let’s not dive into another… ontological debate right now, not here.

(MAG171) JARED: It’s a shame…! Who’s gonna look after the garden when I’m gone? There are a few real pretty ones. Who knows: maybe they’ll uproot and start landscaping themselves…! That’d be nice. Then again, maybe it’ll just grow wild. ARCHIVIST: I don’t care. JARED: … No. You don’t, do you? ARCHIVIST: … I can’t… There’s too many. I can’t save everyone. [EXHALE] I c–, I can’t save anyone. JARED: If you say so. … So. I guess that just leaves revenge, then, don’t it? Can’t say I blame you. That’s all life is, really, innit? Just people using each other up. ARCHIVIST: Spare me the crude philosophy. […] MARTIN: But all the people inside? ARCHIVIST: Killing Nolan wouldn’t have made it stop. It would just leave… unsupervised. MARTIN: Mm. [MOANS OF PAIN IN THE BACKGROUND] [WINDCHIME IN THE BACKGROUND] [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] MARTIN: Jon. We are… doing good, right? Making things better? ARCHIVIST: … I don’t know if that was… ever an option.

… Technically, Jon could have known already in MAG169 what happened to an “unsupervised” domain – since it had happened already with the Not!Them. Why the reluctance to know about that? (I’m mostly wondering if there is a non-negligible Beholding part of Jon just plain refusing to make Fearful Resources disappear, thus him not even trying to improve people’s situations overall… Smiting avatars is providing a new form of fear, of entertainment to The Eye: it’s a novelty, something unique, the Feared made Fearful! It seemed good, in theory, to erase avatars from existence, but in the end… it’s still feeding The Eye, since the apocalypse is still running.)

- >w< Sobbing a bit about that exchange:

(MAG171) MARTIN: Jon! ARCHIVIST: Mm? MARTIN: I need to ask you something. ARCHIVIST: Okay. MARTIN: I meant to ask. A–after the fire, actually? But, well… Then was the house and everything, and it just sort of– ARCHIVIST: What is it, Martin? MARTIN: … Why didn’t we go after the landlord guy, in the tenement? ARCHIVIST: Arthur Nolan? MARTIN: Yeah. He’s still there, right? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] After Jude, th–the fires, I… I didn’t want to put you through anymore. MARTIN: [EXASPERATED SIGH] Don’t do that. ARCHIVIST: What? MARTIN: Don’t use me as an excuse. ARCHIVIST: I, I’m not! I just… It didn’t seem worth it. I didn’t… hate him, like I hated her. He never hurt me. MARTIN: But all the people inside? ARCHIVIST: Killing Nolan wouldn’t have made it stop. It would just leave it… unsupervised. MARTIN: Mm.

… since it could be two different things, although not contradictory. It could stem from Martin’s own issues regarding his self-worth (refusing to think that Jon could try to accommodate Martin out of love/worry/care for him), and/or… Martin being spot-on about Jon’s tendency to hide himself, hide his actual motivations and feelings behind “more acceptable” pretences.

Jon lies and Jon hides, including to and from himself. That’s a thing he’s been shown to do when afraid and/or ashamed. He spent a good part of season 4 trying to convince himself that The Web or Beholding were manipulating him into attacking innocents, without leaving him any choice – and he still displayed the choices of going out for walks, going out for a coffee, not warning anyone that it was happening behind their backs. It could be the same thing: Jon trying to rationalise his own actions, because he’s pushed by a new influence, that he doesn’t fully acknowledge. Martin is suspicious, at least, so I really hope that it will lead to him acting on it – re-evaluating the “use” of the smiting plan, which is now officially only for “revenge” and feels hollower and hollower every time? Martin pushed him in that direction, so whether Jon is simply following Martin’s moral stance (because he doesn’t trust his own) or actually compelled by Beholding or something, it clearly feels like a mistake by now. Martin, you’re his anchor, say something! ;w;

(At the very least, I don’t think they’ll be as straightforward with Jonah: if the smiting feels unsatisfying now, there is no way it would feel fulfilling with him at the Panopticon.)

- Compilation of Jon’s stance about the different avatars since the apocalypse, and how the smiting proceeded:

(MAG162) MARTIN: Look, Jon, I… I, I know it hurts, but you’ve just got to… ARCHIVIST: No, no, lo–look… I, I–I was listening, and I–I was filled with this… hatred. This anger; I–I wanted to leave, and hunt down Elias, a–and…! MARTIN: W–wow, okay…

(MAG164) HELEN: I’m afraid the Archivist is too powerful now. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] HELEN: If he tried to travel through my corridors, it would not go well, for any of us. ARCHIVIST: But mainly for you. HELEN: Ouuh! [CHUCKLE] Is that a threat? ARCHIVIST: No. HELEN: Mm! Pity.

(MAG165) ARCHIVIST: … What did you say? [STATIC RISING: LOW AND SPIRALLING, PRESSURING] NOT!SASHA: [SHAKY BREATHES] I’m–I’m sorry… MARTIN: Jon? ARCHIVIST: You were wrong, you know. NOT!SASHA: [GASPS] [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: There is more suffering than you can ever experience, so much more. The horror of your victims… NOT!SASHA: [CRIES OF PAIN] ARCHIVIST: Their constant, senseless agony… NOT!SASHA: [CRIES OF PAIN] [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: Feel it now. Understand it. You have drawn out so much despair, and now finally, it’s your turn. [STATIC INCREASES] [DIGITAL GLITCHING SOUNDS] Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon this wretched thing! [STATIC INCREASES, WITH MORE PRESSURE] NOT!SASHA: No! No… Please, no…! [DIGITAL BURSTING, RIPPING SOUNDS] NOT!SASHA: [FADING] No…! [STATIC DECREASES AND FADES] ARCHIVIST: [PANTS] MARTIN: … Whoa–oh–oh! ARCHIVIST: I, uh… MARTIN: What was that?!

(MAG168) MARTIN: So, you… gonna smite him, then? ARCHIVIST: … Hum… MARTIN: Jon? … Jon, I said: are you going to sm– ARCHIVIST: I heard you the first time. MARTIN: And? ARCHIVIST: I… I don’t know…! MARTIN: W-Why not? Can’t you just do what you did what that “Sasha-thing”, make The Eye see him and all that? ARCHIVIST: I–I could, I think. MARTIN: … Cool, so what’s the problem then? Take another monster off the hit list, job done. ARCHIVIST: I–it’s not… that simple? […] I just, I don’t think he’s… [SIGH] I don’t know, I don’t think he’s evil. [CREAKING SOUND] MARTIN: Oh, yeah, sure, he’s probably a really kind, benevolent ruler of a hellish fear prison…! ARCHIVIST: It’s just… He helped me. Wh–when I was… He woke me up. […] Who knows – maybe he’ll try to stop us getting through the roots, and I’ll have to! MARTIN: Mm. ARCHIVIST: But I’m not going to… seek him out. At the very least, he’s earned not having me hunt him down. MARTIN: Fine. I suppose that’s… reasonable. ARCHIVIST: Now, if you’re quite done inciting me to murder? […] I… I feel… [FOOTSTEPS] No. I don’t want to destroy Oliver Banks. It wouldn’t do any good. I know that, and he never asked for this any more than I did. I feel badly for those that exist in his domain, o–of course, I do, but… At least, their suffering will be over, eventually. I can’t destroy everyone I cross paths with, it… [SIGH] No. If Oliver will not seek me out, then… I will leave him be. [TINY CHUCKLES] The avatar of Death… shall live. Martin’s going to be thrilled…!

(MAG169) MARTIN: … Right. [DISTANT SOUND OF SOMETHING COLLAPSING] Right… I just assumed this would be… Who was that landlord guy? ARCHIVIST: Arthur Nolan. He’s here, he has a… part of it, but it’s… huge. […] I… Oh, right. I–I want revenge on Jude Perry. I want to… “smite” her. Make her feel what… [SIGH] what all her victims have felt. But I’m not willing to force you to suffer for it. […] [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: I’d have thought that was a mindset you would appreciate. [STATIC INCREASES] Now, feel it! All the terror and pain you’ve inflicted. JUDE: Oh, piss off– [PAINED GASP] … [STRAINED] Look, look. Wait, right? I’m sorry, okay? I… shouldn’t have burned your hand. […] [STATIC RISING: LOW AND SPIRALLING, PRESSURING] Uh! Listen… Listen… [BREATHLESS CHUCKLING] You’re enjoying this, right? ‘Course you are! You want to use those powers of yours to hurt people, you want to murder everybody who can’t fight back at you now? I can help you…! [DIGITAL GLITCHING SOUNDS] MARTIN: Just DIE already!! JUDE: You’re… not… better… than… me! [SCREAMS] [DIGITAL BURSTING, RIPPING SOUNDS] [STATIC DECREASES AND FADES] MARTIN: [COUGH] [PANTING] Is it…? ARCHIVIST: It’s over. … She’s gone.

(MAG171) [STATIC RISES] JARED: Grow well, my darlings. Grow well. [STATIC INCREASES: LOW AND SPIRALLING, PRESSURING] ARCHIVIST: Feel it. JARED: [MEATY HISS] ARCHIVIST: Feel all the terror and despair as your garden grows. Let it flow through you, and blossom! [MEATY SOUNDS] JARED: [GROANS] ARCHIVIST: Just people, using each other up! [DIGITAL GLITCHING SOUNDS] Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon this thing and drink – your – fill! JARED: [GROANS] [MEATY SOUNDS] [DIGITAL BURSTING, RIPPING SOUNDS] [STATIC DECREASES AND FADES] [WINDCHIME IN THE BACKGROUND] ARCHIVIST: [GASPS AND PANTS] MARTIN: [SOFTLY] … Jon? ARCHIVIST: I’m here. MARTIN: Are you okay? [MOAN OF PAIN IN THE BACKGROUND] ARCHIVIST: I’m… great. You? […] MARTIN: I meant to ask. A–after the fire, actually? But, well… Then was the house and everything, and it just sort of– ARCHIVIST: What is it, Martin? MARTIN: … Why didn’t we go after the landlord guy, in the tenement? ARCHIVIST: Arthur Nolan? MARTIN: Yeah. He’s still there, right? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] After Jude, th–the fires, I… I didn’t want to put you through anymore. […] I just… It didn’t seem worth it. I didn’t… hate him, like I hated her. He never hurt me. MARTIN: But all the people inside? ARCHIVIST: Killing Nolan wouldn’t have made it stop. It would just leave… unsupervised. MARTIN: Mm.

* Jon invoked the “Ceaseless Watcher” both with the Not!Them and Jared. It’s not absolutely unheard of, but he only called it that way once in season 4; usually, he goes more with “The Eye” or “(the) Beholding”. “Ceaseless Watcher” definitely feels more ceremonial and… reminiscent of Elias marvelling about Jon’s dreams in MAG120. So, really, when Jon does the smiting, it doesn’t feel like he’s doing it for himself – but mostly as a sacrifice to his patron? It felt even worst with Jared and Jon’s “drink – your – fill!” since… yeah, The Eye is feeding from the act, uh.

* ;; Reminder that The Eye wanted Jon to leave the cabin in MAG162 (“This place wishes to be our tomb. But The Eye does not wish that. No. [STATIC INCREASES] The Eye wishes instead that it be my chrysalis.”). Which means that Jon is supposed to be evolving… towards another state of being, once again, and something that would please The Eye.

* Jon mentioned “anger” and “hatred” about Jonah and Jude, and although understandable… it also doesn’t really feel fulfilling when there is only that. Hatred/Anger, turning into violence, smiting, and then that’s it. It doesn’t change or solve anything.

* It feels like an escalation: Jon spontaneously killed the Not!Them, went after Jude on purpose, and sought out Jared… who offered reparation. Who offered to give Jon’s rib back, and Jon discarded the idea right away:

(MAG171) JARED: I can guess. Took a bit to figure out which rib was aching. But when I did… well. Obvious, really. [OMINOUS SHIFTING, CRACKING AND POPPING] Why shouldn’t you want it back? ARCHIVIST: [SHARP EXHALE] It’s too late for that now…! JARED: Not really, but… whatever.

There is a huuuge contrast between what Jude and Jared had each done to Jon: Jude found him “annoying” so she hurt him, and told Jon that she still would have done it had she known it would help to bring this apocalypse. Jared… only removed Jon’s two ribs because Jon had asked him to (for his own benefit! To get an anchor to save Daisy, and to get Jared’s statement!). And Jared was still offering to give it back.

It’s not about the violence that is exerted on victims: Oliver was torturing Danika, Arthur Nolan (who is apparently definitely not dead, oh.) had been shown torturing and sacrificing innocent people in the past. It’s not about avatars who casually hurt Jon just because they could: Jared and Jon had made a deal, Jon had come to him for a service.

… But the thing that all three of the Not!Them, Jude and Jared share is that they all contributed to Jon’s marks. As following Jonah’s recap:

(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “The discovery that one of The Stranger’s minions had infiltrated the Institute in the aftermath was certainly a pleasant bonus. Even if that sliver of paranoia, that “vague wrongness” you couldn’t quite place wouldn’t count as a mark… it was only a matter of time before it confronted you in a far more direct, and affecting, manner. Admittedly, given the advent of The Unknowing, I needn’t have bothered – but what’s the old saying about hindsight? […] Jude served her purpose exactly as I had hoped, as did our dearly departed Mr Crew – marking you for The Desolation, and The Vast. […] I was a little put out when that idiot Jared Hopworth misinterpreted my letters and attacked the Institute too soon, before you were even out of the hospital, but then… Oh! You should have seen my face, when you voluntarily went to him. I couldn’t see what happened in there, of course, but given how you came out, I’m very sure it counts as a mark.”

Arthur didn’t mark Jon. Oliver didn’t mark Jon either – Jon was marked by The End during his coma, Oliver only brought him back from it. The Distortion… marked Jon as “Michael” technically (though it’s still The Distortion as “Helen”). Jane Prentiss, Mike Crew and Peter Lukas are already dead. The Buried and The Dark marked Jon through the Coffin and the Dark Sun; The Web through the Mr. Spider book.

… Which leaves, for potential upcoming smiting targets:

* The Distortion, if “Helen” counts.

* … Jonah for Beholding, since he made Jon sign up to become The Archivist.

* … Melanie for The Slaughter (although she has shaken it off)

* ……………………………. Daisy for The Hunt.

If Jon is indeed going after avatars who marked him, that leaves the question of Jon’s degree of control over his own actions. Is he going after them consciously? Is he trying to “unmark” himself, to exercise some degree of control over his current state by getting his revenge over the avatars who made the apocalypse possible, regardless of their willingness for it? Is something else pushing him to do that, and he only rationalising his actions?

I’m super worried for Melanie and Daisy right now ;;

(And very interested for Jon’s reaction if they stumble on Simon. Jon didn’t want to meet him, Simon liked Martin a lot, Simon didn’t mark Jon and didn’t interact with him so far… So it could go in many ways.)

  No conviction regarding MAG172’s title, but I’m mostly thinking Vast, Simon in particular? It could work very well for Web, too, but I’m still expecting Web for last brefore the Panopticon (then again… I wasn’t expecting The Lonely so soon either and we’ve already checked off that one).

The second meaning could… refer to a certain item we’ve already heard of, and/or to Jon’s current streak of smiting combined with the way he’s (over)fed by this world, I guess? ;;

[evalinkatrineberg]

Practice Prompt 2

A/N: The dialog with @idaliamoretti and @lady-indiana comes from an rp we did earlier today :)

The knock on my bedroom door made me jump. As quickly as I could, I tugged the white shirt I was holding over my head, still pulling down the hem with one hand as I made my way to the door, opening it with my other.

My father was standing in the other side of the doorway, his car keys in hand. “Proctor wants you to come in and help her out with something today.”

I frowned. I had done a research assistantship with Professor Proctor during the spring semester, after taking her course on genetics in the fall. I loved the work I had done under her, though it was mostly just looking at certain chromosomes under a microscope before and after she had altered the sequence of nucleotides, and comparing how the images varied. Either way, it had gotten my name out there as her assistant on the papers she published, which was certainly something. I definitely couldn’t be credited with most of the work or writing though.

“Why?”

My father shrugged, already walking away from the door. I tied the fabric belt of my flowy black pants in a bow, and began to follow him down the hallway. It wasn’t like Professor Proctor to spring work on me unannounced like this, especially when school wasn’t even in session anymore.

My father made his way immediately to the door when he reached the bottom of the staircase, picking up his work bag, which was already leaning against the shoe rack. He tapped his watch twice, raising an eyebrow in my direction.

“I haven’t even had my coffee yet,” I protested.

“You should’ve gotten up earlier.” My father only shrugged as I grabbed my purse from the hook next to the shoe rack.

“I woke up at the same time I always wake up.” Not a lie. My early morning routine had been the only thing that remained constant these past few weeks. Between capital officials calling or visiting in person, and family members I barely remembered trying to get in touch with me, altogether consuming my every waking moment, my life felt like it had been the unfortunate victim of a hit-and-run accident.

“Not even at the palace yet, and already developing an attitude,” my father noted, holding the door open for me. “That’s not a good sign.”

I sighed, opening the passenger side door of his car the moment two chirps confirmed it was unlocked. “Sorry, I’m just kind of confused and concerned as to why Proctor wants me to come in today.”

As he got in the car himself, he handed me his work bag and nodded, the only sign that he had even heard what I said. He was a man of few words, my father. Always blunt and to the point, he got what he needed to get done done, and didn’t waste people's time with niceties and polite chatter. That part of socializing he left to my mother. It was also probably a big part of why the officials from the palace preferred to have her around when they needed me to sign something, rather than my father.

My absolute favorite moment from the past few weeks had been the time that some official or another had called from the capital, and my father, fed up after a long day at work, had picked up the phone and just yelled, “What? What do you want?” He had then paused, as whoever was on the other line said something, and then calmly, he had said, “Oh, Evalin, it’s for you.” My mother had been absolutely mortified, and had taken the phone out of my hands to apologize profusely to the capital official on behalf of my father. I had found it hilarious, however, and had to leave the room at one point, unable to contain my laughter any longer.

“She probably just needs your help.”

Thank you, Captain Obvious, I thought. I bit my tongue, though. Fighting with my father wasn’t worth it. It never was, but especially not now that this would be our last full day together for a while.

So we continued the rest of our ride in silence. The streets were just beginning to fill with other vehicles as we hit the main roads. I kept my eyes on the cars passing by as I thought about the upcoming Selection. Today really was my last full day in Knoxville. I didn’t know whether to be sad about the fact that I kind of hoped I wouldn’t be back for a while. I would miss my family, sure, but I couldn’t deny that no matter which way the Selection went, it was going to be a life changing experience. I was going to learn and grow from it, and for once in my life, not in the traditional classroom-learning sense.

This could possibly be the last time I was setting foot on this campus, I realized, as my father parked his car. This might be the last time he drove me here, the last time we hugged in the lobby of the biology building before heading down separate hallways, the last time I had to smell the brine of the oyster labs as I passed by them on the way to Professor Proctor’s laboratory. Had I taken all these things for granted?

I swallowed once before walking into the lab, refusing to let myself dwell on all the what-ifs. I was done with what-ifs. The here and now, that was real, and that involved finding out what Proctor needed me to do for her.

My professor was standing in the corner of her laboratory, flipping through the pages of what appeared to be an old book with maroon leather covers. The book itself looked like it was shorter than most normal-sized books, but maybe that was just the angle I was looking at it at. Or maybe most of my time had been consumed by textbooks and official documents the past few months.

“Good morning, Professor,” I said by way of greeting, holding on to the door as it closed behind me to make sure it didn’t slam. “How are you?”

Professor Proctor looked up from her book, shutting it with one hand as she smiled at me. “Good morning, Miss Berg,” she said, her eyes twinkling as she pushed some gray hairs behind her ears and readjusted her glasses. She might be old, but she was no less wise than she had been when she had published the results of her first independent study when she was just twenty-two. I had been ecstatic when I learned that she would be teaching my genetics lecture last fall. I mean, this was a woman whose tenacity and intelligence had always inspired me. I had literally done projects about her in elementary and middle school.

“Or, should I say, Lady Evalin?” One corner of her lip tugged upwards.

I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks as I hung my purse on the coat rack by the door. “That really isn’t necessary, Professor.” Then, turning back to face her, I added, “My father said you wanted me to come in today?”

“Yes.” She began to move towards one of the microscopes, placed on a low lying lab table towards the front of the room. She pulled out two chairs, facing them towards each other, and motioned for me to take the one opposite of her. As I complied, she explained, “I wanted to talk to you before you left.”

That was right - I hadn’t been able to see her since the announcement was made on the Report. My research period with her was over once the spring semester ended, and with all the craziness of the Selection going on, I hadn’t made time to come to campus and seek her out myself.

“Thank you, Professor, for making time for us to talk. I’m sure your schedule must be busy after the release of your latest findings.”

She smiled at my reply. “It may be, but science does not stop and wait for the media circus. There are always new discoveries to be made. The world keeps turning.”

I felt my blush deepen at her clear jab at the Selection. Oh, God, she must have been mad. Or maybe my father had paid her to give me the lecture that he couldn’t bear to give me himself.

“With that in mind,” she continued, “can I ask why on earth you decided to enter yourself in the Selection?”

Oh yes, here it was.

I decided to start with a joke, laughing nervously as I asked, “Did my father put you up to this?”

“Oh, good! He’s already given you this lecture! Now, I don’t have to!”

I sucked on a tooth. That hadn’t gone according to plan, but I decided not to correct her. Professor Proctor gave amazing lectures, but they were always long-winded and strongly worded, and I wasn’t sure I could handle one at the moment. I still hadn’t even had any coffee yet. “I understand that by participating in the Selection, I am putting my education on hold, but this could be a great opportunity. Think about it - if given a position of power and influence, I could promote the inclusion of more women in science!” It definitely wasn’t my primary reason for going, but it was better than admitting my childhood crush on Prince Arin to my professor.

She waved a hand through the air. “The Princess Safiya is already a woman in science herself. You’re more useful here, studying and publishing research to enhance our knowledge of the human genome. By throwing yourself at the shoes of some spoiled boy, you might as well be throwing all of your intelligence and hard work in the sciences into a trashcan, lighting that trashcan on fire, and then kicking it down a flight of stairs.”

I nodded ever so slightly, brows furrowing as I attempted to think of something I could even say in response to that.

The professor saved me from having to respond, though. She clucked her tongue. “None you worry, though! Your time at the palace won’t be a complete waste!”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” I replied flatly. I didn’t know why I was so irritable lately. First the almost-fight with my father, and now this. Was the stress of the competition getting to me already?

“How were you at history, Miss Berg?”

I pursed my lips, thinking back to high school, picturing the marks I had gotten on my exams. “It was my best subject out of the humanities and social sciences. I think a lot of my success had to do with my memorization skills.”

“Good.” Professor Proctor nodded, leaning back in her chair. “So you are aware, then, that Illea did not always exist as a country. Not as it does now, at least.”

“Yes,” I answered hesitantly. Where was she going with this?

“So, then, the Illean caste system, as it exists currently, could not have always existed, right?”

Alarm bells were ringing in my mind. “Yes, but -”

She cut me off. “Tell me, Miss Berg, have you ever dreamed about pursuing another career? Something besides biology?”

Wasn’t that what I was doing by participating in the Selection? Wasn’t that we she was just about to lecture me about before?

I studied the woman across from me. How could she sit there, so relaxed, not a tense muscle in her body, and talk about such things? She was like a spider with a fly already trapped in its web - all she had to do was watch. She had the power to strike at any moment.

“I used to dream of being a ballerina,” I admitted, “but I was four years old, and they were just that - dreams!”

“But what if there was a world where your dream could become a reality?”

“Well, that would require for me to have advanced physical coordination skills, which I don’t,” I stated, staring at her point-blank, my face relaxed. “That fact has nothing to do with the history of Illea.”

A casteless society. Was my professor really hinting at a casteless society? It was downright treasonous of her to be doing so, and bold of her to speak so freely of these things in front of somebody who would be inside the palace tomorrow.

“That’s neither here nor there,” Professor Proctor reprimanded, waving a hand through the air again. “The point I’m getting to, though, is that I have a proposition for you.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, letting out a scoffing laugh. “Okay, what is it?”

“I need you to write me letters while you’re at the palace.”

I frowned. “That’s it?” I had already been planning on writing my family and June, and maybe even Lukas, though I doubted he’d want to hear about the drama that was bound to ensue. I supposed I could add Professor Proctor to the list as well, though I found it highly unlikely that she would want to hear about the drama either.

“Yes, but not just any letters.” Here it was. Here came the catch. “I need you to get information about the plans the government have against the rebels and the abolitionists.”

“No.” The word came out of my mouth before I could even think, before I could even fully consider her proposal to me. “I won’t do it.”

She sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that. I’d hate to have to do this Miss Berg, but if you don’t send me those letters, I will make sure you never work in the field of biology again.” Her eyes narrowed as mine went wide. “If you want a research assistantship after your time gallivanting at the palace is over? You won’t get one from me, or any of my colleagues. You want to get into graduate school when this is all finished? Good luck doing it when no accredited institution worth a grain of salt will accept you.”

I shook my head, standing up and pushing my chair back under the lab table. “Treason, and blackmail,” I hissed, my voice wavering slightly, in spite of my desire for it not to. “I don’t care if you never let me work with you again. I don’t want to.”

“Think carefully on my offer, Miss Berg,” she instructed, not even moving as I made my way across the room to grab my purse. “I won’t hold this little outburst against you.”

I stopped in front of the door, my hand hovering over the doorknob as I looked over my shoulder at her, the woman I had spent most of my life aspiring to be, one last time. “You disgust me.” I shook my head again. “I’ve lost all respect for you.”

I opened the door, flinging it wide as I began to walk down the hallway.

She called after me. “What do you think your father has in your attic, Evalin?”

The door slammed, cutting off anything else she might say. I hurried past the oyster labs and up the stairs, blinking away tears as I made my way into the main hallway. Was I crying? God, I needed to get myself together.

I ducked into the ladies room on my left, right before I entered the main atrium, and threw my stuff down on the sink counter. After splashing some cold water on my face, I considered my possible next steps. My mother was at work, so I couldn’t ask her to come get me, and my father was up in his lab, which meant his phone was in his locker, and he wouldn’t be able to check it until the end of his workday. That left one person with a car that I could call.

June picked up on the second ring. “Hello, Evalin!”

“Hey, June.” I reflexively put my hand up to my free ear, covering it, even though the bathroom was silent. “What are you up to right now?”

“Running errands,” she replied. Indeed, if I listened closely, it did sound like she was in her car, not on a crowded street, but still definitely driving.

“Could you possibly come get me along the way?”

She cut me off before I could even tell her where I was. “I wish I could, Ev, but I’m on a bit of a time crunch!”

I heard someone mumble in the background - a distinctly male voice, and familiar at that. Was that Lukas? I blanched, putting two and two together. Oh my God, were they hooking up in June’s car? Was everyone I knew breaking a law today?

