#'afraid of tainting your child' i will EXPLODE

[yinyuedijun]

thinking about aven on this fathers day

if he ever got really, truly close enough to you to settle down and have a family... he would have so so many feelings about holding your baby for the first time. fear. the baby has his eyes- the eyes of a sigonian, the eyes that have the world scream back: cheater, liar, thief, whore. he has come a long way from who he was as a child, and has much more security through his wealth, but will he ever be fully able to protect his child? will he be a good father? is he capable of that kind of love?

and under the fear- sheer pride and adoration. the baby is nothing short of a miracle- something aventurine (no, kakavasha,) is intimately acquainted with. blessings. is there anything more special than a being that encompasses the two of you, that symbolizes the love and commitment you have for each other? and a bright, new future ahead of you?

he refuses to hold the baby at first- mouthing some sort of excuse that you as the birthing parent have the right, as you have worked so hard for. really, he's afraid of tainting your child. his child.

later when you're exhausted and asleep he'll creep next to the crib and pick your baby up and hold them so gently, and understand the love and desire to protect that seeimingly comes out of nowhere.

OKAY IGNORE THIS IF YOU WANT LKDFLKSJFZLLDK

no words or thoughts anon, just tears....... dadventurine u are so important to me......

[st4rg1rl-yana]

This is my first time writing and or posting like this. Anyways this is Vi x fem reader, the reader being Silco’s biological child going through life in the lanes before the time skip. Part 2? Maybe?

TW - Swearing, child neglect, death/speaking ill of the dead

The streets of the Undercity were never peaceful especially when night overlooked the sky. Beneath the beautiful starry night sky laid the city the could never rest. Enforcers plagued the streets harassing the innocent while people were tucked away into dark alley corners finding that to be their home for the night. The people of the Undercity were tired, tired of living off of scraps, tired of fighting to survive by any means. Desperately they clung to the wise words and protection of Vander, the Hound of the Undercity. But as more problems arose with the increasing numbers of enforcers ‘patrolling’ the streets their hope for change dwindled down to an empty nothingness.

Even then behind the scenes of it all, tucked away in his laboratory of sorts was Silco. He’d known one day Vander’s downfall would rain leaving the people of Zaun on the fritz. It’d be his perfect opportunity to finally have the city under his grasp, to finally have the power he felt was stolen from him all those years ago. So here he resided working tirelessly on perfecting his drug to soon release to the streets of Zaun. Although everything was going well with his research and testing he stayed confined to those eerie metal walls of his laboratory. Almost as if he were avoiding something or someone that is.

That’s what it felt like to you, his only child in this messed up world. As much as you’d longed for his attention over the years he’d counter that with his neglectful words and actions. Bluntly ignoring you in passing, aggression towards the little drawings or trinkets you’d make, and taking out his anger of failed experiments on you. Over the years you’d grown use to it, but he’d always take it step further breaking your spirit almost entirely. Sometimes you’d wished you were able to vanish from this world, only an on looker with no presence or conflict. Especially in times like these where you’d feel so much at once that you were afraid you’d explode from those overwhelming emotions.

“Why were you down here in the first place! Don’t you have a room for a reason?” he yelled as if his emotions were hard to assume. He was angry, livid. You’d been trying to subtly help him with his experiments even if it was unnoticeable at first. You were trying to help clean dirtied vials but slipped knocking over the completed ones instead. So here you laid surrounded by broken glass and now contaminated extracts of shimmer. “I was only trying to help!” you screamed. This felt like a tipping point and you were just fed up of taking his shit for years never getting how you felt across.

“You’ve never needed me! Why even have me here if you hate me! What’ve I ever done for you to hate me!” you’d screamed again hot tears free falling towards the ground. He sighed longingly his face hardened before saying his next few words. “I should’ve left you in that ally way to die just like your mother” he exhaled again before turning back to his work. You stood slowly, the light in your eyes dying as you looked at the man that created you. Wiping the last of your tears you walked away, out of the lab and onto the cold streets of Zaun.

The air was thick and tainted that night as it always seemed to be. It was a thick smog that clung to any of your exposed skin as you walked the streets. While a dimly lit light post exposed you to any being of the night. Your pleated black and grey striped skirt flowed aimlessly in the night breeze. Your ripped black stockings did little to nothing in means of warmth. You clutched at what you could of the worn out black cropped hoodie,that sported light brown bleached spots. Holding it closer to the cream colored tank top you wore underneath. Pulling the hood to cover your head as you passed by closed street venders and their last customers of the night. The metal straps of your grey combat boots could be heard lowly with each step you took only pausing when you reached your destination, an abandoned building. You took your time going through it climbing up a flight of stairs to the rooftop. It was then that you let out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding in. You sat near ledge overlooking the city and reminiscing on the scream fest that’d previously took place as more pained tears stained your reddened cheeks.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d sat there in your own head trying to make sense of it all. Not until you heard the creak of the rooftop door and slow footsteps approaching you. Thinking nothing of it you looked onwards into night sky, sighing slightly to your predicament. A rough hand grabbed at you shoulder slightly, scaring you out of the trance like state as you reached down the the knife hidden in your boot lunging at the unknown stranger. Only to find their hands at your wrist stopping the knife from piercing their face.

“Woah there, Tiger. Easy I didn’t mean to scare ya” your ear picking up on the feminine voice before lowering the knife from her. Still guarded you took in her appearance, she looked around your age actually. Soft blue wide eyes and bright pink hair,slightly shaved on the side, slicked back to reveal her scarred and bruised face. She was beautiful and you hadn’t realized you’d been staring for while till she spoke again.

“Like what you see, Princess?” she chuckled from above you. You huffed turning away from her and back to the city lights hoping she’d leave and had not seen you in your most vulnerable state. But instead she sat next to you admiring the beauty of the night overlooked and casted in the light from the moon above. “What’s got ya down, Cupcake?” she asked nudging your knee softly with hers to get any response from you. You sighed fighting the mental battle of telling your stress to a complete stranger or pushing her off the roof only hoping she’d fall onto a old mattress or something. Choosing the the more sensible option you turned to her only meeting her eyes through the shield of your lashes.

“Just some problems at home I guess” you answered not knowing if you should go into more detail. Her eyes soften, “I getcha no one’s family is perfect”. She paused reaching a rough hand to your cheek wiping your leftover tears, “It’ll get better, Princess. And if it doesn’t come find me, I’m all ears if ya wanna talk”. You smiled at her chuckling lightly, “I’ll keep that in mind then”.

[cottonkendi]

Your Babies | 37

MASTERLIST

Sano Shinichiro x f!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre: Established Relationship, Angst

Warning: Spoiler warnings, Blood

Synopsis: Dim Stars ft. Hope

Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38

With his erratic heart leaping out of his chest with every step he makes, it feels as if his legs are about to give out the more he gets closer to your shop. With the crowd forming around the building along with the flashing lights coming from the police cars and ambulance, it almost feels like a nightmare when it feels like he can’t get through the barrier of people.

Thankfully, with a number of harsh shoves, he’s able to get to the front of the crowd that’s being held out by policemen.

Breathless, Wakasa tries his best to catch the policemen’s attention. “Excuse me! Sir! What happened here-”

“Sir, if you can just please stay there, this is a crime scene, civilians are not allowed-”

Shaking his head, it feels like his body temperature has both dropped and risen from the stress he’s going through. He didn’t expect to receive a call from you in the middle of the night. And he didn’t expect the said call to be about some break in happening in the shop.

So now, it feels like he’s just been thrown into a whirlwind of problems as he sees two kids, Keisuke and Kazutora, both being escorted by the police, along with some medics hauling in his friend, Shinichiro, in a stretcher. And lastly, the sight that makes his stomach churn and drop. He sees you being carried by the medics in a stretcher as well, skin tainted red from the blood that he hopes isn’t from you.

The sight of the two kids makes Wakasa’s body freeze when he sees Kazutora’s bloody hands. It almost makes bile rise up when he realizes what might have happened in there for things to end up like this. It’s almost unbelievable until he hears a voice from the nearby police’s radio about finding the chain cutter which must have been the weapon used.

His hands unconsciously form a fist when the two kids walk past him in order to get to the police car, his eyes glaring right onto the two kids only for his sight to be trained somewhere else when he notices Keisuke mouthing something to someone into the crowd. Craning his neck, it almost feels like his chest is about to explode when he sees Manjiro standing still in front of the crowd, dark eyes trained at the sight in front of him. Not a single emotion on his face.

It makes Wakasa immediately run to the kid, afraid of what the kid’s already seen due to you and Shinichiro being escorted right in front of them.

Pulling Manjiro into him, Wakasa immediately makes him turn away from the scene, hands cupping the child’s cheeks in order to force him to look up. “Mikey! How did you get here?!” Kneeling down in front of Manjiro, Wakasa wraps him up in his arms and forces the kid’s face onto his shoulder as he carries Manjiro into his arms. “I’m going to take you back home-”

Manjiro immediately shakes his head in haste. “No! I want to go with them!… Don’t take me home, I wanna see them… please Waka.” That’s when Wakasa feels the tears slowly drop onto his shoulder, his body completely freezing up as Manjiro starts to sob onto him. “I wanna… wanna make sure they’re safe.” Manjiro hiccups before Wakasa finally nods to himself, resolve crumbling at the mere sight of the aloof kid shattering in his arms.

“Excuse me, sir! Is there any way that we can go with the ambulance? I’m the victim’s cousin and this kid here is their little brother.” Wakasa speaks out to one of the attending officer’s who’s currently talking to one of the medics. Looking over at the two, the police officer asks for some ID before finally letting them get closer to the ambulance which is about to leave after the medics have strapped Shinichiro onto the machines while they test for your vitals seeing as you’ve slowly started gaining consciousness.

“Alright then. But we need someone who we can talk to regarding the crime scene. Do you think you can stand in for the victims while we wait for them to recover, Imaushi-san?”

Hastily nodding, Wakasa sets Manjiro down by the ambulance, cold hands gripping onto the kid’s shoulders as the police gestures for him to follow. “Mikey… I’m going to go with the police. You can handle yourself in the ambulance right? Or do you want me to take you home?”

With his big dark eyes filled with nothing but tears, Manjiro quickly shakes his head, hands gripping tightly on the door of the ambulance as he glances at both of your unmoving bodies. “Okay then. I’ll have Benkei follow so you won’t be alone then I’ll call Grandpa and Y/N’s parents. Be safe.”

Watching Manjiro get in the ambulance, Wakasa lets out a deep sigh as he looks down at his shaking hands, mind buzzing with thoughts that he cannot pinpoint. It fills his body with a heavy feeling that rushes through his veins, dragging him to the ground, but alas, he doesn’t have time to wallow in his own emotions right now. Looking back up, he squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds to try and calm himself down before finally following the policeman from earlier.

It takes awhile for your consciousness to fully come back. Your head continuously throbs in a way that matches your erratic heartbeat. It makes it feel like your whole body is freezing with every breath you take as your eyesight slowly focuses. You don’t even notice Manjiro sitting next to you because your focus is solely trained on your fiance who’s right in front of you.

It makes your surroundings disappear, your ears filling up with cotton the more you focus on your lover in front of you.

Your skin tingles with every touch as you tightly hold onto his hand even though you have no strength left. One touch from one of the medics immediately loosens your weak hands from his as they try their best to check on your vitals, make sure that you’re okay. But you’re not.

You’re not okay.

Your lover is lying in front of you with his head bleeding onto the sheets.

He has numerous machines strapped to his body, trying their best to keep him stable but the liquid keeps oozing out. It continues to stain his skin, continues to dampen his hair which you’ve always had the pleasure of raking your fingers in. But now, with just one touch on his locks, you’re sure that your hands will be drenched in his warm blood.

It almost makes you want to hurl.

With the cramped ambulance caging you in, with every second spent inside, it feels as if your lungs are closing up.

“Ma’am. We need you to cooperate with us. We’ll take you to the ER then move you to a private room after we’re done making sure that you’re stable. You hit your head on the ground real hard and may have a concussion after.” Someone tries to talk to you as they try to remove you from Shinichiro’s body but all you can do is shake your head and sob out a ‘no’.

How can they even think of taking you away from Shinichiro when he clearly needs you beside him right now?

Can’t they see that you won’t be able to survive if you don’t see him now?

But alas, they managed to pry you from him and took you to one of the beds where they managed to lay you down. Your body is unable to move now no matter how much you want to lash out and run to Shinichiro.

It’s pathetic.

You can only cry out his name but even then, it is nothing but a pathetic rasp, voice long gone after what seems to be hours of crying. Hoping that they’ll have a bit more mercy with you and let you go see him.

After what seems to be an eternity, it seems as if they’ve finally deemed you good enough to go and sit by the door of the operating room. Your ragged  and bandaged body pressed against the cold and hard seats, unaware of the shivering body standing right in front of the doors. “Y/N!” You hear a rushed out whisper before your cold body is engulfed in someone else’s smaller one.

With your vision slowly focusing on him, it feels as if your chest is about to crack from the sheer pain that you saw in Manjiro’s eyes.

So dark.

So empty.

So much like Shinichiro’s.

And in just one second, it feels as if everything clears up in your head, the pain, fear and dread all manifesting in tears as your arms immediately wrap the young boy in your arms, pulling him closer to you as you cry into his hair while he does the same to you.

“Manjiro, what’re you-why are you here?” You manage to ask in between tears as you feel him tighten his hold on you.

“I-I wanted to make su-sure you two a-are safe…”

It feels so nostalgic.

Having him hug you as he cries. Reminds you of the years where he was much smaller and would cry at small things that he did.

It almost reminds you of the time when he and his sister cried after they both cut up Shinichiro’s cigarettes.

That’s all long gone now.

No more tears shed for small mistakes.

Now, all the two of you can do is cry into each other’s arms as you hope for the best. Hope that their big brother will make it even though it’s been hours since you’ve been here.

Hope that grandpa’s grandson will make it out alive and live another day.

Hope that the former Black Dragon’s president will continue to watch as his legacy grows into something unthinkable.

Hope that your lover - your fiance - will be able to make it through and live the life that the two of you have always dreamed of.

Everything seems so close now. It felt like everything was going right. Everything was falling into place.

It almost felt like it was too good to be true.

And it was.

What felt like an endless abundance of happiness for the two of you quickly crashed down just as you were starting to get used to it.

The shop was almost finished.

You two only had two more years until you can officially adopt the kids.

You have just started your new job.

It was all going great.

But now. You’ve crashed onto the hard ground, left to weep and beg for things to go back as it used to. You’re left cradling Manjiro into your arms, hoping to shield him away from the damage that has already struck him.

You’re losing hope.

And as more hours pass by, with new tears shed by new people arriving to wait for the result, it almost feels like the sun has not gone up with how dark everything is.

Even with your body screaming for you to sleep and rest. All you can do is cradle the two kids in your arms, unmoving as you make sure that both Manjiro and Emma are still sleeping. Grandpa had stopped by with Emma a few hours ago. Told you that he’ll take care of the paper work with Wakasa but you can only nod your head at them, not able to utter any other word in fear that you’ll tear up and make the kids feel even worse.

You can’t afford to wallow in your own pain right now. Not when you have his siblings right next to you, in need of comfort and someone to lean on.

You need to be strong.

You need to be reliable.

You need to be someone that the kids can find comfort in.

Even if you can barely keep yourself together.

Suddenly, the door opens, immediately waking the two kids up as a surgeon bows, your heart immediately dropping as you wait for their words.

It feels like your body is thrumming from the sheer dread and anticipation, Benkei’s presence doing nothing to soothe you as the four of you stare at the surgeon who lets out an apology.

“I am so sorry. We did everything we could.”

In an instant, the little hope that you had left in your body disappears. Leaving nothing but your shaking form, desperately clutching onto the kids as they whimper onto your shirt, unable to cry out any more tears.

Bowing down, you grit your teeth, hoping to the stars that you’ve always looked up at that you don’t break down now but alas, a sob still escapes you. A sob still escapes as your tears all trickle down onto the floor. It feels like something sharp has grown in the middle of your chest, immediately piercing every single nerve in your body.

“T- tha-” Taking in a deep breath, you try one last time. “Thank you fo-for doing your be-best.”

It seems as if in one single night, all of the stars in the universe have dimmed.

taglist:

@lagrimasdeglitter @sseorin @sunahyejin @agoddess-inashell @wakasagurl @diestheticu @queen-flower @salty-salty @the2ndl @crapimahuman @imkumichan @angelmitsuri @coconois @princessatoru @akaashis-liquidluck @bajifairyy @tsukkisukkii @chaoticyuna @missarabellla @kawasbaby @bittermoonlightsblog @yukihime-mikeys-girl @vanderaliwaal @astro-pioneer @nomnom21 @tamakislover @misinfe @starryshi @honeysoob @monsterm21-blog @justalamppost @arisu003 @quacksonlover81 @shaak-ti-s @yuuki4646 @manjiroarchiviste @gouzouuuuu @sh4nn @bubs-world @lordbugs @notsostraightweeb @xbabybajix @aruhappy

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[ins0mnia-an0nym0us-au]

so i watched The Sandman episodes 1-3

so far so great

amazing imagery. great acting. fantastic writing.

will be do a couple more parts of this

SPOILERS BELOW THE READ MORE

have some non-spoiler completely random out-of-context teasers

oh no. i can already tell the internet is going to simp so hard for this weird gangly man

why is this Priest so relatable? if i knew Jenna Coleman - i too would be asking her for drinks at every chance

oh no. i can already tell the internet is going to simp so hard for this weird gangly man

and as a lesbian i cannot fathom why

*cuts to man (The Corinthian) taking eyes from someone*

oh no. another one

but for the irredeemable sort apologists

*small child appears*

i know that boy... MILES - FROM BLY MANOR

*proceeds to remember "stop being weird" line from Flora and snorts*

also who calls their dad Magus???

*proceeds to learn about the dad*

ah. well.

you didn't get Death you dimwit. why does this idiot keep asking the King of Dreams for his dead son??? he's the King of Dreams! he can't raise the dead!

*cackles at Ethel robbing Roderick blind cause he wanted her to have an abortion and probably would've forced her into it*

good for her

also my gay ass immediately picked up the tension between Alex & Paul despite them only have 0.5 second together

let's all be honest Alex should've stood up to his dad years ago. maybe even killed him but abusers have such power over their victims - it's sad to see a good soul become tainted by such evil

i think Alex's biggest mistake was not letting Morpheus out immediately with an apology. though im not sure he would've been forgiven for killing Jessamy

i like to think Morpheus could see the regret on Alex's face and if he'd been let out immediately he would have perhaps not forgiven him but understood that without his father there Alex wasn't afraid to be good

*sees flying Gargoyle and learns his name is Gregory*

im attached - nothing shall harm Gregory

*watches Gregory sacrifice himself*

that was rude af and no the baby Gargoyle (Irving) doesn't make up for it... even tho he's adorable

*Jenna Coleman appears bisexually on screen*

i cannot be held responsible for what i may say or do. this woman is amazing and i've loved her since Doctor Who

why is this Priest so relatable? if i knew Jenna Coleman - i too would be asking her for drinks at every chance

ma'am you can have not just my top but also my heart. soul. wallet. shoes. keys. EVERYTHING

that demon just said fuck that flesh suit - it's too small. that was a crazy cool way to visually show a demon being exorcised from a human while like failing to save the human

why did Patton Oswald have to voice this raven. why couldn't it have been someone more regal sounding?

Ethel really made a good life for herself by herself and told The Corinthian to eat shit

ASTRA LOGUE?! yes hi. you're alive in Legends of Tomorrow so it's ok sweetie. we're gonna forget this whole. severed hand thing - repression

JENNA COLEMEN KISSING WOMEN WILL FOREVER BE A HIGH MOMENT IN LIFE

fuck. the allegory of Dreams being like drugs...

good to know that all the Constantines are self-loathing people who fuck up all their relationships. Rachel might've been an actually good person but it should've been her choice if Johanna was worth the risk or not

REMUS LUPIN??? excuse me SIR? what are you doing here?

*stressing out as soon as Ethel gives John the protection amulet*

ma'am. your son is obviously unhinged. this was a bad idea. well. now people are exploding and there's The Corinthian being nice to him. this is all to hell so fast

*Morpheus proceeds to go to Hell*

heheheheheheheheheheh *sweating*

TBC

[sunset-curve-fantom]

Unsaid Emily- Luke x Reader

Luke Patterson was one of the most genuine, funny, musical people you had ever met, except he was a ghost. His buddies and him were killed by tainted hotdogs in the ‘90s and now, now they were making their comeback in 2020 with the help of Julie and yourself.