“No worries,” I assured her, my voice breathless and a little shaky. “I’ll find another way home.”

“Okay.” She paused. “Is everything okay?”

No.

“Yes!” I did my best to sound bright and chipper, but I didn’t think for one second that June was fooled. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

With that, I hung up. It looked like I was stuck here, and at the very least, I was not going to spend the rest of my day in the bathroom. So I picked up my purse, and made my way to the dining hall, purchased a cup of coffee, and carried it back to the biology building, where I spent a few hours playing solitaire. Anything to talk my mind off what Professor Proctor had told me.

It occurred to me that I didn’t have to give her the time to blackmail me. I could report her for conspiring with the rebels right now, and have her arrested. The only issue was, I had no proof. It was her word against mine, and I wasn’t naive enough to think that anyone would believe me over a world renowned researcher and scientist.

My phone was on it’s last two percent when my father finally emerged from the hallway. He frowned as his eyes darted from me to the three empty coffee cups that were now stacked behind me. Hey, walking to the dining hall was exercise, right?

“Done so soon?” His tone was skeptical, and he narrowed his eyes at me.

“Yeah, she got a call from a publisher of one science magazine or another, asking her if they could interview her about her latest study.” I shrugged nonchalantly. It was a good thing that I had had the better part of a day to come up with a believable lie. “How was your day?”

“Less hectic than I thought it would be.”

I stood up then, following him out the door and through the parking lot, to his car. He was silent up until we were in his car, when he asked, “Was it good to see her before you leave?”

“Yeah,” I lied, leaving it at that. Luckily, my father didn’t press me for more details. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel at every stoplight, humming along to an old song playing on the radio. No matter how much any of us protested, he refused to change the station in his car to anything other than “Classic Hits of the early 2000s.” He was insistent that it was the only music that would ever play in his car. If we wanted our own music, we were to bring something else to listen to. Too bad my phone was dead.

My father pulled into our driveway at a snail’s pace, each motion he made deliberate yet relaxed. He turned the keys, shutting the car off, still humming to that stupid song that played at least twice every time I rode with him to work - once in the morning, once in the evening.

I was over it. I wanted nothing more than to eat dinner, shower, and curl up in my bed. I was all but packed, seeing as we didn’t need to bring many personal items with us, since our wardrobe and essentials would be provided for us at the palace. All I needed to do was get through the rest of today, and then tomorrow, I would be on a plane, and with any luck, I would never have to see Professor Proctor ever again.

My father practically raced to the door. I trailed behind him, narrowing my eyes at him as he watched me slowly trudge up the porch steps, his gaze expectant. He waited until I was right behind him before he slowly began to open the door, which creaked slowly on its hinges. From what I could see, the inside of our house was dark, which was odd, considering my mother’s car was definitely in the driveway.

Once his hand was inside, my father flung the door open the rest of the way, and I stepped inside, blinking twice as the lights flashed on around me, and a wall of people jumped into my line of sight. The word, “Surprise!” was yelled in various pitches and intonations, jarring me almost as much as the sudden change in brightness did. I dropped my purse as I took in the sight in front of me. My entire family - my father’s parents included - along with June and Lukas stood in the living room, partially obscured by the staircase, wearing party hats and holding noise makers. Above the couch was a banner that read, “We’ll Miss You, Evalin!” in big red block letters.

I forced myself to smile, and then I forced myself to hug everyone, and act like this was the best present I had ever received. “I knew you’d love it,” Lydia squealed. “A going away surprise party just seemed perfect!” When our brothers were out of an earshot, she whispered, “I released the ants, too!”

I was quite sure an ant infestation was the last thing I needed at this point in time, but I assured her that it was the highlight of my day, which was the truth, though the bar was quite low. After her, it was my grandparents, who were so pleased with how much my Swendish had improved since I had last seen them around Christmas time. I informed them that I had been furthering my study of the language in order to help me stand out during the Selection, and they beamed.

The rest of the night was much the same. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that our company started trickling out. First it was June, lazily waving goodnight as she made her way to her own home nextdoor. Then it was my brothers and Lydia, whose departures were punctured with screaming and laughter as all four made it to their rooms, finally. Then my father decided it was high time to drive his parents back to the hotel they were staying in, though they promised they would see me again at the official send off ceremony the next day. My mother drifted off upstairs, saying she needed to deal with whatever mess had been made. I didn’t want to imagine what her face would look like when she found out her daughters had collected and released ants into her sons’ room.

That left just me and Lukas, seated on the couch downstairs, me with a glass of water, and him with an untouched slice of cake.

Now was as good a time as any, I decided. Today could not possibly get any worse.

“I heard you in the car with June, today.”

Color rushed to his cheeks as he placed his plate on the coffee table. “I went with her to pick up your grandparents from the hotel.” I raised an eyebrow at him, and he added, “She asked me to come with her since I know a little Swendish.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes right back at me. “You sounded kind of upset on the phone. What happened?”

I just shook my head. “You would not believe the conversation I had with Professor Proctor today.”

“Oh, good.” His eyes lit up, his lips starting to tug upwards in a smile, and his speech animated. “She filled you in on everything, then? It’s great that you’re continuing to work with her.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I never said that.”

His face went pale at that, and he leaned forward, towards me. “What do you mean?”

“I told her no, Lukas.” It was an effort not to ball my hands into fists in my lap. “You’re working with her?”

He shook his head, and then ran his hand through his hair. “Evalin, why -”

It was all the answer I needed.

“Get out of my house.” I stood, pointing towards the front door. “Now.”

Reluctantly, he got to his feet. “Evalin, listen, you’re being irrational. Can’t you see -”

“Don’t you dare try to call me irrational when you’re the ones committing treason,” I hissed, grabbing his arm and dragging him towards the door. “Get out of my house, and don’t you ever come back.”

My teeth were clenched as I opened the door, practically shoving him into the night air. As he stumbled out onto the porch, my father rounded the corner of our driveway in his car, his headlights like a beacon in the night.

“Evalin,” Lukas tried again.

I’d had enough. I pushed him towards the porch steps as hard as I could. He stumbled back a foot as I reiterated, “I said leave!”

Finally, he took the hint, and began walking across the lawn, turning right when he hit the street. To my left, my father stepped out of his car, locking it as he came to stand beside me on the porch. “I never liked him,” was all he said as he turned around, opening the front door and holding it for me.

It was a sleepless night after that. Between the fight with Proctor, and then the fight with Lukas, I had a lot to think about. My brain wouldn’t shut off, no matter how much I tried to drown out the sound of my thoughts with the sounds of the crickets outside. By the time light started filtering through the window again, I had managed to sleep for maybe half an hour, if that.

There was not enough coffee in the world to get me through this day. The morning was a blur of my mother fixing my hair and applying makeup to my face, Lydia zipping up the dress the capital officials had instructed me to wear, and my father, handing me cup after cup of coffee until I couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes without having to use the restroom. After that, we were out the door, and off to the town square, where the mayor was waiting on a stage in front of a crowd of people.

I had to give the crowd credit - some of the signs were kind of creative. Even June was there, holding one that read, “Evalin? More like Eva-WIN!” I cracked a smile at that, but it faded as I thought back to the night before. I wasn’t going to get the chance to tell her about Lukas. Shit.

Speak of the devil. There he was, dressed in a button up shirt and dress slacks, standing at the side of none other than Professor Proctor herself. A bold move, on their part. I refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing that I had seen them. Instead, I adopted the broadest smile I could manage, and plastered it on my face as the mayor droned on about my merits as a candidate for the princes heart, and what a great service I was doing for my province.

Once he had wrapped up, it was time to say goodbye to my family. My brothers were first, practically crushing me with the combined force of their hugs, and assuring me that they would get payback for the ants. I only laughed, challenging that I would love to see how they planned to do that from the other side of the country.

Then it was my grandparents, who gave me quick well-wishes in Swendish, before stepping aside to let Lydia through. Lydia gave me a quick hug, both her and my mother offering words of encouragement.

The last one left was my father. Steeling myself for what I knew I had to do, I wrapped my arms around his neck, closing my eyes as I inhaled the scent of coffee and hazelnut for one last time. Then, discreetly, I raised my head a bit, and whispered into his ear, “Proctor knows what’s in the attic, and I think I made her very angry yesterday.”

My father, to his credit, didn’t so much as flinch at the news. His face remained stoic, though he did offer me a nearly imperceptible nod, the only sign that he had heard what I said.

With that done, I was ushered into a limo, where I sat for the next two hours, until it arrived at the airport. I had wanted to sleep in the limo, but the caffeine in my system had left me too jittery and alert to do so. Maybe that was for the better, though. I didn’t want to accidentally fall asleep on the plane, in front of the other Selected girls.

One of them was already on the plane when I boarded. I ran through my memory, trying desperately to place her face to one of the names I had memorized. No luck. I was drawing a blank.

I offered her a smile as I made my way down the aisle. “Hi, I’m Evalin!”

She matched my smile with one of her own. “Hi Evalin! I’m Indie!”

Indie. Indiana? The film director from Clermont? I struggled to remember what else Lydia had told me about her, but it wasn’t coming through. God, I was so tired.

I took a seat across the aisle from her, keeping my smile in place. “It’s nice to meet you! You’re from Clermont, right?”

“Yes, I am! And you’re from -” she paused, smiling sheepishly, “-remind me again?”

“Carolina.” I smoothed out my skirt. At least I wasn’t alone in the not-remembering-information boat at the moment. “You’re a movie director, right?”

Her smile was nothing but kind as she replied. “I am. What is your profession?”

I inhaled slightly before answering. “I’m still in college, but I’m studying biology.”

For now.

“Oh wow, that’s really cool. I could never do science.”

“Thanks,” I replied with a slightly nervous laugh. “It’s second nature for me, really. I grew up around it. I think it’s really cool, what you do, though! I’ve never had that kind of artistic vision!”

“Aw, thank you. It’s the only thing I could ever do, and I’m glad. I truly love it. The profession saved me, in a way.”

“That’s amazing!” I couldn’t help but smile at that. Indie and I weren’t so different when it came down to it. What she felt for directing was exactly what I had felt, still felt, for biology. “That kind of passion is very admirable!”

Once again, she matched my smile. “We are still waiting on two more, right? The plane is supposed to leave soon.”

“I think so.” I frowned, looking over my shoulder, out the window. Missing the plane would set a sour tone for the rest of the Selection, that was for sure. As I craned my neck, trying to get a better view, I caught side of a girl with dark hair was walking through the parking lot. “Looks like one is coming now!”

Sure enough, as soon as the words popped out of my mouth, one girl boarded the plane, followed by a second girl, who already had headphones in. The first girl popped into the plane like a ball of pure sunshine, looking over her shoulder at the plane staircase. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, breathlessly, “My parents kept saying goodbye!” She turned back to us then, her eyes flickering over each of our faces in turn. “Idalia Moretti,” she said by way of introduction, plopping down in an empty seat to my right.

The fourth girl took up a seat towards the front of the plane, not so much as glancing back at us. Instead, she turned to face the window, keeping her headphones in.

“What about you guys?” Idalia’s voice drew my attention back towards my right side.

I offered her the same smile I had given Indie earlier. “Evalin Berg. It’s nice to meet you!”

“Oh,” Indie began, grinning like mad at Idalia. I had to admit, the girl’s energy was infectious, and she was practically bursting at the seams with it. “Hi, I’m Indie! Are you guys excited?”

With everyone on board, the plane began to take off. It wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be to say my goodbyes to Carolina, though I did still have my worries. Would Proctor report my father, out of spite for me? Would Lukas? What was even in my attic that was so illicit? It’s not like my father could just sneak up there willy-nilly. The attic door was a drop-down from the ceiling on the second floor, kind of like a reverse trap door, with a ladder that unfolded out once the door was open. The hinges were so rusted and creaky that half the neighborhood would know that someone was going into our attic before they ever set foot in it.

I turned my attention back to the matter at hand. “Very,” I answered. “A little nervous, too, though. What about you?”

“It should be an interesting day,” Idalia offered. “Tomorrow is when I’ll be nervous. Or, I guess whenever we meet the prince.”

“I’m definitely a little of both excited and nervous,” Indie agreed. “But you’re right. Tomorrow is when things get really real.”

They were right. I needed to focus. “True. Today is just makeovers and getting settled in, right?” I winced at my own unawareness of what I had gotten myself into. I cursed the stupid fights keeping me awake all damn night, and for making me forget what I really needed to do. “Sorry, this whole thing has been a bit of a whirlwind. It’s kind of hard to keep track of all the details.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Indie answered. “I’m sure there will be people telling us what to do, and where to go. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“It’s kind of weird, being thrown into the spotlight like this! Do any of you know any of the other girls? I’ve only gotten tidbits of information that my sister has dug up.” A half lie. Lydia had dug up a good deal of information, I just couldn’t recall any of it.

“I know one of the girls,” Indie admitted. “Emily. She’s acted in a few of my movies. I know some of the other actors just from industry talk, and stuff.”

“Yeah!” Idalia took over the conversation. “I just know the details because I have a friend obsessed with this stuff. She sent me a PowerPoint of, ‘The Most Important Things to Know,��� on everything and everyone.”

Indie’s eyes went wide and her smile grew. “A PowerPoint? That’s iconic!”

“Oh wow!” I laughed, but it came out a good deal more nervous than I had intended it to. “Dare I ask what it said about us?”

“Oh, Evalin,” Indie reprimanded with a shake of her head, “never read the reviews.”

I blushed, but Idalia only smiled as she forged onwards. “She is iconic like that! She liked your last movie, by the way. It was in her PowerPoint.”

“Oh, really? That’s sweet!”

So much for not reading the reviews.

A joke. I should crack a joke. “Ah, sorry! I’m used to my work being peer reviewed.”

I was the only one who laughed at my joke. I should not have cracked a joke.

As if it took her a second to catch on, Idalia let out a small chuckle. “I’m pretty sure your slide just said, ‘bio smart but I have no idea what any of her work says.’”

“Ah,” I replied, feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks once again. I should have seen that one coming from a mile away. “I haven’t really done anything of note. I held a research position under my genetics professor last semester, but it was mostly just me using a microscope.” It felt weird to talk about it now, after everything that had happened yesterday. I could only imagine these girls’ reactions if I had told them the full story.

“That sounds way more intelligent than anything I’ve done, so,” Indie trailed off for a second. “Kudos to you.”

I let out another nervous laugh, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. Time to change the subject. “What movies have you directed?”

Indie seemed to consider it for a moment, as if she had to pick between a large sum of movies when saying her next sentence. “A few,” she settled on, finally. “Some of them you might know are Lady Bird and Little Women. I’ve also done The Greatest Showman, but I also direct episodes of TV sometimes.”

“Oh, I loved Little Women,” I gushed immediately. “That and Pride and Prejudice are the two movies my sister insists we watch whenever we have a family movie night!”

She grinned at that. “Pride and Prejudice is amazing. I’m glad my movie sings along beside it at your family movie nights.”

“Funny,” Idalia interjected, smirking. “My house is usually filled with suggestions of Megamind on family night.”

“Hey, I mean, Megamind,” Indie trailed off again, clearly searching for the words in her head. “Important stuff!”

Interesting. That movie definitely sounded like something Randall would request. That, combined with her big personality, was making me wonder if Idalia and I had more in common than I had initially assumed.  “Do you have a lot of siblings, too?”

“No, actually,” Indie answered first, “I don’t have any siblings. You?”

Idalia had an amused smile on her face as she admitted, “I only have a younger brother, but Megamind is usually not his idea.”

“Like I said, Megamind - important stuff,” Indie reiterated.

“Megamind is a classic,” I decided out loud, though I had never seen the movie before. “I have three brothers, and a sister.”

“A big family,” Indie observed. “That must be nice.”

“It is,” I admitted, thinking back to our goodbyes a few hours earlier, “for the most part, but we can get a little antsy. There’s plenty of teasing and pranks to go around! Having time to yourself must be nice, though!”

Idalia nodded knowingly. “I probably tease my brother more than he teases me.”

“Having time to myself can be nice,” Indie agreed, “but at least I get to live vicariously through my characters.” After a brief pause, she picked up the conversation again. “Oh, hey! Idalia, we never asked you what your profession was. You seem like a prankster. It has to be something interesting.”

I wasn’t the only one who got that vibe from Idalia then. The brunette leaned back in her seat, cracking a smile as she responded, “Interesting assumption. I fence sabre.”

My eyes immediately lit up. So that was where I knew her from! “Oh, wow, that’s awesome! I thought your name sounded kind of familiar! You fenced in the Olympics, right? My youngest brother had the games on all day, every day when they were being broadcasted!”

She brightened as well, her smile broadening. “I did. I’m going again next year. Or at least that’s the plan.”

“Ah, congratulations!” Thinking about all of her words had me biting my lip. “Are you nervous about the possibility of this Selection taking over a year? I know the officials said it shouldn’t, since it should display the prince’s decisiveness, but” I sighed, “I have to wonder how into the Selection he’s going to be, what with his engagement to Evie Waldia being cut off so recently.”

It was a fact Gabriel had been bringing up since the beginning. This wasn’t a quest for love, according to him, but a quest for the royal rebound. His argument only got worse once he realized how similar my name was to Evie’s. From that point onwards, he refused to address me as anything other than, “Evie 2.0,” much to my annoyance. I was my own person, not a new Evie, and not a rebound. My brother, of all people, should know that.

Idalia turned her head towards the ceiling. “Time will tell, but I doubt they will say I can’t go. Illea, like everyone else, sends people that can win. If I’m still one of the candidates when the time comes, it would be foolish of them to deny my participation.”

“That’s true,” I conceded. “It must be so cool, being able to compete for your country like that!”

“That really is cool, Idalia,” Indie echoed. “I’m sure you’ll get to go. It’s probably even better press for Illea if they send a Selected.”

I was inclined to agree. “That’s a good point! You’d get to be serving the nation in two ways at once!”

“I guess that could be said,” Idalia conceded, chuckling. “So we’ve got a film director, a bio major, a fencer, and,” she paused, looking at the fourth girl, who had shown no inclination to join in the conversation, “an unknown.”

“Should,” Indie bit her lip, and I tried to remember who the fourth girl on this plane should be. “Should we try to talk to her, or…” She trailed off again, not taking her eyes off the girl.

It hit me then. Shala Lie of Dominica.

“Shala?” I asked. No reply. I frowned and lowered my voice to a whisper, having the vague sense that Shala might still be listening in on our conversation. “Maybe she’s just very nervous.”

“Yeah, probably.” Indie shrugged. “Well, anyway, you girls seem really nice. It’s definitely made me feel a lot better about this whole process.”

“Likewise,” I replied. I had to admit, my smile was less forced this time. “It’s good to know that we’re not in this alone.”

Idalia took control of the conversation again. “I’m sure Prince Arin must be having a similar feeling.”

“Speaking of Prince Arin,” Indie began with a grin, “thoughts?”

I couldn’t help but blush at the thought of the prince. I kind of hated it. What was I, twelve years old? Nonetheless, I had to field my question. “Well, he is quite handsome, don’t you think?”

“He is quite handsome,” Indie echoed. “I’m excited to get to know him. Or, at least I hope I get the chance to know him.”

“Me too. I’d love to be able to talk to him and get to know him.” Admitting this to these girls, these almost strangers, was somehow less embarrassing than admitting it to anyone at home had been. “I’m sure he has lots of interesting stories to tell.”

“Yeah, probably. It’s just crazy that we are going to be living in the palace, of all places,” Indie gushed. “Hanging out with the prince, of all people. It feels like a fever dream!”

“Truly!” I had been saying as much since the letter first came in the mail. “I never imagined that this is where my life would actually take me!” The faint popping in my ears was my first clue, but a quick look out the window only confirmed my suspicions. “It looks like we’re about to land!”

“Yep.” Indie nodded in agreement. “We should keep in touch down there. I think it’ll be nice to have some friendly faces around.”

My smile was my main reply; my words were secondary. “Certainly!”

“I wonder if we’ll be near each other, room-wise,” Idalia chimed in.

Finally, something I could actually remember. “What rooms are you in? I’m in room eighteen.”

“Oh, uh, you know, we might be close to each other. Hold on.” Idalia paused, pulling a piece of paper out of her back pocket. She skimmed it for moment before finishing with, “Yeah, sixteen.” Her brows furrowed, then, as she looked over what I could only imagine must be a map. “Okay, so we’re in the same hall, but you’re right outside the circle of rooms around mine. Not the closest, but still same hall.”

I looked over her shoulder, taking it was was indeed a map, for myself. “Yeah, it looks like we’re diagonally across the from each other.” I smiled at Idalia, then. This could be good. “We should definitely be seeing each other around, then!”

“I’m in room six,” Indie announced, “but we will still see each other around!”

“I’ve heard there’s a woman’s room, and also etiquette lessons,” Idalia admitted.

“True.” My grin was one hundred percent genuine this time. “I’m kind of excited for the etiquette lessons. It’ll be nice to learn something different, for a change.”

“Oh, it’ll be something for sure,” Idalia agreed with an amused grin. “How to be photographed, how to curtsy, maybe which spoon is for the salad as well!”

I laughed at the joke. “I wonder if they’ll make us learn how to walk with books balanced on our heads.”

It was Indie’s turn to laugh now. “That would be funny to see,” she admitted, “but, trust me, that’s not the hard stuff. It’s the learning to talk to the press that’s hard.”

That was where the conversation ended, as the plane touched down and we were escorted down a carpet, through a large crowd of people, and into a limousine. It was silent at that point, and for that I was kind of grateful. I was out of Carolina. I was here, in the capital, possibly about to meet the love of my life, and at that moment, that was all that mattered.

[oscurolibelle]

A Princess and the Pea Story - Madatobi Fairytale #2

Elements: Young Men Seeking Refuge, Shinobi deceiving each other, Tobirama accidentally infiltrates the Uchiha Main House, oops Inspiration: The Messed Up Origins of Princess and the Pea | Fables Explained - Jon Solo https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OH9bmjpr-Nw

Music to listen to while reading: 月下情人(월하정인) (Two Lovers Under Moonlight) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ah2K1Er0ik He was a good heir. He really was. Got up early every morning. Tended to his little brothers' needs, followed around his older brother as his partner to help him in his duties. That was until Kou fell in battle. Madara mourned him like any good Uchiha would, and watched darkly as his younger brothers cried themselves to sleep that night. The memory still haunted him to this day. He sighed, rising from his bed in the dead of the night, the winter chill seeping through the walls of the wooden house. A storm raged outside. He frowned, listening to the wind roar. At this rate, the storm would not pass for many days, delaying their missions and causing them more financial grief. He was sure to hear about this from Tajima. "You must marry soon." "You need to find new blood worthy of this clan." "Preferably with money.” 

He scoffed, throwing an extra blanket around himself and padding towards the main room for more warmth. He knew he needed to marry. The clan needed the morale boost, they needed the money. But he needed to feel loved and since news of Hashirama's engagement to the Uzumaki princess, Madara had to admit to himself that he felt a tad left out. Even if they were enemies. The problem was, Madara didn't want just any woman. He didn't want just any civilian with money or shinobi of class. He wanted love. And as any good Uchiha knew, love was the foundation for who they are. Even Tajima could not deny Madara the chance at the one thing that held the entire clan together. A loveless marriage was bound to tear everything apart from the inside out.

It was then in his thoughts that a knock on the door startled him. Madara cursed himself. He should have been more aware but with the storm raging- Again a polite yet timid knock on the door caught his curiosity. Surely Tajima would be awake by now. He rose to his feet and answered the door despite the wintry blizzard raging outside.

"I.. hate to bother y-you, but could y-you spare a few moments of y-your heat?" As white as the snow blasting around him, bright red eyes like Sharingan, and not at all dressed for the weather, the tall young man shivered where he stood. Madara, against all his shinobi training, stepped aside without a word and held an arm open for the man to enter the house. 

His sharingan whirled to life, taking in the frostbite nipping at the man's fingers, the ice stuck to his skin and frosted lashes, the brilliant red markings on his face stark like blood. If he hadn't been trembling so hard, hunched over in the winter storm, Madara might have mistook him for a ghost or a winter god. The man bowed further. "T-thank you, I apologize f-for any in-inconvenience." His teeth chattered, trying to be polite. It was Tajima's voice that startled Madara to close the door.

"Madara, who is this?" "A refugee, father." One look from Tajima and Madara remembered why taking in others was a bad thing. "A word, son." He turned on his heel padding back down the hallway. Madara motioned for the man to sit by the fire. The pale one nodded, solemnly and bowed again in silence before curling up next to the heat on the floor. Madara steeled himself for his father's annoyances.

"Sir?" "You just let anyone into our home?! He could be a shinobi!" "Father look at him. No one of his coloring would be shinobi. They are too pale. Too sensitive. Did you even see his eyes?" "His what?" "His eyes, father. They're red. Like the sharingan." That put an abrupt stop to Tajima's rant. "Now. Yes we're at war father, but I'm not going to let someone freeze to death outside." "I don't trust it." "Then don't. I'll stay up with him." "He's a shinobi, I know it." With a loud groan, Madara blew him off and brushed past, returning with his own futon and another. "What? I'm not putting him out." Madara frowned as Tajima huffed with indignation. He ignored the older Uchiha and flopped the two futons onto the floor by the fire. "Here you may sleep here until the storm subsides.

Wide red eyes looked up at him, the man now somewhat defrosted, looked rather pink in the firelight, his features somewhere between soft and sharp and Madara felt himself pulled in by the strangeness of it.  "I.." The man paused, listening to the roaring storm outside. "... would like to politely decline as I am not accustomed to help from strangers but it is-" "Are you shinobi?" Tajima ruined the explanation, voice like shattered glass, face pulled taut in a frown. The man blinked. "No. Just got separated from my band." Tajima didn't seem to buy it, but Madara rolled his eyes. Adjusting the futons and blankets, he rose to his feet and nearly pulled at the man. "Let's make tea. It should warm you." He followed Madara without resistance, face a soft reflection of partial innocence. Perhaps he was civilian. 

Tajima frowned. There was one way to find out. 

--

When Tobirama awoke the next morning, the storm still howling outside, he frowned. He'd intended to get warm, find shelter and then head out quickly back to the Senju compound. That was not what had happened. He slowly sat up, his back aching from trying to outrun a storm he knew he couldn't. Madara's voice brought him back to reality, the Uchiha stoking the fire. Tobirama had never seen Madara up close. That had always been his brother's privilege. But here, in the dead of winter storm, lit by firelight, Madara looked strangely domestic and enchanting. Not at all like the absolute beast of a brute he was on the battlefield. Tobirama cursed himself for stopping at the first compound he came across on his way back. 

"Slept well, friend?" "Ah..  as well as can be expected." He sensed Tajima in the hallway, still. No doubt listening. "You were snoring." Madara chuckled, a strangely homey sound and Tobirama flushed. "I apologize. I've been on the road so long, I haven't felt the fires of my home in a while. It was warm here." He stopped himself, wondering, feeling the small object under his futon. "My back hurts a bit. Perhaps I slept wrong." Madara looked up at the comment and frowned. "My apologies, I thought I swept the floor well enough."

"Ah I'm sure it's just my imagination." Tobirama lied his way through, ensuring his demeanor remained soft. His hand ran over the futon again. Yes. Of course. Tajima was testing him. No shinobi worth his salt would complain about something so trival after receiving such aid. But a civilian would. Especially a high valued one. "Although I miss my own." Quickly seeing Madara's face fall, more of a disappointed look than anything else, he regrouped. "I am extremely grateful for your hospitality...friend. I can ensure you are compensated when I return home." "Compensated?" "Yes.. we are a large family." Not entirely a lie. "We have funds and I'm sure my brother would be so happy to give you payment for assisting me." Also not really a lie. "We need no payment." Madara scoffed softly, his pride showing through. Slowly, Tobirama was starting to see why Hashirama liked Madara so much. He had to say, he couldn't blame him. "Then I would ask if you let me stay until the storm subsides completely... I am not accustomed to the weather like this."

--

Madara fought with Tajima for the next two nights. Pleading with him to stop his conspiracies and his tactics, noting every morning the pale man awoke, another mattress, another object until finally there were three mattresses atop a small object. Madara rolled his eyes. Surely this was overkill and somehow he had to make it seem like they weren't testing him. 

The man took it all with grace, a beautiful smile and pinked cheeks. Madara watched as his guest curled up for the third night atop three futons and smiled back at him. "I would think you are a charmer, if not for the dying of the storm, I might be tempted to stay, Madara-san." Red eyes glimmered at him and the Uchiha flushed. "I have made no attempt to charm you, Tobira-san." Madara shifted on his own futon. "We simply wish to ensure you're returned to your family without injury. Although I have swept this floor five times before laying your bed down." 

The two of them snickered in the firelight like young teens. Madara watched as his pale friend laid on his back and looked at the ceiling. "You miss your family." It was more of a statement than a question, although Tobira answered honestly, "Yes." He turned his head to look at Madara, and the Uchiha felt the air leave his lungs. "I will not forget your kindness, Madara-san." "I will not forget your companionship, Tobira."

The two stared at each other for a long moment, before red eyes slowly closed, and his breathing evened out. He fell asleep so easy in a strangers' house. There was no way he was shinobi. Madara sighed, sharingan whirling to life yet again, imprinting the image of the sleeping man into his mind. He was gorgeous and kind. Polite, a civilian, with money. Perhaps... Madara shook it from his head. No. That would be taking advantage of the situation.. he shouldn't.. One more look at his friend, and Madara wondered... should he?

--

Tobirama woke slowly, ensuring to keep his chakra under control, sleeping in Madara Uchiha's front room by the fire next to him for three days had been stressful enough, piled up with keeping the rouse that he was civilian with Tajima pressing him each day for intel, testing his every move.

Tobirama counted five times he'd purposefully hurt himself to show he was 'clumsy' like a civilian. Two times spilling tea on the man, carrying it and slipping on the floor. Six times he'd flirted openly with Madara in front of Tajima just to mess with the man. His ears picked up the sound of the wind calmer, snow fall on the house gentle and calm.

He rose, not really aching at all, but playing the part as Madara only laughed. "You sure are sensitive, Tobira-san." "I am. My disposition makes it even more so." "You refer to your condition or your status?" "Both I suppose." Tobirama offered a sly grin, pulling out his charm as best as he could, softening his edges. Madara flushed in the morning light and looked out the window. "It seems the storm is passed. We can send you safely on your way today." Tobirama nodded, and rose to get ready.

It didn't take the man long at all, a shower, some breakfast, hot tea and he was ready to continue his journey. Tobirama counted his blessings, he had successfully, albeit accidentally infiltrated the Uchiha main house and slept there for three whole days without being caught. Now if only he could- "Tobira-san." Turning, his gaze widened. "Madara-san." The Uchiha held out a large dark coat, Uchiha symbol on the back. "It is not much, but will provide you with more warmth on your journey." 

Tobirama's heart pounded. If he refused, the rouse would be blown. "Thank-" "It is not all." Madara helped him into the coat, then bent to wrap his feet in socks and cloth before sliding boots on that were a bit too small for him. At last Madara stood back and handed him a kunai. "We wish you safety on your journey home. The coat you wear may bring you bad fortune... we are.. not liked in many parts. I would not want you injured on account of my sake."

Three days with Madara Uchiha had changed Tobirama's perspective of everything he thought of Uchiha. What would his brother say when he arrived home, dressed in their symbol? "Tobira-san. If I may be forward." "Of course. I am grateful for your hospitality." He took the kunai gently, as if a civilian would but Madara did not let it go. Dark eyes looked up into his. "For repayment, I would.. I would like something special." Shifting uneasy, Tobirama waited. 

Madara looked away for a moment then took a deep breath before raising his eyes to meet the red crystals he'd grown attached to. "I would like to see you again." Tobirama's heart thumped. Oh. This.. this was unexpected. But not entirely a bad idea.. "I would like to see you again as well." This time, not on a battle field or from a storm. Tobirama wondered to himself. "Thank you, Madara." He bowed, letting his eyes linger too long on the Uchiha, causing him to flush yet again before departing. 

--

"MADARA!" The heir groaned inwardly as the frost melted under the spring sun and turned from his chore of feeding the falcons. "Father?" "The Senju are at the gates!" That spurred Madara's blood and immediately, the compound was on edge, those darting in different directions to bolster defenses. 

But when Madara touched down on the opposite side of the gate, none the Senju moved an inch. In fact, they didn't even look dressed for battle and Hashirama- "Madara, my brother!" "What the hell are you on about, you oaf?!" Madara hissed. "Be quiet!" "I will not! It's a glorious day! We have come seeking peace-" "We have gone over this, Hashirama. There will be no peace-" "Are you certain?" The familiar voice stunned Madara just as Tajima landed next to him in a fury of growls. Madara had been so so very wrong about Tobira.

"Tobira?" "Tobira?" Hashirama gave his brother a questioning look.The pale man pushed his way through the crowd of Senju, ignoring his brother, smiling at Madara. "Madara." The edge of his voice had dropped, softness creeping in and lacing every syllable with fondness. The said Uchiha instantly blushed. Before Tajima could object, the pale shinobi stepped forward. "I am only fulfilling your request. I am here to see you again." If he didn't think he could get any redder, Madara was also dead wrong about that.

The silence that followed from the Uchiha whole was stifling. Madara cleared his throat. In absence of what to say, Tobirama cut off Tajima again. "Do you not still feel the same? Perhaps, we can arrange an agreement?" His eyes wandering over the tattered clothing of the Uchiha, the patched roofs, the rotting gates. "I am from a well off family after all." "Absolutely not-" "Yes." Tajima choked on his own words as Madara spoke. "Yes an agreement would be.. preferable." With the charming smile he'd used so many times on Madara before, Tobirama softened his face and beamed. "Let us make haste, before our families decide death and war is better than coexisting in warmth and safety."

[ask-de-writer]

DARING DO and THE GRYPHON’S QUEST! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 17 of 19

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DARING DO

and

THE GRYPHON’S QUEST!

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

and

Carmen Pondiego

Cover art by Aranel the Cyborg, now  Wind the Mama Cat

29584 words

© 2020 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 03/29/16

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

This is a Fan Fiction based on My Little Pony.  Canterlot, Princess Luna and the name Daring Do are owned by Hasboro Inc.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge.  I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.  

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Chapter 17. The Coward’s Weapon!

Daring Do was pleasantly surprised at just how good her half brother Blendin was at specimen preparation.  There was another surprise for her too.

Friend spent much of her time crooning to her Eagle eggs.  She did frequently leave her nest and lend her green magic to the task, usually greatly simplifying the work.  It was the greatest assistance at particularly difficult or delicate times in the preparation of the failed nymphs that she had loved so dearly and watched over for so many centuries.

Almost any time that they took a break from the arduous task before them, Friend would leave the eggs and nest protected by a nearly invisible glow of green magic.  She would take a place beside Daring Do and purr/croon softly.  Daring Do found real rest and comfort in the love that Friend shared with her.  She often rested her head against the changeling’s horn and shared thought and memory.

It was from that sharing that she learned something surprising about Friend. When her hive was attacked by war equipped and battle ready unicorns, Friend defended the hive’s precious eggs.  

She slaughtered ten of the enemy, literally tearing them to pieces in the defense of those eggs.  When her shared hive mind felt the Queen die, she went briefly berserk.  Four of the ten attacking unicorns that she killed fell in those few moments.

It was duty and love for the eggs that she tended that brought her back to something resembling sanity.  Taking all of the eggs that she could carry, she fled into the night.

The world outside of the hive was a strange and confusing place at first.  By luck alone, she found a long disused road that led to the mountains.  She did the best that she could but it was not enough.  One by one, she felt the spark of returned love die out of each of the eggs.  Her heart was torn asunder by the loss.

Daring Do knew the rest of the story.  What she did not know was the sheer depth of feeling that Friend had developed for her.  She meant it when she said that Daring Do was Matunen,  Hive Queen, in the ancient tongue of Early Middle Equestrian.

Friend was totally contented for the first time in ages.  That in no way interfered with any whit of her egg tending.

Blendin saw his half sister’s serene relaxation around Friend and was glad. The Apprentice Librarian of the Great Library in him was glad too.  He was learning things about conservation of irreplaceable delicate artifacts and relics that would apply to his work in the Great Library.  

Once everything was ready, he stared at the results of their work in wonder.  He had not only helped to prepare the whole foundation for the creation of an entire intelligent species, he had it and all of his half sister’s notes cataloged for the Great Library!

Together, they sent a note of their progress to the Empress.

The door, upon opening, showed the Empress, Grata, and Hisst, the Right Wing of the Imperial Throne.  The hallway was blocked by heavily armed Imperial Guards in full battle armor.

Daring Do was about to ask if such precautions were necessary when a loud, harsh voice from up the hallway demanded, “This is all Blasphemous!  Even if it were the truth and showed our  ancient roots, it would still be blasphemy!  The Holy Legends declare that Faith alone is sufficient and seeking truth beyond its holy pages undermines Faith!

“Whatever is here must be destroyed!”

The Empress responded, “What is about to be destroyed is YOU, Krapper!  You have fifteen seconds to be around the curve and out of OUR sight before I order my troops to open fire!”

“You would not dare!”

“Nine seconds left, Krapper.”

There was a clatter of claws on stone as the speaker retreated!

The Empress drew a deep breath, her crest showing disgust.  “The entire lot of First Creation Idiots want to destroy the only real history that our kind has.”

Friend spoke up, “Your Majesty, they are wrong.  This I/we know.  Before I/we loved the eggs that became the nymphs of your kind, I/we saw changelings.  I/we saw unicorns.  I/we saw Eagles. I/we saw pegassi.

“I/we helped matunen Daring Do and brother Blendin to be sure that these failed nymphs truly show how I/we loved the eggs that became the nymphs that are your kind.”

The Empress, crest showing deep thought, began tracing the development of her kind.  She was reading the placards set by each step of the way. Looking over to the true mother of her whole species, she asked, “Why did you go from pony to big cat for our hindquarters?”

Friend crowded over to point as she spoke.  “Not all big cat.  See how these bones go?  That is from the pegassus.  The head was carnivore, Eagle. The hindquarters had to eat meat too or fail.  I/we did see a lion in mountains once, close enough to feel its insides by loving it.  I/we used what I/we knew.”

Grata, crest rippling in laughter, exclaimed, “We are so lucky that she didn’t see a bear!”

After the fit of laughter passed around the room, the Empress asked, “How will this all be presented, Doctor Do?”

Daring Do sketched rapidly.  “The case, to be portable must be of stout woodwork.  The front viewing window should be made of glass that has been spell strengthened like a Magic Net mirror.”

The Empress nodded, crest showing some concern.  “You mentioned not risking the real relics and that is a good idea.  

“We have General Iron Hooves here with some of his munitions experts.  The team that they are consulting with is known to you, though we know that you do not like them much.

“V.I.L.E. Is here.  They have sent Carmen Pondiego, Baron Von Nighthoof, Marehem Skadefryd, and Kiros Asbhy.  I understand that they have also got a number of Agents here too.”

Crest smiling, the Empress went on, “I was warned to be sure that I still have both mandibles of my beak after dealing with them.  However, they will be absolutely honest with family.

“They have several missions.  One is being worked on now with General Ironhooves and his aides.  Another is to be the agency for creating your cases and making the copies for display.  I will be ordering twenty sets.”

Daring Do, looking doubtful, did agree, “I have to admit that when it comes to museum quality duplication, Mom’s company is unexcelled.”  

An all too familiar voice caroled from the doorway, “So sweet to hear you actually say something nice about my company!  Of course we are honest!  V.I.L.E. has never been caught or proved to be guilty of ANY crime at all!

“Suspicions?  Poof!  Suspicion and a cup of tea will get you anything from a nice Bergamont to bag of Lupton’s Worst!

Carmen Pondiego strutted into the room in her trademark porkpie hat and fire engine red dress.  She called over her shoulder, “General, Dear, would you please come in and see for yourself what my daughter found that is causing all this mess?”

General Ironhooves entered the door.  He was in his simple field uniform.

He tipped his Campaign Hat to the Empress and her Wings.  He approached the study tables, examining the relics with care.  He picked up Daring Do’s voluminous field notes and sketches, seeming to leaf through them, except that once in a while he stopped long enough to separate pages that stuck together.

He put down the books and turned to the Empress.  “Ma'am, you have chosen your battlefield perfectly. Better, you have the enemy in the sights of your artillery.

“I hope that it does not come to armed conflict, but if it does, after consulting with Carmen here, I think that you will have a LOT of surprises for them!”

Daring Do managed to look skeptical.  “Only them?”

Before Carmen could snark back, Marehem wandered in, right past the security detail.  He grinned.  “Helps to be a misfortune changel …”

His eyes bugged out.  It was the first time that Daring Do could remember that her uncle Marehem was caught totally off guard!

“An Egg-tender, HERE?  How did that happen?  How can she live without a hive?”

Friend looked up from serenely turning the eggs in the nest.  She smiled as she said, “Matunen Daring Do.”

Uncle M stopped like he’d hit a brick wall headfirst.  “Adora, Matunen?  A queen?”

The Empress nodded, crest rippling amusement.  “It hit us like that too, when we realized that Friend is OVER two thousand years old.  She was the sole survivor of a destroyed hive.

“Tending eggs kept her sane.  She is the Mother who loved an unstable and fatal hybridization into becoming our strong race.  I gather that for her, loving means something other than a simple feeling.”

Marehem got it together to say, “It sure does.  The eggs a queen lays are sort of neutral.  They will develop as random kinds of changelings.  Give them to an Egg-tender and tell her how many of which sort, worker, other egg-tenders, drones, even a queen, and that is what you will get. Their love is a very complex magic that no other kind can do.”

Daring Do, eyes twinkling, suggested, “Make the order for V.I.L.E. twenty one copies.  We will donate one to the Nightmare Wars Collection of the Royal Museum!”

General Ironhooves grinned hugely.  “You really want to shaft those First Creationists, don’t you?”

Daring Do simply said, “Yes.  They defile and deny the history that I have devoted my life to.”

Carmen pointed to the work tables and said, “Will you take a real compliment from your mother, Adora?  This, notes, restorations, preparation and all is a fantastic piece of work.

V.I.L.E. will duplicate it with the greatest of care.  With your permission, we will keep a copy for our own private museum.”

Mutely, Daring Do nodded.

She saw Uncle M talking to a Magic Net mirror and turning it to show everything.

Carmen pointed to an especially fragile relic and said, “Be especially careful of this one, Baron.”

One by one, the laboriously prepared relics, notes and all quietly vanished. General Ironhooves simply noted, “Handy trick, that!”

Daring Do, Friend, with her nest, and Blendin were brought to a large suite with an open airy feeling.  One Gryphon port was open enough for the Eagles to get in and out but not Gryphons.  The rooms were swarmed with Eagles.

Friend immediately shared that soft green magic of hers to include all of the waiting Eagles.  The way that they crowded close about the nest, it was clear that they had been waiting for Friend’s loving magic.  Several shuffled aside and one reached out a beak and snagged Daring Do’s tunic, making her join or get a torn tunic.  She joined the Eagles in luxuriating in the literal glow of Friend’s shared love.

After a few days of resting up, Rahak came by.  Crest at attention, he requested, “Doctor Do, master Blendin, would you come please?  The display copies are ready for examination.”

They followed the Wing Commander back down to the workroom.  There were twenty one large cases of fine solid woodwork, each faced by stout glass armored by a spell to the toughness of steel.  The contents were beautifully displayed to make the whole progression from hippogriff to Gryphon utterly clear.  Each item of the display had its explanatory placard.

Neatly done on each placard was an exact copy of a reference to the actual original Legend Document, with translation. After that part was a clear, simple note explaining the item.

Central to the whole display was Daring Do’s detailed sketch of the remains of the failed nymphs in place, as they were found.

The whole thing had such an impact that Daring Do’s breath drew in, in a way that she had heard so many times as a child riding her mother’s back in a knapsack, when her mother saw some beautiful thing that she was about to steal.

Turning to an equally awestruck Blendin, Daring Do said, “Tell Carmen that this is the best display preparation that I have ever seen.”

“Thank you, dear,” said a familiar voice.  A khaki colored unicorn mare in a form fitting fire engine red dress stepped out of the shadows.  Daring Do was shocked to see bags under her eyes.

Carmen Pondiego told her, “The General is sleeping now.  I have been working along with every agent that I have available.  I cannot tell you what we have been doing.  Imperial Security is involved.  I only hope that it has been enough to prevent the war.”

Rahak suggested, “Let us all prepare for this evening’s banquet.  That is when you will make your presentation, Doctor Do.”

Daring Do was looking around the Imperial Banquet Hall, at the many war banners that fluttered in the light breeze.  There were also the banners of the provinces of the Empire.  The wood and stonework was outstanding for its solidity and rich carving.

Perched on every place that they could find claw room were hundreds of Eagles, looking expectantly at Friend. Her nest had been placed conveniently close to Daring Do’s place.

The dining tables were all set so that every diner could see the big glass fronted case with its display. There were two  small books by each place.

One was a copy of the original document of the Legends, written some time shortly before 54 Post Nightmare Wars.  It had an exact copy of the document itself, a line by line literal translation and a third line in modern Gryphon with notes to explain the meaning of idioms used when the original was written.  No commentaries.  No editing.  Only a foreword explaining that this was a true copy of the Legends that they all revered and tried to follow.  Commentaries were dispensed with in the hope that the reader could understand what the words said and form their own opinions based on solid fact.

It was signed and sealed by the Empress herself.

The other small book contained copies of Daring Do’s expedition notes and sketches that were relevant to the display showing the origin of their species.

The First Created believers started to scream, “Blasphemy!”

The Empress herself cut them off.  “Silence, Krapper!  These are the Legends that you CLAIM to revere!”

“You have left out the rich and ancient commentaries!”

Her crest rippling with laughter, the Empress exclaimed, “Ancient? Krapper, the FIRST commentary was inserted into a small book like this only thirty five years ago!  It had a note that it WAS NOT HOLY WRIT, only opinion.  That note was removed and further commentaries added. More than half of the mass of your book has been added in just the last five years!

“It must be wonderful to be able to write up whatever you please, insert it into the next edition of your book and have it called HOLY WRIT!”

“Our Book is the true Law!  Holy Word is higher than mere secular law!”

“NO, Krapper!  That is direct sedition!  Guards!  Stand behind Krapper!  If he utters one more word of sedition, cut his wing tendons at once.  He will be given the LONG DROP at sunrise for the crime.”

The Empress paused for effect and added, “Now, we have a banquet laid before us.  Let not Krapper’s ill manners spoil your appetite.  After we have eaten, we will hear from Doctor Daring Do, whose actual facts, well documented and proven may provide you with much food for thought.”

The server placed a plate in front of Daring Do, commenting, “I hope that we got it to your taste.  It is a sauced alfalfa steak.  We don’t eat such fare, so we are not much used to cooking it.”

Daring Do replied with a smile, “I am sure that it will be fine.  You have been doing well the last few days.”

She cut a bite and began to chew.  Numbness spread from her mouth.  She gasped and could draw no air.  Her vision was fading slowly.

She heard, “The Blasphemer has been struck down!  Any means to strike at blasphemy is honorable, the Holy Writ is clear!”

The voice of the Empress cried, “Poison is the Coward’s Weapon!  Seize them!  Do not wait for the Long Drop!  Kill them now!”

The voice of Friend cut across the fading din, “No!  Matunen still has love.  I/we need them!  They will wish for your long drop!  I/we promise …”

Then no sight.  No sound.  No touch.  No taste.  Nothing …

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[zwiezraczek]

The Perks of being Roger's Girl... [Chapter 2]

SUMMARY:  Anna is Brian’s friend, his childhood best friend. They were separated for a long time, but when Smile performs at the Royal Albert Hall, Anna is here, invited by Brian. There, she meets Roger, the dentist drummer, a loverboy.

CHAPTER 1 - CHAPTER 2: Recording - CHAPTER 3

Queen is rising, tension is in the air. Everything is eased with some music.

WORDS: 6.2k

Brian promised Anna that he would bring her to Fred and Roger's store in the Kensington Market. She wanted to see with her own eyes what the two shenanigans did in that place, how they managed to make it real and, the most important, how they managed to not kill one another. So many mysteries and only one place to find the answers. Brian took Anna to a nice pub near the place, they had lunch and a beer, almost like when they were kids and their mothers allowed them to go and have a piece of cake in a bakery together, sitting on the sidewalk, almost because back then they only drank apple juice. Brian tied up his hair into a fluffy bun and Anna had two buns on each side of her head, both of them laughed when they saw each other with their hair styled like this. “Matching” both exclaimed when the saw each other.

They were walking through a large alley in the market, looking at the stands, looking for original clothes but mostly for velvet flare pants – their all time favorites. Finally, they stumbled upon a small place, a door so to speak, without any neon or sign but just fancy curtains framing the door from this outside. The place looked pretty much like Ali Baba's den, full of treasures. Brian headed in first, quickly followed by Anna who was looking all around her. And when she entered, her eyes glistened. The candid orange lighting was giving to this place a very cozy atmosphere that resembled Freddie so much. The scent of the cheap incense was intoxicated with smoke of cigarettes, everything was reminding her of their rehearsing room.

They heard Freddie's voice greeting them into the “best shop in the whole market, darlings” before he could even recognize them, but their hairstyles were a huge clue. Freddie clapped his hands as he saw them entering, absolutely thrilled by they new looks, complimenting this boldness and this amazing amount of style as Roger just sat on the counter, legs dangling above the floor.

“Welcome to Roger and Freddie's marvelous shop,” he said as Anna was hugging Freddie who immediately pulled of when he heard Roger's words to face him.

“Freddie and Roger's, darling”, he corrected. “Alphabetically speaking it's more accurate.”

“Alphabetically speaking,” the blond man repeated mockingly.

“I'm on Freddie's side,” Anna said.

“I'm on Anna's,” Brian added as Roger just looked at them with disgust, crossing his arms.

“Traitors.”

“So,” Brian finally dared to ask, “where do you get these clothes from?” Anna was looking through the many fancy fabrics laying piled up one on another, the various collars, earrings and other pieces of jewelry; all these reflecting the orange light and seeming so pretty. She had to touch some of these, making them roll between her fingers for a longer moment.

“A nice guy drops these here from time to time,” Freddie admitted with a smile as he saw Anna's interest for the jewels. “And sometimes I sell Roger's clothes.”

“You bastard, don't remind me that you sold my hat this morning,” Roger barked getting down from the counter and going to grab a cigarette.

“For the greater good, darling! It looked awful on you! You should thank me!”

He wasn't about to thank him, but more about to punch him in the face, without any regret. Anna chuckled while seeing the pout Roger had on his face while seeking for his lighter and cigarettes, her attention fully on the two men now. She gave Brian a look, and he just rolled his eyes.

“Besides, you sold my own coat three times in a row and I had to run after the guys to get it back and give them back their money!”

“I'll never find my hat again Fred!” he dramatically answered, ignoring the other's complaint. He finally found his cigarettes and put one of them between his lips while searching for the lighter he had in his pocket. The smoke filled half the room, Anna felt suddenly happy that the only thing framing the door was a curtain and not a door, otherwise they would suffocate in here. She watched the tension grow, as Brian did too. She decided to put an end to this.

“I'm sure you can find another one in the market,” she said as Roger looked curiously at her. “I'm even pretty sure about it!”

“Bonus, it's not as if it was very far from here,” Brian added nodding.

“Screw this,” was Roger's only answer after a long moment of reflection, the edge of his cigarette almost falling on the floor just before he taped on it into the ashtray near him. “I'm going now because this absolute moron sold my hat!”

“You won't dare leaving me all alone, Rog,” Freddie commented with arms crossed over his chest, waiting for a satisfactory answer.

“Brian can replace me for a moment,” Roger decided as Brian rose his eyebrows, “see? He's totally fine with it!” he added as the guitarist's face was full of confusion.

“I think I'm not very –,” Brian tried to say before being interrupted by Freddie.

“So you leave me here with Anna and Brian? That's your plan?”

“Never said that! Leaving you with Brian only,” Roger corrected. “Anna was the one telling me that I can find another hat here, her responsibility to find it for me.”

“What?”

“You heard what I said Anna,” he answered while putting his coat on and his cigarette out. Then, he jumped over the counter, casually. “So now, Mrs. Anna will help Mr. Taylor.”

“Mr. May isn't thrilled at all while hearing about this,” Brian commented while looking at Roger, not so pleased.

“Mrs. Anna can look after herself I promise Mr. May,” she joked, “besides I saw a beautiful shawl when we came up here and if I'm lucky enough it will be still waiting for me.”

“It's not even about you going with him, fine,” Brian said quickly, “being a shop assistant isn't my thing at all Rog.”

“You'll learn with Freddie, good master, good master,” he repeated with a hand gesture towards Freddie before grabbing Anna's hand and dragging her towards the exit.

Brian never learned.

Once the sunlight hit their eyes, Roger looked happily at her, still holding her hand. During a second, he became self-conscious, he understood what he was doing and let her hand go while quickly putting his own into his pockets, faking looking for another cigarette. He broke the silence by asking her where they were going to go, while lighting his cigarette held between his lips. But honestly, Anna had no clue. She told what she told about the hat just to avoid another argument, the tension in the highly scented air, just to ease things. But now, she got what she deserved for being such a kind soul; yet she was grateful that she hadn't to stay with Freddie in the shop. After a few seconds, during which she thought about the different shops she saw while coming up here, she decided to go down the road, hoping that maybe they would find a hat – or her shawl.