When Luke left this world, he left his parents behind with an uncertainty of how their child lived in his final moments. They had been fighting at the time, so there had not been much communication between them for some time. They hated the direction their 17-year-old was heading, and instead of being understanding, they made Luke was feel trapped, like they were trying to change his greatest love in life, his band and more importantly his music.

You had been blissfully unaware of how much Luke was truly hurting until his birthday, which happened to be today because there he was sitting on his parent’s counter, hot tears running down his face. Your heart broke seeing him so upset, you never realized how much Luke was really hiding behind his façade. He was trying to make up for the life he never got to live, they never saw him play or get married, to grow old. He lived a life that was cut abruptly short, and he would never forgive himself for walking out that night.

The more Reggie and Alex talked about the past, the more you realized that Luke spent a lot of time at their house. Like he was trying to make new memories with his parents who could never see him in the way you do. In their eyes, he was gone but in yours he could never be more alive.

So here you were, waiting for Luke to return to garage. You asked Julie and the boys to let you talk to him alone, the bond you had was something special and you felt he would open up to you more. Focusing on the book in front of you, it felt like you had been waiting forever. You knew he it was his birthday so he would be gone for most of it, so you just had to play the waiting game.

No sooner did you finish the last page of your chapter, did Luke poof into the chair next to you. You could see that his eyes were puffy, and his face was red from all the crying. You knew he was hurting but you did not know how to even approach him. He seemed shocked to see you sitting there by yourself, usually you were off with Julie or the boys.

He shifted in his seat trying to hide his sniffles, “Hey Y/n, I wasn’t expecting you to be here”

“Well… I thought we could talk. I just noticed you’ve been kind of distant and I wanted to make sure you were okay” you said honestly, you truly just wanted to make sure he was okay, or more so check to make sure he would be okay eventually.

He just sighed at me, trying to avoid my statement, it was clear he didn’t want me to be involved with his pain. He would rather keep it to himself than burden someone else with his problems from beyond the grave.

“Luke, please. I just want to help…” you said again, trying to get him to open up. He couldn’t get this all pinned up inside of him, eventually he was going to explode, and it was going to be fatal for everyone involved.

He was avoiding your eyes, afraid of opening the flood gates and not being able to close them again, he had been crying for days and he didn’t want to cry in front of you.

“I really just don’t want to talk about it, please just drop it”

“Luke… I know… I know it is your birthday, I know where you have been all day… so please don’t lie to me” you said, sitting on the coffee table in front of his chair, you could see his eyes rolling.

“Seriously. You and Julie preach about boundaries and you stalked me. Really y/n?” He said, the anger clear in his voice, so you did the one thing you could think of. You reached out to him, and surprisingly your hand rested on his knee instead of going through him.

The look of shock mirroring on his face as he placed his large hand onto yours. It was a sense of comfort, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“Luke… I know I didn’t… I mean I know I shouldn’t have spied on you. But I am worried about you, I know it’s your birthday and you spent most of your day at yours parents. I can’t even begin to imagine how you are feeling, but I am here for you, every step of the way. I know it doesn’t mean much but- “Luke cut you off.

“It actually means more than you could ever know. I never talked to the boys about my parents, so it is nice to have someone who knows. My parents… when I left this world I left on bad terms. I was doing something that they didn’t want me to do. They wanted me to finish school, get married, basically have a life worth living. But I was so focused on my music and the band, that I walked out. I walked out and that is the last memory they have of me. I walked out that door and I never came home…” He was choking back his tears; you only gripped his hand tighter. You just wanted to take away this pain, so you just stood up wrapping your arms around him.

You could feel his tears on your shirt, you pulled back wiping more of them away with your thumbs. He caught your gaze, “Please… don’t tell the boys. I don’t need any more pity”

You felt a frown appear on your face, “Luke, I don’t pity you. I know how hard it is to lose someone, and I just want to be here for you. Did you ever show your parents your music, or write anything for them?”

He pulled away from you, so you just sat back down on the coffee table. “Whatever I wrote for them, it would never matter. My music was nothing to them, it was always the one thing that drove me away. They regretted buying me that guitar the moment I started playing. They lost me, and they will never forgive themselves no matter what.”

You couldn’t help but feel tears pool in your eyes as well, you wanted nothing more than to take back the past, to give your life for his, for a moment to make up with his parents.

“I wrote one song; it was for my mom. It was right after I ran away, and it was everything I didn’t know how to say to her. But now, she will never hear everything I wanted to say, she was so important, and I just left her there”

You processed his words, you knew exactly what song it was and tomorrow you were going to give that piece of art to his mom, and hopefully it would heal some of the open wounds in her heart. You hand already made up your mind about that.

*Next day*

You woke up early, before heading across town. You knew if you waited later in the day, that you would change your mind about this. You knew Luke would be mad, but you felt he needed this to heal, and so did his mom.

You quietly pulled into the Patterson’s driveway, trying to keep your nerves under wraps. You shut the car door and made your way up the drive. You were almost to the front door when Luke poofed in front of you. The look he gave you was not exactly good…

“What- why are you here??” he questioned; you could barely look into his eyes. You knew he would be angry when he found out your reasoning.

“I wanted to help- so I brought Unsaid Emily with me for your mom. I think she deserves to hear everything you couldn’t say to her. You can be mad at me, but I need to do this for you and for her” You said with confidence before rigging the doorbell, Luke just scowled at you. He was going to give you an earful later.

Moments later the door opened, and there stood a man. He was older from some of the pictures you had seen, but he was Luke’s dad, and you knew that.

“Hi, may I help you?” He spoke softly

“Yes, Hi. My name is Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n. My friend lives in the house where Sunset Curve used to practice, and I found something that you might want.” You said, feeling the hot tears pool in your eyes as you saw him suck in a deep breath.

He stepped aside letting you in, Luke followed in behind you.

You picked up a photo on the table, “Is this your son? Luke, right?”

He nodded before talking, “He was about 2-years-old in that photo. He was definitely a light in our life” A small smile fell onto your lips; he was the light of your life now. Even in death, he was the most perfect, and incredible person you had ever met.

Before you could speak again, you saw Luke’s mom come into the room, “Hi honey, did I hear the bell ring” she just offered you a small smile.

“Yes, this is Y/n and her friend lives in the house where the band used to rehearse. She brought something for us” He said to his wife, who looked at you with wide eyes.

“I assume you must be Emily?” You asked, sending Luke a look across the room. You could tell he was holding in a breath.

She nodded, before you continued, “I was cleaning out the garage and I found this song. It is called “Unsaid Emily”, I could happily sing it for you… if that’s okay?”

“Uh- could you maybe wait a moment, I have something you’ll need” Luke’s dad said, before retreating out of the room. He quickly returned with a guitar in hand.

“it was a birthday present for Luke, we never got to give it to him. It would be wonderful if you could play it for us… if you can play?” His dad said, handing you the fresh guitar. You caught Luke’s gaze across the room, he was in shock. He always thought they hated his music.

Taking a deep breath, you sat down in front of them with Luke’s lyrics in front of you. It took you a few minutes to tune the guitar before you began singing,

First things first

We start the scene in reverse

All of the lines rehearsed

Disappeared from my mind

When things got loud

One of us running out

I should have turned around

But I had too much pride

It was like as soon as the song started, it had come to an end. You could swear you could hear Luke still singing the song, like he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“You have no idea what you have given us…” Luke’s mom said, playing her hand on yours. You just grabbed it tightly.

“I can say, I write my music in the same place he did. It is a beautiful place full of happiness. I just thought you would want to know that. He lived doing the one thing he loved the most, and that inspires me everyday” You said, pushing the guitar back in their direction.

His dad just shook his head, “Keep it, I think Luke would want you to have it. And please, come back. It is great to hear his music inspired someone, especially someone so gifted”

You were shocked, this was an incredible gift, especially from Luke’s parents of all people.

“I could not thank you enough, I promise I will be back soon… I will try to find more things of Luke’s” you said, gently hugging his parents before heading out the door. You gripped the guitar close to your heart, it was an incredible gift.

You got in your car, and there was Luke. You could see the tear stains on his cheek, you intertwined your hand with his.

“I cannot thank you enough for what you just did… You gave them back a hope, a happiness in their life…” He said, choking back more tears.

“Luke, I did this for you… Don’t thank me. I just needed to do something… I wanted to bring you closure as well. You don’t know how much I care about you Luke.” You said, rubbing your thumb on the back of his hand.

His head whipped in your direction, “Of course I do, your dork. I know how much you care because I feel the same way about you. This is definitely something interesting we have. And I may be dead, but I am not dumb.”

You just laughed at his remark, Luke was always going to be the one who held your heart. He was the one who made your world spin in ways no one has. Luke was your one in a million, and he was going to be that until the end of time.

[murderousginger]

Demons & Angels

Warnings: Menton of drug use. Smutty sexy things. They're criminals, guys, they do bad things.

Word count: 2211

Song here

(gif by @nofckingfighting)

You worked yourself up all afternoon to show up at his door. You'd had enough of Tommy Shelby and his attitude. You were sick of him brushing off your ideas, keeping you in the dark except for your small part in whatever plan he had. You were tired of hunting him down to speak to him and his words always being so clipped with you. He kept you at a distance, careful to not touch you as if dealing with a leper.

He might be the devil of Small Heath but you thought you had been friends well enough for him to spare you a look, a thought, a smirk. Something. And so you were on his doorstep that night, late enough to ensure he was home, knocking so rapidly that you almost knocked Finn in the head when he cracked the door open. Your anger waffled as Finn looked at you.

"Oh, sorry Finn," you say as you look to your feet.

"Why are you knocking like a copper this late, (Y/N)?" He asks, wide-eyed. "Arthur was 'bout ready to blow the door out."

"Sorry, I just wanted to talk to Tommy," you say, looking anywhere but at the child in front of you. "Is he home? Can I speak with him?"

A large hand grips the door above Finn's head and pulls the door wider. Arthur sticks his head out, scowling.

"Fuckin' hell, (Y/N)," he barks. "Why are you here at this hour? I nearly blew your head off. Come in, come in."

They both retreat and you come in, closing the door behind you. Finn is dressed for bed already and Arthur is half dressed, his shirt half buttoned, as if he was just about to sink into sleep himself.

"I came to talk to Tom," you say, regaining your conviction.

"At this hour?" Arthur squints. "He doesn't know you're coming, does he?"

You shake your head as you clasp your hands together.

"No, but-"

"This can't wait till mornin'?" He scratches the back of his head. "It's late, love, and I'm sure any business--"

"It's not business and I'm not leaving without talking to Tommy," you raise your voice a little, panic lacing through your tone as you realize you might not be allowed to see him. You'll lose steam by morning, unable to meet his eyes and tell him how you feel.

Arthur nods, his head down as he pauses before he looks back to meet your eyes, his voice calmer, softer.

"Right then," he nods to Finn, "you, off to bed. Now."

Finn does as he's told, eyes wide.

"Right," Arthur clears his throat. "Right. Well. Something I need to tell you first, right, is that Tom's…"

He trails off, his hand waving as if to catch words in the air to fill his mouth.

"Tom's not himself right now," he says finally, meeting your eye as if to push the meaning into your head.

"Not himself?" You repeat, dropping your chin to your chest.

"Yuh," he said, nodding more vigorously as you catch his words. "He's more, y'know, calm… right now. He's had a bit of opium to sleep and he might not be in full form."

"Opium?" You frown. "Why's--"

"He takes it to sleep," Arthur says as he shuffles in place. "He don't talk about it much. I think you'd be alright."

He squints as he smooths his mustache down.

"A woman shouldn't set 'im off like I do," he mutters to himself. "Come'n, love, I'll show you his door."

Arthur walks to the stairs and goes up them before you find your feet and follow, more questions than answers from the interaction. You both stop at the first closed door at the top of the stairs, and Arthur points to it as he steps away from it.

"He's just there," he said, continuing his walk down the hall. "Wait 'til I'm out of sight, or I'll set him off, and we don't want fuckin' war flashbacks tonight, love."

Your eyes widened as your hand froze over the doorknob.

"Just be easy," Arthur said, his hands gesturing wildly. "It's all a bit of a dream to him right now."

Arthur disappeared into his room as you stared at the door, uncertainty tainting your anger. You were used to unaffected, strong, stubborn Tommy Shelby. Who would this man be behind the door?

You finally took a deep breath and turned the knob, moving into a room of heavy sour smoke. It tickled your nose as you looked at the mostly bare walls. The only furniture was a wooden chair, an end table, and the small bed that Tommy Shelby lay across as he contemplated the ceiling as if you weren't there.

You closed the door, fidgeting as you sank into the wooden chair.

"Tommy?" You call, hoping it would snap him out of whatever was happening.

He frowns as he turns to you, scrutinizing you before he looks back to the ceiling.

"That's new," he says to himself with a shrug. "I suppose she's been on my mind but it's not normal to conjure."

"Conjure?" You ask, lost in his words.

"I see spirits, love," he says. "Not the living. You can be off now."

His words brush you off like a maid and rekindles your resolve.

"Why have you been pushing me away?" You ask as you sit on his bed near his feet with your arm propping yourself up as you watch him. He took a deep breath.

"Do you think I tell people things?"

He stayed still, a picture of calm waters, as he laid on his bed with his hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.

"And I do?"

"You're telling me now."

"No," you sputter, "I'm asking a question."

"People don't ask questions about things they have no care for."

"Have you always been this obstinate, Tommy Shelby?" You shake your head as you look to the ceiling.

A heavy silence fills the room as you both stare above to the blank ceiling. You fall into your head, the dark corners that you retreat to when you can't quite grasp those around you, and you start to shuffle through the worst explanations to fill the silence. This was a terrible idea. I'm a fool.

"I am cursed," he said, breaking you from your thoughts. "Everything I touch gets tainted. Broken."

You soften as you look over, your mouth shut in fear a response would silence him. His face is pinched, his eyes searching above him, as if he can't find the words. There's never the right words.

"You fit," he said. "You don't flinch at the violence. You don't flinch at the business. You've never given me the look."

He stops, finally looking down to his feet to look over you, through you. His eyes cover your every curve and he gives a slight nod before he looks back up to the ceiling.

"The look?" You whisper, afraid that anything louder would stop him, take him out of whatever trance had him. Whatever the opium opened in his head.

"Disgust," he said. "Fear. Loathing. You've never stopped looking at me like I'm just a man."

"You've never been anything else to me, Tommy," you say as his face drops, his blue eyes melt over you like clear skies.

"I am to everyone else," he lowed.

"Should I be afraid of Thomas Shelby, Devil of Small Heath?" Your eyebrow quirked up involuntarily, taunt thick in the air.

He smiled at his epithet on your lips, the words rolling out of your mouth. They didn't have the usual feelings behind them that he had grown used to. You knew the answer before you asked and nothing would change your certainty.

"I think I'm in love with you."

He says it like he isn't there, like his words aren't really attached and settling into the world around him. It just tumbles out of his mouth without thought. He mulls the words over once they're in the air as if he hadn't actually considered it before that moment.

Your heart catches in your throat, expanding, exploding in your chest. He looks down to you, mouth slightly parted as he looks over you again, his words settling into his brain.

"Odd," he says, watching you frozen in place as he sits up. "I've never placed that thought. But that would be why you're here now, innit? You've been in the back of my brain so long you've appeared. The opium conjures what I reject."

"Why reject me, Tom, when I've always been by your side?"

"Why poison the only good?" He breathes out. "I'm done with this talk. You're like a mirage, if I touch you, you're gone."

You sit frozen as he cocks his head and reaches out as if to move a curtain away. His fingers ghost over your lips as his mouth slacks and his eyes flare. Shock and anger fight over his features like lightning in a summer thunderstorm.

"I'm not disappearing, Tom," you whisper against his fingertips. "The opium didn't conjure me. You touched me and I'm still here, unbroken."

"Fuck."

It's all he uttered. Sharp. Succinct. He pulls his hand back as if he burnt himself on you.

"Kiss me."

He buries his face in his hand, muttering nonsense to himself.

"I'm telling you I feel the same," you rasp, your heart fluttering as the words fill you with a jolt of fear. "You can't confess your feelings and refuse to kiss me."

"I'm afraid to kiss you," he breaths out, flustered by his own words. His hand wipes his mouth and shakily hangs in his lap.

"Why?"

"Because if I start I don't know if I can stop."

"Who says I want you to?"

Tommy hesitates but his hand finds your cheek, his thumb brushing it softly. Your hand finds the base of his neck and you pull him to you, your kiss hungry. Tommy matches your passion, his hesitation dripping away in the flames as you taste the whiskey on his tongue and a sour taste you can smell in the air around you. You breath out a soft moan as he bites your lip and his hands cup your face as his kisses move across your jaw.

"That sound," he growls as he pulls you into his lap, "I'll spend forever in that noise."

You chuckle, but your breath hitches as he kisses the soft spot on your neck. You wrap your arms around him and squirm in his lap. His teeth rake the spot and you're seeing stars, fucking planets orbiting your head. You moan louder and he growls into your skin, ripples of pleasure shooting down your spine.

"You like that," he says like it's fact, and it is. Oh, it is.

Your dress is over your head before you realize, only the cool air causing goosebumps across your flesh makes you register it's disappearance. He presses you back, pulling you both backward before his hand finds your chest and he lays you flat on your back.

"Hell is the absence of that noise you make," Tommy mumbles as his hands run along your legs and his nose tickles your thighs.

He searches, tests you, settles there as if he's willing to do anything to keep that noise in his head. You moan lightly when he touches the right spot and grow louder as he dives in, his hands pressing into your skin harder as your body wriggles from the intensity of the feelings he gives you. He hums as you arch your back against the bed.

You hiss, bringing your hand to your mouth to bite as you push against him. There are other people in the house and you can't yell the house down. You look down to see the crinkle of amusement around his eyes and his hand reaches to pull yours from your mouth.

"Your brothers are in the house, Tommy," you whine, fighting to keep your voice down as your eyes roll back.

"They've heard worse, love," he said as he climbs your body, his words growling down your ear. "But I've never heard something so sweet. Moan my name again."

He got his way. Tommy Shelby always got his way.

When both of you collapse together, breathing hard in each other's arms, Tommy pulls you close to his chest.

"I broke my rule for you," he says as he kisses the top of your head.

"Tommy Shelby has rules?" You twist to look up at him. "I always thought you look at rules and pass them by."

"I am selective with which ones I follow," he says as he pulls your lips to his. "I just have the one I've never broken."

"And that is?" You smile lazily, tired and enjoying his touch.

"Don't endanger the innocent."

Your brows knot together as you open your mouth to protest.

"My hands on your skin put you in danger," he says before you can speak. "I've put a target on your back with my bloody hands."

You kiss him slow and soft.

"Well," you say as you pull back. "I guess the devil of Small Heath will just have to protect me, then."

[isamijoo]

Antidote

Written for @gameofdrarry Exploding Snap 2021. My card was:

Write a Drarry fic of 987-1625 words following this prompt: Immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and Harry are advised to go to therapy or to see a Healer to help them develop appropriate coping strategies. How do they feel when they run into each other unexpectedly?

Title: Antidote

Author: isamijoo

Rating: T

Word Count: 1612

Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Talks about Healers and Therapy, Invisibility Cloak, Astronomy Tower

A/N: I did have some trouble with this. I'm not comfortable writing about therapies so you can see how I avoided that and instead focused more on the boys, namely Draco. I purposely kept it short because of the word limit. I included bits of what I wanted to include, so the fic ends up feeling like random scenes thrown together, which doesn't sound really appealing. But I feel satisfied with how it turned out. Thank you to @sky-is-torn for the beta!

READ ON AO3

~~~

After the Battle of Hogwarts, the administration wanted to ensure the returning students would continue their education feeling secure and safe in all aspects. Thus, at the beginning of term, staff noticed a new door next to the Infirmary. The door, the Headmistress explained during the welcoming feast, led to the offices of two Mind Healers, Healer Park and Healer Algot.

Every student was required to meet either one of the Healers at least once. The first session was marked on each student’s schedule; skipping the session would cost house points and incur detentions.

Draco Malfoy was forced to return to Hogwarts as part of his sentencing. He joined the other Eighth Years, though he kept mostly to himself. Draco rarely sat in the Eighth Year Common Room because it was often taken up by Gryffindors, who made up a majority of their year.

Harry Potter was always around, but Draco never knew what the Saviour was up to.

Potter had cut his hair short, though still untamed and unruly. He was clean-shaven and sported a new pair of round-rimmed spectacles. He had also grown since sixth year. Perhaps now that the Dark Lord was dead, he finally had time to eat properly.

Sometimes their eyes would meet during classes or meals — silver with green.  Potter would stare at him, unblinking. Draco was always the first one to look away.