Roger complained loudly about Freddie eating strange things while in the shop, which smelled weird with all these odors or whatever, as he called these. A lady with a perm turned around quickly to look at this young man yelling in the street about some spicy food that was too much, you understand, too much to handle for him even if he wasn't difficult while speaking of food. And as the shock faded on the lady's face and she continued up the road, Anna burst into laughter under Roger's surprised gaze. He had his lips delicately parted, showing his upper teeth as he squinted trying to understand what was so hilarious in this situation. Anna's laugh made some heads turn, as her two buns were going back and forth along with her head. She tried to explain, but her cheeks were hurting her from laughing more and more as she tried to clarify the whole situation. So Roger gave up, just until she could catch her breath again and explain the look on the lady's face, a look that she rarely saw on someone's face. Roger joked about being special for making people look that way, as wind pushed his hair against his forehead.

While looking at the shop stalls as they went down the street, Roger rambled about some music he was writing, something Anna loved to hear about. Since their session of writing, she remarked that Roger came to see her more often with some texts, just to ask her if these were good enough to show to the band. Once, this was Brian's job, Brian thanked her for doing it because usually this kind of session with Roger ended by the blond one throwing things into Brian's hair while he was sitting in front of his drums and Brian adjusting his guitar. This time he spoke about just an idea, nothing pretty serious, as he commented. Something about a mother letting her son go, a mother suffering from this departure; he saw it clearly, he wanted to portray some kind of pain in his lyrics but he couldn't grasp the essence of all of this right now, he still had to think about it. Before he could finish anything, Anna pointed at a stall in front of a shop displaying a large amount of hats, resembling the ones that Roger used to wear. His eyes shone with amazement as he looked at the hats, hats seemed to be one of his favorite accessories, along with a pair of Converses. He found what he needed, he was absolutely thrilled about the amount of hats he could find there and promised himself – and to Anna – that he would come back here to enlarge his own personal collection of hats.

But Anna wanted to find her shawl, this was her only purpose now. And she knew that Roger wasn't complaining about it: the more they were out the less he had to spent time in their small little shop. Always something. As if Anna heard his thoughts, she began to talk about their business: how they found out about the place, how they found out about the guy who was supplying them, who was the big brain of the operation – Roger said it was him, but she had only his version of the story, and she was sure that Freddie would have said that he, Freddie Mercury, was the brain of the operation.

“So basically you don't know where your clothes come from and you don't care,” Anna summed up as he couldn't really answer more of her questions.

“Exactly, but as much as it pays my cigarettes I'm totally fine with it.”

“The ones you went out to buy without your hat this morning?” she teased as he looked at her annoyed, before tightening his lips.

“Don't your remind me about that hat,” he finally said after breathing out loudly, “besides, now I have a cooler hat and cigs.”

“Quitting smoking would have avoided some problems,” she remarked.

“Yeah, but sometimes its quite useful, you know,” he said with a knowing look and a little smile on his face.

“Useful to die, yeah.”

“You sound like Brian right now, quite scary if you want to know.”

“I'm his sister after all,” she answered fluttering her eyelashes. “Seriously, people during gigs come to see me and to ask me if I can introduce them to my brother and Mary is always all merry about this.”

“You should fake being his sister, should be fun.”

“Yeah should be f,” she began to say before she saw the shawl, the one she wanted, the perfect shawl she saw earlier. “Roger, look! This is the shawl!”

Her excitement was to be found in her sparkling eyes as she laid them on the piece of shiny fabric. The golden yarns were standing out in the burgundy fabric with oriental motives, flickering before her eyes. The fabric was soft, and Anna tried the shawl on under Roger's attentive gaze. She snuggled her face into the fabric as the lady who was selling them looked strangely at her, before looking at Roger who only smiled. He looked back at Anna and with a gesture asked her to turn around, to show this magnificent shawl as she said floating in the air. Anna absolutely loved the idea, turned around twice under the amused gaze of the lady looking at both of them as if they were a cute couple.

“So?” Anna finally asked after striking a pose in front of him.

“You want compliments or real judgment?”

“Don't you dare,” she warned him, “I'm not craving for attention!”

“You look nice,” he answered with a candid smile as he looked at her, his voice sounding so soft and he could feel the fondness on his face. He found her adorable like this, this tall girl being happy just because of a shawl. “It brings your eyes out,” he added as the lady nodded while Anna looked at her.

“Thank you, smooth Mr. Taylor,” she replied with a little smirk and rising his shoulders. “M'am, I'll take this shawl then.”

“Your friend is right, it brings out your eyes, young lady,” she commented as Anna searched for some money in her pockets.

When they came back with their beautiful items in the shop, they found a half-deceased Brian in front of a girl asking him for some advice with the coat she was trying on, and a laughing Freddie behind the two of them. As Brian turned his head towards the exit and saw Anna and Roger, he excused himself and went to see the new coming “customers”. Anna could read relief on his face as he trotted to them with a hopeless enthusiasm, before putting his hand on Anna's shoulder.

“Anna, please, don't you ever leave me here again, in this shop, as a shop assistant, that's awful,” he dramatically complained, in a lower tone so the girl couldn't hear them. But little he knew that Freddie was already talking with her about the said coat. Anna chuckled a bit. Brian looked around her neck, recognizing a new item. “Nice shawl by the way, brings out your eyes. But never leave me here again, please.”

“Don't be so dramatic Brian,” she commented while also putting a hand on his shoulder. “I'm sure you did a great job.”

“But at what cost... I'm sure I've lost a part of my soul.”

“Found a better hat Fred!” Roger interrupted the moment between the two friends and Freddie and his customer as he dramatically spread his arms walking towards Freddie. “You're one lucky bastard, Anna helped me and now I'm even more handsome than before!”

“See darling? I did the best job ever,” he complimented himself before looking at the customer. “I sold his awful hat this morning so he had to buy another one. He is very grateful as you can see.”

“Don't you try selling this one or,” he warned Freddie before going to sit on the counter to light a cigarette, “I'll throw my drum set at you.” Anna looked at Brian, confused, but Brian found this exchange pretty normal, violence was Roger's strength. Anna just never saw it fully displayed. Not yet. “Bri,” he called Brian out who immediately looked at Roger, alarmed, “ you should pretend to be Anna's brother from now, should be fun.”

“What?”

“Brian,” Anna said. “Just like the good old day. An and Bri, the siblings and mischief of the place. Pretty please?”

“Why does it sound fun when you say it and threatening when Roger does?” Brian said as Anna just smiled.

~~~~ 

As Anna was drinking some tea right after her cheap solo dinner, her phone rang. It was around 6.p.m. When she asked who it was, Brian's excited voice answered on the other side of the wires. His excitement was almost palpable through the phone, as a child during the Christmas Eve with eyes glowing as the lights from the Christmas tree reflected in them. They were recording their first album tonight, Queen, eponymous album and he wanted to have her around, with them. She was there from the very beginning of Queen and Brian wanted her to be here as they made their first steps into the new world, on the market maybe and perhaps even more. She was part of the Queen family now, and even the boys couldn't imagine recording without her, or Mary, being around with them. Anna's mouth was curved into a huge smile as she heard this, touched by these words, feeling appreciated by the boys. She knew they were her friends, but hearing this warmed her heart a lot. Brian mentioned an argument about money between Roger and Freddie – involving John's discreet intervention – but he brushed off the subject quickly before telling her that they would pick her up in thirty minutes, so she should be ready to go out in this short amount of time. Anna joked about her hair, saying she would never be ready in time as Brian just told her to put these in an ugly bun, as they used to do when they were writing a long time ago. She hung up soon after, looking for comfy honey velvet flare pants and a simple white t-shirt, over that she put her large black fluffy coat on and waited for the van to honk in front of her apartment.

When she finally put her foot outside her apartment she noticed that it wasn't the van that was standing here, in the middle of the road, but Brian's parents white car. Where did the van go? She trotted off the stairs and opened the back door of the small car, she found three people on the backseat, Mary sitting on Freddie's lap and Roger, sitting in the middle rolling his eyes in despair as Anna sat next to him.

“Thank God you're here,” he commented as she fastened her seat belt. “It became unbearable to sit around these two here, all eating each other's mouths. Gross.”

“And you're the one saying so,” Anna answered as Brian looked at her through the small mirror with smiling eyes as Roger just gasped. But before he could say something, Anna continued. “Where's the van?”

“Sweet mother of God,” John whispered, sitting next to Brian as he closed his eyes and put his head against the seat.

“Ask Freddie Mercury,” Roger barked while smiling at Freddie. “Oh, and ask him where is my wage from selling his crappy clothes in the market and also, from the gigs we did in the past few months. Ask Freddie Mercury, he should know.”

“Don't be so bitchy, Roger darling. You know it's for the greater good!”

“For the greater my ass! I hope we'll have something out of this Fred or I'll kill you with my bare hands,” he threatened him as Anna tried to catch Mary's gaze, absolutely disoriented. Mary gave her a reassuring smile, mouthing that everything should be alright once they arrive at the studio. She hoped so.

Quickly, the atmosphere went merrier than it was when Anna entered the car. Freddie's excitement about all of this was contagious, and even John was smiling while they were discussing about the songs they had chosen to record on the album tonight. They had the whole night, so around ten hours or so, to record their debut album. But they knew exactly what they wanted, how they wanted it and knew – more or less – how to achieve it. Roger's song, Modern Times Rock'n Roll was featured on the album, making Anna proud as she heard the title being listed, even on the B side: it was somehow her nephew, Roger's kid becoming her kid too, by alliance, by an “f” alliteration. Roger elbowed her during the whole ride, asking her how was her whole literature thing going, being extremely curious about it, listening about what she was studying at the moment in poetry or in modern literature. She spoke with a sparkle in her eyes, with a great passion and Roger listened, mesmerized by her eyes, by her lips, by her love for literature.

The darkness reigned in the studio, and only a man was standing in front of it, waiting for them. He was the sound engineer who stayed late just so they could record their album during the night; his eyelids seemed already heavy as he smoked outside the building. Their excitement didn't move him, he wanted to end the whole thing as soon as possible but this was without knowing Queen, without knowing Freddie. Brian took his Red Special from the trunk, he was the only one to carry his instrument here since they sold the van, thanks to Freddie as Roger liked to remind them. This wasn't the first time for them into a studio, maybe not for all of them such as John who played with them only for fun, but he wanted to do the things in the right way. Roger reminded that he knows a lot about the studios, and how, younger, he recorded some things himself, trying to impress God knows who: Brian had to remind him that it was in a choir, that he was wearing a white robe and had a bowl cut. Nothing to be proud of, to what Roger replied with a slender middle finger towards Brian who laughed the whole thing off.

At the beginning of the whole session, everything was noisy and messy. They began with the single, Keep Yourself Alive. The boys were enjoying themselves, while recording their parts behind the window glass as Mary and Anna listened to them from the booth, along with the sound engineer. Freddie often complained about sounding like shit, wanting to record his vocals again and again, as Brian sat next to Anna after another vocal backup record, hoping that the night won't be as long as it seemed to be. Slowly but surely, they began to record faster, better, with stranger techniques, with strange eye-looks from the guy recording them who was often muttering – as they were behind the glass – “what the hell are these kids doing...?” as Roger was banging on a drum on which the boys poured some coins, the moment after they hung a recording machine to make variation in sounds and the man almost lost his mind; Mary and Anna remained silent during these moments our just tried to reassure the guy saying him that they knew what they were doing, which was an absolute lie.

When Roger's turn to sing came, he was more thrilled than ever. It was already late, and Anna and Mary were asleep on the couch, Mary resting on Anna's hair. They stopped following religiously the recording as soon as the clock struck one in the morning, so both of them were asleep for a long time now. But Anna specified that she wanted to hear Roger sing, at one moment during the night recording, when she was half-asleep when Roger sat on the chair next to the couch the girls were lying on. Her sleepy eyes looked at him, as she smiled and told him “Roger, wake me up when your song will be recorded, I want to hear that.”. He promised he would, and she just nodded before looking at him for a long moment, dizzy. Before he could say anything, her eyes were closed, and Mary was sleeping too. He grabbed a blanket from the other chair and put it over the girls, fondly looking at them – her – sleep. When the blanked touched her skin, Anna rose her head a bit, looking at who was taking care of her and expecting Brian's face. But Roger's soft face appeared in front of her eyes, just like a ghost, he whispered her to sleep and to not worry about the song, he would wake her up as he promised. Her sheepish smile made him chuckle as he returned to see the rest of the band to hear the record of Liar again.

And now, Roger had not the heart to wake her up, Brian was absolutely against waking one of the girls up as they were having their hours of sleep, hours that were needed. But he promised. He couldn't break that promise; but she was sleeping, she looked so peaceful and delicate in her sleep. And against the other band mates protests, Roger went to squeeze her shoulder in order to wake her up, it took a little while, some quiet whispers, until she opened her eyes, disoriented.

“Wake up Sleeping Beauty, our song's coming,” he said to her when she looked a little more conscious.

“Already,” her mouth was a bit dry as she spoke. The words were hesitant, and her voice weak.

“Yes, already. I'm going to record the lyrics, you skipped the boring part of me drumming, no big deal.”

“You promised to wake me up,” she mumbled slowly getting up without waking Mary.

“And I did, be grateful because Brian, John and Freddie told me to fuck off when I said that I had to wake you up.”

“I hope you slept well, darling,” Freddie said with a big smile, a cigarette in one hand, while sitting on the chair next to Mary as she nodded with a shy smile.

Brian looked at her, he put his hair into a ponytail, a lazy up-do for him showing how much they were working, how hard it was. They still had three songs to record if she remembered well, if her sleepy head was functioning correctly, and they had around three hours to do so, maybe more, maybe less. She sat next to the engineer, on Brian's lap, still a bit sleepy but curious to hear the song completely, and Roger's vocals. The music started. Roger head was banging just before he had to sing, and when his time came, his lips pressed against the mic, the words came out in a tired yet powerful voice. His rounded lips were always parted as he sang, eyes half shut, biting his lower lip when he had the time to do so. Anna watched him, as mesmerized as he was when he listened to her earlier, talking about literature. She could notice how his foot was drumming on the floor, as he sang for a solid one minute and forty seconds. A short but intense track.

“Magnificent,” she whispered against Brian's shoulder, a bit off.

“Don't tell him or his head will grow twice as big as it already is,” Brian advised her with some humor.

When Roger came back in, shaking his hands absolutely proud of what he did, he immediately looked at Anna, to see her reaction again, after the whispers he couldn't hear when he was recording, but the whispers he saw and the smile she had when Brian said something to her. He waited for something, for sure, but John just patted him on the shoulder with a reassuring smile as Freddie clapped his hands in order to begin the next song. His excitement quickly faded as Anna stood up to let Brian go into the recording studio for his guitar track, as he touched Roger's shoulder while passing by and whispered that it was actually a good song, but that he was a little too tired to jump about it. Anna, on her side, curled up in the chair Brian left her in; Roger went near her, and crouched down to be at her height.

“So?”

“I said to Brian that it was magnificent but he told me to shut up about it because you'll be too proud, all puffy as a mating pigeon,” she mumbled, not really knowing what she was saying to him. “Maybe minus the shut up and mating pigeon part,” she finally added.

“Happy to hear that you enjoyed how I played our song,” he softly whispered to let her fall asleep again.

“Your song,” she corrected.

“Our song Anna, you wrote it too.”

With a smile on her face, she fell asleep as Roger looked fondly at her.

~~~~ 

It was already dark outside when Anna stepped out from her apartment, going to the group's practice hall. The place became her safe space for work, to concentrate, for anything, lately. Everybody needed a place to ease the tensions in the air, the group sent their debut album, their demo to various labels about a month ago and still nothing. They were all desperate, Roger raging over Freddie telling him that all that money they spent on this album could have been used in another way, a wiser way and Brian had to part them often while John sat, pinching the strings of his bass as he looked at Anna and Mary, on the edge of everything. He seemed to seek for peace lately, he needed the band to calm down but until the moment somebody calls them – even if it was for a negative answer – John's wish couldn't be fulfilled. And they had gigs to perform, but Freddie wanted to see the bigger picture as his band mates were trying to tone him down, to not let him fall out of disappointment.

So the practice hall became a space where they had their rehearsals, yes, but some game afternoons, playing Scrabble all together, with or without the girls and Chrisssy – Brian's new girlfriend – , having little parties all together, having fun just to ease all these tensions between them. And mostly, it worked. Mostly.

And Anna found her sanctuary in there, being able to work with music, laughter, friends. It felt a lot better than being at the library or in her apartment, all by herself. So, tonight, around midnight, she decided that the practice hall would be the perfect place to work a bit; she had the keys, Brian gave her the keys. She walked under the moonlight, three books held against her side, her footsteps resonating on the empty roads. It was cold outside, but not enough to prevent her from going there. As she approached the place, she could hear noise. That was pretty surprising. She pressed her ear against the door, once she was inside the building, going into the hall: she heard drums. Violent drums, a hoarse and sleepy voice as the cacophony pulsed in the building. Roger. Of course it was Roger. She delicately opened the door, for him to not notice her, and she saw him. Shirtless and sweaty, hair strands against his forehead and some others flying around as he hit the drums, harder and harder at every movement. Concentrated, focused, he didn't even hear her opening the door and beginning to step in. She looked at him from afar, admiring the energy he radiated with wile playing alone, singing, all by himself. She felt like an intruder, violating his safe space, his little moment of anger, of rage. She could see the shift of emotion in his gestures, this was the pissed Roger, the one wanting to release his frustrations in music, on the drums, singing. “You won't need nobody else, but me.” He abruptly stopped to reach for a cigarette and a lighter. This is when he saw Anna.

First, she could see panic in his eyes. For a second, he didn't know what was happening here, who was she, his expression shifted from fear into incomprehension, then to confusion.

“No burglar Roger, just me, Anna,” she reassured him. “Nice lyrics.”

“Damn, Anna, what are you doing here alone at night? Are you insane?” he asked while putting the cigarettes back on the floor and reaching for his shirt.

“So we both are,” she commented while stepping more into the room.

“It's dangerous around here, at night,” he said to her, concerned as he got up to meet her, “you should be more careful when you go out during night.”

“Because I could meet a Roger Taylor? I don't think it would be a big issue,” Anna seemed fearless, she was more reckless than fearless when she wanted something. Usually, she thought about her deeds, but tonight, when she couldn't find another solution to continue her essay she decided that would be the solution.

“Don't joke around about it like that, we never know what could happen to you,” he replied, alarmed. He seemed to care a lot, as if he could lose her during that night for any reason. “Nobody would like to find you raped and dead, I can assure you.”

“It would be a great song title,” she remarked as she sat where she used to and Roger joined her on the other side of the couch, “all dead, all dead.” She took her coat off and put her next to her, before meeting Roger's not so amused gaze. He looked like an over-protective Brian. “Jesus, I'm doing alright, okay? I'm not dead, not all dead, yet, so no worries Roger.”

“Yeah... I'll have to walk you home then, or Brian will kill me.”

“You're more afraid for yourself than for me, great to know what pissed you so much,” she replied before opening her books on the table. She had to write that essay, or at least begin to draft something about it.

“Another problematic essay?”

“More than that, it's practically hell. Another stressful sleepless night?” her voice sounded concerned. And she was about everything that was happening to Queen. Roger was mostly trying to brush everything off, he didn't want to talk about how frustrated he was about it, he wouldn't open up, just bark at Freddie for the goddamn van and their money. Never speaking about what he felt about this, drowning everything in sass, girls, drums. Mostly girls after gigs.

“Kind of,” he quietly replied as he was playing with his fingers. Anna could feel his tension just in this small gesture, she knew Roger for a few months, she definitely could see whether he was at ease or not. “Do you mind if I continue playing and rambling my stuff?”

“I'm the intruder here, do as you please Mr. Taylor,” she said attempting to make him smile a bit. A successful attempt. “I really enjoyed your rambling earlier, could become something good actually. Very romantic stuff.”

He bowed in front of her, regaining some spirits as he walked towards his drum set. When he sat and began to play, to “ramble” as he said, she began to write, more an more, her head slightly moving in harmony with the beat and his voice. Exactly what she needed, percussion and lyrics. None of them spoke to each other during this moment of communion, Roger into music and Anna into literature.

Until three in the morning, both of them did what they had to. And eventually, Roger progressively stopped playing. Anna rose hear head to see what he was doing now, he light up a cigarette before heading toward her, to sit on the couch next to her. He sat, eyes half closed now, observing her with her halo made of light above her head. He needed some sleep, absolutely now. And they couldn't stay there for the night, both of them had to go back home. She closed her books, and told him that he was about to go home since she did most of the things she wanted to.

Happily, he got up, yawning. He looked for his jacket for a moment, eyes fluttering with tiredness as Anna put her coat on. He closed the door behind her as they left. It was cold outside, the air was fresh, day wasn't still there. First, they walked quietly, slowly but then Anna had to break the ice. She told him about Cambridge and her last year's experience as they walked towards her home, and Roger listened to her, still a bit off, hands in his pockets. He enjoyed the moments he could have with her because it was all about something else, no compliments, he couldn't see the groupie look in her eyes, the look he saw every night, and every night as a moth he was drawn to it. Against his will or not, he couldn't define it yet. But Anna was another kind of light, a giving light, not a taking one. She gave him time, she tried to understand him and the other members of the band without never being all sweet and kind just to please them: she was honest, just as Mary. If not even more.

He didn't know when they arrived in front of her apartment, when she smiled and told him goodnight before hugging him and whispering him to take care of himself, to sleep and to not worry too much, “it should be doing alright, doing alright” she sang, all amused before going up the stairs.

[elite-polos]

30 Days of Élite Fic ♛ Day 4: Drive Pairing: Polo x Cayetana x Valerio Rating: T Summary: AU in which Polo is not dead and the OT3 is thriving. There is no plot lmao

Caye shrieks, grasping the edge of her seat as Valerio barrels around a curve. “Someone remind me who thought it was a good idea for you to drive,” she says through her nervous laughter. 

“I don’t think it was me,” Polo says from the back seat. 

“Me neither,” Cayetana agrees. 

“Me neither,” adds Valerio, grinning, “but when have I ever had a good idea in my life?” 

He sees the wide stretch of open road ahead of him and presses the pedal down harder. Polo and Cayetana gasp, thrown back into their seats. 

“Valerio!” Cayetana exclaims, giggling. “Be careful!” 

“Relaaaax, don’t worry,” Valerio says, nonchalantly taking one hand off the wheel to pat Caye on the shoulder reassuringly. “I know what I’m doing. Besides, we’re almost there.” 

After a few more minutes of frenzied driving at a speed that both Polo and Cayetana are too scared to look at, Valerio swerves into an empty parking lot. “And we have arrived!” he announces. “See, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” 

Polo chuckles. “Well, we certainly got here...fast…” He discreetly wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, still a little bit shaken up from the drive, but he can’t deny that Valerio’s recklessness is one of the things he loves most about him. He knows Cayetana feels the same way. Valerio is so incredibly unconcerned with what anyone thinks or tells him to do, and it’s liberating. 

Valerio opens the sunroof and climbs out on top of the car. “Pass me the drinks,” he says, extending a hand back into the car. Polo hands him the case of beer then hoists himself up through the roof, helping Caye come up after him. 

Lounging back as if there were no more comfortable place to sit than on top of a car, Valerio opens three bottles and hands one to his boyfriend and one to his girlfriend. “I just want to raise a toast,” he says, lifting his bottle to the open sky, “to the two beautiful people I have in front of me right now.” 

Cayetana and Polo share a glance out of the corner of their eyes, both grinning at Valerio’s cheesiness and blushing at his flattery. 

“When I came back to Las Encinas, I was expecting to just ride it out until I was done. I didn’t care about school or what was coming next for me, I only cared about when the next party was. But then I met you two, and, well...the rest is history, isn’t it?” 

Valerio smiles, placing his right hand on Polo’s thigh and his left on Caye’s and giving them both a squeeze. 

“Yeah, the school year didn’t really turn out like we’d hoped,” he continues, “but that’s not what really matters. We made it through, the three of us. What happened happened, and I somehow managed to get the highest grades of my life thanks to you two.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Cayetana replies. “We might’ve helped you study, but you’re the one who took the initiative to actually learn the stuff.” 

Valerio leans in towards her. “Well, it helped that I had such a good reward to motivate me,” he says, his voice low and sultry. With a hand behind her neck, he pulls Cayetana in for a passionate kiss, their tongues winding around each other. Polo watches them contentedly, just taking in the moment. He hadn’t thought it was possible to be this happy again, but as he’s discovered, life is full of surprises. 

Once they separate, Caye holds up her bottle. “Salud!” she says giddily. 

“Salud!” Polo and Valerio say in unison. Together, the three of them take long swigs of their drinks. 

Polo crawls across the roof of the car to kiss Valerio, savoring the remnants of beer and the faint hint of Caye’s lip balm on his lips. He can feel the way Valerio relaxes into the kiss, exhaling against Polo’s mouth as he seeks to deepen their contact. 

Cayetana doesn’t lose a moment in joining them, kissing on Polo’s jawline and trailing up to the sensitive spot they’d found right behind his ear. Polo sighs, tilting his head back. 

It dawns on Cayetana how absolutely ridiculous it seems that the three of them are making out on top of Valerio’s car in an abandoned parking lot, and yet she doesn’t think anything could compare to how right this feels. The three of them fit together like puzzle pieces, and together, they have all they need. 

Valerio reaches over to pull her closer, but at that moment, he starts to lose his balance. Before he has a chance to process it, he starts to fall into the open sunroof.

“Valerio!” Cayetana yelps, while Polo just barely manages to grab onto him enough to stop him from falling entirely back into the car. 

Together, they hoist him back up onto the roof. Valerio catches his breath, and there’s a long moment where the three of them do nothing but look at each other. Then, as if on cue, they all burst into laughter, the kind of laughter from deep within that you can’t stop even if you try. 

Taking another sip of his drink, Valerio stretches as he gets comfortable again, basking in the sunshine. He dangles his bare feet through the sunroof. Yeah, he thinks, this is definitely something worth a toast. 

[aura-loveshine]

Fringe-dweller’s true tales.

I looked up at the half moon, and thought “this will be the 5th full moon since you died”... 

Three nights before you were so suddenly taken from the physical earth, you camped overlooking the beautiful large body of water. you explored the multifaceted countryside, you were always like a kid when it came to exploring. you would have honoured and felt connected with nature. you would have sat with a j and admired the full moon on Friday the 13th. it would have been so beautiful to see the full moon over the water, the reflection, the light bouncing off the rippling water and quartz crystal sparkly rockbed... 

I hope those days spent at that campsite were healing, I hope you felt at peace, I hope you spent those days happy, content. I imagine you playing guitar and adventuring with our magic merlin dog, enjoying the wildlife, the peacefulness. I imagine you listening to the abc radio you loved and talking to the other campers, sharing your quirky unique self, making people laugh, or think. I imagine you satisfied to have achieved the long time goal to drive to the tip of Australia, from Cook Town to Cape York in your FWD. I imagine you had chocolate or something sweet even though you were running out of everything else. 