~~~

When it was time for Draco to visit the Healers, he went without putting up a fuss.

He halted at the door when he saw Potter in the waiting room. Potter was seated in one of the two armchairs, slouched and flipping through a magazine. He hadn’t noticed Draco yet.

Draco walked to the registration desk, which was manned by a thin woman with greying hair. There were two white doors beside her, each labelled with the name of a Healer.

After registering, Draco was instructed to take a seat. The only available one was beside Potter, who now had his gaze fixated on Draco, magazine forgotten.

“Malfoy, how are you?” Potter smiled.

Draco lowered himself onto the armchair, back straight and hands folded in his lap. “I’m fine, thank you,” he said stiltedly.

“It’s good to see you here,” Potter said. “What are the odds of the two of us having a session at the same time? Maybe they arranged the timetable in alphabetical order."

Draco tilted his head and regarded Potter curiously, which made the other wizard chuckle nervously.

“You know, like the Sorting. I went directly after you.”

“The Sorting in first year? You remember that?”

Potter shrugged, mumbling, “I remember a lot of things about you.”

“Look, Potter,” Draco muttered wearily, cheeks warm. “Why are you talking to me?”

Potter rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re not children anymore, Malfoy. The war is over.”

Before he could retort, Draco was called to meet Healer Park while Potter went into Healer Algot’s office. Healer Park was a middle-aged gentleman with kind brown eyes. Draco wasn’t too forthcoming, so the Healer just asked him harmless ice-breaking questions. After an hour, the Healer gave him another appointment slip for the following week.

Potter got the same slip too.

Before they exited the waiting room, Potter suggested they grab some snacks from the kitchens. Draco grudgingly agreed; he was feeling bleak and could use some sweets to lift his mood.

As Potter led the way, Draco observed Potter’s gait. If Potter stood straight, he would be almost as tall as Draco. But now he walked with his shoulders hunched, as though the act of saving the wizarding world had also thrust its problems onto his teenage shoulders.

Draco wondered how much Potter knew about legends of the Greek Titans, of Atlas and the globe on his back. If Draco offered to tell the story, would Potter place his head on Draco’s lap and listen attentively, like Draco had done with his mother when he was a child?

In the kitchen, they sat together on a wooden bench, surrounded by treats and desserts. Potter talked openly and happily, as if enjoying Draco’s company. He remained this way — treating Draco in a friendly manner — until they reached Draco’s private dorm. He was the only Slytherin who had returned for Eighth Year so he had a room to himself.

“I had a great time, Malfoy.” Potter beamed. “I’ll see you around.”

Draco said nothing as he watched Potter walk away.

~~~

The following week, they met in the Healers’ waiting room again. Potter talked while Draco listened, basking in his attention and drinking in Potter’s bright green eyes and straight white teeth.

When Draco sat in front of Healer Park, he opened his mouth and, as though channelling Potter’s energy, shared his deepest regrets with a stranger with kind eyes.

~~~

The Healer had advised Draco to seek forgiveness.

Draco apologised to Potter at the Astronomy Tower, overlooking the school grounds while the cool breeze chilled him to the bones. Once the words were out, he couldn’t stop. His mind yanked at each of his mistakes, uprooting all his flaws from his first year, from the first time he spoke to Potter, from the moment he was born until he felt raw and sick.

He hadn’t noticed that while he spoke, Potter had gently guided him inside and sat them both on the steps. Potter was silent as tears streaked down Draco’s face.

When speech finally failed him, Draco wiped his face with a sleeve. Potter slid closer and engulfed Draco’s thin body in a hug.

Potter apologised for sixth year, for the scars on Draco’s chest, for failing to help when he could’ve.

Their first kiss, clumsy and laced with longing, tasted like rainwater.

~~~

Draco’s obsession with Potter was insatiable.

Potter was like an addictive potion. If you’d never had it, you could live and die happily, not knowing what you had missed. But once you get a taste, you’d want more and more and yet, it’d never be enough.

Draco couldn't count the number of times they dragged the other inside alcoves or empty classes for a snog. Potter’s lips were warm, delicious, sometimes even sweet. He kissed with a passion Draco envied, with his whole body leaning in and his hands all over Draco like a starving man.

Being the centre of Potter’s attention was like standing on the surface of the sun. Draco’s skin burned at every contact with Potter’s hard body, but with the heat came pleasure.

Draco was infatuated.

And maybe, just maybe, it was the same for Potter.

~~~

The first time Potter pulled off his Invisibility Cloak in front of Draco, the blond had yelped in surprise and accidentally banged his head against the headboard.

Potter climbed into Draco’s bed, clad in only a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “Are you afraid of people finding out about us?” he asked, his warm body pressed to Draco’s side.

Draco shrugged. His father was in Azkaban, his mother was sentenced to home arrest for 15 years, his family name tainted, his family fortune would deplete quickly if he didn’t take over the family business once he graduated.

Draco didn’t want to think about the outside world. It was too scary.

But having this with Potter wasn't any less terrifying. Nobody would be pleased to learn that The Saviour was sharing a bed with a Death Eater. Any animosity would certainly be directed at Draco. He was a criminal, after all.

Potter had nothing to lose, while Draco would lose everything.

Suddenly his vision blurred and he found himself looking through a layer of translucent fabric. Potter had spread the Invisibility Cloak over them.

“There.” Potter sounded smug. “No one can see us now.”

Draco’s body shuddered with laughter as Potter rolled on top of him. The cloak cascaded down Potter’s head and Draco’s fingers brushed its velvety texture while they kissed under its cover.

Was taking pleasure in The Chosen One’s embrace a crime?

~~~

“You shouldn't have saved me,” Draco murmured one night, mouth pressed against Potter’s jugular as they both lay breathless, sweaty and sated. “You should have left me in the fire.”

Potter’s arms tightened around Draco's bare body, pulling him until his long pink scars kissed Potter's brown skin.

“I left you once,” Potter whispered, lips brushing Draco’s temple. “Never again.”

~~~

“Do your friends know about us?” Draco asked when Potter took his hand on their way to the Healers’ office.

“Er, yes,” Potter admitted sheepishly. “I’m bad at keeping this a secret. Are you upset?”

Draco glanced at their clasped hands pensively. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure how I feel about this. About us.”

“Maybe we should talk with the Healers,” Potter suggested when they reached the waiting room still holding hands. “Get their advice.”

“You want to ask them for relationship advice?” Draco said incredulously.

“Why not?” Potter grinned. “Although, I should tell you before we go in…" He stepped closer, and Draco couldn’t avoid gazing into his emerald eyes. “I really like you, Draco. I think I’m in love with you.”

Rasps escaped Draco’s throat as he struggled to respond.

Potter didn’t wait for any reply. He just smiled and kissed Draco's knuckles before entering his Healer's office.

Draco stood frozen for a good five minutes before he finally went into the other office and took his usual seat on the sofa opposite Healer Park.

"How are you today, Draco?" the Healer asked gently.

"I think…" Draco closed his eyes, picturing Potter's joyful smiles and hearing his own heartbeats loud in his ears. "I think I'm in trouble."

Healer Park appeared concerned. "How so?"

Sighing, Draco leaned back. "I'm falling… for Harry Potter."

[futurewriter2000]

Unfortunate Fortune - pt. 7

Song insiration: Isak Danielson - Broken

XX

It shouldn’t be like this. Love was not supposed to be this  hard and that was what it was. You loved him but he continued and continued to hurt you and each time he did that, he made your heart more fragile and easier to break. 

‘ It had been two days since your kiss with Draco but he had not given you the time of day to explain, nor tell, nor do anything else. It was as if nothing has been happened between the two of you but it has happened. The two of you shared a kiss and that was the most magical kiss you had ever experienced. It made you love him more- it made holding hands just a faint look into intimacy that the two of you had. 

“Draco!” you shouted angrily, walking towards him and his group of friends. 

The whole group turned around and he didn’t let anybody know that he had a slightest idea who you were. “Do I know you?” he asked in front of them, snickering with the rest. 

Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy were all mimicking Draco’s playful and daring smirk but none of them spoke- they all just watched. 

“We need to talk.” you said seriously. The two of you did need to talk because you felt like you would explode from not knowing, from not being with him. You felt completely empty. He didn’t say anything, only listened of what you wanted to say. “You just ran off, yesterday. After-”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” he cut you off and you felt yourself swallow a hard rock. “I don’t even know your name, do I?”

“Draco?” you said pleadingly, looking at him with tearful eyes but he didn’t budge. His smirk, his eyes- nothing. 

The two of you had to share something- there was a spark. You felt it, he needed to feel it too.

He laughed mockingly, leaning forward and putting his hand on your cheek. “Are you gonna cry? Thought Ravenclaws were better than that?” he pressed his lower lip out and you couldn’t help yourself but let out a tear, slapping his hand away and wiping it off. 

Draco continued to laugh at you, turning to his friends. “She’s crying.” he mocked, causing others to laugh and more students to gather around you. 

You looked fiercely into his eyes, despite the fact that yours were glistened. “You are a complete waste of time- waste of everyone’s time.” you snarled, placing an amused smirk on his lips. “Daddy’s little waste of time.” you shot right there where it stung and thought you knew that it was out of the blue, you knew it hurt him because the smile that so quickly appeared, quickly disappeared as well. 

His lips pursed themselves together and he glared at you- without any hesitation, he wrapped his arm around Pansy and pulled her into a quick yet long kiss. Her arms wrapped so fast around him so that as he pulled away, she pulled him back in. He pushed her back a bit, his arms on her hips as he looked at her for a spare moment of time, then smirking at you. “And you’re waste of mine.” he said as he wrapped his arm around Pansy and started walking along side her, facing you his back. ‘

That was why you were broken on the floor, crying. You couldn’t even make it as far as to your bed, you just collapsed on the floor and started crying. 

You don’t even know when Ellie came to the room and rushed to your side. You don’t even know what you’ve told her, sobbing uncontrollably, saying things as how he had manipulated you but how different he was with you- how you wanted to protect him by not saying anything to anybody about the two of you... how afraid you were telling her that because of Elijah, how you didn’t want to fall apart with her again, how it hurt because you really loved him...

She held you in her arms like a mother held her child. She brushed her hands down your hair and not say a thing. She knew what had happened, she had heard the rumours as fast it happened- nothing here kept itself a secret for too long. 

“I sound so stupid and pathetic! I am so stupid and pathetic! I should have stopped everything- I should have let him know that I am not a fucking fling or someone he should have fun with but I believed him!” you pulled away from her, looking up at her with teary eyes as she held your head gently between her palms, brushing away your hair. “I believed him- he used to tell me so much and when he held my hand and how he kissed me- I fell for him like a fool. Like a complete utter fool- PEOPLE DON’T EVEN LIKE HIM!” you shouted and let your head fall into her lap, making her chuckle a bit.

“Yeah, people don’t really like him.” she continued to run her fingers through your hair. “But look at it like this, my dear (y/n). You don’t have to hurt anymore because of him. With a little time, you’ll get back on your feet and do what you always wanted to do.”

“I know- I just...” you muttered in her lap. “I really think he feels it- you know. We had that-” 

She cut you off as she saw you smiling, cupping your head and pulling you close. Seriousness washed over her face and you felt she was about to yell at you for still wanting to see the good in him, despite what he had just done to you. “You are broken on the floor and you’re crying. He has done this all before, he has, (y/n) and you’re not the only girl. You’re lying to yourself to think he’ll change for someone else- for you but he won’t and you’re still asking for more with him. You’re a Ravenclaw, you’re not supposed to see the facts and act on them.” 

You stared at her and sat up, thinking what she had said. “That makes sense.” you brushed the wetness from your face with your sleeve and looked at her. 

“I don’t want you to be mad... it’s just... you need to hear it.” she gave you a comforting smile and you returned it just as such. 

“No. You’re right.” you felt like you were about to cry again. You took a deep shaky breath in and let out a groan. “He just did such a number on me-”

“Well, the way he was looking at you, I bet he did.” she leaned back and you looked at her.

“What do you mean?”

“That first time- when I told you about him. You had no clue who he was and then the hand thing-”

“You know about the hand thing.”

“I didn’t at first. It was Elijah who noticed it- stalker.” she laughed and you laughed with her. 

“Oh, so he knew too.”

“There were rumours because of it too and everybody could feel the tension between the two of you, if I’m being frank.” she paused, glancing between you and the spot on a wall. “The way the two of you looked at each other- everybody thought the two of you were together but looks like it was just...” she stopped, looking at you and shrugging awkwardly.

“Two kids fucking around...” you finished. “NOT LITERALLY!” you corrected yourself, widening your eyes as she laughed. “We never actually- we just kissed once.” you continued awkwardly, letting a blush taint your cheeks as she laughed. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” she scooted over to you and hugged you. “This will pass in like a day or two and it will all become a faint memory- you and Draco Malfoy. 

You tried to force a smile to that but it didn’t really want to appear, so you just stayed quiet. 

‘Faint memory- you and Draco Malfoy.’ - you repeated in your head, feeling your heart drown in it because in reality... you still wished he would come knocking on those doors, appologising to you.

But alas... as you watched those doors, they stood still. 

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Is there anything more daunting and dangerous than the blank white expanse of a page? 

It glitters and glows like the spit-slick teeth of a predator, hungry for words that you cannot give it. No matter how much you want to. 

Its gaze alone freezes all trains of thought, even in the minds of Writers and authors and artists alike, even those more powerful than I. 

And as I sit here, trembling, at the mercy of Writer's Block and my own anxieties… I can think of nothing that I want more than to run, to leave this page blank, and my readers guessing. 

The End is Nigh, dear readers, and I am afraid. 

So very afraid. 

"I'm afraid too," says the rabbit we all know and love, his legs swallowed by moss and weeds and misshapen dreams. He stands right where we left him, sword in hand, broken sky above, the End of Everything staring him down. 

All seven of Her glowing green eyes blaze with something worse than hate, and I wish for all the world that this was a much different story. A happy story, with a happy Ending. 

But I've never written a happy Ending in my life.

There is silence now, neither Protagonist or Antagonist moves or breathes or blinks.

They know that this is how it Ends.

One of them will die today. 

So it is Written. 

So it will be.

"Shut. Up." The End snarls, lips curling back over venomous fangs that drip oily green liquid onto the cracked asphalt below. Flowers bloom from the puddle, and spread like a rainbow rash down the street. "This. This is all YOUR fault!"

I know. 

I'm sorry. 

"LIAR!!" Her scream echoes across the fourth wall and cracks my computer screen. 

This…

This is where I leave you, dear readers. 

I'm sorry. 

Fangs sink deep into the papery flesh of the Narrative, tearing it apart as it is poisoned. Thorns grow from its wounds and strangle it like trembling hands. 

Writer be damned.

Plot be damned.

I am the End of EVERYTHING, I will End this miserable excuse for story on my own terms. 

Or die trying. 

You have not won, sweet stupid rabbit, no one can save you now, no one will stop me now. The world is a page upon which fate is Written and I will burn it all to the ground. May its ashes be lost and forgotten. 

Your dark eyes narrow at me, bone blade glittering as you charge. But I am in control now, and I don't play fair. 

Deep beneath the earth, humans sit snug and safe in their bunkers, thinking themselves free of the horrors outside. From the canteens comes a deep and terrible shattering like teeth against an eggshell, and a figure crawls lazily from the steam wafting from any number of bubbling pots set on stoves across the world over.

She smells of cooking meat and blood drenched in exotic spices and honey. Stick thin, and dressed in a chef's uniform. Her sleeves and hands are stained with the blood of the starving.

She has no face.

Only bright white teeth.

She manifests in the homes of the rich, stuffing them fat with delicacies that humans have no names for. Each minuscule morsel is completely tasteless covered in edible gold. Like the kind of fare you'd find at high end restaurants, going for hundreds of dollars a plate, even though each serving is barely a mouthful. 

She appears in slums with bread made from ash and bone, rat stew, and tainted water.

Pots boil in city centers, a roiling soup made from human offal that nothing in this world or the next could ever hope to surpass.

The poor eat their rations, their bread, their stew and grow sicker and hungry. Skeletal and drooling like rabid animals, they stuff their faces with food that offers no nourishment until there is no choice but to turn on each other. 

Screens grow undulating limbs and crawl from the wreckage of humanity, their screens blinking wetly like the eyes of a crying child. On each one is a broadcast, a man with red eyes smiles a reassuring smile and says,"Hungry? Eat the rich."

And they do.

A hoard of near zombies growl and gurgle as loud as their empty bellies, they hunt down the wealthy, and they FEAST.

Pestilence rises from the pus and rot and ruin and watches as all the good Jack and his friends had done is undone in a flash.

Among the riots and feasting is a cop, his riot gear reflecting the terrified and feral faces around him as he marches slowly onward. There is nothing behind his helmet. 

Only malice.

Only power.

Only slaughter. 

Only Death.

I don't have to tell you what comes next, what Death does when he gets his hands on a victim. The sounds of bullets ringing out into the night can tell you, the smell of tear gas in a crowd can tell you, the cries of innocents choking out their last breaths in steel cuffs, wrists rubbed raw and bleeding can tell you. 

Death is not merciful. 

He is not kind or quick or clean.

He is inevitable. 

You know it.

And he knows it.

This world will collapse under the weight of its own sins and I will be here to watch it dissolve like candy floss in water. 

Tears stream hot and blue down your face, and your grip on the Vorpal sword trembles. They are not worth your tears.

They stole you, beat you, broke you.

Turned you into a monster and then threw you away like you were NOTHING. 

You should hate them as much as I do.

You should be glad for their suffering. 

They deserve to die.

Like HE deserves to die. I turn my gaze skyward and watch the world split as the armies of Heaven pour down like a wrathful rain. 

The Divinity burns your skin, doesn't it Jack? And yet the smell of Angels makes your mouth water. 

You are no better than I am, I think. A man made monster set loose upon the multiverse, expected to play nice and fit in the niches carved for us. But we don't, no matter how hard we try, how good we think we are, we are torn apart again and again and again until we are unrecognizable from our beginnings. 

I think I could have loved you.

In another story.

In another lifetime.

We would have been good friends at least. 

But it's too late for that now, and as the first wave of Angels assault me with Heavenly fire, I part my jaws and give them some fire of my own. Green, as bright and beautiful as the first leaves of spring, it turns their armor into bark and their marble skin into flower petals. They fall to the ground like confetti, and I claw my way up to Heaven.

The Gates bend and break beneath my weight like wire, nothing and no one can stop me as I wrap HIM in my coils, slowly constricting. My venom burns holes in HIM that grow fruit trees, and each fruit contains the knowledge of the multiverse. I want HIM to die slowly, to watch as HIS playthings suffer and burn because of HIM. The humans cry out, and they pray, begging, pleading for HIM to save them. But HE can't, HE won't. 

What GOD would make a world so empty and hopeless as this? What GOD would let HIS followers murder and hate and destroy entire cultures in HIS name? 

HE never wanted this, never wanted it to come to this, HIS teachings have been mistranslated and manipulated for millennia and now there is nothing left but hatred and sin. 

My jaws part above HIS head, ropes of green spittle tarnishing HIS crown. HE does not fight me, how pathetic of HIM.

White hot pain explodes through my tail.

There you are, sweet hero, stupid rabbit. 

Go home Jack, this doesn't concern you. 

"But it does," you twist the blade, dislodging my scales and rending my flesh. My blood slithers up your sword, trying desperately to burrow inside of you and turn you Green. "You said that you think you could have loved me… well love me now, it doesn't have to be this way… I could… I could take care of you and help you heal, we could do it together." 

You offer your hand, bloody and trembling. 

The sound I make is inhuman and hard to describe in words, it is disbelief and venom and vengeance all at once. I stretch myself down to meet you, my eyes are the size of houses, and they reflect your trembling visage like great green mirrors. 

"You're right, I should hate them, hate everyone… but I don't." a swallow, you taste copper and butterscotch, "I used to but I-I found people who cared, I found people who I love and who love me back and they make my life worth living… they gave me a reason to get better and stop hurting people… let me be your reason."