I wonder if you dreamt those nights... I wonder if you had a feeling something was coming. I wonder about the last conversations you had with tribe. i wonder about where you thought the wind might take you next. I wonder if you actually were on your way to visit me... ill never know whether I/you/we could have done anything to change what happened... I can't believe after all the physical pain you endured through-out your 34 years, that you experienced pain in your last alert moments... I think about our dog being with you when it all happened... 

I imagine you loving being omnipresent, exploring the universe in your cosmic pirate-ship with Xena, your beloved 17 year old dog. I'm not surprised she passed 12 days after you... I'm glad your both free of your aching sore physical bodies. You both lived so adventurously. you and Xena are the only ones I know that can say they lived in their vehicles/bus for over 11 years, driving over a million kms around and through Australia. I also don’t know anyone else that helped as many fringe-dwellers as you did, loved and supported so many beautiful women without trying to take it to a sexual level, who invited people to travel with you and see new incredible parts of Australia. you saved forests, educated people, changed Bunnings national policy, inspired people to live better and more freely, you lived more in your short life-time than anyone I know. you experienced pain, near death experience, limitation childhood abuse and death of loved ones and still managed to be the incredible being full of enthusiasm with an open heart and playful inquisitive nature. 

I was relieved to hear you had been reconnecting with your mum and family. that our close friends had quality time with you before everything changed...       I know you knew there was a high chance of you dying while on the road due to road death statistics... but all the justifications can't outweigh the heaviness of not being able to message you, call you, find out where you are now, what your building or what fascinating experience you’ve had recently.

You were the first and only male partner I have shared a ‘de facto’ type lovership with, having only been with women until you. you were so respectful, you were loving and gentle...  travelling in a old coaster for 6 months with you living a true dream... you built us a bush shack in two weeks, you built us a bush palace in a month and a half, all while been technically ‘disabled’... you showed me sacred sites of Australia, you climbed into caves, swam in ocean with crocodiles a few kms away,, we ate dinner alone with Dick Smith in the desert, casually chatting. you introduced me to Robin Mutoid at Burn out, I loved sitting with you and Robin in the coaster watching you two light up talking about mad hatter genius building ideas... and plans to create an explosive pineapple grenade to the filming we were doing.

Some of my favourite memories of my life-time, have been with you. I cherish you, I cherish my photos of you, I'm relieved I didnt listen to you when you told me to stop taking photos and be in the moment, but now I can look at those memories when I need to see you. every time I see a old coaster van I'm going to think of you... so many things remind me of you... having merlin with me is the silver lining, I'm relieved she was safely found after 15 days of being missing in the bush. I'm relieved she's with me. but I wish I was instead bringing her back to you...

You led such an incredible life I hope to share your stories and pictures with the world. you inspired so many people while you were alive... and even after... thousands of people read about your death on social media and tv... the articles and posts used the photos I took of you. it was surreal to see you and our dog in articles, for what happened to be so publicised... for a tragedy so personal to be used as ‘grief porn’... I hope to use the publicity of it all to make change to the stretch of road. needs better signage, a lower speed, something! I can't get it out of my head that you were the 9th fatality out of 30 accidents in 31 years, within a 4km stretch of road... 9 fatalities is too many. 9 is the final number. you are the last one to be taken out there...

The bush fires started raging not long after you died... in a strange way, the fires seemed fitting in my state of grief. Our lives were all forever changed... I was forever changed. The fires burning for months. My grief, anger, shock and feeling of helplessness burning inside me for months.  the sense of emergency through out the country, the sense of disaster within me.

It was all a bit much trying to deal with you dying, Xena dying, merlin being missing for 15 days and everything else that happened over the next 2 months as well the fires raging, rainforests burning, native wildlife in crisis, homes burning, people dying and the nation all in panic and smoke. Being 1500kms away from my forest home and family while the fires burned out of control less that 40kms away, with road blocks and potential fires in between. Trying to have your life celebration festivities while experiencing heavy rain, wind warnings and strained tumultuous emotions all round... thunder and hail while my mums saying she is taking all my valuables and art to a safe house coz the fires are getting closer, and they are prepping to have to evacuate with the dog, cat, ducks and chickens... luckily, it never came to that, the fires were contained 25kms away from our home, contained only 20kms away from my closest town, a well known beautiful alternative community. 

A moment that will always bring a smile to my heart, was when I was finally driving home. Id had a really rough night, id been holding so much in, trying to just get through everything to get home, id started falling apart... we had just started driving, when we saw a small’ish’ dust devil. the ‘tornado hunter’ part in me instantly wanted to drive up the near by road to chase it. I held back, until I heard my friend say “we could throw some of him ashes into the dust devil”... and I zoomed up the road as quick as I could. although the little twister had gone out of reach, I trustfully threw some of your ashes towards it. my heart felt uplifted as I watched the ash catch, float up and dissolve toward the dust devil.

You weren't scared of dying, you lived actively seeking to push your own limits, always with a cheeky grin. but you always landed like a cat, you were always there, doing your thing... alive. you always came back... you would have heard about the fires and driven straight to help, you would have fought the fires like you had before. you would have used the experience as a way to further pursue actual change for the planet, would have been apart of the vocal community questioning how the government failed to protect and how we needed to have upheaval and revolution...

You drove so safely on the roads. I dont know what happened to the other driver, except that he was seemingly uninjured. was it actually an unfortunate accident? or did the driver lose control going around the corner at 130kms in a 100 zone.... 

Was it really ‘your time to go’? if I hadn't been to the crash site and dealt with all that I have, I might fantasise the idea that you pulled the ultimate fucked up prank, that your hiding out in your doomsday bunker, mischievously laughing at no one knowing your alive, being completely ‘offline’, plotting the moment to reveal yourself... to see you, hug you would be.... 

We separated as lovers 15 months before you died, as we had to go on seperate journeys, we had to become individuals again. we were both struggling with very different things, we had to salvage our friendship and love, to take a break, allow some time... and then... you died 7 hours away, on your way to my area... on your way to see me and Xena.. I can't help but feel I'm being punished somehow, question if I shouldn't have made you leave. you might still be alive... am I silly to dwell on thoughts like that? I thought we had more time.

All I can do is live passionately, continue to be inspired by you and cherish you and our time together, learn from my experiences, healing these wounds by living, by loving, by sharing truth, by having daily gratitude and celebrating the positive events and changes as they come.

I know, for a long time, I will count each passing full moon...

You will always be my gypsy pirate king.  

Fly Free my Lover. I'll see you on the other side once again.

[adoregoldenharry]

Pop Princess h.s.

So this is a story I am writing on Wattpad only. This is only a snippet and it is currently ongoing. If you are interested then you can read it here: Pop Princess h.s. 

(Not my gif)

My wattpad user : adoregoldenharry

Description:

Welcome to the world of fame and riches. Where Women and men are exploited for their god given talents. Kalisto Reed is anything but the average American girl. She's a pop icon turned disaster, as the gossip magazines like to put it. She finds herself in a girl group amongst others with a dream. One day she meets Harry Styles, the golden boy of pop music. Are they too different in each other's eyes? Or will that bring them together?

The beat of the wind lolling through the sky was calm and controlled. Palm leaved trees barely moving opposed to the usual impromptu force of wind. I sat outside on a dark wood lawn chair with blue and yellow striped cushions. The vitamins of the sun painting onto my skin and leaving their mark. The remnants of last night playing hide and seek in my brain.

Not much happened besides watching Shawn getting his face mushed into his cake by his family and everyone pointing their phones at him. I remember smiling and enjoying the moment knowing that someone could send me a video or two later on. The only other eventful thing would be after the conversation I had with Harry in the kitchen, we had gone our separate ways. I did catch his eyes looking for mine every chance it was allowed. It made me a little self conscious.

I was just staring into the sky with my over sized designer lenses. The clouds were coming in and slowly ridding the beams of light from the sky. I sighed watching the sunshine drift away. Closing my eyes seemed like the only solution to eternal relaxation on this day, so it's what I did. Then the door bell rang. "You're kidding me." I sat up sliding through the patio doors through to the entrance of my house.

"Were you swimming?" Shawn asked looking at my bikini. I shook my head moving aside to let him in. He was rather dressed up tonight aside form his usual jeans and tee shirt. His red dress shirt completed by the dark tone of his pants. Curls bouncing from his head in a 'I forgot to brush my hair' aesthetic. He was always one for dramatics. "Not that I don't love you and all but what are you doing here," I closed the door following him to my couch. Shawn sat himself on my leather couch bring me down with him. I could already feel my thighs getting stuck to the seats. "Since its my birthday..."

"You're birthday was yesterday." I interrupted him. He glared at me pulling a small giggle out of me. "As I was saying," He reiterated, " Since it's my birthday some friends and I are going out bowling tonight and I would like you to come." At this point I was already shaking me head. His jaw dropped and he stood abruptly from the couch. "And why not."

I shrugged, "I'm having a self care day."

"Move it to tomorrow," Shawn slouched back onto the couch. He was always so adamant. Honestly if it wasn't for him I would probably never leave my house. I found it comforting to be home where nobody could gossip about me or take an ugly picture that would be stuck on the Internet forever. He kept his eyes glued to me and before I knew it his bottom lip started puffing out. "No no, don't you start with that," I shoved his shoulder. Somehow some way this guy made his eyes sparkle in a way that it was just impossible to refuse any of his wishes. His charm and sleekness so intricate and obviously trained into him. He was a poodle.

I adjusted the strap on my bikini, rolling my eyes. "Fine."

He jumped up and pulled me into a hug. He hurried me and pushed me to my room to get changed. I rubbed my temples thinking about my absence of needing to find the right thing to wear. Settling with a color block inspired jumpsuit that really ended up being louder than I expected when I purchased it online. I looked at myself in my full length mirror studying what I saw. It's something I tried to get myself to stop doing yet here I was, doing it. For most of my life I've let my body define me because it was the epitome of this business. If you weren't pretty you would never make it far. People always made sure to let up their opinions on that. Being in the lime light was not fun or validating. It was toxic.

"You almost ready," Shawn shouted from the living room. With one last look I swept up my shoes to put on on the couch.

The sun barely started falling from its place in the sky. Street lamps igniting and making their nightly appearance. The top of Shawn's Jeep had been removed weeks ago according to him and it felt great. Nothing like a beach cruiser in a beach town. "Who are these friends that we're joining," I closed the mirror flap in front of me after applying lip gloss. "Oh you know," his voice faltered and his eyes kept on the dark asphalt.

I held my head up by my right arm leaning on the car door. My eyebrows shifting upwards waiting for him to continue his answer. "Just uh, Lenny, Kels, Aaron, uh Camila..."

I jumped in my seat. "Camila? You're serious."

"Look Kal, I know you don't exactly get along but please just do this for me." I huffed sitting straight back in my seat.

It was way more than not just getting along between me and Camila. There was this intense aura that surrounded the two of us when we were near each other. It was discomforting and unbeknownst to me why she baited such bad energy between us. It started when I first met her. Camila brought this sweet and girl tactic around with her. When I first started hanging around Shawn he introduced us and we got on well, so I felt. We were at a party at a mutual friend's house and took shots while making fun conversation.

That same night Shawn got up to use the restroom leaving us two to each other. Her first words alone with me were etched into my brain. "Don't get too comfortable, some people don't last too long around here." Ever since then she gave me a stink face at every event I saw her. Yet she loved to be around Leah, Audrey, and Mikayla. I was apparently some sort of bad omen to her. "I knew if I told you she was going you wouldn't come." I didn't answer, I just thought about what sort of night I was in for.

"And I really wanted you to come." He glanced back and forth between the road and me.

The bowling alley wasn't full to our luck. If it had been it would be Shawn's discretion to whether we would stay or not. We spotted our group at some lanes near the other side of the building.

"Harry is here. Why is Harry here. When did you two become so buddy buddy. You didn't say he was coming." I mumbled an edge of panic showing. He grabbed my wrist pulling me towards everyone. "Did I not say he was coming, I thought I did." I had a few choice words for my friend right now but we were too close to everyone at this point for me to shout like a sailor. Camila stood up and rushed to Shawn, hugging him and letting shrill noises come out of her mouth. I smiled at her which she didn't bother to return. Run up on me, I dare you.

I found myself in front of Harry who had a knowing grin on his face. "What a pleasant surprise." I rested my hands on my hips walking up to him where he sat on one of those plastic swivel chairs. "Fancy seeing you here, love." He stretched his long arms out and snuck them around my waist bringing me in for a tight hug. He smelled like vanilla and silk. I really hoped that harry couldn't feel or hear me sniffing him in. That would be very, not good.

"Be right back, I gotta go pick my balls." Harry laughed and stood up from his seat. "I'll come with you." We walked past the counters dividing the floor and the arcade. Lights were flashing in and out with loud stints of sound effects. The wall of balls not too far out from there. I tapped my hand on chin looking at the sizes and colors. "Why are the cute ones always so heavy," Harry stifled a laugh covering his mouth. I rolled my eyes jokingly, "Boys."

I decided on a nice orange color distorted one, only because I could actually carry it. Harry, however, whipped it right out of my hands holding it to his side with one arm. I tried to reach for it to which he protested. Insisting on carrying it for me.

He was saving the chivalry that men killed centuries ago. I could carry my own ball so to speak. I was honestly surprised by the night. Everyone seemed to have so much fun. I was happily entertained by the humor being passed around. Harry and Shawn were two jokers in cahoots. I couldn't stop laughing at one point to which I was of course teased about. Camila wasn't any bother either and I appreciated it. She stayed in her lane and I stayed in mine. I found myself staring a couple seconds too long at Harry.

The way his dimples got bigger with every inch of his smile. How he brushed his chiseled hands through his hair very often. Also how he focused with every sense on a person when they spoke. I was seeing experiencing his famous traits and wow did they project. He was mellow and hyper at the same time. It was exciting to watch. Harry turned to me and poked my cheek only lengthening my smile. I looked over to Shawn who was smirking at me. I sat up straight turning my attention back to Kels who was now rolling her heavy spheric rock down the lane. She got a strike and carefully walked back towards the ball return as she avoids slipping on the waxed floors. I've taken a spill or two in my time. Don't really like to talk about it.

It was ten till eleven and the alley was a little more packed. People were starting to recognize faces within the group so it was decided that after one more game that would be it for the night. I decided to pull out of the last game and strolled along to the arcade. I slid my hands over the air hockey table that sat vacant. Feeling for any air that might come from it. I huffed after I realized it had to be paid for before it turned on. 'What a let down' I thought to myself, leaning against the hunk of metal. "Wanna play with me?"

Harry walked up right behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw a shit eating grin on his face that made me snort a bit of laughter. I nodded and stalked to one side of the air hockey table as he slipped a coin in the slot. Harry scrunched the sleeves of his black long sleeve up to his elbows. Slapping his hands together and then rubbing them in competition. I bit my lip trying not to give him the laughs he wanted. He could take them so easily from me. I wanted this to be harder but, he was so good and I was so easy for him. Right?  "Fuck," Harry shouted when I made the first point. I jumped and cheered for myself while Harry furrowed his eyebrows readying himself for the next one.

I was sweating after six back and forth points. I needed just one more to knock him off. "Kal don't even think about it," Harry said watching me trying to cheat just a little.

"You don't even know what I was going to do," I dropped my shoulders staring at him in faux disbelief. Harry flipped his hair dramatically getting into another silly stance. I let the puck go back to the middle and tapped it towards him. He hit it back with a little more aggression than I had. I needed a strategy so I thought of something on the fly. "I really love the way your nails are painted," He picked up his paddle looking down at his nails. "Thanks I-," I smacked the puck with my paddle as fast as I could. The puck passed his slot down into the table. The scoreboard making noise announcing that I was the winner.

Harry's jaw had dropped and gently slapped his puck onto the table. "You tricked me."

"Oh. Did I? I'm sorry." I apologized with no guilt on my face whatsoever. He shook his head and crossed his arms walking around the table. He stuck his hand out to me mumbling a 'good game' to which I happily took. I was definitely a sore winner and like to rub my winnings in peoples faces sometimes. It was harmless on my end though so I will definitely keep doing so. Our friends were nearly done with their game. We looked for somewhere to sit and amazingly there was nowhere to drop our bottoms on seats. "Come on," Harry lead me back to the arcade where I had whooped him.

His tall figure bent down and stepped into the photo booth sitting on the small red bench. He held the curtain open for me coaxing me in with his eyes. The way he his stare held so much power was frightening. I squeezed in seeing that he took up most of the seat because well he wasn't the smallest person. He towered over me when we were standing and similarly when we sat. "We don't fit Harry," I laughed at how uncomfortably we sat. "Alright that's it." Harry rounded his hands at my hips and lifted me slightly to stand so he could position himself under me. Bringing my hips down so now I was sat on him. My breath quickened at the feeling and I felt light headed for a great moment. And for the next couple of minutes we just sat there. Enjoying each other's company. Until he started telling jokes that is. But I still enjoyed it. "Hey," I spoked trying to gather his attention, "Wanna do something fun."

Harry gave me quizzical look before I pulled three dollars out of my pocket. "You just carry change around like that in your pocket," I shrugged. Slowly straightening the dollars and then shoving them into the photo machine. We looked through the frames and filters finding the perfect ones for us. "Definitely that one." Harry poked a classy white frame for our strips. I agreed letting him poke the buttons. And not just because he had to lean and press his front against my back to do so. I felt a fire in my tummy that wanted to be let out. I didn't have the water to put it out. Not yet.

I pressed start and it began counting down. "Oh god what do we do." I never knew how to pose for these things. Harry placed his hand on the side of my face bringing it to sit on the side of his. We smiled and looked into the camera. Next we decided on a silly face and stuck our tongues out at each other. After the flash went off we both started laughing. His laugh was so sweet and melodic. It felt like the harmony of angel cries. Our laughs were quieting down but the intensity between us got louder. Green Rain by Mvzonik started to play in the background on surround sound in the bowling alley. I bit my lip again feeling like I was loosing control. Harry's eyes swiftly moved to my lips. Observing me in a very noticeable way. We had long forgotten about the photos.

I brought my hands up to his neck and his moved to my waist. In less than a second my lips were on his. They were so silky and plump, every girl's dream. His hands caressed my sides holding me still in place. The moment of our lips molding into each others felt blissful. Our eyes closed and yet it was pretty evident that the flash went off one more time. We pulled away staring in each others' eyes. Harry's mouth still slightly open and panting from current activities. I brushed his hair on the side with my hands. "Hey are you guys in there," a loud banging on the side of the machine. Harry and I jumped apart. I stood up almost bumping my head and fixed myself to make sure nothing looked out of place. I drew open the curtain walking out seeing Shawn standing against the wall, legs crossed. "Everyone's done let's get out of here and get you home."

I nodded looking back at Harry. "I can drive her." Harry spoke looking at me then to Shawn. "Yeah Harry can take me." Shawn nodded with a mischievous smile and gave me a hug. He shook hands with Harry talking a few words before leaving the two of us. Harry looked down at me making my cheeks turn red. Looking at him meant thinking about what just happened in this photo booth right next to us. He leaned over me with one hand on my waist. Plucking our two photo strips from the black plastic slot. "I rather like them."

Harry handed me one strip. I held the paper carefully in my hands not to wrinkle it. Three photos adorned the glossy memoir. One of us smiling, another of us being goofy, and the last of us sharing a kiss. A shy smile crept on to my face eating away at my nerves. "So do I." I laid my head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around me. We stood there for a few seconds before decided to head out. "You know if these photos ever get out, the media is going to have a field day."

"Well we did willingly hang out in public and made out in a photo booth. So I'd say we deserve it." We laughed walking hand in hand to his car.

[wandering-bard-from-the-id]

Daughters of Arendelle - Chapter 34

Greetings all,

I apologize for the long delay in updates. This is the first of three, with hopefully two more to follow soon.

Chapters 1 - 33 are at FF.Net.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12222767/1/Daughters-of-Arendelle

Chapter 34

Sept. 14, 1840

Anna held the girl sitting on the saddle before her with one hand as she guided Kjekk with the other. Behind her a little boy clung to her waist. She kept pace with the wagon full of orphans, bumping over the dirt road.

People hurried pass heading for town or up the ridge into the mountains. They gave quick, often, startled greetings as they passed the Princess. Anna met each with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

As they rounded a small curve atop the ridge, the ocean beyond the fjord came into view. Smoke curled into the clear sky along the horizon. It was all that could be seen of the distant sea battle. How many ships have we lost? Her eyes cut to the wagon load of children. How many orphans will be made today? Anger stirred, dredging up old feelings best not revisited. Before they could take hold, she drove them back. There would be time for such things later. More immediate issues needed her attention.

Four ships formed a perfect line as they sped toward the fjord. The Lienz’s flag fluttered atop the lead ship. In the distance, familiar green and purple marked the Agdar. It was gaining on the last ship.

In the streets below a sea of people, wagons and carts flooded the town square. One group pushed toward the castle bridge as the other attempted to reach the main road out of town. The confusion was made worse by soldiers trying to move equipment to their posts. Faints shouts and animal cries echoed over the town.

An overwhelming weight settled upon Anna’s shoulders at the sight. How were we going to get all these people out of the streets before the ships arrive? What if they get pass the gate? Her gaze turned to the fjord towers. Suspended between them hung a heavy chain gate, blocking the entrance, protecting Arendelle as it had for generations. No, the gate will hold. She offered a silent prayer to whoever might be listening, please, let it hold.

Now would be a really good time for you to come home, Elsa. The thought brought with it a twinge of guilt. She knew if Elsa were able she would have returned. Which meant she wasn’t able. Thoughts of her sister and Kristoff laying wounded or worse caused her chest to ache. It eased as her gaze settled on the glistening snowflake atop the castle. Where ever Elsa was, she was alive. Her thoughts turned to Kristoff. The ache returned.

“Your Highness?”

Startled from her thoughts Anna turned to find Captain Morten at her side. She smiled at him, feeling some of the tension ease in her shoulders. He’d always had a calming effect on her. She suspected it was one of the reasons her father had put him in charge of her guard detail. “Yes, Captain?”

“Those ships are less than an hour out, ma’am. I suggest we make haste for the castle.”

“How?” She gestured toward the town. “The square is packed all the way to the castle bridge.”

“I can have the men clear a path.”

“No. That will just make matters worse. We’ll stay this course for now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He hesitated. “Princess Anna, if the ships breech the fjord gate we will need to get you to the castle. You cannot be in the streets should they reach the docks.”

She started to wave him off with an assurance that would never happen. The words died on her lips as the lead ship drew closer. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that, Captain.”

“Let’s hope not, ma’am.” He dipped his head to her, easing his horse away.

Below frightened souls rushed about, seeking safety and shelter. Her mother’s words whispered, ‘You are a Royal Princess, in times of need, the people will look to you for reassurance and guidance. If you show strength and courage, it will ease their fears and give them hope.’ Hope. She embraced the word, clinging to it.

Her gaze drifted to the snowflake. I know you’ll come home, Elsa. We need you. She hugged the child closer, pressing a light kiss atop her head. I need you.

0000

Tollak waited on the beach as the first of four long boats paddled toward him. Each rode low in the water with the weight of a dozen or, so men piled aboard them.

As the first boat glided ashore, Prince Hans rose to stand in the bow. With the wind sweeping back his auburn hair, he looked the part of a conquering hero.

Soldiers jumped into the surf and pulled the boat ashore. Once it was resting on sand, Hans leapt over the side, avoiding the breaking waves.

The men cleared the first boat, as a second one came ashore.

With a hand resting on his sword hilt, Hans strolled toward Tollak.

“Welcome to Arendelle, Your Highness.” Tollak sank into a formal bow. “I trust your trip went well.”

Hans acknowledged the bow with a nod of his head. “Thanks to your efforts, Colonel, it was a success.” He turned to the officer trailing behind him. “Send the boats back for more troops and get the men ready to move out immediately.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” With a quick bow the man hurried away.

“Why hasn’t Sigrid started his attack on the city? Our ships need artillery support.”

“He never made it over the mountains, Your Highness.” Tollak didn’t cower under Hans’ glare. “It would appear the Witch drove his army away in defeat.”

“What?! What of the cannons?” Gloved hands curled into fists as Hans’ jaw clenched.

Tollak shook his head. “Destroyed by the Witch. A scout arrived last night with news of the army’s defeat.” He hurried on as Hans’ face grew flushed. “There is some good news. Earl Swart’s men were able to ambush the Witch, and her guard on the mountain. Most of her men were either killed or wounded. I’ve received several reports confirming she was wounded during the fight, but too what extent I cannot say. There has been no word from her since before the battle with Sigrid. It appears she is either unwilling or unable to return.”

“Hiding somewhere licking her wounds perhaps?” Anger softened into amusement as Hans’ fists unclenched.

“Perhaps. With any luck she’s wolf fodder.” Tollak shrugged.

Hans’ lips eased into a smirk. “And what of little Anna?” The smirk widened into a sadistic smile.

“She spent the night pining over her sister. When I left, she was leading her guard detail into town to help evacuate the townspeople.”

“How heroic.” Hans scoffed.

“Yes, her theatrics should make things easier for us. My men have orders to capture her before she can return to the castle.”

“Do they understand we need her alive, at least, until we’re certain Elsa’s dead?”

“They understand, sir.”

“Good.”

“Once the witch is dead, what are your plans for the Princess?”

With a gloved hand Hans brushed some dirt from his jacket. “I’ll keep her around as long as she is useful. Who knows, we might even produce an heir to cement my claim to the throne.” He chuckled. “Course, it’s more likely I’ll slit the little chatter box’s throat within a week.”

An heir? Tollak’s hand tightened on his sword hilt. From the moment he learned of Elsa’s magic he’d known the Princess would have to be sacrificed. Her blind devotion to her sister had robbed her of all reason. Even if she could be made to see the truth, there was still the risk of her passing on tainted blood. No, there can be no direct heirs to the Crocus throne. He would see to that.  

There would be time to deal with the Princess later. First, more pressing matters needed to be addressed. “Should the witch return, I trust you found what you were looking for to, deal with her.” Tollak asked.

Gloved fingertips traced over a gold chain suspended around Hans’ neck. Tollak thought he could see the outline of a disk beneath the man’s vest.

“Yes, I found it.”

“Do you think it will be enough to stop her?”

“It will stop her,” Hans smirked. “and even if it doesn’t kill her. It will slow her down enough for more, traditional methods.” He patted the sword at his hip.  

“Your Highness.” The officer stepped to Hans’ side. “The men are ready, sir.”

“Good.” Hans grabbed the bottom of his jacket and straightened it with a sharp tug. “Come, Colonel, it’s time to introduce the people to their king.”

0000

Along the main road, single homes had given way to clusters of houses, lining both sides of the street. Tucked between the houses stood a stone, two-story guard tower. Long ago it had marked the outer limits of the town. Over time the town had spread beyond it.

Two grim faced soldiers watched from the tower windows as the crowd passed below. One slapped the other with the back of a hand, pointing at Anna’s group. Both straightened, tugging at their uniform jackets as they came to attention. They offered the proper salute as the Royal Princess and her men shuffled past with the crowd.