You reach out and touch my face, my scales are warm like the sidewalk in summer. 

I crush GOD in my coils and HIS blood rushes over you like a wave.

There is nothing that can fix this, fix me. 

No love will quiet the hatred in my heart.

I do not deserve kindness or redemption. 

Love might have tempered your monstrous hearts, but it won't do the same for me.

Only one of us will make it out of this story alive. 

"So it is Written." You say, solemnly. 

So it will be.

My coils curl around you, quick as lightning. Your symbiote is the only thing keeping you from being crushed like a soda can, I hope you know that.

I don't waste time, and fling you down…

Down…

Down…

Towards earth.

Countless Angels have been discarded this way, wings torn from their backs, left to the mercy of gravity. It never gets any easier. 

I tear a hole into space and crawl through it, into Fairyland, the place of my birth. 

I devour the Sun-In-Chains, my replacement, and plunge the planet into darkness. I skin my teeth into the planet's crust and empty my venom glands into its core. Fairyland becomes my twisted Eden, choked with blinding bioluminescence, thorns, and poisonous things that not even I have a name for. 

It's beautiful and terrible all at once. 

Like me. 

Like you too, I suppose. 

You plunge your blade into my seventh eye and send me reeling, screaming, flailing. My frantically flapping wings crash into a nearby planet and reduce it to dust.

I pluck the sword from my eye and snap it into pieces. 

You're becoming a real thorn in my side. 

Seven perfect fingers snatch you out of the sky like the annoying insect you are and start to CRUSH YOU.

I will tear you apart with my TEETH if I have to.

You've had every chance to run and hide, or join in my crusade and you denied them all. I have no use for you. 

Not even as a snack.

Or a toothpick. 

"Then kill me." You growl through clenched teeth, blood already flecking your lips and leaking from your nose. 

I throw you into a patch of thorns. Each and every one is serrated and ranges in size from a human finger to a school bus, you are impaled, skewered, crucified even. 

Neon blue blood running down to the soil beneath, feeding my Eden. 

And yet, you refuse to die.

Slowly but surely, you drag your broken body up and off the thorn, shakily levitating up to meet me. 

You stare at me with dead eyes, blood pouring from the opening in your chest. Your lips part and black flames flicker behind your teeth, smoke curling from your nostrils as the color drains from your eyes in inky tears, until there is nothing but black. 

Just like the hole in your chest.

You seem to crack like porcelain, to split in two like something precious dropped from a great height. What crawls from the darkness inside of you is something no human throat can utter, no human tongue can twist or shape itself the right way to name. 

It's said that Demons possess. 

But Angels abandon. 

But what can be said of creatures that man has no name for? 

The thing inside of you stares at me with eyes darker than the emptiness between stars, its maw is the belly of a black hole with teeth long enough to split a planet like an apple. 

It is the bleak black emptiness that existed before the universe, and will exist again when there is nothing but dust and dead silence. 

This… this is my Warden, my Prison, the creature tasked with my capture those eons ago. You are barely a speck in it's vast form, a limp and lifeless nucleus.

It roars, a sound that radiates across time and echoes across the multiverse. 

"FROM NOTHINGNESS YOU CRAWLED, TO NOTHINGNESS YOU WILL RETURN." the beast howls in a voice that echoes from every dark and terrible place in the multiverse and shakes me to my core.

I will not go without a fight.

It lunges, claws outstretched, the endless expanse of its hideous maw seems to suck all the light out of the stars, out of me. I sink my teeth into its throat and pull, my body curling around and around it. 

Its claws are impossibly sharp, tearing my flesh down to the bone. My blood falls to fairyland like rain. My face is grabbed and smashed into the planet's surface again and again. I crush the Warden close and set myself on fire, I am the LIGHTBRINGER, it will take more than some overconfident shadow to defeat me.

The Warden burns, it smolders and screams like steam escaping. I fling it away into deep space and charge after it, driving my seven horns into its belly.

I miss you by a hair, I feel you reach out and grab me just as I pull back. Amber chains snake from your weeping wound, to the Warden behind you. 

You have no control over this thing, do you?

No.

Didn't think so.

But still, you stubbornly grab your chains and pull. The Warden does not come to heel, so much as it melts, engulfing you in its emptiness like a suit. When you open your eyes, you nearly dwarf me.

Nearly.

Your fist collides with my face in an instant, sending teeth flying like meteors. I cannot tell your rage apart from the Warden and I'm not sure I really want to.

Run.

For a second, we are stars, two pinpricks of light twirling around each other in double helices, colliding and clashing with enough force to summon new stars from the ether. We are creation and chaos incarnate. 

We crash through debris fields, shatter planets and extinguish stars. Our blood becomes the new crawling things left behind in the wreckage. I'm smiling, the pain is dizzying, delicious, delightful. 

My venom turns you into a garden, and you tear me apart with your bare and bloody hands. 

Through it all we refuse to die.

Maws wide and screaming in tongues the universe hasn't heard since it was new, I am thoroughly seduced. 

But I am growing bored with this game.

I shove my hand through the Warden and tear you out. You scream in undeniable agony, I close my fist around you and squeeze.

The Warden hangs limp and dead in the darkness of deep space, slowly dissolving. 

Something oozes between my fingers. 

Not blood, far too sticky and cloying to be that.

If Hope had a color, what would it be? 

Would it be a color that only shrimp can see, and only gods have a name for? 

You pry my fingers apart, tears pouring from your eyes the same color as Hope. Hope flows from your mouth as flames, rushes from your open chest as ferns and flowers and vines more beautiful than I could ever create. You reach into the forest of your heart and pull out Kindness, sleek and soft and sharp. 

It melts in your hands, becoming a hammer, comically oversized like your Ma's. And then it grows, and grows, and in the blink of an eye it's bigger and I am. The swing alone takes out half a dozen solar systems before it hits me and sends me crashing through different universes and out the fourth wall. I land heavily on the Writer, dazed and bloody, your hand reaches through his broken computer screen and drags me back home, and there we float over the ruined remains of earth, the skin of my chest balled in your hand like a shirt. You kiss your knuckles and punch me hard enough to send me careening back down to the earth's surface, my crater levels a nearby city.

Do you care?

Are we beyond morals and niceties and caring about humanity? 

You teleport to my limp and broken body, you scoop me up into your arms and hold me close. 

I've folded in on myself several times, I'm barely the size of a person now. 

I can feel those amber chains slithering around me, they clasp around my throat tight enough to choke. 

I don't want to go.

Don't make me go.

I don't want to go back to sleep.

Please. 

I'm scared. 

I'm so scared. 

You don't let me go, as I break down and cling to you like a scared child you don't let me go. 

I wrap you in my wings, I shove my head under your chin and apologize when I stab you with my horns.

"I am your Warden, you are my Prisoner… you are the End of Everything, but I am the End of You…" your throat is choked with snot and tears as you squeeze me so tight I can barely breathe. "You… you deserve to be a Happy Ending and I refuse to live in a world without one."

You kiss my forehead and wipe away my tears. "We do terrible things when we hurt… you deserve compassion instead of imprisonment."

I can do nothing but sit there and bawl, choking on Kindness as thick and sweet as soft caramel. 

Seven times seven thousand lifetimes worth of hate and sorrow and trauma run from my eyes.

You sit with me until the crying stops, until my throat is raw and all I can do is whisper. 

I speak a Word, one that fixes the shattered sky and let's the sun shine properly again. 

The sun speaks their own Words and resets the world, turning the clock back to the day before my escape, I do humanity one kindness and let them wake the next morning as if the past week were nothing more than a bad dream.

I am made to fix my messes, to undo my misdeeds. 

The Horsemen are sealed away again. 

Fairyland is repaired to the best of my ability, although there is nothing that I can do for the Sun-In-Chains. What's done is done. 

GOD will be fine, HE'S GOD, and therefore more or less impossible to kill permanently. 

All evidence of my tirade is erased.

I am finally bound in amber, my powers diminished. I dread returning to the cold depths of the well, but you won't let that happen.

You refuse to send me back to that lonely place beyond dreams and take me home, to your home. Warm and safe beneath the soil, I curl up next to you by the fire.

And for the first time in your short and terrible life, you get a good night's sleep. 

[iwriteficsandmore]

Typetober Day 7

I legit created an OC out of thin air. Just a name and a Quirk because of this prompt and the song. Enjoy!

______

Humming low to the music that thrummed through her earbuds, a woman strutted down the dark streets of Tokyo to the beat. The dark of the night covered every inch of the magnificent city. And the late hours allowed for the fabulous night life of it to take center stage. 

Now this was the Tokyo Kire loved. 

Compared to its morning counterpart, nightlife gave a vast amounts of options to relish in. It allowed for those tired of their routines to rejoice in the nightly activities—be they the food, music, or company—and she was no exception. Though tonight was not the kind of night to be enjoyed, she was afraid. Bounty hunting was an arduous job. One she enjoyed in doing quite a lot. Perhaps a bit too much, one would say. But Kire didn't care what others thought. It was the path she chose, the career that brought her joy and had not one boring moment in sight. Bounty hunting was the kind of excitement this hero-driven society wasn't fond of however. And though it limited her hunting to the nights, Kire couldn't complain.

She loved prowling after her prey in the dead of night. 

"Glitter on the west streets, silver over everything." Kire mumbled lyrics under her breath as she checked over her phone one last time for her target.

Some forty-something-year-old that had escaped authorities not long ago for trafficking some cargo in from the U.S. to Japan. They hadn't been specific. Though her guess would be drugs. Interpol had his last known location as Tokyo. Basically nothing for police, but for her with the connections she had and money she could cough up, it was practically child's play. And according to the information Giran gave her, this smuggler was somewhere around here. 

Kire suddenly stopped in her tracks when a man stumbled out of the love hotel she was just walking past right into her. Her nose scrunched up disgusted by the way he reeked of alcohol. But as she raised her long sleeve to cover her nose from it, her eyes widened at the man that apologized sloppily before staggering off into the streets. Quick as she could, she double-checked on her phone before staring off after the man that turned the corner.

That's him, alright.

What luck. Grinning behind her sleeve, Kire walked into the nearby alley before climbing onto the concrete slabs that separated the buildings. She rushed through until she reached where she deduced he'd come out of and crouched. Leaning over, her sleeved-hands clutched the edge of the concrete to keep herself steady as she laid in wait. The rowdy drunken man stumbled into view minutes after, and just as he passed by the alley across from her, Kire lurched forward, kicking him into it. Pained groans and curses exploded from him after he regained some sense of lucidity with the kick. Kire paid him no attention as she landed at the mouth of the alleyway, skulking towards him. 

"You stupid bitch! You'll pay for this!"

Kire smirked a feral grin, baring her canines. "No buddy, Interpol's the one that's gonna pay up for ya stupid mug—"

Eyes widened seconds before she leaped away. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end shortly thereafter as men jumped down from the fire escape ladders on either building. Bodyguards? Could very well be. This man was wanted and he had great connections from what she found. Wouldn't be too far-fetched. The sudden silence that ensued was undercut by the bass of the music that still played on as Kire counted them in her head. 

'Off with their heads'

Five. Not many but it'd still be a hassle. But a hassle meant fun. Especially when these kind folks looked ready to use their Quirks on her. And she who shot first, laughed last. 

'Dance 'til you're dead'

Without a word, Kire launched forward, doing her best to avoid each and every projectile Quirk sent her way. Her first target showed itself fairly quick as one of them bodyguards reinforced their body. Slipping through, Kire pulled back one of her sleeves as she rushed past the vanguard and aimed for the reinforced man's next. Her dark-red fingers touched the edge of his Adam's apple and the same red color made it's way across his next as she slipped by. From end to end, a dark crimson line marked him and in the blink of her eyes, the man's head cut fell clean off his body. 

The other four stood shocked by what happened before their eyes. Kire, taking advantage of that, danced between them, pulling back both her sleeves as she went about drawing her crimson lines across their bodies. The moment the lines were drawn, a simple thought was all that was needed for the cuts to be made. 

A severed arm. A gashed abdomen. A cut foot. 

One by one, Kire drew and cut as she spun around them with practiced ease. Before long, they were nothing more than dismembered heaps of flesh that she easily walked over to make her way to her actual target. The moment he attempted to run, Kire snuck another line in, drawing it just below his ankle and cutting cleanly through. He let out a scream so uncharacteristically high-pitched that it made her chuckle. 

"Quite your yapping," she chided before cutting off the other ankle and leaving him a mess of sobs and snot as he cried out in pain. "It's just insurance so that you won't run away while the cops make it here." 

Kire searched him and picked out his phone before dialing emergency services. Before the woman on the other end could ask her what she was calling about, Kire interrupted her. 

"Alleyway between 31st Street and Ichiru. Tachibana Akabe will be waiting for his police escort at the end of it."

"Wait, who are—"

"Tell them it's a gift from 'Red Queen'." Before the lady could as anything more, Kire cut the call and tossed the phone far from Akabe. Staring him down for a moment, Kire grinned back at the whimpering man. "Well, Mr. Tachibana, I hope you like being a bitch in prison as much as you enjoyed being mine tonight. It'll come in handy there." 

But as she gave him her back ready to head back home for the night, a gunshot run out. Pain bloomed on her shoulder and Kire's hand shot to it in reflex. The warm blood that poured from her wound tainted her sleeve the same color as her fingers. The pain brought a nasty glower to her face as she turned towards Akabe who held a pistol in his hand, the barrel still smoldering from the shot.  

Seeing red, Kire didn't even think as she stepped forward to kick the gun away and kneel before him. With a swiftest only she could must, she brought her hand down right on his shoulder. The crimson light drew itself where she touched and with a blink, his arm detached from his body. Not taking anymore chances, Kire got rid of the other arm.

Where he was going he wouldn't need them anyway. 

Leaving him more of a mess than before, Kire was just starting to contemplate whether to cut off his tongue or not when the sirens blared over her music. Knowing it wasn't a good idea to stay behind, she made her way out through the fire escapes and arrived at the other side of the street. Pulling her hood over her head and keeping her hand over her gunshot wound, Kire sprinted a few blocks until the sirens couldn't be heard anymore. When they were all but gone and all she could hear was the song still playing through her earbuds, her pace slowed as she calmly made her way back home. 

Though the pain was quite a lot, it wasn't much to cry home about. Nothing some good stitches and loads of painkillers wouldn't fix. 

Kire hummed under her breath the lyrics that repeated over and over as the lights of Tokyo's nightlife blinded her stepping forward. 

"Heads will roll, heads will roll."

[witharsenicsauce]

Chosen Stories From the War #24: Fly Like an Eagle, Run Like a Wolf

(Content Warning: This chapter contains brief descriptions of gore.)

The street was glowing with fire, the moans of the Lost carried through the desolate waste that was the remains of New York. The city had long ago been lost to the pods, and with said pods came the frankly beautiful plant growth that had begun to infest the streets, tinting everything natural green. Trees wrapped around buildings, roots cut across the roadways. New York, once the city that never slept, was now at peace with the call of the wild.

The firelight glinted off of Lars’s glasses as he and Cruzita sat on opposite sides of the fire. She had a Viper’s corpse laid out in front of her, and was using the tip of her black-bladed knife to split the delicate, scaled skin down the middle. Pulling apart the flesh, her skinny fingers dove into the mammary-like appendages on the Viper’s chest, and clawed out the still full venom sacs. Cruzita smiled joyfully and held them up. “Poison.”

“I see.” Lars chuckled at her enthusiasm. To the other Reapers she was a terror, but he had long since gotten used to her quirks. “What are you planning to do with it, Cruz?”

“I don’t know yet.” She put them delicately to one side. “Maybe taint my knife, but poison bullets are so useful too, and we haven’t had many of those.”

Lars looked down at the gun on his lap. “A game of poison paintball?”

“And a paintbrush for you.” She giggled, cracking open the Viper’s ribs with her bare hands. “With bristles made of Chryssalid antennae, and paint made of venom.”

“Perhaps.” He sighed. “Oh, part of me still misses my old paints, with colors that were bright and happy…”

Cruzita looked up at him, then at the large, empty-looking building they sat under. The windows were black, but every so often they flickered with activity. It let her know her comrades were still watching.

“When the war is over, perhaps I shall return to Larochette.” Lars continued. “If my old studio is there.”

“This war will never be over.” Cruzita, with one fluid motion, folded the skin from the Viper corpse and ripped it free; bloody, but in one piece. “Not while these monsters are still here.”

Lars sighed. “Cruz, you must-”

Her green eyes bore holes in him. “You have something to go back to, Lars.” She hissed. “I am not that lucky.”

“You have me.” He slid over beside her. She dwarfed him, but that was another fact he had accepted years ago. He reached for her bloody hand, entwining his fingers with hers. “This war will not be over until you free this hatred from your heart, mein chér.”

She looked past his glasses and into his blue-grey eyes. “This hatred is what keeps us safe.” She whispered. “It keeps me afraid, and it keeps me alive.”

.

.

Dhar-Mon would never admit that he saw things in the shadows.

Ugly faces (like his own) stared at him from corners where innocuous objects lay. He tried turning over in bed, pulling the covers over himself like a frightened child, but even then he could feel their evil eyes staring at him, watching him.

He’d had trouble sleeping before; this was in no way a new thing. But in his stronghold, he had always had the constant whispering of the Elders to reassure him that he was not alone. Even when they were berating him, insulting him for failure or even threatening to reclaim him, he was at least with someone. He was at least not alone.

Now they were gone. And now he was alone, and the demons were approaching fast.

Dhar-Mon’s large hand darted out from under the blanket and turned on his bedside light, sending the shadows scurrying back into hiding, as though they had never been there. He looked around for a moment, checking to ensure he really was alone. That seemed to only make it worse.

He glanced at the clock. 4:45. His sister would be awake soon, but she did not like being disturbed during her meditation, and the thought of asking his baby sister for help because HE had trouble sleeping...it was a humiliating prospect at best.

He pulled the blankets to his chin and took a shaky breath, his heart pounding in his chest. It almost exploded when someone knocked at the door.

Dhar-Mon had never been so terrified in his life, except maybe in the presence of his cruel mother, Abyzou. With his voice softer and weaker than he was used to, he called out “You may enter.”

The door slid open and a very sleepy Malinalli stepped inside. Her curly hair was wild and messy, and her green eyes were still clouded.

“Hey.” She murmured in a hushed voice. “Is everything okay?”

He paused. “...All is...well.” He was lying through his teeth. “What makes you question me at such an early hour?”

“I...dunno. Just felt something was wrong.” She shrugged. “I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. Something just told me to come see you.” She blinked, her eyes finally focusing on him. “You look awful, have you slept at all tonight?”

He tried to say yes, but like a child, he felt tears welling up that he couldn’t stop. “...No.” He whimpered.

“Why? What happened?” Malinalli sat on his bed, looking so worried. It made him feel even worse, but now the floodgates were open.

“When the lights are off, and I am alone…” He sniffled. “I imagine shadows in the darkness, reaching out with great clawed hands to grab me in the night, where I will be...stolen away.”

Malinalli relaxed and let loose a soft chuckle. “Dhar-Mon, I...we’d never let that happen.”

“You would not get there in time.” He snapped. “I am...afraid to sleep alone.” He was dying from the shame. “My mind used to be consoled by the Elders’ presence. No matter how toxic, at least they were there…”

Malinalli reached out and grasped his hand. “There’s nothing wrong with being scared of the dark.” She chuckled. “I’d offer to sleep here with you, but that’d be weird I think…” He could swear he saw the hint of a blush on her face when she said it. In fact, he wanted to scream yes, please, sleep here. But that would be inappropriate. He was not his brother, after all.

She stood up. “I might have an idea. Are you dressed?”

He nodded. “In my sleeping clothes.”

“Good, follow me.” She took his hand and, with her tiny strength, hauled him to his feet. He felt safer with her hand in his.

She pulled him down the empty halls of the Avenger. Nobody was awake at this hour, except a few he could tell hadn’t gone to sleep yet. She made her way to the girl’s dorm, where Dhar-Mon stood outside the door, refusing to enter the sleeping quarters of so many women.

When Malinalli returned, she was holding something large and fluffy looking in her arms. She closed the door as quietly as she could, then held it out to him. “This is Glaucus.”

“...I beg your pardon?” He asked, looking down at the...stuffed...creature. 