Amused by their antics, Anna acknowledged them with a warm smile and dip of her head.

Side streets leading from the docks had been barricaded with sandbags, in preparation for the coming battle. Along the docks, soldiers were making ready to defend the town.

Unable to spread out, wagons, carts and people, created a bottleneck in the narrow street. Any other day Anna could have sprinted the distance to the square with ease. From atop her horse, she could see no clear path through the sea of people separating her from the town square. Resigned to the situation she prodded along with the crowd.  

Every so often a frightened soul would rush to Anna’s side or shout at her over the crowd, with questions about the enemy or their missing Queen. She remained steadfast in her assurances that all was being done to defend against the enemy, and the Queen would return as soon as she was able.

If any doubted her, they had the good sense to keep it to themselves. Every time someone mentioned Elsa, Anna stole a glance at the castle spiral. The icy snowflake strengthened her resolve.

Several feet ahead the wheel of an overloaded cart snapped, dropping it to the cobblestones with a sharp crash. Belongings scattered over the street, as the cart owner was thrown to the ground. Dazed by the fall, the man lay groaning in the street.

With a section of the street blocked, the crowd slowed to a crawl. Several people stopped to help the man, others hurried on, trying to slip through the narrow pathway.  

“Help him.” Anna ordered the guardsmen closes to her.

Peder and Arian slipped from their horses, rushing to the man. They drug him from the road, propping him against a wall, safe from the trample of feet and hooves.

“Normund, Lauris, let’s clear the road.” Morten ordered, dismounting his horse.

The men dismounted and set about getting the cart out of the way. Several townspeople moved in to help. Among them a woman, Anna recognized as the blacksmith’s daughter, stepped up to Adrian.

His face turned an alarming shade of red as he strained against the cart to no avail. She pulled him up by the collar of his jacket, nearly taking him off his feet. With a sweet smile she stepped into his spot.

Adrian’s smile mirrored hers. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, ducking his head as she blew him a kiss.

Bare arms rippled with thick muscles as she pulled against the weight of the cart. The smile never left her lips.

Adrian’s eyes widen at the display. The tips of his ears grew red. With a nervous chuckle, he set about clearing debris from the roadway.

Anna bit back a laugh at the couple’s antics. Several days before, Adrian had confided in her, he was going to propose after the festival. His ears had glowed bright red when Anna smothered him in a crushing hug.

Joy at the memory died as Anna’s gaze was drawn to the approaching ships. Thanks to Hans, there had been no proposal. Bastard. Her teeth ground against the rush of hatred brought on by the thought of him.  

Kjekk snorted, tossing his head as a boy bumped against his legs, in a rush to slip through the crowd.

“Easy, boy.” Anna patted his neck till he stopped prancing, though his breathing remained uneven. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you into the wagon.” Anna lifted the girl off her lap, handing her off to one of the older children in the bed of the wagon. “You too.” She reached for the boy seated behind her.

His arms tightened around her waist. “No. I want to stay with you.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Kjekk is getting a little jumpy. I don’t want to risk him throwing you.” Like he throws you? Elsa’s voice was so clear, Anna caught herself looking for her in the crowd. Shaking off the thought, she pried his arms loose. “A little help, please.”

Two older boys wrestled him off the horse.

“No!” He began kicking as they pulled him into the wagon.

“Hey.” Anna leaned in to catch his gaze. “Once this is over you can ride back with me, okay?”

He plopped down on the lap of one of the teenage girls, crossing his arms over his chest. “Okay.”

Anna chuckled, at his flushed, scrunched up face. “Viktoria?”

From the wagon seat Viktoria turned to her. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Once you reach the castle courtyard take the children to the West wing entrance. Gerda has set up rooms for them there. If anyone tries to stop you, tell them you’re working under my direct orders.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Anna raised up in the stirrups for a better view. The square was still a good distance off, but it appeared the crowd there was starting to thin out. Free of the narrow streets, people were able to pass the slow-moving wagons and carts. If they could get pass the bottleneck they should have no trouble reaching the castle.

The cart owner stumbled to his feet and picked up a satchel from his scattered belongings. He slung it over his shoulder, before squeezing in next to one of the guardsmen to help lift.

Cannon fire rumbled over the town. Startled screams were followed by the cries of frightened children. The crowd surged forward. They only gained a few feet before compressing into an unmoving mass.

More people stepped in to help move the cart. It began to inch forward.

Anna turned in the saddle to check the road behind them. Stragglers hurried to catch up to the crowd. Mothers with small children, older folks and others who were unable to keep pace. They appeared from side streets in a desperate race to reach the castle.

“You two, come with me.” Anna didn’t wait for an answer as she turned Kjekk, easing him through the crowd.

Exchanging uncertain looks, two guardsmen fell in behind her.

“Start loading people into the wagons. We need to help anyone who can’t keep up.” Free of the crowd she spurred Kjekk forward.  

The next side street offered Anna a glimpse of the docks and ocean. Along the docks, soldiers hurried about with weapons and sandbags. Beyond the fjord gate, clouds of smoke drifted from the rear Lienz ship. Its mast leaned at an odd angle.

With a sharp turn the Agdar laid low on its starboard side, before righting itself to come alongside the damaged ship. Smoke filled the air a moment before the roar of a dozen cannons reached the town. Anna bit back a frustrated curse, as she lost sight of the ships behind a row of houses.

She hurried toward a teenage girl carrying a little girl on her back. Anna recognized them as the daughters of one of the kitchen maids.

The youngest clung to her sister’s neck, trying not to cry out at the jarring of her bandaged leg. It had been a week since she’d broken the leg falling from a tree.

Behind Anna the crowd cheered as the cart was wrestled from the street. With the street cleared, the crowd surge forward, leaving the stragglers further behind.

Anna pulled Kjekk to a stop and reached down, taking the younger girl’s arm. “Come on.” The older girl helped lift her sister onto the saddle in front of Anna. With her in place, Anna held out a hand to the older girl. She removed her foot from the stirrup, so the girl could step into it. With a grunt she pulled herself up behind Anna.

Thin arms wrapped around Anna’s waist. She turned Kjekk and galloped to the wagon.

Peder and Lauris sped past her. Each taunting the other as they raced to collect stragglers. Any other time the brother’s playful banter would have amused her. She found it a painful reminder of Elsa’s absence.

Reaching the wagon, she handed off the sisters. They settled into the wagon, the younger one climbing into her sister’s lap, to be embraced in a smothering hug.

Anna’s chest tightened at the sight. She turned away before the feeling could overwhelm her. At the far end of the street she spied a woman, carrying a small child, while dragging another by the arm. She tapped Kjekk’s flanks and galloped toward them.

“Princess Anna! Wait!” Morten’s voice cried over the ringing of Kjekk’s horseshoes. She tucked lower in the saddle, urging the horse on.

Her men continued to crisscross between the stragglers and the wagons.

Kjekk’s ears laid back as more cannon fire rumbled over the town. He pulled up short, throwing Anna forward in the saddle. Her fingers dug deep into his mane. Momentum carried her forward, wrenching her arm as she fought to stay atop the horse. The last thing she needed was for Elsa to find out she’d been thrown, again.

Wide eyed and snorting, Kjekk pranced in place. Anna managed to calm him enough to allow her to slip from the saddle. She led him to a lamppost and tied off the reins. “Easy boy, nobody’s going to hurt you.” He pressed into her hand as she stroked his nose. “You stay here, I’ll be back shortly, then we can go home. Okay?”

Kjekk snorted.

“Good boy.” With a final pat she hurried toward the mother and children.

Without missing a step, she scooped the child up in her arms, and caught the mother by the elbow. “Come on.”

Startled to find the Royal Princess at her side, the woman stared slack jawed as she was led toward the wagon. Half way there Normund rode up.

“Captain Morten sent me to get you, ma’am.”

“Take them.”

“Princess Anna,” The large man shook his head. “my orders…”

“Normund, please. I’ll be right behind you. I just need to get Kjekk.” Her lips pulled back in a mischievous grin. “Don’t make me order you.”

He reached out a hand. “I’m going to be mucking out stables for the rest of my life.”

Anna chuckled at his grumbling. “Thank you, Normund. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” She lifted the child.

Resigned to his fate, Normund pulled the child onto his lap.

Anna held the infant while the mother climbed on the back of the horse. Once she was in place, Anna handed up the baby.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Tears glistened in the mother’s eyes as the horse sped away.

“Your welcome.” Anna turned and hurried to Kjekk. She pulled the reins free. “Alright, boy, let’s go home.” As she raised her foot toward the stirrup cannon fire cracked.  

Kjekk shied away, prancing and tossing his head.

Anna stumbled, managing to catch her balance before falling face first on the street. “Dammit, Kjekk, behave!” She drew a breath to settle her frustration. “Easy, boy.” It took some effort to pull his head down, so she could rub his nose. Soft, whispered words helped some.

She glanced over her shoulder to find the wagon, and most of the crowd had reached the square. Several of her men were riding toward her.

Rapid cannon fire echoed through the town. With a whinny Kjekk reared. Caught off guard, Anna felt the reins slip through her fingers.

“Kjekk! Wait!” The horse bolted toward the castle. Anna took a couple of steps after him, reaching out in vain. Her fists clenched, coming to her sides, as she watched him race past her men. “Elsa’s right! I’m getting a new horse!”

Halvor sped toward her, Morten followed close behind. They were shouting something she couldn’t hear over the ringing of horseshoes. “What?!”

An arm circled her waist, lifting her in one swift motion. “Hey!”

The world spun a moment before she found herself sitting across the lap of a soldier she didn’t recognize. Something about his demeanor made her neck hairs stand on end.

“Put me down!” She struggled against the arm at her waist. It tightened, pulling her closer to the man. Her nose crinkled at the stink of onions and stale breath.

“Shut up, and sit still, or I’ll knock you silly.”

His heavy Russian accent, coupled with the threat, caught her off guard. Whoever the man was, he was not a member of the guard.

She grabbed his jacket to steady herself as he turned the horse away from town. As they turned Anna spied another group of riders approaching from the ridge. Their green uniforms did little to ease her concerns. She could hear her men shouting over the clatter of horseshoes on cobblestone as they gave chase.

The hairs along the back of her neck were singing. Something told her if they reached the riders, she would never make it home. There was only one thing to do, find a way off the horse.

She wrapped both hands in the man’s jacket and leaned back. In one swift motion, she jerked him forward as she slammed into his face with a head butt. The blow caused her helmet to chime with a dull ding.

Blood flew from his shattered nose, and at least one tooth sailed away. Unconscious, the man rolled backwards off the horse. With her hands tangled in his jacket Anna fell with him. She managed to land on top of him as they struck the street.

She rolled several times before coming to rest on her back. Her knees and elbows stung from bruises and scrapes. Who’s ringing that bell? She silently cursed the unknown assailant, as she lay staring up at the sky. It was a lovely shade of blue.

“Princess Anna!”

The ringing grew closer as she raised her head to find Halvor leaping from his horse. He moves fast for a bear, she chuckled at the thought.

Thick, strong arms scooped her up, causing the world to spin. Anna bit back a yelp, squeezing her eyes shut against a wave of nausea. She wrapped her arms around Halvor’s neck, as he mounted the horse, settling her across his lap.

As her mind began to clear, she realized the ringing wasn’t bells, but horseshoes against cobblestones. Over Halvor’s shoulder she spied the riders. They were drawing closer.

Several horses surrounded her. She relaxed a little as she recognized Arian and Normund. Behind her Morten’s voice carried over the ringing.

“Head for the guard tower!”

Anna nodded as if she had any control over where the horse was going. She held tight to Halvor as bullets began to whiz pass. “Keep moving!” Morten shouted over the deafening clatter.

0000

“Why are we stopping?” Elsa gave a light tug on Vor’s reins, to avoid crashing into the horse in front of her.

The blond-haired guard cocked his head to one side. “Do you hear that?”

In the quiet of the forest, a thumping sound grew louder.

With a tilt of her head Elsa listened. There was something familiar about the sound.

Riders.

Ice stirred as her heart began to race.

The thumping grew into a low rumble. Elsa flinched as a rifle volley cracked in the distance. Ice coated the reins clutched in her hands as a second volley answered the first. With some effort she pulled the ice back. It rested just beneath her palms.

The blond guard coaxed his horse to the crest of a nearby ridge. “Your Majesty, I think you should see this.”

Elsa gave Vor’s flanks a light tap, moving her to the man’s side.

Far below she could see sunlight reflecting off ice barricades. Behind the barricades green dots darted about. She leaned forward, straining to see. “Do either of you have a spyglass?”

“I do, ma’am.” The dark-haired guard rode up on her opposite side, pulling a glass from the leather pouch on his saddle. He handed it to her.

With a quick snap, Elsa opened it, and brought it to her eye. She missed the look shared by the scouts, as their hands eased toward sword hilts.

Green uniforms lined the barricade, firing on the riders. Several guardsmen darted about within the protective circle. Two men carried a small wooden keg to an empty section of the ice wall. They knelt, disappearing from Elsa’s line of sight.

She adjusted the glass, to no avail. Her brow furrowed as she waited for them to reappear. Both men stood and began running to the far side of the barricade. Curls of white smoke drifted from beneath the wall.

Elsa’s eyes widened as she realized what they had done. “No…”

Ice, dirt and men were sent sailing as the keg exploded. The blast ripped through the ice, leaving a jagged opening. Even from a distance, Elsa could feel the ground shake. She caught the reins with one hand, to bring Vor under control.

The sharp twang of swords being drawn, brought a silent curse to her lips. Ice coated the spyglass as she dropped it, twisting to face the blond-haired guard.

Her lips pulled back into a primal snarl as ice leapt from her palms. The force of the blow sent him, and his raised sword sailing. He flipped backwards off the horse, landing face down in the dirt.

The blow had been impressive. Elsa never saw it. As the ice left her hands, sharp steel sliced across her ribs.

White hot pain cut through her side, drawing her double. The forest echoed with her scream. Without looking back Elsa threw out a hand, releasing a blast of ice. She was rewarded with a grunt, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

Doubled over she clung to the wound. Her eyes squeezed shut against the pain and tears. Dammit! I knew those bastards couldn’t be trusted. Yet, you dropped your guard against them. Mocked an all too familiar voice. Shut up. Silent curses faded as her vision darkened. Unable to keep her balance, she slipped from the saddle. Pain shot through her body as she landed on the forest floor with a hard jolt. Tears flowed freely as she rolled onto her back, clutching at the wound. Blood seeped through her fingers.

She struggled to breathe against the pain. It was unlike any she had experienced before. Her hand trembled as she lifted it to examine the wound. There was so much blood. Her blood.

Oh, God, no. She clamped her hand against the wound, willing the blood to stop. Crimson rivets trickled down her side into the dirt. It can’t end here, not like this. Hot tears stung her cheeks.    

Somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, the familiar voice whispered. Perhaps, it would be best if it did. She cried out against the thought. Far too many times over the years it had whispered to her. Coaxing her to the edge of a line, she’d never had the courage to cross.

You’ve failed, again. Lies, betrayal, treason, those will be the legacy of the Snow Queen’s reign. Your reign.

Elsa squeezed her eyes shut, willing the voice to go away. It was replaced by another. What if she was, destine to die alone in the deep woods? Alone. Pain turned to bitter tears. I don’t want to die alone. Ice crept out from beneath her. Tears gave way to sobs. Each sending a new wave of pain through her side.

“I…sorry…papa.” She had failed, as a daughter, an heir, a sister. Sister.

Anna.

The smiling glimmer of hope, in Elsa’s darkness. Somewhere in the chaos of despair she could hear light laughter. As it had done countless times before, the sound guided her back to the light.

Sobs softened to whimpers. The pain in her side ease to a bearable throb. Through the tears she looked skyward. Between the branches she could see patches of sky. It was a lovely shade of blue.

As her mind began to clear she became aware of gunfire in the distance. Traitors. Anger began to push back the pain. If they touch my sister… Ice raced through her veins at the thought. She made no effort to stop it. I must get home.  

She closed her eyes, focusing her ice on the wound. An icy bandage formed, she bit her lip to hold back a cry.

There was a groan nearby.

Elsa’s eyes fluttered open at the sound. She raised her head to find the dark-haired scout climbing to his feet.

Blood stained his uniform, marking where an ice shard had cut deep across his side. Elsa felt no guilt for inflicting the wound. He picked up his sword and staggered toward her.

Anger spread through her riding the ice flowing to her fingertips. She rose to an elbow, ignoring the pain the movement brought. Blood dripped from the fingertips of her raised hand.

The scout stopped mid-step as their eyes locked. Silence hung in the clearing as they glared at each other.

Traitor. “Why, would you betray your oath?” Ice began to pulse over her raised hand.

“I will not have my children raised under the banner of a witch!” His grip tightened on the sword. “If that means killing a monster like you, then so be it.”

If he noticed Elsa’s flinch he didn’t say.

She had noticed he eased a little closer. “What kind of a monster kills his brothers? You are a traitor to your uniform, your oath and the people of Arendelle!” Ice and anger helped hold the pain at bay.

“I know the sins I’ve committed, but, killing you won’t be listed among them.” He took two steps forward, pulling back as the air popped with sparks.

“Hans doesn’t care about you or your family. All he wants is a crown.” Spots began to dance before her eyes. She resisted the urge to shake them away.

“Perhaps, but at least, I won’t have to worry about him freezing me to death.”

The words cut deep, stealing Elsa’s breath away. Her ice began to quiet. “You have my word, that will never happen again.”

“Your word?” He began to laugh.

The sound made Elsa’s skin crawl.

“I’ve seen how dangerous you are, Your Majesty. I’m not betting my family’s lives on your empty promises.”

“The people need…”

“What do you know of the people’s needs?! They need someone who will protect them!”

“You speak of protecting the people, while betraying them to an invading army! What of your oath and duty?”

“Don’t speak to me of duty.” He drew a step closer. “You’ve hidden from your duties for years! Your father chose you over his duty to the people.” He leveled the sword at her. “The day he locked the gates, we should have drug the lot of you into the streets. Four slit throats would have been a small price to end this madness. But, I’m willing to settle for two.”

All emotion slipped from Elsa’s face. Within her veins the ice paused. From deep in the pit of her stomach a strange warmth began to build. “Don’t you dare speak of my father, traitor. You know nothing of the sacrifices he, and my mother made.” The warmth began to build into a controlled rage.

“You stand here mocking him, while your fellow turncoats conspire to destroy the very lands you are sworn to protect.” Yellow magic began to glow over her hand. “Know this, as Queen and Protector of this Domain, I will see you, and every traitor who has raised a hand against their fellow countrymen, hanged for your crimes.”

She caught the shift in his weight as he leaned forward. His knuckles whitened as they tightened around the sword hilt.  Her eyes narrowed. An eerie sense of calm settled over her. “I warn you, if you bastards harm so much as a hair upon my sister’s head, I will make you beg for the relief of hell’s fire.”

The man’s lips curled back with a snarl. He leapt forward, raising the sword over his head. “Go to hell, witch!”

Ice exploded from Elsa’s hand in a blinding yellow flash. “I am not a witch!” The blast sent him sailing across the clearing. His body slammed into a tree trunk with a heavy thud. Unconscious he slid to the ground in a crumbled heap.

Nausea and dizziness swept over Elsa. She drew quick, short breaths in a failed attempt to ease the pain overwhelming her. Unable to fight off the darkness creeping in, she collapsed onto her back.

In the distance she could hear rifle fire, over the cries of wounded men. She clutched the wound squeezing her eyes shut. Tears slipped free to trail into her hair. No, have…to…get…home… she fell still as the darkness claimed her.

[neruma-us]

A look into the Past- Chapter One

Chapter One

The sun still sat in the sky heating the earth many walked on through the Barrens. The very same hot winds blew this day, giving little relief to those who traveled through. Two Shu’halo marched onward towards the Crossroads seeking refuge and a night’s stay, at the least. With heavy footfalls a female marched as if following the drums of war. She was adorned in the heavy plate armor of the Horde army with a cloak wrapping around her body as it whipped in the winds. It could not hide the exposed left shoulder of the female as a symbol laid branded to her body. The symbol of the Horde and surrounding it a blood oath burned brightly as a symbol of devotion that never wavered. Her  fur was mostly black with a spotted white chest and a snout filled with sand of the winds. With labored breaths, she carried the weight of a short sword on her hip and a large tower shield strapped to her back. Her pitch black mane was thick, with a single braid running down her back, matching the horns sticking from the top of the head which gleamed in the sun.

Beside her walked a bull wearing much less in the means of gear. This dark chocolate-furred Shu’halo wore a thick green leather robe that looked worn from the sun and road. With a staff in one hand and a large bag on his back, he kept pace with the female, ever watching her. Three separate chin braids hung down, swaying with each step while a pair of white horns pointed forward with his face visible. He didn’t bear any marks or signs of belonging to any specific group. It may have been his desire to be unaffiliated or maybe not express it to those around. The hood of his robe remained pulled over his head keeping the sun from his eyes. Their trek had taken them far from Orgrimmar, home of the Orcs, in search of Mulgore’s rolling plains. They wished to see them but fate did not give them the time to arrive at their destination before nightfall. The north entrance of the Crossroads stood guarded by two Horde members, a male and female Orc in armor reflecting Grunts of the army. Both sentries watched the Shu’halo pair approach before intercepting them.

The male Orc grunted, reaching a hand to his hilted axe before speaking in a small snarl, “Welcome to the Crossroads.  You here to cause trouble or just passing through?” It did not take even a second for the female Shu’halo to open her eyes revealing the stern glare of orange eyes with a biting response. “Begone, grunts. We’re just passing through. If you get in my way, I will cut you down.”

All the bull could do was just let out a belly laugh.  “Please don’t get us thrown out. You're in no condition to...”

His words are interrupted as the female Shu’halo growls “Shut your trap. I don’t have time…”

She shifts slightly with the cloak whipping in the winds exposing her stomach to the female Orc. The female Orc’s eyes spot the arm holding the front of her breast plate on that stuck out abnormally unlike a possible wound. Everything about this female Shu’halo felt off as the Orc stared at a soldier who could be injured. The fact the Shu’halo still had all her gear on made her doubt, and in the end, not have a idea what is happening with her. Only thing to come to her studying the armor worn and the mark on her shoulder was indeed a soldier, not just any soldier but a high ranking one.

Stepping to the male Orc, the female Orc speaks in a growl, “Let them through. There is no need to stop them. Unless you want your head cleaved off by her.” With that she returned to her post watching the pair of Shu’halo.

The male Shu’halo spoke up. “She is right. This one here, even in her state, would not flinch at cutting your head off. For Legionnaire Tar’shal Ebonhorn is not afraid to take a life.” He grins and looks to Tar’shal.  

Tar’shal shifts her gaze to the Bull with a raised voice, “Please don’t speak my name. People don’t need to know it if they can’t recognize me.”

With that, Tar’shal just pressed past the male Orc who looks a bit mortified by what was said. Did he just make his death wish? He didn’t want to find out, instead returning to his job. Tar’shal kept walking a short distance more until stopping with a focused expression covering her face. The bull even stopped to stare looking for a clue for her reaction. He spoke up “What is it? Something happening?” His face filled with a bit of worry not hearing a immediate response. In the silence she held the look and stare though she was not looking at anything specific. After a minute she blinks coming back looking to the Bull with a bit of worry and panic for once. “We have to hurry. Staying here may not be good at this rate. Getting to Mulgore is important and part of the agreement Sidec. I can’t be held up here for a period of time.”

With that Sidec began letting a belly laugh out “I know. But if you rush this. You will have more issues. Rest for Earth Mother's sake. I can’t believe you're carrying all that and in your current state. Stubborn woman.” He said with a smile.

With a bit of a skip he walked ahead of her looking around the small village. It was mostly barren besides those trying to prove their hunting skills. Some vendors kept a stand trying to call travelers over to see their wares. His eyes settle on the Inn at the heart of the village. A much newer building that looked to house a possible resting spot for them. Not wasting time entering his nose was filled with grilled meats on a nearby meat rack, the smell of wolf and Kodo steaks good enough to make a mouth water. Settling on a older Orc tending to a book for lodging with one patron taking their leave to find a bed to rest. Sedic approaches the Orc with a bow “Greetings brother.” The Orc looked up with squinting eyes to the Shu’halo speaking up with a tried voice “Hail friend. Is there something I can do for you? I’m about to close up lodging for the night.” He asks setting down a piece of charcoal to grab a nearby cup and quench a thirst brought by the areas heat. Sedic nods his head reaching to pull his hood back being respectful to his host. “I am. Possibly a room for the night. I have company of a female that's...in a delicate state. Were trying to get to Mulgore but her body might not make it. Which also...do you know anyone good with births around?”

His request made the Orc spit out his drink at the requests. Running a arm across his face he wiped away the loose water before speaking. “Birthing? She is with child? How close is she?” He rattled out the questions trying to grasp the situation.

Sedic let out a belly laugh “I love everyone who reacts like that.” He calmed himself with a slowing of breaths. “She is due any time now. When I fear is any day but she is determined to get to Mulgore before that. Sadly I don't think it will be happening. So I want to make her comfortable for the inevitable.”

The Orc just stared at Sedic a moment at what he said trying to understand if he was serious from the chuckle. A grunt left his mouth picking up the charcoal to make a note for two beds without names then walked around him. “Get her in the bed to the north of the Inn. I have to ask for some help in case. This is probably the least wanted location to have a child.” With that note he marched out seeking locals help and any passer bys of any aid. Tar’shal watched the Orc leave with a look of confusion while Sedic walked up “What are you standing there for?” He asks with a smirk. “Come inside. Being in that heat with all the armor will not be good for you and the child.”

Tar’shal looked to Sedic with a glare snapping “I’m fine! This heat is nothing to me.” Saying as she started moving inside the Inn, out of the heat. Hoofs clack on the stone floor with the grind of metal of her plate taking in the room. “This is a Inn? Looks less than even a barrack.”

Sedic gave a smile to her comments as he checked a bed for comfort, sticking hands into the hay. “I would keep your comments to yourself here. If not for them then you would be outside. But that would not bother you, would it?”

The words made Tar’shal snort responding “Whatever. Is that where I am staying?” Looking at the bed she did not look to enthused by it but she has seen worse.

Sedic stepped aside nodding as she worked unloading the pack on his back and seeking some regents from within. “It is. Now get out of that armor and get in bed. You need rest.” Out of the bag a mortar and pedestal with a few herbs were placed on a nearby table preparing to make some medicine. Tar’shal glares at Sedic that breaks into a small sign of happiness that she would never admit. “Understood. I’m surprised you're still here. Dealing with a hard head such as me.” She says beginning to unload her gear.

He began to let a small chuckle out “Because in our deal I want to see my promise kept. If you do chase me off then I get all you stuff. What's more luring then seeing a female like yourself in the buff?”