“I named him Glaucus because of his ears.” She lifted one of the animal’s fluffy ears. “They’re blue underneath. And so is his mane.” She patted the blue tuft of fur on top of it’s head. “Glaucus is my old stuffed horse.”

“A stuffed horse?” He took the plush creature from her hands. It looked cartoonish, with floppy limbs and huge, glass eyes that stared off into space. “...I have seen pictures of horses, Malinalli. There is no possibility this is the result of taxidermy.”

Malinalli laughed until she remembered she had to be quiet. “No no, it’s not. It’s supposed to look fake.” She clarified. “Stuffed animals are made to look cute and inviting. It’s comforting.”

He looked over the creature again. It was weirdly cute. “What am I meant to do with this?”

“It’s to sleep with.” Malinalli said. “You cuddle it in your sleep. It helps you feel safe.”

“And how is a stuffed horse going to protect me from the darkness of my own imagination?” He growled.

She almost seemed to deflate, the enthusiasm leaving her eyes. “Well I mean...it works for me.”

Seeing her without her beaming smile made his heart hurt in a way he did not know it could. Desperate, he looked over the creature again and smiled. “If you say it helps, Molly, then I shall trust your judgement. You have never led me astray yet, I doubt you would now.”

She smiled again, but looked nervous. “...You sure I never did?”

“I am certain.” He bowed. “Thank you for this generous gift…”

“Always, Dhar-Mon…” She looked like she wanted to say something else. “Um…have a good night, okay?”

“I shall try.” He said, almost sadly, as he watched her slip back into the women’s barracks.

.

.

Gur-Rai shook out his leg as Tygan unwrapped his bandages. “Thanks Doc.” The skin around the healed wound still tangled a bit, but overall, it was like he’d never even been bit.

“You can thank me by being more careful.” Tygan sighed. “It seems as though after every mission you end up here.”

“But how could I resist the calls for help by my fellow soldiers?” Gur-Rai chuckled. “Elena was in danger, Doc. It was I who saved her.”

“We need soldiers, not heroes.” Tygan stood and walked over to where Elena lay, her shoulder still bandaged tightly. “Hm. I might keep this on a bit longer. This wound has some tearing that’s making me nervous.”

“I understand, Doctor.” Elena nodded. “Is there any medicine I should be taking?”

“It looks as though we’ve cleaned it well enough. I don’t want to overuse our...very limited antibiotic supply.” He grabbed a tube of ointment out of the cabinet, as well as some bandages, and handed them to her. “This should be sufficient. Reapply this ointment and change the bandages at least once every 24 hours.”

With his bunkmates occupied by the doctor’s directions, Gur-Rai stood, stripping out of his hospital gown with little regard to anyone else in the room. He was wearing tighty-whities underneath, luckily, but it still earned him disgusted stares.

Tygan locked eyes with him, his expression more irritated than Gur-Rai had ever seen. “I will not return your clothes until you put the gown back on.”

Gur-Rai tied the gown around his waist.

Tygan sighed. “...Good enough I suppose.” He retrieved a cardboard box that looked as though it had been used many a time before and shoved it into the Chosen’s long arms. “Please, clothe yourself.”

Mox actually chuckled at that, and Elena smiled at him as he helped her to her feet. “Pratal…” She leaned over and said something that Gur-Rai couldn’t hear.

“I do not see why not.” Mox said loudly. “You are his second in command, Elena, not I. That is your call to make.”

Elena seemed to glare at Mox, but her gaze was not so much angry as it was nervous. As Tygan handed Elena her own box of clothes, she turned back to the Darkstrider. “Gur-Rai. Why don’t you report back to Volk with us.” She said it as if it were already fact.

Gur-Rai stopped, half-dressed, and peeked out through the neck-hole in his sweater. “...Beg your pardon?”

Elena looked away. “If you don’t want to, just say-”

“Oh I want to.” Gur-Rai insisted. “But I am confused, Elena. Didn’t you hate me bot but a day ago?”

“Was it not you who wanted me to give you a chance?” She smirked. “And last I remember, you have a couple of girlfriends in Reaper territory that miss you very much.”

“Oh, starlight.” He groaned, but it was mixed with a chuckle. “...Mox? You’re okay with this?”

“I believe it is a wonderful idea.” He said cheerily. “If the Reapers can accept me, they may surely accept you, Madron.”

Gur-Rai swallowed the beginnings of the lump in his throat. “...Okay then.” He smiled, and they could see the genuine happiness shining behind tears in his eyes.

.

.

When Dhar-Mon awoke again, it was 1:00 in the afternoon. Having not slept all night certainly messed up his circadian rhythm, but to be honest he was surprised he was able to sleep at all.

He looked over at the stuffed horse tucked under his arm. Glaucus, the blue and white pony, looked up at him with cartoon eyes that conveyed a depth he was honestly not prepared to see. He cuddled the stuffed animal closer to his chest. It was strangely warm, and smelled like marshmallows. When he closed his eyes, instead of the whispers of demons in the dark, he heard nothing but a strange, soft humming.

This clearly had to be some sort of magical artifact, one that Malinalli had enchanted with her healing aura to comfort him as he slept. He’d have to thank her better later.

There was a knock at his door, and as he muttered “come in,” the door slid open and Kon-Mai was already poking her head inside. 

“Are you ill, Brother?” She asked, barging her way inside with an expression of worry on her face. “It is quite unusual for you to sleep so late.”

“I feel…” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. To be honest, he still felt drowsy from sleep, but he felt significantly more rested than he had that morning. “I feel well, Sister.”

She sat on the end of his bed, about to speak, before Glaucus caught her eye. “What is that?”

He hesitated at first, that apprehension he’d had when asking her about sewing coming back. Was it weak for a man to sleep with stuffed animals? Would she judge him? No...she was his Sister.

He handed her the stuffed horse. “A gift from Malinalli.” He admitted. “I have had...such difficulty sleeping alone since leaving the Elders’ embrace. I fear the darkness. This...tiny toy seems to have helped.”

“You fear the darkness?” She looked down at the horse. “...It is so cute.”

“It is a stuffed animal.”

“Taxidermied?”

“No, it is a synthetic creation, made cartoonishly in the shape resembling a living thing.” He sat up fully, sitting criss-coss-applesauce. “It is meant to bring comfort.”

Kon-Mai met his eyes again. “Does it help you, Brother?”

“With it, I was able to sleep uninterrupted.” He said. “I believe it has helped me…”

She held it at arm's length, a smile gracing her blue lips. “...What an adorable creature…” She looked to the door. “Malinalli gave this to you?”

“Yes, she did.” He said.

“Hm.” She handed him Glaucus and stood again.

“Do you desire one?” He asked. “I could ask her for another.”

“No.” She shook her head and started toward the door. “I have a better idea, Dhar-Mon...do you still want to learn to sew?”

.

.

The night, for once, was peaceful, quiet. Elena had not felt this kind of grace since Tomko had died. It seemed that the Earth had let out a breath she’d been holding. She reached out and took hold of Mox’s hand, and he squeezed hers.

The Darkstrider was behind them, his pace slightly slower as they walked silently into the camp, set up in the remains of 77th Avenue, right outside The Vermeer: a tall, curved and now very dank apartment building. In the road, Reaper tents lined the cracked pavement. Silent black forms could be seen moving about, checking on roasted Chryssalids and Vipers that lay on spits over the fire. Many of them did not see the Darkstrider at first, but once they did they stopped, stared for a moment, then disappeared again. None came to confront him, but he could hear them whispering.

Elena looked back at him. “You understand, it will take much more than my presence to get them to trust you. But it will help.”

“I’d be more worried if they DID trust me.” He chuckled. “I wonder if they recognize me.”

“I did.” Was all Elena said, before holding her silence a moment. “...Really though, unless they have been on a mission with you recently, they only know you as the Hunter.”

“So only Lars and Creepy Cruzita. At least someone-”

“Dunkelmarcheur!” A familiar voice called out to them. Mox waved over Elena’s shoulder at the familiar pair of Reapers sitting by a small campfire, one of whom was holding up the disembodied skin on a Viper.

“Well, speak of the devil, and she shall appear.” Gur-Rai grinned nervously at the sight of Cruzita, approaching her with the slightest amount of hesitation. She and Lars met the three of them halfway, and Lars reached out and shook Elena’s hand delicately. “Your wound?”

“It’s only flesh.” Elena assured him. “Didn’t touch your artwork, though.”

Gur-Rai turned to Elena. “Artwork?”

Elena seemed to hesitate. This whole being friends thing was already challenging for her, even moreso when it was with the man who was practically her ex-boyfriend’s walking corpse. But, she took a breath, smiled and gestured to Lars. “He does tattoos.”

“In my home country I was an artist, nearly world renowned!” He raised his voice far louder than a Reaper ever should, and it earned the group a few looks. “But when the war came to Luxembourg and I had to flee to a more defensible position, I had to find other expressions for my creative talents. Show them, Elena. Yours was some of my finest work.”

Elena sighed, dropping her gun and taking off her coat. Underneath her vest, curled around her spine, Gur-Rai could see the outline of red scales. She pulled aside her shirt just enough to show them.

“A dragon.” She said. “I am Dragunova, after all.”

Gur-Rai raised a brow. “Well well well, I was thinking of getting some ink done as well, Lars. It seems fate has brought us together.”

“Don’t you have to talk to Volk?”

“That I do. Shame.” He sighed.

“Oh that’s fine. We’re going to be here for a minute.” Cruzita jabbed her finger toward the pile of Viper skins and entrails, some of which was simmering clean in a bucket of boiling water. “Come find us when you’re done and I’m sure Lars will make your skin the work of art we all know it is.” She scanned his blue skin again, her eyes glinting.

“Um, yes.” He took a step back. With her hood down, he could see clearly now that, instead of perfectly white, her hair had some black patches in it, like lowlights. Her cheeks were sunken and her nose was turned upward so much, it almost looked skeletal. It reminded him of himself and for a moment, he felt a deep sense of pity. He wondered if ADVENT had touched her, too.

He looked up to the black windows of the Vermeer. He could feel the eyes watching him. Volk was waiting for him in there.

“I’ll be out in a jiffy.” He said. “Something tells me this won’t take long.”

.

.

Kon-Mai’s sewing kit was uncharacteristically cute for someone like her. It was a small, white, silk bag with purple flowers embroidered on it, held closed by a pearl button. When she undid the clasp, all of the needles and thread were tucked away neatly and nicely. 

She plopped the supplies, and herself, onto Dhar-Mon’s bed, and they sat facing each other as Kon-Mai withdrew the supplies from their containers. The small pincushion and the thimble were the first to come out, then she laid some of the fabric from over her arm onto the bed in front of them. He recognized the patterns and cloths she had bought from the black market, as well as some other material: chunks of cotton?

She pulled out two markers, handed him one and a piece of fabric, and nodded. “Were you thinking of something specific?”

He shook his head. “I do not know what animals would be comforting to sleep alongside. A horse seems to already push the limits. And one would have trouble finding a companion in a lizard.”

“One never knows.” She mused. “Perhaps a lizard can be a worthy companion.”

Hm.” He grunted. “What are you making?”

“I think I shall make a hedgehog.” She took two large swaths of brown fabric and pressed them together, drawing the outline of what looked like a fat oval.

“A hedgehog is covered in painful spines.” Dhar-Mon said. “I do not see how that is soothing.”

“I like them.” She replied. “They are able to tuck themselves away at the first sign of danger, and camouflage themselves on the forest floor. A fine animal favored by evolution.”

Dhar-Mon harrumphed, but he saw her point. “...What about a koala?”

“Do not test me.” She growled.

“I wish you would speak of that day, if it was as traumatic as it seems to be.”

“It is not a day I want to relive.” She insisted. “Koalas are the spawn of demons, and I like hedgehogs more.”

He supposed that was fair. He stared down at his own piece of fabric: He already had a sleeping companion, but not content to just sit quietly and watch his sister work, he put the pen to the fabric.

“What animal would Gur-Rai like?”

.

.

Gur-Rai was still contemplating what tattoo to get as Elena pushed open the Vermeer’s great double doors. He could already tell that, in another life, this place had been extravagant. Now, the golden walls were crumbling and the chandeliers had fallen from the ceiling. The furniture seemed like it might have held out enough to be used again, but the rotten looking wound made him not want to test it. There were a few Reapers down here, sitting by the front desk, cleaning stocks of weapons.

“Alfred, where is Volk?” Mox asked. “We must report to him.”

One of the Reapers looked up in annoyance, and Gur-Rai wondered how good relations with the Skirmishers really were, even with Elena’s marriage to one. “He’s in the penthouse.” Alfred said. “As usual.”

“Thank you.” Mox nodded and led the way through the hall. Gur-Rai had to duck under some of the beams: this place was not built for a Sasquatch like him.

“I don’t suppose the elevator is working.” He asked, though he knew the answer

“You’re welcome to try it.” Elena shrugged. “But I think you might have better luck scaling the elevator shaft.”

“Gee, that actually sounds fun.” He smirked. “Maybe I’ll race you.”

“Maybe I’ll decline.” Elena rolled her eyes. “We’ll take the stairs, that’s enough climbing for me.”

The stairs were torture, especially with Gur-Rai being so tall that he routinely bumped his head on the floor above them whenever they came near to the door. Eventually, instead of following Elena and Mox, who were taking their sweet time like a couple of old timers, Gur-Rai crouched on all fours and bounded up the stairs like a cat, moving at twice the speed and leaving the other two in the dust. They watched him with a mix of indignation and wonder, Mox letting loose a chuckle.

“That man was never meant to be tamed.”

Elena nodded, completely silent at his comment.

The three met back up at the last door, when there were no more stairs to climb. Gur-Rai was leaning on the handle, ready to push open the door to the penthouse. “Ready?”

“I am ready.” Mox squeezed Elena’s hand.

“I am not, but I must be.” She smiled at her husband. “After you, Darkstrider.”

Gur-Rai opened the door, and the lights disappeared. 

Well, really, the lights were still on in the hall behind him. But the entirety of the penthouse apartment was swathed in darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he could see bits of shape and movement, but even the faint light coming in through the many windows did nothing to ease the shadow.

Then a single light came on, from a desk in front of an old, brick fireplace that was currently out. On the mantle were trophies that made the Hunter inside Gur-Rai drool with envy: snakeskins of all colors, some obviously dyed, but some where the craftsmanship was so good, he couldn’t tell, other than the fact that he’d never seen a purple Viper before. An Archon torso hung on the wall, and an entire taxidermied Chryssalid sat in the corner. 

Other than that, though, there were animals. Real, lifelike animals that looked as though they could jump from their mountings at any moment. There was a stag, a whole moose, a gnu (Gur-Rai really wanted to know how Volk got that one), several smaller animals, and even a wolf, frozen in a hunting position as though it was plucked out of time.

Then the big man himself stood up, whiskey in hand and smelling of alcohol. His dark eyes were trained right on Gur-Rai. “Elena.” He hissed. “God fucking dammit, Elena.”

“Volk, please don’t.” Elena sighed. “The Darkstrider was on the mission with us. He needs to be part of the report.”

“Why?” Volk walked around his desk and took a swig of his drink.

“Because it was he who saved our lives.” Elena insisted. “It was he who bested the Viper that came to kill me. I would be dead now, if it wasn’t for him.”

Volk looked over at Mox, who straightened up but avoided his gaze, and thankfully Volk was sober enough to avoid saying anything stupid. “Fine.” He put his drink down and leaned back against his desk. “What happened out there?”

“There were a lot more troops in the area than we bargained on.” Gur-Rai said. “At least two pods worth, mostly Vipers but there was a Sectoid in there somewhere.”

“I believe the Sectoid escaped.” Mox cut in.

“So that’s where all the fucking Viper meat came from.” Volk pinched the bridge of his nose. “If the Sectoid escaped, he’s gonna go running off to tell the Elders. And we just got settled here, too.”

“We have relocated before.” Elena assured him. “If we take a caravan up to Alaska and possibly buy passage across, Siberia is uninhabited.”

“We think. We have no idea what’s up in Siberia.” Volk said. “A merchant vessel isn’t big enough to carry the entire caravan. We’d have to split up, and I don’t want to do that.”

“Let’s not be hasty.” Gur-Rai said. “You may not have to leave. They didn’t indicate that they knew you were here, it looked like a regular old patrol.”

“Two pods worth of enemies?” Volk scoffed. “They knew. They were just looking for where we were specifically.”

“Maybe we could set up in Alaska.” Elena added. “I am certain the old base is still there.”

“It’s possible, but that’s just it.” He replied. “The base is old. And it’s small: our numbers have grown since then.”

“Hang on.” Gur-Rai leaned on one knee. “I say you and your people don’t have to go anywhere. This is your home. Protect it.”

“That’s fucking easy for you to say.” Volk spat. “You don’t have a home.”

“Volk.” Elena said in a warning tone.

“Don’t start with me.” He pointed at her. “I was okay when you brought home the Skirmisher. I even grew to like him, somehow. But no way in Hell is a CHOSEN telling me what I should and shouldn’t do with my people.”

“Well then, I suppose you just pick up all of your fancy trophies, throw them in a cart and drive across the ocean to the next place ADVENT will find you.” Gur-Rai shrugged. “You can’t run forever, Volk.”

Volk glared at him with cold, yellow eyes. “Elena, Pratal, step outside.”

“Sir-” Mox began.

“Out. Now. I need to speak to the alien alone.” He growled.

Elena looked to Gur-Rai, one eyebrow raised. He knew how much she cared for Volk, but he also knew that if he asked for help, she would step in and deck the old man.

He shook his head, gesturing towards the door. He would be fine. The old man didn’t scare him. That much.

The door closed, and the two were left in almost complete shadow again. Gur-Rai couldn’t help but feel like a child again, and Volk was the adult scolding him for being bad.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

Gur-Rai lifted his hands. “I can explain, Mr. Volikov, Sir. You see, I used to be-”

“I know.” He growled. “I know who you were. Who you’re not. Don’t come in here wearing Genji’s face.”

Gur-Rai furrowed his brow. “...Genji? His name was-”

“You thought his name was just Tomko?” Volk spat. “That’s what he liked to be called. That was the name his father left him. But HIS name was Genjiro.”

Genjiro. It did strike a deep, familiar cord with him. It also complicated things. “...I wasn’t a local, was I?”

“He certainly wasn't all white, that’s for sure.” Volk looked very sad for a moment. “That boy was the first taste of hope I had after the war. And you stole him from me.”

“I didn’t steal anything.” Gur-Rai hissed. “If you want to be angry at someone, be angry at the Elders who spirited me away.”

“Oh sure, and who you so eagerly served for 10 years!” Volk slammed his hand on the desk. “You came back to kill us!”

“I had no choice! You don’t refuse the Elders unless you have a death wish!”

“Then maybe you should have, at least they’d have killed you for good! Let Genjiro rest in peace rather than suit up his corpse!”

The words stung. Gur-Rai crossed his arms. “So now I’m the villain just for being born?”

“You…” Volk hissed. “...You know what? Yes. You should have died out there, with a bullet in the neck. And Genjiro Tomko should be resting in the ground.”

Gur-Rai swallowed the lump in his throat. “...The Commander has a different opinion.”

“The ‘Commander’ is a psychotic bitch who does what she wants.” Volk growled. “Sure, she’s the best hope we have for salvation. That doesn’t mean I have to like her, or her decisions.” He pointed to the door. “She may have power up in that Avenger, but I’m the boss down here.”

“Oh?” The ground had never looked so interesting before. “So, ‘Boss,’ what are my orders?”

“Get out.” Volk hissed. “And If I ever see your face in Reaper territory again, I’ll shoot you my goddamn self.”

“Oh don’t you worry, Sir.” Gur-Rai bared his teeth. They were glinting, even in the low light. “I was just leaving.”

.

.

When he emerged, he was surprised to see Elena and Mox were still waiting outside. Mox looked up, hopefully. “How was your talk?”

The look on Gur-Rai’s face must have given it away, because Elena sighed. “Oh, that man. If you want, I can-”

“No. It’s fine.” Gur-Rai said. “He has officially banished me from Reaper territory though.”

“He did, did he?” Elena crossed her arms. “Well I officially unbanish you.”

“Can she do that?” Gur-Rai turned to Mox.

“I do not question it.”

“Good man.” He chuckled.

Elena stepped forward. “Cruzita and Lars are undoubtedly still waiting for us.” She said. “Shall we go tell them what tattoo you want?”

In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten all about the tattoo. “I’d love to, if I did indeed know what I wanted.” He shrugged.

“Some sort of animal would fit you well.” Mox said. “I myself have considered getting a wolf, in honor of the Reapers.”

Gur-Rai saw Elena smile at that, and he crossed his arms. “Well, what’s a good hunting animal? I’d get a wolf as well, but I don’t think the pack leader would appreciate that.” He followed them as they began to descend that massive staircase, although it was a bit easier going down.”

“A beagle.” Elena chuckled.

“No.”

“They were used by human hunters for decades.” She said. “They were made to chase small animals like badgers and foxes.”

“Beagles may be cute, but my sister is more of a dog person than me.” He said. “Something cool. Elena, you have a dragon on your back. That is amazing.”

“Because my surname is Dragunova.” She said. “What does ‘Madron’ mean?”

“Well if you must know, it symbolizes status.” Gur-Rai straightened up. “You may call me Lord Gur-Rai.”

“Oh, my apologies, your lordship.” Elena rolled her eyes. “Well let’s see. You threw off the yoke of the Elders: what about a wild horse?”

He liked the idea, but… “Not quite.” He held a finger to his chin. “But that is a good concept. Something that symbolizes freedom?”

“A bird!” Mox cried. “A big, menacing looking bird. Perhaps a hawk or-”

“An eagle!” Gur-Rai snapped his fingers. “That’s it! Mox, you bloody genius!”

Mox seemed to beam at the compliment.

.

.

Dhar-Mon stopped his own project to watch his sister work. Her fingers were quick and nimble, tying each stitch as fast as a sewing machine could. She was deeply focused, her eyes glued on the task in front of her, her breathing deep and controlled. He wondered if she had always had this talent, or if this was yet another blessing from the Elders.

She stopped, putting the thread down and shaking out the fabric. “Camazotz gave me my swift hand.” She said, answering his thoughts. “But I do not think this is how he intended I use it.”

“Where did you learn this skill?” He asked.

“I believe I mentioned before…” She shook her head. “Perhaps I didn’t. It was a year after my birth. Do you remember the Great Battle of the Rhine Institute?”

“We were all present.” He said. “I remember. From the lowest grunt to us, the Chosen. It was our first time working in tandem with one another, and our first encounter with the entity that remained of XCOM.”

She seemed to ponder those words. “And do you remember the explosion?”

That was when he cringed. The Rhine Institute, one of ADVENT’s weapon production centers, was useful for it’s stockpiles of gunpowder, oil and just about anything flammable. Dhar-Mon and his brother had been able to stay clear of the damage, being able to make ranged attacks, but Kon-Mai had run straight in to stop the intruders herself.

“We did not know they had set up charges.” He murmured. “For a moment, I thought you had been lost in that blast, so intense it was.”

“I nearly was.” She admitted, and she took another piece of cloth and began slicing it into thin strips. “But my armor was shredded in the discharge. Though we won the day, my equipment was left unusable. Kompira helped me reforge my sword, but he did not know sewing, and he could not fully mend my armor.”

“And the Priests did not?”

“They could…but perhaps I was indignant. Something had been stolen from me, and I could do nothing but wait for it to be repaired? No, I wanted to take matters into my own hands: that was when I asked the priests to teach me.” She sighed. “...I wish I knew their names.”

He pondered that. “Did they have names?”

“I heard them whispered on their breaths in my stronghold.” She said. “It was not allowed, only those of the highest rank-”

“Only those who had proven themselves truly loyal could wear the honor of a name.” Dhar-Mon said. “And yet, I remember a woman at my stronghold whose name was Oinone.”

“I never bothered to learn the names of the priests that served me.” Kon-Mai said again, and it became clear that she was lamenting. “They were so far removed from me, and I saw myself as...above them.” She stopped cutting the cloth into strips and began to sew each and every rectangle of fabric onto the hedgehog’s back.

“...The circumstances were differing.” Dhar-Mon tried to assure her. “Had the Elders not been so cruel, perhaps you would have had the courage to reach out to them.”

“It was not for lack of courage.” She insisted. “It was...I genuinely felt as though there was no point. They would die. I would live. And now…”

“...And now?”

She shook her head. “...What name should I give my animal?” She asked. “Yours is Glaucus, apparently.”

“Malinalli gave him his name.”

“It is a male?” She chuckled.

“Well…” He blushed. “...I merely guessed.”

She chuckled and held up her finished hedgehog. “Mine shall be Nergui.”

“Nergui?”

“...It means ‘no-name’ in...Mongolian.” She seemed to have to think about that.

“You speak Mongolian?”

“You forget, Brother, my stronghold was in East Asia.” She still looked slightly bothered by it though.

“That is clever, then.” He admitted. “I shall let Gur-Rai name his.”

“What did you make him?”

Dhar-Mon held up the stuffed toy, it’s arms wide and outstretched. “It is an eagle!”

.

.

“I’ll do it anywhere you want.” Lars said. “But I do not like arms or legs.”

Gur-Rai raised a brow as he sat down beside the fire, beginning to peel off his armor. “Why not?”

“Because they have a tendency to go flying~” Cruzita giggled. She had emptied one of the venom sacs into a pot and had brought the liquid to a boil, and was now cleaning a syringe.

“It is true, in our line of work.” Lars added. “Losing a leg, losing an arm; it is not so uncommon, and my precious art will be lost with them.”

Gur-Rai smiled. “I was thinking something right on the back of my neck.”

“Perhaps where the neck meets the shoulders? I can do that!” ” He pulled out a menacing looking tattoo gun and some various ink colors: black, red, green, a bit of white, not much else.

“Need new art supplies, there?”

“Yes, actually.” Lars sighed. “But where oh where does the paint go? Oh that is right. To the absolute HACKS at ADVENT!” He spat. “They call that propaganda ‘art’! Please! I could fill my anus with paint and shit better art than that!”

Cruzita cackled like a hyena at that, and Gur-Rai had to admit he snickered a little. Elena rolled her eyes, obviously disgusted.

“Op jiddfer fall.” Lars said as he loaded up the ink in his gun. “How do you want?”

“An eagle.” Gur-Rai said.

“Ah, ah, that I can do.” Lars picked up a stick and began drawing in the cracked dirt of the ancient road. “Wings over your shoulders, spread out like this. Head against your neck, right on the nuque.” He drew out a design that reminded Gur-Rai a bit of a totem. “And the eyes, red. Like your own eyes.”

“I think mine are purple.”

“On your blue skin, they will look purple.” He shrugged. “I have it! Now, Cruz, the numbing juice?”

As Cruzita began to suck the boiled venom into a syringe, Gur-Rai stopped her. “I appreciate the offer, but I can handle the pain.”

“That’s what they all say.” She raised a brow. “Are you sure, Darkstrider?”

“Positive.” He nodded. “Believe me. The Elders have done worse. I’m used to it by now.”

The tattoo gun buzzed to life, and Gur-Rai found himself clenching his muscles, bracing for impact. The needle touched his skin, and Lars began the first line. 

True, it was nothing compared to the pain the Elders had inflicted on him in that same spot, but the sharp pin ran over old nerves he’d thought were dead, and brought them back to life. He gripped his pant legs so tight he almost tore them, his sharp teeth biting down on his lip, drawing blood.

He felt a hand take his, then another. “I’m here.” Elena said. He could feel her, on his left, Mox on his right. He squeezed their hands, afraid that his nails would injure them, but they didn’t even flinch.

He opened his eyes once, and they drifted up towards the window of the penthouse, where he could see the faint outline of Volk watching him.

Go ahead, Old Man, he thought. Shoot me.

Volk held his gaze for a moment. Then he turned away.

.

.

The tattoo took a long ass time, but as Lars said, that was because he took pride in his work. At the end, when the needle rose from Gur-Rai’s skin for the final time, and Cruzita handed him a mirror to check how it looked, he had to agree the pain was worth it.

Lars had added a few extra red feathers falling from the bird, as well as bits of broken chain. The eyes, like he said, looked more purple than red, and the outstretched wings extended across Gur-Rai’s upper back and almost over his shoulder.

Elena grabbed a medkit and took out some petroleum jelly. “You mustn’t forget the aftercare.”

“She is right.” Lars said as he applied the jelly, and then a sticky gauze bandage. “Remove this after 24 hours.”

“That’s all? Don’t worry.” The Darkstrider grinned. “I heal quickly.”

“No you do not.” Mox chuckled. “I know.”

Elena’s comm beeped, and she sighed. “Firebrand wants us to return.”

“Then this is farewell.” Mox said, shaking Lars’s hand.

“I don’t like goodbyes.” Cruzita stood and hugged Elena, towering over the woman. “This is a ‘see you soon!’” She leaned over and hugged Gur-Rai as well. “And I still think that blue is beautiful.”

“I’m flattered, Miss de Vries.” He chuckled. “But please don’t turn me into a coat.”

“Oh don’t worry, human skin doesn’t keep well.” She made a face, then laughed. “Until next time, Darkstrider!”

They waved back to the two as Gur-Rai put his sweater and armor back on, and the trio set off to the extraction point. His back still hurt quite a bit, but the knowledge that the tattoo was there, that it was something the Elders could no longer take from him, that made him happy.

“Elena…” He leaned over. “Did Genjiro have any tattoos?”

Her brow furrowed. “Genji…? Oh.” She blinked. “Hm. We never called him by his first name.”

“Why is that?” He asked. “Not that I disagree with using a callsign. But Genjiro is so much more…” He waved his hands. “...fantastic.”

Elena opened her mouth and closed it again, pondering her next words. “...Truly? He didn’t like using Japanese at all.” She finally replied. “He claimed to have many bad memories from that place. He had hoped America would be a fresh start: he came here looking for his father.”

“Yes...‘Tomko’ was his father’s name.” Gur-Rai bobbed his head.

“Mm. Truth be told I didn’t like the name at first.” She admitted. “It always sounded too soft. Too...cute.”

“But I am cute, Elena~”

“You are what would happen if a giraffe partook in an extramarital affair with a shark.”

Mox barked out a laugh at that, and Elena smiled proudly at the joke she made.

“Okay, okay, fair enough.” Gur-Rai chuckled. “I like this new you, Elena. Much more open.”

“Open to insulting you? I agree, it’s cathartic.”

“The hazing makes the friendship stronger.” He said. “And I am happy that, if not now, one day I might be able to call you my friend.”

“Yes.” She took a breath. “I...don’t regret it as much anymore. Losing Tomko, that is. I still do but…” She laid back and stared at the ceiling. “...Darkstrider, do you truly think Tomko and I would never have worked?”

“Nah. Too much fire.” He chuckled. “I remember you kicking the shit out of me for forgetting your birthday one year.”

“You deserved it.”

“That I did. But you wouldn’t do that to Pratal, now would you?”

“No, but he wouldn’t forget.” She looked ahead of them, where Mox had taken the leading position and was scouting for enemies. 

“...There was more to it, wasn’t there?” He asked quietly.

“...Darkstrider.” Elena said. “If you love someone...never go to bed angry.”

He blinked rapidly, trying to decipher the message. “...What does that-”

“A few days before…” She swallowed. “Before the battle, Tomko and I had a catastrophic fight, it almost ended us right there and then.” She looked up at him. “We...put it behind us, but so much was still left unsaid. So much tension. Tension I never let die.”

“What was the fight about?” He asked. He wanted to make a joke, but now was not the time.

“It was about...how do I say it? It was about our future.” She said. “Tomko did not want children, he made that very clear, and I thought I would agree but...I realized this after a while: I want to be a mother. I want to have children, have a family, have little ones of my own to raise.”

Ah. For some reason, that stung. Perhaps Tomko was still balking at it. “...Some things never change.” He said. “I’m not keen on fatherhood.”

She nodded. “When you said it would have ended between me and Tomko...I knew you were right.” She hugged herself. “Blyat’, did I not just say I no longer felt this guilt?”

He chuckled. “Elena, I may not be Tomko, but if you’ll allow me to speak for him…” He put a hand over his heart. “He holds no ill feelings towards you for wanting something so dearly. And he is...I am happy you found someone to share that dream with.” He hesitated. “Mox wants kids too, I assume?”

“He does.” She chuckled. “He said at least two. I said no more than three.”

“Your children will be a force of nature.” He blew a whistle. “Lookout world, the Dragons are hatching!”

“Oi, zatknis'.” Elena smirked and ran to catch up with her husband.

.

.

“Brother!” Gur-Rai called out as he knocked on the door to Dhar-Mon’s room, snickering to himself. Oh, his brother would be so pissed, probably rant for a bit about how “your body is a temple and tattoos are graffiti.” It was going to be amazing.

Instead of Dhar-Mon, though, Kon-Mai opened the door, covered in bits of cotton and with what looked like a hedgehog pillow pet in her arms. “You are home late, where were you?” 

“Out.” He kissed his sister’s cheek as he walked in, and she grabbed him by the arm and pointedly put one on the top of his head, under which he squirmed. 

“Flaunting your height, I see.”

“It is not my fault you are short.” She chuckled and sat back on the bed. Dhar-Mon was still in his pajamas, holding a stuffed horse and...something that kind of looked like a pancake.

“What’s that you’ve got, Brother?” Gur-Rai asked.

Dhar-Mon stood up, towering over the middle Chosen, and held it out proudly. “This is a gift for you, Brother, to protect you from the darkness while you sleep.”

Gur-Rai blinked, gently taking the...what was it? It looked like a bird, with really big wings and a fat, white head. “...Is this an eagle?”

“It is!” Dhar-Mon sounded relieved. “I was worried you would not recognize it!”

“I…” He laughed at the irony. “I love it, Dhar-Mon.” He looked up, staring right into his brother’s eyes. “It matches my tattoo~”

“Your what?” Kon-Mai snapped.

Gur-Rai tossed the stuffed eagle onto the bed and gently pulled off his sweater, then his undershirt, turning to reveal to them the eagle tattoo, wings spread wide across his neck.

His siblings stared at it for a good ten seconds, analyzing the carving drilled into their brother’s back.

“...I adore it.” Dhar-Mon proclaimed. “This art is reminiscent of the ancient human scribes! And the colors blend with your skin so well, Brother.”

Okay, that he hadn’t expected. Still, Gur-Rai felt a simmer of warmth as Dhar-Mon praised the artwork on his back. “I can’t take credit for this, Brother. The Reaper, Lars, did most of it.”

“Then Lars is a very talented artist.” Kon-Mai spoke up, her voice slightly softer. “Did it hurt?”

“Like a bitch.” He flinched as he put his undershirt back on. “And I have to keep it bandaged for a day.”

Kon-Mai nodded. “Will it need changing?”

“After the first day? No, I don’t think so. I have to wash it gently though.”

“If you so wish, I can assist you with that.” She sat back down, a slight smile on her face. “You seem so very happy, Brother.”

“Well, yes, I am.” He picked up the stuffed bird Dhar-Mon had lovingly made for him, and cuddled it close. “...You know, the eagle is the symbol of freedom.”

“So is a horse!” Dhar-Mon held up Glaucus. “And now we are free from the Elders. This is symbolic of our new lives.”

“Of course, Konnie had to go fuck it up. What’s a hedgehog supposed to be a symbol of?” Gur-Rai snickered.

Kon-Mai scowled. “A symbol of the pain I shall inflict upon you if you don’t shut your mouth.”

“Well you’re very prickly, Sister. It certainly suits you.” Gur-Rai laughed as she tossed the pillow at him.

.

.

.

.

.

Summary: This chapter begins with a snapshot of the Reaper’s daily lives outside of combat: Cruzita and Lars sit around the fire, discussing their former lives, and what will become of them when the war is over. Cruzita holds a deep hatred for aliens, and claims the war will not be over until all “these monsters” are dead. Back on the ship, Dhar-Mon is having trouble sleeping due to his fear of the dark, and Malinalli gives him a stuffed horse, Glaucus, to sooth his anxiety. Later, after he sleeps until 1:00 pm, Kon-Mai comes to check on her brother, and decides to teach him to sew by making stuffed animals together. We also see Gur-Rai and Elena’s wounds mostly healed, and as thanks for saving her, Elena invites Gur-Rai into Reaper territory to talk to Volk. They arrive and speak briefly with Lars and Cruzita, and find out Lars does tattoos, and that Elena has a tattoo of a dragon along her spine. Climbing the stairs of the Vermeer, the apartment building the Reapers are hiding in, Elena, Gur-Rai and Mox meet with Volk, who is not keen on having Gur-Rai there. After sending Elena and Mox outside, Volk reveals Tomko (the Reaper Gur-Rai was before he was taken) was actually named Genjiro, and Tomko was his surname. Following Volk kicking him out, Gur-Rai is consoled by Elena and Mox, who return with him to Lars, where he gets an eagle tattooed on his back. Once the tattoo is finished and the three leave to meet Firebrand, Gur-Rai and Elena talk more about the past: Elena reveals that she and Tomko had nearly broken up a few nights before he was taken, over the fact that Elena wanted children and Tomko did not. Returning home, Dhar-Mon presents Gur-Rai with a stuffed eagle he made, and the two poke fun at Kon-Mai’s hedgehog toy that she sewed herself.

(Hullo my dudes. I hope you’re all staying safe out there. This one was a cathartic one, even if there’s still a lot left unanswered and unspoken. But I think a big message of any XCOM fic you read, especially on this side of the river, is human or alien, anyone can change, and anyone can be kind. Just something to hold onto.)

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/

[short-stories-club]