Both sword and shield were laid against the nearby wall looking well worn and used through many battles and fights. Pulling the cloak off to hang it off her tower shield she exposed her stomach hidden in the loose breast plate. She could not buckle any of it at the time even for as tall as she was, standing over Sedic when they were next to each other. Soon she began stripping each piece of the black plate armor, setting it into a pile. The top half was the easiest for her but when working on the pants and leg wraps she found the large round stomach a issue to bend over that made her sit on the bed to finish. Thoughts of why she wanted to do this in the first place filled her mind only to be quelled by images of a calf running around. All that was left once the large female had shed her last piece of armor was a Shu’halo that looked a mess. From the thick unmaintained mane to the shaggy fur on her shoulders that also hanged down around her hooves. How anyone survived in this heat with that much fur baffled even a Orc. Though all Sedic could do was stare and blush at the large rack before him. The black with spotty white fur helped detail her figure and muscle structure from training. Even in this state she held a stern look from her duty as a soldier trying not to give in to certain emotions.

The traveling pair had settled down in the small village of Crossroads to rest and prepare for what could come. Sedic would spend the night as if part of a norm of his life getting Tar’shal medication to help with pain and soothe muscles of her body with oils and massages. One could say it looked like a pair of mates but during the day it was another story.

Outside the Inn the keeper managed to find a few helping hands directing them in while the town had another group of guests arriving from the west. A caravan of at least three Kodo long approaches with eight Shu’halo guiding and guarding it. All the Kodo carried boxes and bags of trades collected from their travels with another destination in mind. Their trek had been long and a rest was needed. The Head bull directed the Kodo and half the party to behind the Inn to settle the Kodo and get their thirst quenched while the rest took in the scene. To the locals the group looked secretive besides the white paint many of them displayed on their muzzles.

While some looked at a few stalls the others saw the commotion the Innkeeper had stirred up in the middle of the street. Two bulls moved up trying to hear the Orc call out to the crowd, pushing aside a few elves. Over the crowd the Orc calls “If anyone else is able to help. My Inn has no medical experts but I need one or two more hands to help in case a child is born! A pair of Shu’halo arrived with one with child.” He looked around waiting for any response.

The bulls looked to each other in thought and possibilities as their trade run had not come off with as much of a profit as they hoped. But maybe they can find something else to bring back that be a aid to the tribe. One gave a small smirk turning to the Orc calling out. “Brother! We have two hands that can help. If and when we will be behind this Inn here tending to our caravan.”

The Orc turns pounding a fist to his chest “I thank you! This is my Inn as it is so please come seek me if you need anything.” With that the Orc had his need filled and headed back inside to check on things as it would be a long night he assumed. With their own people secured in helping the pair of bulls headed back to the caravan to enlist two females to the task. It would be their job to find out the details of the parents and what the child will be like. Luck had fallen on their side this night it had seemed, though the females seemed reluctant to do the job of medical aids. But they had little ability to argue as they too had known their trip this time has come up shorter than usual. Everything was set as the sun began to sink below the hills with the moon's starting to grace the night sky. The night grew late as many waited on edge for the one call out. Some were given coffee in hopes to help keep them awake. Sitting very still Tar’shal could not help but look around at the makeshift screens used to block the view to others for privacy, if it ever meant anything to her as a soldier. She felt uneasy with this treatment as usually in the event she was hurt. All they did was patch her up and send her off to fight again. Not all this attention and waiting...But next to her Sedic sat with a pipe writing into a scroll of the day's events. He looked at ease as if done this before or it was more he was used to the brute that he kept company. She did make him chuckle many times over and even had some tender moments with her. The nearby table sat tools and medical herbs in aiding with pain all just waiting…

The Storyteller stopped looking to her guest with a smile “It amazes me how some people handle these situations. Some are more aware at these difficulties but others do it and find out later it is bad.”

The guest smiles at her note with his voice speaking up “Had she always been like this? Even before the military?”

She pondered a moment at the question before finding an answer “She was not as tough in the past. She was devoted but the Horde made her stronger in devotion and...hard to get into emotionally. Especially when she was the last of her blood. It was those who she tried bringing honor to her name that way.” Nodding the guest goes quiet in thought waiting as the Storyteller continued with a star passing in the night sky behind them.

[docholligay]

We Know The Devil

Please enjoy this 10,500 word monstrosity, comissioned by @yamadara87. Sometimes, when I get a prompt, it strikes in a painful and great way, where I know it’s going to be a massive undertaking. “We know the Devil” Mina and Michiru, is one of those prompts. There are parts of this I don’t love, but there are other parts I think are pretty fucking great. Please note: I have not played the game (and in fact will be playing it on my Patreon today, Jan 23rd, if anyone wanted to join in) so I have no idea what the game is about--I just said something in chat about the title being really really evocative and she jumped on it. If you like this, PLEASE leave me a comment. I worked so, so hard on this. if you REALLY REALLY like it, you can contribute to me and Jet’s road trip at this ko-fi, and if you want to sponsor us for something specific and get sweet rewards, the list is here. 

WIthout further ado: Doc Holligay’s We Know The Devil. 

The forest held things, dark things, things that Mina would never mention as the Senshi chattered around the warm campfire, embers crackling against the black of the sky in reds and oranges, miniature pyres burning out tiny sinners with nothing but a popping cry and the grey ash of their momentary lives floating on the wind.

She hadn’t expected this, when she suggested they come out here. Who would? The green and wet of the forest had seemed a place to connect, a place to be, a place to make the team one again, after--

Maybe it was nothing at all. Rei certainly didn’t seem to feel anything. And if Rei didn’t feel it, could it even be real? Maybe it was just in Mina’s mind, lurking and slithering around the trees, calling her name tinged in the accents of the old gods. She looked back at the senshi, all still gathered around the fire, lighting their faces in flashes and shadows.

The shadow never seemed to fall on Usagi. That was the way of it, wasn’t it? No matter what, she never felt the cold of the night. The shadow flitted to the rest of the girls, throwing a sharp hatchet of light and dark across Mako, a dotted patchwork of light and dark spotting Rei. Haruka leaned into the darkness of the night, but the light pursued her, as a grey veil of smoke draped over Hotaru.

Michiru sat in the darkness, only an occasional pop of flame catching the bright teal and blue and green of her eye, and even then it seemed to Mina that it was a mirror and not a vessel, reflecting the light back into the flame, absorbing none of it.

Michiru looked up and caught her eye, and for just a moment, Mina flinched, looking back into the forest, where it lurked.

Mina had done the right thing. That she had been disallowed from doing it was no matter to her. She knew what the right thing had been, and she stood by that.

She turned to walk back to the fire, and the voice curled its smokiness around her, the consonants popping like the forgotten embers.

Do you know?

Yes.

And why? Did your heart seek justice or was it hatred?

Sometimes they are the same.

She looked out into the forest again, and for a moment imagined walking into it, dropping the flashlight and stepping out into the cool dark of blue and green and brown and black, oh the black most of all, like slipping into the depth of a pool.

Yes, that’s true isn’t it? Minak---

“Mina!” Usagi’s voice pierced through, and Mina thought she heard a far off shriek.. “C’mon! We’re making smores!”

Mina smiled and headed back to the fire. Whatever it was, or wasn’t, could wait. She’d promised Usagi that this was a good idea, and though she’d keep her wits about her, it wasn’t much of a promise to Usagi if she spent the entire time staring into the forest. She was only jumpy. She’d been jumpy the last few months, and that was all. She fiddled with the transformation ring on her finger, the orange stones glinting like the popped embers.

She saw enemies around every corner, even in the roundness of the trees.

__

Michiru looked into the fire, wondering what Rei ever saw in it. It was all random to her, each flit of flame rising and collapsing from moment to moment, impossible to follow. It must be like reading an ee cummings poem, though perhaps less pretentious.

She was one to talk, her own senseless Eliot sea rising and falling within her. Yes, they were more the same than they were not, their power strong and savior and destructive and villain. Water could bring life, and it could deal death in a moment. Fire warmed and burned in the same measure.

And salt water, my dear. Who is nourished by salt water?

Ah, hello.

Michiru waved off the voice, looking at Haruka, sitting next to her but only by virtue of familiarity, far enough from her that Michiru’s hand could not reach, an impossible chasm between them. Usagi’s laughter filled the darkness of the sky and the sea rose in Michiru, flushing her eyes full of salt and fury.

So easy for her to laugh. The flame is warm, and the sea is cold.

Michiru looked off into the forest, wondering if Rei could feel it too, wondering if it was something that slid past the other girls as smoothly as it slid into her, like a knife between her ribs, cold steel whispering between the bones. It knows us, she desperately wished to tell her. It knows us, and we are hunted. Can’t you feel it prowling? Can’t you feel it staring?

She looked up at Rei, who sat across from her, separated from her by the burning flame. Her gaze was unmet, Rei simply staring deeper into the fire as if she could control it, the way Mars had in days of old, as if she could lash out the tendrils of her own burning rage and consume with them. Reading the sigils it splayed across the wood, glowing red into them.

But Michiru saw nothing, simply the shifting tissue paper shades overlapping, the color deepening as they did so, like wandering into the sea, the colors changing slowly and then all at once as the shelf fell out from the coast.

Usagi accidentally kicked over her cup as Mina came to sit, the water rising and attacking the flames.

Steam.

Mina eyed her warily as she came to sit, and if her sword had been on her, her hand would have rested at its hilt. It was, truthfully, in the only way that mattered, her blue eyes sharp and ready. Michiru did not break her gaze, and the two stared at each other for a moment.

Do you wonder what is there?

I don’t have to wonder.

But there was something more, too, something behind what had laid in Mina’s eyes these past weeks. A knowing. Mina must feel its eyes upon them, the predator that waited. That hungered for blood. Maybe Mina could feel it because she had that hunger too, that lust to lick the blood from her sword and taste the steel and cooper and the salt most of all.

Or maybe she was simply the commander, and made it her business to know.

Haruka. She looked over at Haruka, who stared dispassionately at the marshmallow at the end of her stick, darkening in the flame.

Leave her be.

She does not want your protection.

I have the luxury of no longer caring what she wants.

You may die, my succulent.

I have done much worse.

___

Rei would have said that she enjoyed the normal amount of sleep, at least on average, and when she did not sleep she would have said it was of her own volition. Rei would have said a lot of things were of her own volition, if only to prove that she was the only master of her own life.

But tonight she would concede that she had not wished to stay awake, and yet there was no being still. The darkness was palpable around her, suffocating, even next to the small lantern in the tent she shared with Usagi and Mako.

They slept. They slept as deep as the night, as if this was an ordinary place.

The fire had not told her, lying too quiet to be coincidence. Since she was a child, the fire had spoken to her, even when it was only tiny trivialities like what the special might be at the cafe by her house the next day, or that the Academy would get new uniforms next year, or what Usagi might cry about next. It was never silent, not to her. The fire and she spoke as old friends.  

But then again, she wasn’t speaking much to old friends anymore.

Rei knew better. The fire was not being quiet, it was being silenced. But she could not place it, this strangeness she felt. There had been nothing but strangeness, this past few months, an uneasy peace resting over the senshi because Usagi wished it there, and Usagi was the princess, and the girl who would be queen, and so it rested like a fog, waiting to be broken by the slightest blade of light and heat.

Rei could still hear Usagi cry out, the same tone and timbre and words from that day.

“You can’t!” Usagi wrapped her arms around Michiru, who stayed unmoving as a statue, refusing to reflect fear or sadness. “Minako, you can’t do this!”

Haruka stood, her arms crossed, staring at Michiru with hatred and disgust, but biting her lip so hard a split of blood began to gently peer around the edge.

Mina did not lower her sword. “Princess, move.”

“No!” She cried out like an animal, “Rei! She’s your friend! Haruka!”

It had made her ache. But it hadn’t made her move. Mina, as much as Rei hated to say it, had been right. They were friends, in a sense, but they were a military unit also, and that day had been a bitter reminder of that. Friendship only goes so far when duty is on the line.

And so perhaps that was all it was, the uneasy heaviness that had never fallen upon them in all the years previous, the strangeness of unrest among the Senshi. It was a change, and that was all, there was nothing in these woods that could not be explained.

She reached for her bag, and touched the ofuda inside, the caress of the familiar texture reassuring. If there was something, Rei would be ready. She narrowed her eyes at the side of the tent, aiming her glare into the thickness of trees and fear she knew to be beyond it, and tightened her grip on the ofuda.

She was ready now.

Michiru walked up alongside her, as Rei turned her face away. Usagi could say whatever she wanted. She could make them all soldiers, but not friends.

“It’s very easy to judge when your duty lines up with your desire, I imagine.” She said to the air, before walking away alone on the path, as the rest of the senshi clustered into small groups.

Rei shook her head and brought her bag next to her in the tent.

She didn’t need the fire. She was the fire.

___

A scream ripped the night, high and shrill and tearing, inhuman and feral. Haruka and Mina nearly tripped over each other as they ran out of the tent, transforming as they went out into the starless night.

Nothing. Just the inky blackness, the light from the lantern like a firefly against it. Hotaru moved to where the girls had sat around the fire, her glaive raised and ready, Pluto at her back, the girls creeping together behind them in a group somewhere between a line and a cluster.

“Form up, for fuck’s sake!” Mina barked and shook her head. She turned back and looked at Michiru. “You don’t get to be behind me.”

Michiru shrugged and moved to the front, not even separating her mirror into dagger and buckler, as if it hardly mattered if she were attacked or not. Perhaps it didn’t, not anymore.She slid past Hotaru, neither creeping nor cautious, but marched over to where they had sat, stopping next  to the fire pit.  

“Well.” She said disinterestedly.

The chairs were overturned, large gashes in the backs and seats of them, strewn around the campfire, the frames of a few bent in places like broken legs. Usagi’s smores cooler had been broken open, the marshmallows strewn across the fire pit, melted against the embers that had not fully cooled, even in these dark hours, and now formed a sickly-sweet and bubbling crust over them. The chocolate was shattered into rough pieces, the graham crackers ground into powder. Haruka’s beer bottle lay shattered against the rocks, the dark brown of it glittering and sharp in the meager light of the lantern.

“I suppose we shall have to content ourselves with stumps and rocks.” Michiru surveyed the remains of what had been their cozy campfire.

Mina moved to the pit, and looked it over quickly, making a mental note of the placement of each broken shard, each crumb, a chill coming over her as she did so, something in the back of her mind, laughing, just a laughing black hole with bright white fangs, sharper than icicles, its gaping maw open with its deep, throaty laughter, tongue dark red against the endless black and white.

“Bears.” She said, loud enough for Usagi to hear.

“Yes, I’m almost certain that’s correct.” Michiru said, quickly and quietly and with her signature sharp edge.

Mina shot her a look. “We should have put up the cooler.”

“Yes,” Michiru looked back at her, their eyes meeting in that battle yet again, “One should not leave sweet things out where they might be eaten.”

Mina was the first to break the stare, turning back to Usagi and dropping her transformation in what she hoped was a carefree way, shaking her long blonde hair loose.

“Usagi, you have to be more careful about this stuff.”

“I’m sorry, Mina,” Usagi peered sadly, on tiptoe over Rei’s shoulder, at what had been her campfire, “I hope the bears liked it, though.”

Rei touched Usagi’s hand, not looking at her, her voice slightly far away. “We’ve got the rest of the food in the cooler. I might at least have more chocolate there,” Usagi’s hand tightened on her, and she shook her head, her voice growing into a familiar and reassuring scold, “But you have to learn to take care of things, Usagi, I can’t be here to clean up after you all the time!”

“Rei, you’re so. Mean.” She pouted, but then grinned, the spell dropped from the grim campsite, “Let’s go back to bed.” She tugged at Rei’s hand.

The girls began to shrug off their transformations and shuffle back to their tents, the momentary excitement broken. Only Mina and Michiru stayed by the fire, Mina making a show of picking up the bent and clawed chairs as the group dissipated.

Michiru flipped her hair over her shoulder and let her transformation fall in one graceful motion. “It has not escaped my notice that there seem to be a number of bears in these woods.”

“Hmm.” Mina did not look at her, but neither did she remove her transformation.

“It does not seem to have escaped yours, either.” She looked at Mina pointedly.

“Hm.”

Michiru turned away from the fire pit and started toward the tents. “Hate me all you like, Commander, but so long as I am alive, you may as well make use of my gifts. Bon nuit, I suppose.”

She wandered into the darkness, into her lone tent at the far edge of the campsite, expensive but claustrophobically small, and Mina watched her as she walked into the night, until the pale slip of her pink nightshirt slid into the tent and disappeared.

She sighed, alone, finally, as alone as one could get here in these woods. Michiru was many things, but she wasn’t the psychic brick that so many of the other senshi were, and if she said there was something in these woods, and if Mina felt something in these woods, there would have to be.

They’d leave in the morning.

Oh, we can’t do that. This was an important vacation. A bonding experience that you all need. Training, even.

Is this me?

Who else would it be?

----

Rei set her bag next to her as Usagi chattered on happily about how she was sure she left a bag of marshmallows in the car, too, and she didn’t have any more graham crackers, but she was sure if they just squeezed bread together really hard, you could make a pocket or something, and that would be pretty good, oh, and she had peanut butter too, and she was sure that a toasted chocolate peanut butter sandwich would be really good, and…

“I’ll talk to Haruka about it in the morning, she’ll really like it I think, and I think she brought some cookie butter, so that would make it even more like a s’more! So this isn’t even a big deal, Mako’s so strong she can find rocks for us to sit on and--” She put her hands on her hips and scowled at Rei, “Are you even listening?”

Rei’s head jerked over to Usagi and away from the signs in the flame of her mind. “I can’t NOT listen, you’ve been talking for the last 20 minutes about the damn s’mores.”

There was a scratching at the side of the tent, and Mako drew her arms around Usagi as grabbed for the ofuda in her bag. She began to chant when the tent unzipped.

Mina let out a loud laugh. “Gotcha! Gonna exorcise me, Rei?”

Rei gritted her teeth. “Someone should.”

Usagi grinned at broke free of Mako, who scowled disapprovingly at Mina but did not admit she’d scared her. “Mina! Are you coming to sleep with us tonight?”

“And leave tall, blonde, and moody alone? Afraid not, she’d probably try to seduce the bear for companionship.” She sat down next to Rei. “No, I came here to,” she pulled out a small wildflower, “invite Miss Hino out for a moonlit stroll.”

“It’s a new moon, Mina.” Mako tossed a pillow at her.

She caught it handily. “Don’t bother me with details, Kino.” She turned to Mako. “Do you know, in German, Kino is a movie theater? Do you ever think about that Mako, like, you’d go to Germany and introduce yourself as Mako Movie Theater.” She turned back to Rei. “I’m a very worldly woman, Rei, and I’d like to show you all of my...foreign tongues.”

Usagi giggled. The only thing that delighted her more than her friends was the idea of them marrying each other, and with the dissolution of Haruka and Michiru’s relationship, she’d been a bit at sea and needing a couple to cheer for.

“Rei, go!” She pushed her toward Mina, and Rei’s eyebrows furrowed like two dark and angry caterpillars at war.

She glared over at Mina, and Mina’s face dropped, just for a flash of a second, and her eyes widened, full of expectation, signaling to Rei and hoping she would hear. Rei tossed her hair, and gave an annoyed huff.

“Fine. But just for a minute, I swear to god, if you try anything, Mina.” She ambled toward the tent door.

“Oh, I won’t try. I’ll just succeed.” She moved quickly out the tent flap behind Rei, and threw her arm over her shoulder, near yelling into the night, “now stick close to me Rei! The night is dark and treacherous and only I can protect the fair maiden,” they began to wander out to the edge of the campsite, where trees clustered in close, listening in.on their conversation.

Mina stopped talking, and they stood in the darkness a moment, the only sound their breath against the dead stillness of the night, as if they were part of a painting, the only living and real thing in the tableau.

“What’s going on?” Mina’s voice did not break the quiet, merely fluttered against it like a moth against the window. “Here.”

Rei did not look at her. The words trembled on the end of her tongue, the horrible admission that she did not know, could not see, that she was no help at all. All she knew was that it was wrong.

“The fire?” Mina did not make her say anything, reading the lines of her body as she always had, the way Usagi loved and Rei hated, hated the way you can only hate something you desire and cannot have.

Rei shook her head. “It’s so quiet here.”

Mina nodded. “Maybe an enemy. We should--” Mina stopped as if listening to something, “I guess it’ll just get us back home, too.”

Rei studied her. Rei saw the future, at least the one that was close in, and she felt the vibrations of evil, and she read these signs and portents with endless skill. But Mina had always remained cloaked in mystery for her, able to change and move her expressions from moment to moment with no bearing on whatever lay beneath them. She darted in the shadows, Mina did.

“So what are you going to do?” Rei put her hands on her hips. “Just sit here and wait?”

“Yeah, Rei, I thought I’d just hang Usagi from a tree and ring a dinner bell, see what happens.” She shook her head. “I’ll lead an exploration party in the morning. You and some of the others will stay and protect Usagi.”

Rei touched her elbow. “Michiru?” She asked, hating her name as it wriggled out of her mouth, hoping it was enough for Mina to know.

She glanced at Rei and nodded. “She feels something.”

Rei threw her shoulders back, offended that she, the superior soldier, was being kept out while Michiru could sense it, could hear whatever the forest had to say. There was a part of her that felt it couldn’t be true. She must be lying. Michiru was good at lies, whatever else was true.

“Did she say that?”

“In her sea-snakey way, yeah.”

Rei gritted her teeth and glowered at the forest, burning her mind toward it, but the fire was just swallowed up by the impenetrable wall of tree and moss and the endless, endless darkness. Not a single word whispered out, even the wind dead and still in the night.

A single angry huff was all Rei could manage.

__

Michiru pulled over the box of wine, the plastic-slicked cardboard and screw cap as sure a sign as anything to her of how far she had fallen. She unscrewed the cap and took a deep drink of the wine, not caring that even the best of the boxed wine was beneath her. Or had been. Not much felt beneath her now, not even the dirt below her tent.

She took the small framed photo out of her bag, and touched the edge of it as if it afraid it might break if she handled it too roughly. Haruka had been so handsome that day, and so happy. It had brought the most beautiful light to her face, the one that Michiru cherished so deeply. She had been happy too, and saw the joy and comfort in her eyes, could still feel the warmth and softness of Haruka’s arm around her.

She still wore her ring. Haruka did not, Michiru had noticed, leaving only the pale white scar of where their love had been. It would fade, in time, as all things do, and her hand would be whole again until she put another ring on it, which Michiru did not doubt she would.

It didn’t matter. She would do it over again.

Of course you would.

If your only aim is to tell me the things I already know, the tedium in this forest must be truly exceptional.

She took another drink of the wine. Whatever it was that lurked in the woods, a ghost or a demon or one of the many things Michiru did not believe in but was beholden to, she was tired of it. Tired of the prowling and the waiting.

Or perhaps that was the wine talking. Either way, it was hardly relevant. She heard a sound, a crackling of twigs against the night, and she snapped to attention. She may not have been a good soldier in all ways, but Mina could never fault her vigilance. She slipped her shoes on and went out into the night, looking for the source.

She never thought to call out to the others.

The heaviness of the night surrounded her, something comforting in the way it oppressed her, the way it seemed to sentence her and shame her. She deserved it, and she did not care that she deserved it. She would carry it on her back all her life, her scarlet letter, and she took a perverse pride in that.

She imagined as she walked, meeting with the enemy lurking outside the campsite. She imagined how she would fight nobly. How she would sacrifice herself for the good of the senshi. For the good of the princess. How Haruka and the others would come across her, bleeding. How she would die.

Haruka would hold you as you died.

Yes, she would.

And cry.

She’d ask my forgiveness.

You’d die before you could give it.

A smile crept across Michiru’s face.

Her steps were silent, even against the needles and leaves of the forest floor, as she followed the creaking and cracking of her would-be murderer and savior. She pursued her death as if pursuing a lover, never moving her hand to her transformation ring, flush and breathless with the exultant joy of finding her absolution in blood.

She tucked around a tree, her eyes wide with desire.

A fluff of ash blonde hair and slate grey eyes, hard as the stone they mocked, met her.

“I heard a noise,” Michiru stood straight, “I believed it might be dangerous.”

“It’s just me.”

They stood across from each other, two sharpshooting cowboys waiting for the other to draw.

Michiru nodded. “There are bears, you know. You ought not to be alone.”

Haruka squared her shoulders. “You came out here alone.”

“Recent history would suggest your displeasure with the things I choose to do, and a desire not to mimic them.”

Haruka gave a sharp exhale of breath. “Fuck off, Michiru.” She shook her head and turned away. “I’m going back to camp. I just needed a walk.”

“Haruka!” The name flew from her mouth before she could stop it, its easy and beautiful pattern woven into the very fabric of her tongue, “These woods. I believe there is some danger. I will walk back with you,” she walked toward her, “you need not speak to me.”

Haruka kept walking, and called to Michiru behind her, “I don’t want you to fucking protect me, Michiru!”

The name, said with such vitriol, like poison dripping off a fang, stung, and Michiru gave a shuddering breath as it coursed through her. She followed Haruka, hardly caring what she wanted, her own steps swift and silent as Haruka clomped through the underbrush, back toward camp. There was a sound behind her, Michiru noted, but Haruka kept moving, as if she didn’t notice.

It was likely she didn’t. Haruka’s hearing had always proven poor, both in this world and the one just beyond it. The diaphanous veil that rested between worlds had never kept Michiru from hearing, from seeing, the way things might be, but it may as well have been a brick wall to Haruka, and Michiru was not entirely sure which plane of existence this creature in pursuit rested upon.  

It’ll get her.

Not before it meets with me.

She kept her hand at the transformation ring they both still wore, the one that signified an arranged marriage in which Michiru had no say, one that had she had been born to as surely as if she had been born a princess on that desolate rock at the edge of space thousands upon thousands of years ago. The sound came in small whispers, breaths like waves crashing against the rocks of the night, following them endlessly on the broken shore of their love.

Then, it stopped.

Michiru looked behind her, just for a moment, and saw a glint like the sun hitting salt on a clear day, in the dark of the trees, and she stopped.

“There, there’s no bears, now leave me the fuck alone.” Haruka yelled from the twenty feet or so ahead of Michiru she was, clomping with on great crash into the open clearing of the campsite.

Michiru turned away from the creature that had followed, hoping it was a fang, that her wish for death in the dark rotting wet of the night could still be answered. As if any force in this world or beyond had ever answered her call, whatever it was.

“Pardon me for not wishing your death, or harm.” She looked to Haruka, the lantern light just hitting the pale gold of her hair.

Haruka looked at her, their eyes meeting for the first time in months. “Michiru…”

“Michiru…” She looked at Michiru, her eyes filled with sadness and resignation, and oh so much pain, “How could you?”

“I will not apologize.” Michiru kept her eyes locked deep into Haruka’s.

“It wouldn’t matter if you did,” Mina snapped, hand on the hilt of her sword, “I can’t do shit with I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Michiru’s voice did not waver, “I am not. I love you.”

Haruka looked away, wiping a tear. “Just take her.”