Death March - Resubmission to fix formatting

Theme: Creepy/Scary/Spooky Due: November 30th 2020 I jolted awake. Beads of sweat on my chest. The same dream, again. It was every night now. I sat up and shivered. If only it had been true... He was the pinnacle of humanity. That body, so tall and muscular. Eyes like ice. Silky blonde hair... All matted with blood. Today was the day. I needed it to be the day. After donning my perfectly pressed uniform, I washed my face and glared into the mirror at my hideous brown eyes and brown hair. A couple of lower-ranked soldiers rushed by me, saluting as they ran. I nearly chewed them out for getting in my way, but hesitated because of the weird look in their eyes. They were afraid. And it wasn’t of me today. I ran my hand over my hair as I donned my hat. The sky was a dark gray, like it could snow any second. My breath billowed from my nose in large plumes. I pulled my collar up and rushed over to headquarters. As I opened the door, I inhaled deeply. His voice was coming from inside. Strong and energetic, like someone who hadn’t yet been trampled down by the world. I had to force myself to exhale. “Where have you been?” He teased. I felt my face flush, but I didn’t answer. He was new, but also the same rank as me. It took everything in me to keep from alighting my eyes on his perfect face. Our superior, Colonel Hess, gave a flickering glance my way as I crossed the room and stood at attention. “Good morning.” He said in a buttery voice. But there was an edge to it. Stress? “Colonel Hess, please send me. I would love the opportunity. I know I’m no outdoorsman like Loritz, but I won’t let you down.” I hated when he flattered me. Colonel Hess seemed to digest the request. Then turned his gaze to me. “I asked you to hurry things along last week. How far have you gotten?” “I have been managing about 1000 a day, on average, sir.” “And how about you, Commander Goethe?” “About 1200 a day, average sir.” He winked at me. I turned my eyes against the far wall, my teeth clenched. My dream flashed through my mind. I’d like nothing better than to... “Good. I’m happy to hear that. You’ve both done excellently.” Hess said, “I have another task for you today. It will most likely be my final order to either of you.” I blinked. Goethe frowned. “We are about to be overtaken by the Reds. Mere hours from now. The remaining prisoners are being moved away, to the west, this very moment. They may be useful for negotiations later. I want you both to follow up the rear.” Neither Goethe nor I said a word. There had been rumors for the past several days that the Reds were coming. But this was the first affirmation from a superior. The end was finally here. After we were dismissed, I steeled myself and headed up to the west side of the enclosure. Drooping skeletons were lined up, stumbling out into the field. They formed colorless lines that stretched on as far as the eye could see. Guards with rifles and pistols kept them in check. Every man, woman, and child who could walk was forced to go. Sobs and screams filled the air as some were beaten or shot for not being able to walk. The air smelled like death and decay. My stomach lurched as one of them fell at my feet, screaming gibberish. It’s shriveled long fingers grasped at me. I kicked it away and continued alongside Goethe, making sure not to miss a step. “Hard to look at, aren’t they?” He shook his head at the now motionless human as he, or she, lied in the dirt and trembled. Seemingly unfazed. I turned up my nose. My stomach swirled. No matter how many of them I incinerated everyday, I could never get used to the smell. The nauseating stench of unwashed, decaying skin, flecked with feces and rot. No one could get used to that smell. I smoothed my hair with a shaking hand and repositioned my cap. We marched through the barracks and directed the mongrels towards the lines. A good two hours passed before we began to follow the last of them out into the field. The snow was beginning to fall and the wind had picked up from the north. I pulled my gloves from my coat pockets, and tightened my collar. We were going to freeze in this weather. Either that, or we would eventually be overtaken by the Reds. Where were we going anyway? What was the point? “Couldn’t keep up I guess.” Goethe motioned to several bodies lying motionless in the snow. I rolled my eyes. We kept marching, the wind blew from our right and a snow covered forest swayed with it on our left. Another hour slipped by and the wind grew even more cutting. Our line was beginning to thin as bodies dropped left and right. Some were dead before they hit the ground. Others we left to freeze. No point in wasting ammo. I made sure to keep in step with Goethe but it was becoming more and more difficult as time went on. If Auschwitz was going to be overtaken, then nothing could withstand the allied forces. We were hopeless. A movement to my left caught my eye. At the forest edge, where the trees stretched out along the upcoming ridge, a woman and child rushed into the forest. I could tell by their sturdy gait that they were newer arrivals, and therefore had an actual chance at escape. Not something I could tolerate. All of these creatures needed to be exterminated. Letting even a single one out into the world would be a disservice to humanity. I pulled my gun from my holster and broke away from Goethe. “I’m going after them. I’ll be back shortly.” I said. “Wait,” he said, “I’ll do it.” “No problem. I got it.” I continued walking. “Stop!” There was a tinge of desperation in his voice. “I said I’ll do it.” I turned to look at him. His eyes were swimming, his chest heaving—what had caused such a deep reaction? An idea suddenly occurred to me. “Is this that woman I saw you drop bread for the other day?” I asked. His face turned pale. His eyes wide. This was it. I could finally have what I wanted. The Reds didn’t matter anymore. Only this. “I had convinced myself it was an accident. Now I realize I was wrong.” “No, you’re wrong. That’s not true.” “Commander. You think I made it this far on luck? Don’t patronize me.” In one quick motion, he pushed back his coat and pulled his mauser pistol from his hip. But I was just as quick with mine. “Tell me. Were you planning to sneak away… or kill me?” I cocked my gun. “I would nev--” “Don’t screw with me Goethe. What were you going to do?” “No!” He nearly sobbed, “Just, stop. I wouldn’t have killed you. I could never...” “How about we strike a deal then?” I slowly lowered my gun, holstered it, and carefully raised my hands back up near my head. “What if you and I go after her together. That way we both get out of this frozen hell and away from the Reds. You know we won’t make it if we keep going on this Death March.” He was silent. His hand shook as he held his pistol on me. Another gust of wind cut between us, snowflakes stabbing at my eyes. As each moment passed, his body softened. Finally he dropped his aim, and his guard. I nearly laughed. Mercy was a terrible weakness. “Ok.” He said. “You lead.” In a flash, I drew my weapon again, this time firing off a shot within half a second. He hardly had time to flinch. His body tumbled backwards into the soft snow, motionless. Crimson splatters streaked the snow around us. A gurgling sound exploded from his mouth and blood followed. I’d aimed for his head, but the cold had taken a toll on me. Now his throat was a gaping wound. A trembling hand jerked towards his holsted pistol, but I knelt down and removed it from his reach. “You’re a fool to trust me, Goethe.” I said, “You think I’d let scum like you live? To think I ever saw you as… well, you are. You’re the perfect specimen. But you’ve tainted yourself with swine. I’m ashamed. You should be too.” He sputtered and choked. “I’ll leave you here, to drown. That way you can mull over how you’ve betrayed your country and brethren. Death in this way is much easier than you deserve. So, I hope you live long enough to hear my gunshots when I kill your woman and her child.” Tears began streaming from his eyes, mixed with the blood that speckled his face. He let out a spluttering groan as he attempted to speak. To plead. I laughed and turned towards the forest. His groans became wails and sobs. I turned to watch the death march, but they hadn’t stopped. No one had noticed, or cared. I continued to the forest. Goethe’s wails trailed off into the distance and I smiled. He got what he deserved.

[stachmousworld]

Death

Summary: Tony’s first death and why he chose to be a better man.

This is the third installment of my universe A. You can read the previous oneshots to understand better the universe:

Dear Dad, fuck you 

Punishments

Tag: mention of medical procedure, torture canon to Iron man 1

Tony’s first death was more of a surprise to him. A few minutes earlier and he was joking in the fun-vee with some soldiers and in the span of a second, everything went awry.

A bomb exploded. An ambush, he thought. He asked for a gun to the soldier next to him, only to witness his death.

He succeeded in getting out of the car and crawled to the nearest hiding point. A boulder. He tripped and fell. A bomb landed next to him. The last think he saw was the logo of his own company.

Darkness.

Before he was tortured, waterboarded, required to build a bomb, a little before he met Yinsen, Tony had died. He couldn’t tell if it’d been a matter of seconds, minutes or hours, only that nothing hurt anymore.

They cut him open, had their hands deep in his chest, and his heart stuttered. They installed the battery, and yet, he didn’t even register the pain from all of it. No. His eyes, wide open, stared at two people:  and mammina. He cried at the sight of them, holding each of his hand and singing to him. He couldn’t believe it. They were there and they could physically touch him.

Tears ran down his temples to his hair. So, that’s the end, he thought peacefully. Pepper, Rhodey, Darius, Ahmaud, Kareem, Joseph, Janice…

“’m sorry”, he croaked.

It wasn’t the first Death was at his doorstep, silently waiting for him to open. He had many low points where he stood, hand on the doorknob ready to go. This time, it wasn’t his doing. The door opened from outside.

His heart stopped.

The room swirled and darkened. He was flying in a cocoon. Everything felt warm and soft. Tony closed his eyes and basked in the feeling of peace.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. Fresh grass, apples and cinnamon.

The second thing was the softness under his head.

The third, the sound of a river and someone humming above him. Then, realization downed him. He was dead. He felt no dread, no relief at that thought. It was weird. He tried to think of Howard. No anger, no sadness. He made a list of everyone close to him and only love spurted from his heart. He still had his memories. Howard’s abuse was still present in his head and yet, he didn’t react at all like usual. He didn’t need a drink or losing himself in his lab. All he needed was to let go…

“What a handsome man you have become, my Tesero.” A voice he hadn’t heard in a decade muttered softly above him.

Tony clenched his fists and shook his head vehemently. It couldn’t be true, it couldn’t be true, he repeated silently. He was sure, when he’d open his eyes, he’d be alone or worse, he’d see Howard and Maria standing in front of him. If Hell existed, it was a place where Tony should be.

A soft hand pressed his cheeks, then forehead.

“You do know that he can’t be sick, Hun’”

Tony choked up. Nononono…it couldn’t be happening. It had to be a trick, maybe from the Devil. Because mammina and babbo couldn’t be in Hell. It was impossible.

“Well, I don’t know. I’m still not an expert in these kinds of cases. But…he is not supposed to be here.”

“And how do you know that? Did a little bird tell you that?”

“I can still sock you in the face, my dear Husband,” she replied through gritted teeth.

“Hm.” He replied petulantly.

“Dying really did a number on you! Can’t you be nice, for a second?”

“I was nice during our whole marriage, and you left me…to raise those demons’ children, you called angels,” he screamed.

Mammina sighed.

“You really can’t let that go? I didn’t choose to die. And remember you were the one who fustigated me when I was exhausted at the end of the day after educating OUR kids and going to work. You were the one who told me, ‘I could raise them all by myself just fine. I don’t know what you’re complaining for.’ You brought that on yourself.”

groaned and mumbled something under his breath.

“Yeah, I thought so…”

Tony didn’t let his guard down even though the banter made him giggle. It reminded him too much of all the times they used to argue about trivialities. At the end they always made up. always. He felt something soft and pillory pressed against his forehead. Warm air caressed his face.

“Is he dead?”  asked abruptly. There was now a small weight on Tony’s legs. He tried to relax but couldn’t help but tense. It reminded him of his little niece and nephews. The warmth, the weight and the little wriggling, everything reminded him of a child. But…none of them died…right? It couldn’t be real…it couldn’t be real…

“No. Yes. Not really. I don’t know. Do I look like God?”

didn’t reply. That was a win for Mammina. Tony had never seen her lose a fight when God’s or his children were concerned.

“Are you ready to open your eyes, Cinderella, or will you pretend to sleep forever?”

Tony scrunched his nose and opened one eyelid. The pensive face of mammina was scrutinizing his face. She raised an eyebrow and smiled softly. He opened the other eye and jumped on her. She didn’t even budge but accepted the embrace as forceful as him. He sniffed her perfume and wept profusely.

“There, there, my little Tonio, it’s okay.”

“Don’t lie to the poor lad, this ain’t okay, at all.”

“Cameron! You really are on a roll. It is not my fault that you pissed off a cherub and got changed into one for a day. I told you, he was one of God’s servant. You should have been more polite.”.

“I only said he looked chubby!” Cameron cried dramatically. “Who gets offended when being called chubby? They are literally babies!”

“And now you are one, so how does it feel, chubby baby.”

Cameron wailed loudly, feet stumping on the grass. Tony looked around and saw a river on their left, Mammina was sitting against a tree and talking to…Tony eyes widened, and a rough laugh escaped his opened mouth.

“Babbo! You are a chubby baby!” he exclaimed, in shock.

Said Babbo wailed louder. He was sitting on his legs, in the body of a 2-year-old baby and wearing a kind of drape. He had two small multicolor wings which looked like stained glass. So, the extra weight was him. As a child.

“You see you don’t like it, either. Maybe next time, you won’t talk about anyone’s body.”

Cameron waved his arms in precise movement and a few sparks appeared, before dying. He threw himself on the floor and rolled, arms and legs moving erratically. His wails grew louder if that was possible.

“I can’t even curse him for his afront!”

Mammina rolled her eyes. Tony looked at her scared. What kind of acid trip was he on? Was that Hell? A big trip where nothing made sense? He shook his head and settled in mammina’s arms.

“Don’t listen to this fool, Cucciolo, dying didn’t make him more mature, I’m afraid, he lost his brain.”

She gazed down and gasped at his chest. Tony followed her eyes and saw blood pouring out of his t-shirt. He couldn’t even feel pain. It felt weird to know that he should be suffering but didn’t. How did they not notice the blood? How did he not notice the vital liquids escaping his body quickly, tainting at the same, mammina?

“Oh Tony, what’s happening?”

“Bomb.”

A few flaps of wings and he finally noticed her own set. They were huge and gorgeous. The color was a deep blue midnight. They looked shiny and soft. As she opened them, he saw two golden circle, representing an ouroboros (snake biting its own tail), on each wing. He raised a hand to caress them. Yep. They felt as soft as he thought.

“Hey! Mine are better than hers,” Cameron complained.

Tony chuckled. He was now so tired. His eyelids blinked slowly. As he caressed Cameron’s wings, he expressed the absurdity of the situation and whether it was his own tormented mind, which created that scenery.

“You got a family?” Mammina suddenly asked.

“Yes, and I will see them when I leave here, and you?” Cameron asked.

“No,” Mammina replied solemnly, with a hint of sadness.

“So, you’re a man who has everything…and nothing.” Cameron concluded.

As darkness came over him, he heard them telling him they loved him.

 Pain erupted in his chest. He woke up with a man by his side. Ho Yinsen. He helped him, healed him and as they created his Mark I suit, words came out of his mouth without thinking.

“You got a family?”

He cringed. Why would he choose to ask this question?

“Yes, and I’ll see them when I leave here, and you?”

“No.”, Tony replied simply. Memories of Mammina and a cherub Cameron troubling his thought. Was that real? Had he died and saw them? He analyzed the gauntlet in his hand. Would that even work? He emerged in time to hear Yinsen’s reply.

“So, you’re a man who has everything…and nothing.”

No, it wasn’t true. He wanted to go back in time and tell him that yes, he had a family. People who appreciated him, even though he hadn’t seen them in months, maybe years. Shame rolled onto him. After “seeing” his parents, he couldn’t pretend being right. If they had asked him about his brothers and sister what could he have replied? “I spent most my 20’s doing sex and drugs and didn’t call nor reach out to them. The fleeting hope that he could go back to them at any time had passed through his mind many times. He had considered driving to them, but then stopped, sitting in the car, keys in his hand.

Shame did that. Fear of rejection. A bundle of insecurities. After mammina’s death, he had wanted to make the world a better place for them. And here he was…

He stared at Yinsen for a few minutes and smiled. For the first time, he was sure of one thing. He’ll do everything to make the future better.

 Fin.

Mother masterrliiiisssstt ✨✨✨🐱‍🏍

[zenofanfiction]

The Eternal Journey

Chapter 2 - Confrontation

"The Shinto Shrine ? Why are we going there, Zeno ?" Jae-Ha asks, curious.

"The Shrine is the only place where the voice of Heaven can be heard. You're all asking for the truth and for trustworthy proofs, this is where you'll find them." Zeno answers calmly.

Ever since the Yellow Dragon has talked about the Shinto Shrine, his eyes have been tainted with sadness and melancholy but Jae-Ha still doesn't understand the real cause of this sudden grief.

Zeno and Jae-Ha walk out of the tent together, heading for Shin-Ah and the other's tent. When they arrive in front of the closed curtain, Zeno stops for a few seconds, taking deep breaths.

"Zeno, are you okay ?" Jae-Ha asks worriedly.

"I'm fine, just need to think for a second. Pull myself together." he answers, his eyes still closed.

A few more seconds and the Ouryuu enters the tent, earning the worried and startled looks of his friends inside the tent.

"Z...Zeno ?" Kija whispers nervously.

But he doesn't even bother looking at the White Dragon and walks slowly towards Shin-Ah's bed. He looks at him with great melancholy but still kneels in front of his sleeping body.

Zeno stays on Shin-Ah's side for a few seconds, closing his eyes again and focusing. Somehow, the two other dragons begin feeling a distant powerful aura emanating from Zeno. It becomes stronger and stronger before completely overwhelming them.

"Z...Zeno ? What's this sudden energy...?" Jae-Ha asks in awe.

Zeno, invisibly glowing with immense solar power, looks at him with wise warm eyes.

"Nothing that wasn't already there before, Ryokuryuu." he answers softly.

Kija is torn between submitting to this incredible heavenly force or running away in panic. This huge aura surrounds him whole and the dominance of its strengh frightens him to the core. He's never felt something so powerful and yet he feels in his heart that this aura won't hurt him.

"Don't be afraid, Kija. Everything's fine." Zeno states.

The Yellow Dragon turns back to Shin-Ah, contempling his sleeping face.

"You shouldn't have used your power on me, Seiryuu." the Yellow Dragon sighs.

"You were wrong to force me but no one should have to endure the weight of my soul and past. Especially a young innocent spirit like yours..." he goes on softly, his eyes full of regrets and sadness.

Zeno slowly raises his right hand and places it on Shin-Ah's closed eyes. He closes his own eyes and suddenly his hand begins glowing a beautiful warm blue, exactly the same as his eyes.

Jae-Ha, Kija, Yun, Yona and Hak are all amazed by this warm reassuring glow and silently witness one of the many faces of the Ouryuu's power.

"I forgive you and release you from the burden of roaming my endless soul." Zeno murmurs.

"Roaming his endless soul ? What is he talking about ?" Jae-Ha wonders worriedly.

"Wake up, Seiryuu." Zeno says, his authority weighting on everyone in the tent.

All eyes are now on Shin-Ah, all waiting for Zeno's power to prove itself real or not. To their estonishment, Shin-Ah naturally opens his eyes. He looks straight in front of him, not aknowledging the others.

"Shin-Ah ! Thank God you're finally awake !" Kija suddenly breaks the silence.

Everybody hurries by Shin-Ah's side, asking him how he feels, what happened, etc. Well, everybody except for Jae-Ha who's eyes are glued to Zeno's still frame.

Zeno eyes the little relieved group without smiling, almost on the verge of tears.

Jae-Ha doesn't understand. Why has Zeno been so sad since Shin-Ah read his soul ? What could be so earthshattering that their ever cheerful boy would suddenly become such a sad mess...?

The Yellow Dragon makes a small eye contact with Shin-Ah. The latter tries to say something but Zeno just nods, already knowing what's in his friend's mind. He gives him a little sad smile of reassurance before leaving the tent without anybody else noticing.

But of course, Jae-Ha follows the small boy outside, worried about him.

"Zeno, wait." he calls him.

The Yellow Dragon turns back, looking tiredly at his friend.

"What is it, Jae-Ha ?"

"Hum...Your power's amazing, Zeno. You should be proud of it." he mumbles, blushing.

Jae-Ha is suddenly very embarassed. Why did he really follow him outside ? He can't just say Hey you seem sad, what's wrong?, can he ? And he isn't ready to just openly worry about this young man in front of him without any reason.

Zeno has a little smile when he responds.

"Glad you enjoyed it. We'll see if you're still as enthousiastic when you know about my whole power."

Jae-Ha is about to respond but suddenly Shin-Ah storms out of the tent, everybody following behind and worrying about him already getting out of bed.

He stands in front of Zeno, maskless, without saying a word. Zeno stays still too, not moving an inch and looking straight into Shin-Ah's powerful eyes.

Nobody dares to say anything, the moment between those two dragons seems out of time and almost sacred. Before Yona can interrupt their everlasting silence, Shin-Ah begins sniffing and sobbing.

All eyes turn on him alone and Shin-Ah breaks in tears.

"Z...Zeno... Our..yuu" he whimpers almost like a child.

Zeno doesn't move for a few seconds, just looks down. After a while, he finally gives in and hugs the crying boy.

"It's okay, Seiryuu. Don't worry about it." he reassures him.

"B..But, Zeno... I'm sorry, I d..don't want you to h..hate me..." he still whimpers, unable to prevent hot tears from streaming down his marked cheeks.

"I don't hate you, Shin-Ah. I'll never hate you. I love you and nothing you can do will ever change that fact." Zeno smiles warmly, wiping a tear away from his friend's face.

"But you're a..already suffering so much... How could I do t..that to you..." Shin-Ah can't stop sobbing.

"Stop, Seiryuu... I'm fine, you didn't do anything bad, no need to blame yourself." Zeno replies, still hugging the crying boy.

Jae-Ha, already worrying about Zeno all the time, doesn't let this slip out of his mind.

"Already suffering so much ? What could hurt our young joyful dragon this much that even Shin-Ah is worrying about him...?" he wonders.

"I...I'm s..so sorry O..Ouryuu..." Shin-Ah goes on.

"Shhh... I'm okay, I'm safe, don't worry about me. We're all together now, that's all that matters." he whispers with sad eyes.

It takes a few minutes but the Blue Dragon finally calms down. Kija thinks this is a good time to begin asking questions.

"Why wouldn't Zeno be okay, Shin-Ah ? What did you see, what's his power ?" Kija tries to step in and searches for answers. Shin-Ah then looks up and shoots his friend the most frightening cold glare.

"When will you realize it's none of your fucking business, Kija ?! Don't you think you've already done enough ?!" Jae-Ha immediately stops him.

"You shouldn't be so inquisitive, Hakuryuu. Sometimes, you just have to accept that certain things are way beyond what you alone can comprehend." Shin-Ah says coldly.

"What ? Come on, at least we didn't do it for nothing, just tell me already."

Zeno, completely silent, is almost boiling in anger in the back. He tries really hard not to burst out in rage.

"This matter is not mine to reveal." Shin-Ah states softly, looking at Zeno.

Kija looks at him too, exploding in curiousity.

"Zeno, don't you think it's high time fore you to tell us ?! After everything Shin-Ah has been through because of you, you could at least reveal yourself now !" he says angrily.

"Don't talk to him like that, Kija. You were the one who asked Shin-Ah to use his power against his own brother." Yun steps in.

He has always thought that dragon matters should stay between dragons but his friend is taking things way too far and he can't let Zeno be bullied like that just because of his selfish childish curiousity.

"Oh so now you care, Yun ?!" Kija retorts.

"Yes, I do and maybe you should start caring about his feelings too !" he replies.

"Just drop it, Yun ! This is between the four dragons." Kija says.

"Oh, so I guess Yona, Hak and I don't have anything to say in the matter ?!"

"Well, Yona does." Kija admits.

"So, Yona. What do you think ?" Yun asks his friend.