“You’re so fucking selfish, Michiru.” She walked away tossing her hair as she headed into the camp, and left Michiru to the quiet isolation of her tent on the edge.

Yes. Yo--

I am.

___

Mina did not often see the sun come up, owing to the late night she put in as a senshi, her own personal predilections, and a thousand other reasons, but on this day, in the cool of that preternatural border between the day and the morning, Minako Aino woke up, not in the slow and sleepy way so many girls her age did, and the way she might if she were still that girl, but in the harsh cracking whip of awareness that marked the soldier.

Watched. They were being watched.

She looked next to her, Haruka’s arm spread across her pillow, touching her shoulder, just so she could touch someone, just so she could remember what it was to be near. Silence. There was nothing, the too-quiet nothing of being smothered. Quiet as the grave, an old novel might have said, and she felt a prickle on the back of her neck.

She slipped quietly out of the sleeping bag and put on her shoes, walking into the grey of nearly-not-night. She could feel the sun on the horizon more than see it, but it offered no sign of hope. There was something here, something that had found them, and something that would follow them home.

We have been here.

We, huh?

She is a traitor, you know.

You don’t have to tell me.

There are angels and devils in the world, Minako Aino.

It whispered her name like a lover, too intimate and too close.

There is a devil in your midst. You know her.

Oh yeah?

You know her. She showed her hand. You know her. She would do anything. You know--

“You know me,” Michiru looked at each of the senshi, as they each held a slip of paper, putting it into the hat before them wordlessly, “I am a slave to my emotions as much as Usagi is hers.”

“Oh shut the fuck up, Neptune.” Mina grabbed the hat, and took a handful of paper out of it. She looked back at the senshi. “Thank you all for taking part in your duty.”

She looked down at the first slip of paper, a dark black spot bleeding through it, the ink in it written so hard it stained the edge of Mina’s fingers. “One.” Another. “Two.” She took out another slip of paper, this one bright white. “There’s one for the other side.”

Michiru looked up at the senshi, but none of them looked at her directly.

“Third spot. Four. Five.”

Michiru laughed darkly. “Not a one of you will sentence me and meet my face.”

MIna let a pure white slip of paper flutter to the ground. “Two for your side.” she tossed aside the hat. “Doesn’t even matter what the last slip says, you know that. “

“What an interesting riddle to leave. I do like a bit of ambiguity in a story.” She sighed. “Very well, let’s get on with it, I suppose.”

Mina grabbed her shoulder and hissed, hot and low and angry in her ear. “I’m not having Haruka do it for her sake, not yours. I wish she had the strength to.”

“Be kind,” Michiru breathed, “aim for my heart.”

The sun began to pull its first lines of unreadable script across the sky, cutting through the darkness like a sword. The voice was right. There was a devil among them. There had been a devil among them this entire time, protected by angels. Usagi was good and Usagi was light and Usagi had been wrong.

No. She shook her head. It was whatever was here in the woods.

Had it been there, this whole time, though? She thought back to Rei’s shrine, too all of them sitting there around the table, and she thought, just for a moment, she could feel the slow and steady breathing of the thing, the heartbeat pulsing through the walls, watching and waiting, waiting for them to be just exposed enough.

And then we all got dragged out to the woods.

That had been Usagi, but it had been Mina, too, like all decisions between them, the princess and the general, two very different sides of a coin constantly flipping in the air, fighting for direction.

You protect Usagi. That’s all you’ve ever tried to do.

What do you know about it?

There are angels in these woods, too. Look out, Mina. Loo--

“What do you hear?” That voice, slim and sharp as a dagger, behind her.

She whirled around, hand to her transformation ring. “What are you doing up?”

Michiru cocked her head, seemingly a bit amused. “I don’t sleep much, I never have. Certainly no cause to be so skittish.”

The amusement on her face flushed anger to Mina’s cheeks. “I’m not. I”

“You would have no cause to be.” Michiru folded her arms daintily. “What were you listening to?” she paused a moment. “Was it the bears?”

The words almost escaped Mina’s mouth, how yes, she could hear them to, how she wondered about the things they said, and how long they had been there, how she felt them watching, always watching, and did Michiru know them? But she thought of what they said, and what Michiru had done. That might have been the least she could do.

Mina was a talented soldier, but she was alone, and Michiru’s back might be up against the wall.

There was a time when she’d thought of Michiru as just another soldier, whatever her mood. But that was before. Sometimes even Mina thought she took it too much to heart, that it had only been the choice of a moment.

But in those moments, we find out who we are.

“No. Just crickets. But speaking of,” she moved to the side, but did not turn her back, “I have to get whatever they didn’t. Everyone’ll be up in a few hours.” Mina walked off to the campsite, hitting the side of her tent to wake Haruka as she passed, and went down the path to gather what was left of their food, for breakfast.

It just might be the most important meal of the day.

__

Michiru watched her leave, her back to the woods in defiance against whatever it was that watching and waited. Or maybe it wasn’t even defiance anymore. Maybe it was sense. Maybe it was realizing where the dagger in her back was going to come from.

They will never let you live among them.

I can hardly fault them for that.

Why stay?

It is the duty to which I was born. The duty to which I will die.

She looked back into the campsite, quiet still in sleep, the only sound a ruffle coming from Mina’s tent. The calm that lay over the place was the calm of a battlefield after the war, the calm of the dead, the ripped and tattered chairs like corpses where the fire pit had been, the scattered rocks of it like bombs still waiting to explode and bring their violence anew.

That quiet, disorganized circle.

“Sailor Neptune, you are charged with insubordination, dereliction of duty, cowardice--”

A weak chuff, even on her knees. “I believe we are both aware cowardice was not at issue.”

Haruka shook her head, her face a mask of sheer hurt and confusion, and for a moment it looked like she might turn away. But then she looked to Usagi, and that hurt turned to anger, and Michiru’s heart quietly broke as Haruka looked back to her with hate.

“And treason against the Princess.”

Hate is just a love disappointed, Michiru had heard. She hoped that were true, when Haruka thought on her later.

Mina unsheathed her sword. “For these crimes, you have been sentenced to death. Do you have any parting thoughts I should know about?”

Michiru looked at them. “Don’t any of your dare to avert your eyes.” She looked up at Mina. ‘You look me in the eye when you do it. Sailor Venus.”

“Not a problem. Sailor Neptune.” Mina stared at her hard as she brought back the sword.

There was a scream.

A tent flap unzipped, and Michiru’s head moved swiftly as an asp’s to follow the sound. Haruka stretched to her full height with a groan, her back to Michiru, her hair rumpled and soft and begging to be touched, a strip of skin across her back from where the sweater was too short for her long body when she moved. Michiru could remember the smell of her in the morning, the warm soft smell with that hint of oil that never went away, even when she scrubbed. She had teased Haruka that it simply came out of her pores now.

She will never love you again, my poor, sad, dear.

Michiru did not realize she had been smiling at the memory until she stopped.

Haruka turned and saw her, and her shoulders fell. She looked at Michiru for a moment with a look of dispassionate boredom, then shrugged and turned away, shuffling toward the fire pit where the remains of their gathering still remained, glancing back at Michiru with suspicion.

Michiru touched her wedding ring and twisted it around her finger.

You could take it off. You could take them both off.

Stop that.

It was what you would have thought, if you allowed yourself.

Michiru looked back into the dark green of the forest, even the early morning light seemingly being swallowed by it, and it felt like the sea, when she stared as it lapped at her feet. It felt like the silk sheets of the hotel where they had spent their honeymoon, never sampling the fine wines and foods the region was known for, sampling other delights. It felt like that wine bar where she and Rei had laughed.

It felt like home.

__

Usagi chattered happily as the pancakes sizzled on the griddle, Mako kneeling beside the fire and keeping her close watch over them. There were a few rocks they’d found, here and there, and some stumps that Haruka and Mako had cut from fallen trees in the woods, while Rei and Ami rebuilt the fire ring.

Mina had been off by herself, mostly, watching as if she could see something just beyond the ring of trees that surrounded the campsite. Rei hated it. She hated the quiet, the way nothing appeared to her, and how that silent felt more ominous and more hateful than any whispering in the trees, than any torn apart chairs.

It was the feeling of finding your phone line cut, of being separated from the world.

It was the quietness of waiting for something to strike.

Michiru sat down beside her, and Rei felt her body tighten. There was only her between Michiru and Usagi.

“Would you prefer I chose another spot?” She did not look over at Rei.

She noticed. Of course she noticed. Michiru could hear whatever it was in these woods, and that seemed a particular cruelty to Rei, that she, who had only used any power she had been given toward her duty, had been muzzled, and Michiru, who had only ever used her powers for herself, ran free.

She kept waiting for the anger to fade, for that log to finish burning, for it to all turn to ash and blow away in the forgiveness of the wind. There were times she found herself reaching to the phone to say something to Michiru, only to draw her hand away as if it had been bit.

Rei tried to look careless. “I don’t care what you--”

There was a scream from the woods, and the senshi jumped to their feet, rings twisted and transformations instant, surrounding Usagi, who froze for a moment, untransformed.

“Usagi, come on!” Rei shook her, trying to mask her fear in anger, the familiar skin she slipped on.

Usagi obediently touched the ring at her hand, the light surrounding her as she became the princess who was a soldier, although not much of one, depending on who you asked.

Haruka whipped her sword around, looking for a creature to fight, looking for somewhere to direct her rage, finding only the echoes of anger in the trees. Rei looked over at Michiru, who watched Haruka, unwavering. Some things never changed, even if it felt everything had. Some things were true, even in these woods where everything felt false.

The screeching screaming surrounded the girls, echoed off every tree and every rock in the forest, howling anger and despair.

Mina went to the front, her sword drawn, her eyes sharper than its blade, but the wailing only grew higher and more frenetic as raised it high, and then the screech became a cackle, a high laugh, and Usagi clung to Rei, gripping her tightly, and Rei thought she might pop from either the squeeze, or the frustration of the silence in her head.

“Come and get it, motherfucker!” Haruka howled into the dark green of the forest. “Come on!”

A dark wing darted out of the darkness like a hawk, keening that banshee wail to everything that had died, and it came too quickly, knocking Haruka to the ground. Michiru rushed forward, dagger drawn and by her side, as the screaming grew into one large wail of hatred.

She moved to touch Haruka’s shoulder, but Haruka pulled away.

“I don’t want your fucking help!”

The creature screamed again.

“I--” She folded her hands neatly into her lap.

Haruka got up, dusting herself off. “Just do your goddamn job Michiru. I’m not yours anymore.”

She flinched at that, at the way Haruka spat it, and the scream faded into the distance.

Usagi’s small voice came from behind Michiru. “Haruka...don’t--”

Haruka threw her hands up. “No!”

Usagi did not let go of Rei, just buried her face into she shoulder and began to sniffle.

Rei patted her hand. “It’s over, Usagi. It’s over now.”

Mina put her sword back in her sheath. “Mako, Rei, Ami. You three stay in camp with Usagi. Hotaru, Pluto, Haruka. You three are going to head due east.” She looked at Michiru, who slowly rose to her feet. “Me and Neptune are going to head west. We have to sweep the forest, we can’t just wait for whatever this thing is to keep attacking us.”

Why west, and why Michiru?

Because only you can handle her. She is dangerous. Only you can protect the others.

Yes.

“Yes.” Michiru walked toward her. “Let’s.”

The ribbon, the rope, and the chain, twisted it way around them, and dragged them into the west.

__

The forest went ever on, and seemed to be the same in all directions, lacking even the game trails of the animals who must pass through these woods, and yet there was only silence, only silence and the whispers that seemed to come from within and without, reminding them of all the suffering that had been brought to bear, and all the possibilities that had laid in these woods.

Mina had kept Michiru a few feet in front of her, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

She would do it, if you dropped your guard. You have no idea what she’s capable of.

I know.

Michiru attached little importance to Mina’s marching behind her. She was so accustomed to it by now that it seemed boring, just another day when no one trusted her or loved her, another day alone even surrounded. Her senshi life was now just as her life had been before. No friends to laugh with--the senshi all returned her gifts now, even for occasions--just a string of lonely cups of tea in cafes, no Haruka sitting across from her.

You told them what you were. It’s as if they don’t know the scorpion and the frog.

That’s as may be, but the scorpion still did the stinging.

You are what you are, and can be adored for it, my dar--

“I wish you had killed me, if it’s any consolation.” Michiru picked her way through the trees, following the ribbon in front of her, pulling her onwards. “I did not ask to be condemned to this half of a life.”

Mina shrugged. “Well, Usagi wouldn’t let me.”

“You would think, wouldn’t you?” Michiru continued, “That it would not be so painful, or so so difficult. My life before Haruka, before I met all of you, certainly did not plunge me into the depths of despair.”

Poor her, in her penthouse with her servants. What a miserable life that must have been.

Mina looked behind her, whipping around quickly.

“What was it?” Michiru stopped.

“Nothing” Mina trudged forward, ignoring the voice that was her but was not her but was her, all braided together in a terrible rope.

“You would think,” Michiru was not dissuaded, “But you would be wrong. Once a creature has seen the sun, it is it a new pain to be driven back under the ground.“

Such excuses.

Mine whirled around the front of her, transforming as she did so.

“Do you want me to feel sorry for you?”

Yes, the poor little rich girl.

They were surrounded, the enemies nearly a blur in front of them, as Mina called to her forces.

“Mercury! To the right! Jupiter, Uranus, I need you two blowing through over there!” She turned. “Neptune, Mars, you have to protect the Princess, they’re everywhere.”

They nodded, one on either side of her, Rei’s bow drawn and ready as a

Deep thunder began to rise from above the forest and a cold wind whipped through the tightly-packed trees.

Michiru huffed dismissively. “You should kill me right here. It is the only thing that will ever be enough for you.”

She is not better than you. She is not faster than you. You could show her that much, Michiru.

A mist came on the wind, the first staggering drops of the storm coming to life, and Michiru felt the drops on her face.

She rubbed her lips together. They came on so fast, and Michiru slashed through one’s throat, the blood splattering across the front of her uniform, a bit flecking onto her lips, coloring them as if she were going on a date with Haruka.

She could hear the sound of Rei’s bow, hear every whistle of the arrows going by, the groan of the enemy as they found their marks, and Michiru smiled. There was something in the graceful ballet of battle where she found herself, where every dark impulse she had ever had was fed and watered.

Usagi. She looked behind her, and Usagi had tripped.

“Sailor Moon!” Haruka called desperately, looking to Usagi. “Sailor Moon, you’ve gotta get up!”

“Uranus!” Michiru called to her. Her back was to the action. They were coming up behind her.

Still Haruka looked at Usagi with panic in her eyes, motioning her to get up, watching as she struggled to her feet.

Michiru grabbed Usagi by the elbow as there was a

Great crash of thunder overhead, the rain falling harder now, and Michiru matched Mina’s transformation, nose to nose now in the dimming light of the clouds.

“I should! I should so you can’t kill us all!”

My blade is here, and there are monsters in the forest. No one would know.

The wind blew Mina’s hair around her face, like blinders on a horse.

Like blinders on a horse, that’s how she’d always think of it. It should give her fear, not having much of a peripheral. She’d briefly considered making tying back your hair new uniform requirements.

But there was something in the way it focused all her attentions on the moment, on the battle, that she found thrilling, that seemed correct, the way it forced her to live at the end of her blade, forced to her to be faster and keener.

But sometimes, the veil of her hair parted, and she would see snippets of the battle laid out before her. She blocked a blow, and a great groan arose from the creature as she met it with her own, as her hair moved just enough to see the beginning of all their great tragedy.

Haruka stood, yelling at Usagi, her back to the enemy, like she’d told her not to do a thousand times, like they’d trained against over and over again, but sometimes there was something inside of someone, Mina had noted, that couldn’t be trained out of them, no matter how you tried. It was a thing that refused to break and die.

Michiru dragged Usagi to her feet, a look of panic on her face, and a deep howl of pain came up from Haruka as one of the creatures dove onto her back, its claws ripping at her side. Mina gave a wide swing of her blade, catching another one in the neck, but she was stopped by another in her path.

Mako was occupied. Michiru was guarding Usagi.

There was a low ache in Mina’s heart, as she fought, and again it clawed at her ears, Haruka screaming,

“I could not watch her die!” Michiru looked almost feral now, rage and sadness and all the other emotions Michiru never let herself have bundled up into one, “I am not strong enough, I cannot bear it!”

She’ll never understand you. None of them will. Take the dagger. Take it and join us.

Michiru shook her head, and the rain began to pour down straight and hard and cooling their tempers for one moment.

Michiru looked back at Mina.”Please, please,

“Do not ask this of me.” She said it to her herself, to Sailor Neptune, to the fates and gods she did not believe in. She said it to the creature attacking Haruka, blood coming off her. She said it to Haruka herself.

She never had a choice, in her entire life. The child who would be socialite, the girl who would be soldier, only in being the woman that would be loved had she ever given her hand freely, and the world laughed its cruel chuckle as she watched her world be taken away from her.

She looked over to Usagi, and her voice very nearly broke.

“Forgive me my weakness.”

And then she left.

Michiru ran from Usagi’s side, grabbing her arm as she went, and crashed Usagi like a wave against the enemy, flinging it from Haruka’s back, as Usagi screamed and fell to the ground. It fell upon her, as Michiru grabbed Haruka close, pulling her away from danger. There was a clamor, as senshi yelled and weapons clashed, and in the miracle of it all Mina ran her sword through the enemy that tackled Usagi, as Rei grabbed her and threw her to the ground, covering Usagi’s body with her own.

Mina looked over at Michiru, a horrified look in her eyes, then horror turned to rage, as she yelled,

“Michiru, you were supposed to protect her.” She remembered yelling,but it came out so quiet.

She is a traitor and you would be protecting the princess, the senshi, to run her through.

“Yes. But I don’t believe that’s why you wished me executed.”  

She will never understand you, she does not understand love but only the rule of martial law. You have seen Venus, my sweet.

“I made a mistake.”

Yes, you made a mistake in allowing Usagi to stay your hand.

No. 

“I told you never to ask this of me.” Her voice was resolute, but there was a shadow of shame behind it, an admission of her own weaknesses.

The light was soft and soothing as it came through the lace curtain that accented Michiru and Haruka’s dining room, the home they’d just purchased gleaming with the newness of it all. It was strange, she and Mina sitting alone there, Michiru sipping her tea as if it were perfectly natural in her composed, perfect way.

She looked over at Mina. “Not to overstep, and tell a commander how to do her job,” she set her cup down on its saucer, “Mina, I must tell you something. The subject has been largely avoided these last few years, and I fear it may come to a head someday.”

“Quit being cryptic, Squidward.” Mina leaned back in her chair, nibbling on a tea cake.

She looked directly at Mina. “You must never ask me to choose between Usagi and Haruka. I will only disappoint, and I am not certain the team could bear the strain.”

Mina studied her for a moment, seeing only honesty in her face, none of Michiru’s usual glamour and trickery and affect.

“I  should have,”

“Known.” Mina looked at her. “I made a mistake.”

They looked at each other, thoughts a perfect echo.

She--

No.

There was a roar, and a creature sprang toward them, a demon like nothing they had seen or fought, its body blazing with fire, its roar the screams of a thousand in shrieking discordant pain, and they both held their weapons aloft as it came toward them, back to back in perfect concert, ready to strike.

Then it stopped, and laughed a deep low laugh, the rumble of it the falling of cities. The rain seemed not to touch it, a halo about its presence.

“Oh Mina, you poor simple creature,” the voice grew sinuous and smooth, “how could you not know? Oh my, this is a bit shameful for one purported to be so wise in the way of tactics.”

Its skin melted away to reveal a beautiful teal haired socialite, pearls around her neck and fine leather heels at her feet, even here, its laugh like the tinkling of bells.

The figure slid out of its skin in a single elegant step, a cunning smile on its lips as it stepped toward Michiru, the reds and purples and oranges of the devil it had been replaced by an unfailingly more terrifying creature.

It smiled at her, its golden hair falling in soft cascades about its shoulders, its pink lips still drawn into that smile, that glorious, inhuman smile.

It laughed. “You can’t be that surprised.How else was I supposed to get you?”

“The fuck--” Mina stared hard at it, as it flipped its hair flawlessly.

“How--” Michiru tried to see past it, tried to see anything but the smug commander in front of her.

It looked to Mina, smiling a close-mouthed smile. “It’s really quite simple, if you came to think on it. I have always had a certain sort of power, and these woods, well, they amplified it quite nicely,” It looked back to Michiru, “Come on, Hentai Queen, you know I’ll do anything for the job. Little selling my soul never hurt anyone,” It stepped toward Mina, “And who else, do you think, could quiet Rei’s hearing? Her seeing? The call, as they say, is coming from inside the house,” It smirked at Michiru, “Good job dragging yourself out here to get killed, maybe I can geet Haruka hooked up with a new girlfriend.”

Michiru stood a little straighter. “This cannot be.”

The creature whirled around again, growing several inches and looking back at Michiru with soft grey eyes filled with love. “Babe, it’ll be so easy for us to be together again. You just gotta do this one thing. You’d do anything for me, right?”

“You utter bastard.” Her voice shook.

It looked back to Mina, its teal hair growing long and gold, tears appearing on its face. “Mina!” It sniffled, “Michiru tried to kill me! Can’t you protect me? Please! You have to fight her!”

“Heh.” Mina gave a low laugh, “That’s where you fucked up, friend,” Mina took a swing at it, and it rocketed back , becoming a jumble of faces and voices, “Usagi would never have me hurt Michiru. Or literally anyone.”

“An excellent attempt, however,” Michiru moved quickly, circling behind it, “But we know the devil, you see.”

It changed again, sword in its hand, and clashed with Mina, blue eyes staring into blue eyes, gold hair nearly braiding with each other. “You know what you are, Venus, and what you can become. You know what’s inside of you, you just need to let it out. Think of the power.”

Mina felt a shiver go through her, and she hesitated, just a moment.

It pushed Mina off, throwing her to the ground and whirled toward Michiru, crossing her blade, meeting in close, elegant combat.

“My dear, you are well aware of all the things you desire,” its hair was perfect and soft and dry, “things that this world has not allowed you to have. And yet it is not impossible, the things you desire, the girl you desire, I have seen your darkest moment, and we can help you. We can create a world together.”

Michiru gave a giggle. “I’m sorry, but this is terribly amusing,” She flipped her hair, ignoring its heavy wet, “you see, this is the devil I know best of all.”

She stabbed at it, and narrowly she missed, too narrow, anticipating its movements, and for once, Michiru thought, she might be projecting a thought into it. 

It looked frightened, for a moment there, the creature being seen, seen as perhaps no other human being could have seen it, and it released from her, and whirled back to where Mina was still getting off the ground, and in a moment it was on top of her, Mina without even a second to react. This was it. She’d die to a devil in the forest, without anyone to back her.

 “She’ll turn on us in a fucking second.” Mina spat the words to Rei, sitting across from her at the shrine, just the two of them and the fire, warming and burning. 

Rei looked into the fire, but didn’t respond, simply stirred her tea and took a breath.

 “She tried to kill Usagi.”

 “I know!” Rei snapped at her, annoyed and hurt. She looked back into the fire, and it crackled and popped and Mina begged to hear the words that it might be saying. “She tried to save Haruka…”

 “It’s the same thing.” She looked into the fire, as if she could hear it too, as if it was enough to pretend. “She’s always wanted to kill us.” 

Rei looked back at her, her lips moving but no words coming from them. 

 But it did not touch her. It was dragged from her in an instant, and Mina got to her feet as it and Michiru struggled, a high scream coming from one or the other or both of them, Mina could not say, and she leapt into the battle, sword high in hand, and they clashed together against it, a whirl of senshi against whatever cruelty filled these woods, these woods that Mina would not return to until she was older and too much wiser, knowing what she sought, knowing what she could become, when she longed to shift shape, when she longed to become a legend.

 It felt good, and not just in the way the fight always felt good to her, the low angry hungry way her soul felt fed when blood fell upon the field, the way Venus felt inside her. It was Mina who felt good now, Mina who felt a lightness come over her, even with the difficulty of the struggle. It was the joy of throwing off something that no longer served her, the joy of cleaning out a closet full of quiet hurts. 

Michiru was caught up in it, slashed and tossed against a tree. 

“That’s not true” That’s what Rei’s lips had said. 

Michiru launched back at the creature. “You must go back to camp, warn the others!” 

“Usagi, you should have let me get rid of Michiru.” Mina’s voice was quiet, and disappointed. 

“I forgive her!” She touched Mina’s arm. “Nobody died.” 

All’s well that ends well, some children’s book might have said. 

She thought of Usagi, holding Hotaru in her arms, the world letting out a collective breath when they all might have died. 

“It’s fine, Usagi, nobody died.” She had said, that time, as Michiru rolled her eyes.

 Nobody died. 

Mina stopped a moment, and all she could see in her heart was Usagi, begging and pleading for no one to die as the world ticked toward destruction. Usagi, offering up her heart, offering up the world, to save them. 

To save people she loved most of all. 

Michiru was pinned now, her fighting growing weaker, the creature beginning to laugh as it overtook her, and Mina felt its strength rise, her sword raised to it without her even quite knowing why, and she saw Beryl and Nehellenia and Pharoh 90,  and most of all, she saw her own open disdain that she had let grow to hate, that she had tended as surely as any garden.

But it didn’t matter.

Mina had found her mark, and whatever power one believed the Holy Sword to be imbued with, it bloomed here, light slicing through the creature, becoming each of the senshi as it screamed and wriggled and died, until it was nothing but a scattered collection of hair and hands and eyes, lying on the forest floor.

“Gross.” Was all Mina said, standing over it.

Michiru lay just a few feet from her, unmoving.

“If you’re dead after all that, I’m gonna be so fucking pissed, Kaioh.” She stopped. “Please. You can’t be. I--” she knelt next to her. “I’m sorry.” 

Michiru gave a very weak mumble. “I can’t do shit with I’m sorry. Go.” 

There was breath in her, there was life, there was still a chance.

 “Too bad, squidward.” She moved her, just a little, but it was enough, and Michiru fainted under the strain and the pain of it. 

 She grabbed Michiru under the armpits, dragging her back toward camp, realizing as she did so that she could barely hear, her eyes felt too sensitive, every part of her body felt filled with exhaustion and ache and yet she still pulled on. She had to get Michiru back. She had to tell them what happened. Suddenly, defending Michiru seemed like the most important thing she had ever done, and it dragged her onward, even when her body wanted to quit, even when she heard the low howl in the woods that told her the devils were never really gone, only beaten back for awhile.

Mina stumbled back into camp, in what have been 20 minutes or might have been 20 hours, the high whine of the battle still ringing in her ears, dropping to her knees as she reached the edge of camp, her face to the ground, but she could still hear the clamor of the girls as they gathered around her.

“She saved me.” Was all Mina managed. “She saved me.”

Michiru opened her eyes, her vision blurred and dull, but she could feel one thing, with perfect clarity.

Haruka was holding her hand.