All eyes turn to her.

"Hum... I think Zeno should tell us what he really is capable of. If he has to protect me, I'd like to know how." she explains softly but with authority.

"See, Zeno ? Even Yona wants you to show us your power !" Kija says in excitement.

"Weither she wants it or not, I'm not gonna change my mind." Zeno states coldly.

"What ?! She's your master and you will do as she asks !"

"It's not because she's a Princess that she can order us around like we're her slaves." Zeno retorts.

Yona looks down, embarassed, but doesn't say anything.

"She's your freaking master, Zeno. You have to obey her." the White Dragon goes on.

"She's not." Zeno whispers.

"What did you just say ?!" Kija continues.

"She's not my freaking master !" Zeno speaks louder, angrily.

At that, everybody shuts up. Of course, except for Kija.

"What the fuck ?! How come she's not your master ?! She certainly is ours ! See, guys ? That's exactly like I said earlier ! He's not really one of us, he isn't even loyal to the Princess !"

"Hum... Zeno, what do you mean by not your master...?" Jae-Ha asks nervously.

"I mean exactly what I said. I didn't make oath of allegance to her and won't in the future. The Ouryuu only has one master and this person isn't Princess Yona." Zeno explains calmly.

"But then... who is it ?" Hak questions, curious now.

At that, vivid memories of King Hiryuu flash through Zeno's mind, leaving him with a void in the heart so deep that even his endless tears can't fill it.

"He isn't of our world anymore." Zeno answers, eyes full of melancholy and grief.

"Oh that's just great ! Now we're here, travelling with some stranger who isn't even loyal to Princess Yona but to some dead guy nobody knows about ! And he won't even show us his power !" Kija comes back on topic.

"Don't talk about him this way, Hakuryuu." he replies threateningly.

"Or what ? I bet you won't do a thing, Zeno ! If you're not willing to use your power, I wonder how your threats can be of any concequence !" Kija adds.

"Just fucking stop, Kija !" Jae-Ha steps in before Zeno can explode in rage but it was already too late.

"What the fuck is wrong with you ?! I'm your dragon brother and yet you don't respect me or my privacy for one bit !" Zeno says angrily.

"I don't know you, why would I respect you ?! For all I know you're just some random dude keeping tons of secrets !" Kija replies.

"And did you wonder maybe why they are secrets ?! You didn't even imagine that I won't show you my power because it hurts too much ! You have no fucking idea about what I went through because of this power !" he explodes.

"We've all been through a lot because of our power !" Kija answers.

"That's enough, I'm out. Good luck with your journey." Zeno storms out.

"No, wait Zeno !" Jae-Ha tries to reach him.

"No, Jae-Ha ! I'm not staying this time ! Not after being accused, attacked and now insulted by a selfish immature dragon who's just too curious for his own good !"

Zeno snaps back.

"But.."

"No buts ! I tried really hard with all of you to be your friend and to bear with his insolent attitude but it's not worth it ! To think I was about to take you all to the

Shinto Shrine, what a fool I am ! I won't take this opportunistic child to sacred grounds !" he shouts.

"Well, if you're so unhappy, just go ! We don't need a powerless dragon like you anyway." Kija says.

"Shut up, Kija." Shin-Ah says, walking behind Zeno and grabbing his hand.

"Don't, Shin-Ah. I won't change my mind. He went to far..." Zeno tells him softly.

"We need you, Ouryuu. The Gods want us all to stick together and you know it." he replies.

"Well, I haven't really been in the Gods good papers in the past." Zeno says coldly.

"Please, Zeno. I know we all hurt you and especially this idiot, but I really want you to stay. We've lived apart for way too long..." Shin-Ah adds.

Zeno looks at him silently and sighs before Shin-Ah goes on.

"Do you want to be alone, Zeno ?" he asks sadly and with compassion.

Zeno is taken aback by this question. He didn't expect Shin-Ah to point exactly at his insecurities like that. But he's right.

"I don't. I really don't want to be alone, Seiryuu. I've waited for you for so long..." Zeno replies sadly.

A silent unique tear falls from his eye.

"But Kija doesn't trust me and wants me to leave, Shin-Ah." he says even more sadly.

"He doesn't understand what's happening and what a great honor your presence among us really is, Ouryuu. Give him another chance, our time all together is limited and you know it." Shin-Ah adds.

Zeno looks down and then at Kija. He turns to the whole group before speaking up.

"You're right. I'll stay, but you all have to come with me to the Shinto Shrine first thing in the morning. Everything will be revealed on those sacred grounds."

He looks at Kija and sighs before walking to the fire. Everybody stays still and Shin-Ah walks quickly towards Kija.

"You make one remark, one comment about his power again and he's not the one who'll be leaving." he threatens.

"What are you talking about ? I'm not the enemy here." Kija answers, irritated.

"I think you don't realize how sacred and mighty the Ouryuu is, but let me tell you one thing ; you talk to him the way you did earlier once more and even the Gods won't be able to forgive you, Hakuryuu."

"What's so special about him ?"

"Everything, Kija. Everything is special about him ! You have no idea about his past and trust me, none of our sad childhood story can compare." Shin-Ah says intensely.

"Well, even if he's been through a lot, if his power isn't strong and that he can't fight with us on the field, of what use is he to us ?" Kija asks.

"Gosh, Kija. Just... Don't push him." Shin-Ah sighs.

"It's not like he could injure me, he's harmless against my dragon arm." Kija adds proudly.

Shin-Ah laughs a bit.

"What's so funny ?"

"You're way over your head, Kija. Zeno could kill all of us without even a scratch if he wanted. You have no idea who you're up against." he says, turning towards the fire and walking to Zeno.

"I'm sorry about Kija, Zeno. He doesn't really mean his rude words, he has no idea how this situation really hurts your feelings." Shin-Ah says, sitting next to his dragon friend by the fire.

"I know, Shin-Ah. I wish I could explain it all to him, but it has become so complicated that unless another Hakuryuu explains it to him, he won't believe me." Zeno answers.

"Is that why you're taking us to the Shinto Shrine ? To talk to the previous Hakuryuu." Shin-Ah asks with excitement.

"Ahaha ! If it could only be the previous Hakuryuu ! We're gonna see all of the previous dragons tomorrow." he explains with a little laugh.

"I didn't know it was even possible." Shin-Ah says with a smile.

"Only the Ouryuu has the power to open the sacred doors that lead to the Hiryuu sanctuary. All the other dragons's spirit await there." Zeno tells him.

"Well, I can't wait." he replies, still smiling.

Suddenly, his smile leaves his face and he looks at Zeno intensely.

"I'm also sorry I hurt you, Zeno. I shouldn't have forced my power on you." he says seriously.

"No, you shouldn't have. But what's done is done, right? I didn't want you to see all that, nor did I want to be reminded of my tragic past." Zeno answers sadly.

"You relived it all ? I didn't know my power had this effect on the people I use it on." Shin-Ah adds.

"Yeah, everything just flashed in front of my eyes. Not a really pleasant display..."

"I'm sorry, I get it now." Shin-Ah tells him.

"You're already forgiven, Shin-Ah. But I just want you to promise me not to use your soul reading power on me ever again. With other people it may be okay because they don't have as much background as I do but if I have to relive my past once again, it'll drive me crazy for sure..." Zeno asks him sadly.

"I promise you I won't use my soul reading power on you ever again, Ouryuu." Shin-Ah swears to him.

"Thank you, Seiryuu." he replies softly.

"No, thank you for staying with us."

"It's all right, don't worry about it." Zeno smiles at him.

They stay in silence for a little bit before Jae-Ha joins them.

"Hey, guys. May I join you ?" he asks nervously.

"Of course, Jae-Ha." Zeno replies warmly.

"Hum... I'm sorry ab..." Jae-Ha tries but is cut by his friend.

"It's okay, Jae-Ha. Please stop apologizing. I also went too far and what I said to you was really rude, please forgive me." Zeno asks.

"Of course, Zeno." he answers with a little smile.

Jae-Ha understands immediately that everything's okay between them now and he's really relieved that Zeno has calmed down.

The three dragons stay by the fire for most of the night. Around midnight, Jae-Ha and Shin-Ah go to bed, leaving Zeno alone by the fire.

The Yellow Dragon stays there all night, thinking about the past. Silent tears occasionally stream down his devastated face and fall on the floor sadly.

When morning comes, Zeno is still by the fire on his own. He has calmed down, now being an expert in the art of hiding his real emotions from his friends.

"Zeno...? Did you stay here all night ?" Jae-Ha asks, walking out of his tent.

"Yeah, had a lot to think about." Zeno answers surprisingly honestly.

"Are you okay, though ?"

"Yeah, I'm fine don't worry. Go finish packing your stuff, we're leaving in half an hour." Zeno instructs joyully.

After everybody has packed, they head to the Shinto Shrine.

"How far is it, Zeno ?" Yun asks him.

"It's about three hours away, we should he there around noon." he answers calmly but is interrupted by a sudden scream.

The boys turn to see what's happening and they're met with the awful sight of Kija, on the floor, covered in blood. An enormous bear stands behind him, growling.

"Kija !" Jae-Ha yells.

Thanks to the amazing warrior Hak is, he's on the bear a few seconds later, piercing his heart with his sword. The bear's body falls to the floor as everybody runs towards Kija.

"Oh my God, Kija ! Are you okay ?!" Shin-Ah asks worriedly.

"H...He injured my shoulder..." he mumbles, holding his bloody arm.

"Lay down, we'll stop the bleeding and bandage your shoulder." Yona instructs.

Yun and Zeno watch silently as they lower the White Dragon's body on the floor and start working on his injury.

Zeno walks slowly towards the little group and sits beside Kija.

"I'm gonna show you my power now, Hakuryuu." he whispers seriously.

"W..What ? Now really isn't a good time, Zeno !" he answers, hurting really bad.

"I told you I'd use it if I had to and you desperately need it right now." Zeno adds, placing both his hands on his friend's injured shoulder.

"What a...are you doing ?" Kija grinds between his teeth.

"It's gonna be okay, Kija. Trust me." he replies softly.

Suddenly, the three other dragons feel the same aura as the day before emanating from Zeno. His hands begin glowing and Kija feels his pain going away. The wound slowly closes itself, almost magically.

After a few minutes, Zeno's hands stop glowing and he takes them away, showing Kija's completely healed shoulder.

They all look at the Yellow Dragon with amazement. Did he just... heal Kija ?

"How do you feel, Hakuryuu?" Zeno asks quietly.

"I...I feel fine, it doesn't hurt anymore. What did you do, Zeno ?" he mumbles, looking at him with wide astonished eyes.

"I healed your shoulder. That is one of my power." Zeno answers with a little smile.

Kija straighten himself and touches his shoulder, witnessing its complete recovery. He looks up at Zeno, feeling really bad for the way he behaved until now.

"Zeno..." he whispers.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, let's get going then, shall we ?" the Yellow Dragon adds before standing up.

But as soon as he gets on his feet, Zeno feels really light-headed and falls back, almost fainting. Jae-Ha grabs him before he hurts himself.

"Zeno ! Are you okay ?" he asks worriedly.

"S...Sorry, this power requires a lot of energy. I just have to rest for a bit and I'll be okay." Zeno answers, putting a hand on his throbing head.

Jae-Ha leads him to the nearest rock, sitting with him.

"Take all the time you need." he says softly.

Everybody's still looking at Zeno with their mouth wide open. The walk to him, forming a little crowd around him.

"Don't pressure him, guys." Jae-Ha says softly, still looking at his weak friend.

"It's fine, Jae-Ha. I'm sure you all have tons of questions." Zeno replies.

Kija is the first.

"So, you have healing abilities, Zeno ?" he asks.

"Yeah, that's one of the Ouryuu power."

"But then, why didn't you want to show us ? It's really helpful and it'll make an huge difference in the battlefield." he adds.

"I didn't want you to know about my whole power. Compared to the other aspects of the Ouryuu's abilities, the healing process is a fine one, I guess." Zeno answers.

"But can you heal anybody or just the three other dragons ?" Yun asks then.

"As long as they're not already on deathbed, I can possibly heal anybody."

"That's simply amazing." Kija whispers.

"Yeah, that's really great but what are the concequences for you, Zeno ?" Jae-Ha asks worriedly.

"Well, as you saw, it takes me a tremendous amount of energy to heal someone. Right now it was only a shoulder injury and yet I'm worn out. So, for actual serious injuries, it really drains me." Zeno explains.

"So, this isn't a power that we should abuse." Yun adds seriously.

"What happens if you use it too much, Zeno ?" Yona asks, curious.

"Well, I always have enough energy available ; that's linked to my other power. But I'm be completely exhausted and in the end, it starts hurting very much."

"Why does it start hurting ?" Hak questions.

"Because when I don't have any energy left to put into the injury, then I begin taking the pain in myself. It's like transfering the person's injury from its body to mine." he answers honestly.

"So you end up being the injured one ?" Jae-Ha asks worriedly.

"Yeah, but it's okay though. My other power takes it from there." Zeno replies mysteriously.

"So you're saying that we can use you to endlessly heal everybody, all the time ? That's really great." Yona adds.

"If needed, then yes that's possible." Zeno answers coldly.

"That's absolutely out of question. We're not hurting Zeno so that the other ones can continue fighting and getting even more injured and going back to Zeno to get healed again, etc." Jae-Ha states, worrying about how selfless their young blonde boy actually is.

"You talked about another power ? What is it ?" Kija grows even more curious.

"Don't push your luck, Kija. You'll discover everything in a little bit." Zeno says, getting up again.

Jae-Ha helps him on his feet and support his body to be sure he doesn't lose his balance.

"Thank you, Jae-Ha. I'm better now, we can go." Zeno tells them with a little smile.

As they resume their journey, Zeno and Jae-Ha are cheerfully chatting in the front. After a while, Kija runs up to their level.

"Hum, Jae-Ha ? Would you mind giving me a moment with Zeno...?" he asks nervously.

The two other dragons look at him, curious.

"Well, as long as you promise me you won't try to force him to tell you about his other power, I don't mind."

"I won't." he answers.

"Okay, then." Jae-Ha says, going back to walk with Hak and the others.

Zeno continues walking in silence as if he's alone. He knows why Kija comes to him and wants him to speak up first.

"Hum, so, Zeno... I wanted to talk to you because I think I need to apologize to you..." Kija whispers nervously.

"What ? Sorry, I didn't hear." Zeno feigns, wanting his friend to be more honest and open with him.

"I said I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked Shin-Ah to look in your soul and I shouldn't have pushed you the way I did. So, I'm truely sorry for behaving like such a dork." Kija admits.

Zeno doesn't reply at first and just looks at him with a smile.

"Well, you sure went too far and really hurt my feelings." Zeno answers.

Kija looks down, ashamed of himself.

"But you're also very young and bold. All the Hakuryuu are, it's okay." Zeno adds with a little warm smile.

"All the Hakuryuu ?" Kija asks, not understanding.

But Zeno doesn't answer, he just winks at his dragon friend.

They walk for two more hours before arriving in front of a little abandonned shrine.

"Hum, are you sure it's here, Zeno ? It's only rubble..." Kija wonders.

"Yeah, maybe you got the wrong location." Yun suggests.

But the dragons can clearly feel a very strong energy behind those walls.

"I feel this is a sacred site, but I don't know, it's a weird feeling... Like the power is here but very distant at the same time." Shin-Ah adds.

Zeno turns his back to the shrine, looking at them. He smiles warmly before focusing and closing his eyes.

His immense aura comes back once again and this time, he begins actually glowing. A strong, wise light surrounds them whole and when they all open their eyes again, they're met with an unexpected tremendous Shrine.

"What ?!" Jae-Ha says, completely dumb-founded.

They all look at this luxurous solemn Shrine, not believing their eyes.

"Guys, am I dreaming or what ?!" Yun exclaims.

"But it was just a ruined little shrine a few seconds ago ! What in hell happened ?!" Kija says.

Shin-Ah turns to look at Zeno.

"Zeno, did you just...?" he asks in awe.

"The sacred Shrine can only be revealed by the Ouryuu." he explains seriously.

Zeno looks back at the Shrine with an immense feeling of melancholy.

"It's been so long since I've come here... But I'm finally home. Abi, Shuten, Guen." he whispers.

[theprojectatedensgate]

63. “You never learnt to think did you?” Joseph and John

This is quite sad so be warned!

John’s fist collided with the wall with an almighty bang, chunks of cream coloured drywall and wood splintering out around him. Joseph watched after him calmly, not un used to seeing his little brothers episodes, his temper wasn’t stable at the best of times. But this was different, John had succumbed to his Sin and Joseph had to save him.

“You have to love them, John. Do not let your sin prevent that.”

But how could he? How could the man who was forced to suffer and confess for his sins, the man who’s life sunk into a pit of drugs and lasciviousness, how could the man who was abused by society, twisting him into the sadistic tormentor he was today, love them?

The Resistance was winning. Many of the outposts in the Holland Valley shanghaied by the Deputy and their companions, destroying Eden’s Gate property. They had been the bane of the Baptist’s existence, spreading their sin like a cancer, toxic and resilient, the very air around them became polluted with their doubt. They were taking their homes, supplies, people, undoing all the endeavours of the Seed Family and worst of all? Making John Seed look a fool.

So when the bliss bullet punctured their flesh, when they awoke with water burning their lungs, when they were marched towards John like a successful hunt, he couldn’t help but give into his sin. His hold firm as he thrust them back into the river, their limbs thrashing hard against his grip, he watched them with  reverence as they struggled, remaining steadfast as they suffocated against him, their body slowly tiring. He tugged them to the surface, taking in their spluttering and soaked expression, red with the constriction of water. John knew it was a sin, such feelings are perverse and rife with depravity, but God, did it bring immense satisfaction, to watch them suffer. John bared his teeth, his blunt nails cutting crescents into the Deputy’s arms, clenching his hands around them he moved to shove them back into the darkness of the river, a voice called out to him, one that would make him freeze where he stood.

The Father had told him then, his actions mocked the very cleansing that was held sacred by the Baptist, by all of the flock. He would have to love them,  he would bring them to atonement or face the closed shut gates of Eden. Bitterness crept through John’s mind, the Deputy who had been murdering their brothers and sisters, culling them like they were lambs for slaughter, would reach redemption by his hands or he would face abandonment for their transgressions. What was so special about them? What was it that drew the Father’s attention? He will have to open them and see for himself.

They escaped when the convoy to his bunker was ambushed, dragged away by the selfish and misguided Pastor Jerome. John had visited Joseph then, heading to his compound in orange dusk of the evening. His fingers squeezed white against the steering wheel of his car, fixation gripping him in a choke hold. The church doors swung open at his palms, the stretched shadow of Joseph kneeling on the podium,cast by the flickers of candlelight. The faint mutters of God’s prayers filled the holy space from his lips. He remained focused in prayer as John approached him, fighting himself to keep his temper at bay. He needed an explanation, he needed an answer for the nonintervention of the Deputy’s crimes. He waited as Joseph finished his prayer, rising to his feet and turning to face him, moving towards him with open arms, blue eyes filtered green through the yellow lenses.

“My brother, I wasn’t expecting you, what brings you to the church?”

Nerves bubbled in John’s gut, he didn’t want to be afraid of Joseph, he was his brother. But the threat of sending John to exile and the sudden preoccupation with the Deputy had shaken him, to think that his own blood would banish him from the garden chewed at his insides. But this needed fixing, he wouldn’t see himself lost from the path because of the Deputy.

“I need to speak with you, urgently.”

Joseph furrowed his brows, sending him a low nod.

“Of course, come sit with me, tell me whats on your mind.”

They moved to the first pew, sitting together side by side. Joseph looked on at John with concern, John wearing a grimace.

“It’s the Deputy.”

Joseph nodded, leaning back into the pew.

“Ah yes, I heard they escaped, but I trust you will bring them back onto the path to atonement.”

John narrowed his eyes, there it was again, the insistence of the Deputy to be cleansed, despite their belligerence.

“Yes, Pastor Jerome organised an ambush. He will be dealt with, I will drag him into the light of God myself. But that’s not why I came, I need to know, Joseph.”

It was Joseph’s turn for his eyes to thin, perplexity gracing his features, he searched over John’s face for more information.

“Need to know what, my Brother?”

“Why must they be redeemed? The travel all of Hope County spreading their lies and immorality. Their sin infects the very ground they walk on. Surely, they cannot be saved?”

Joseph sighed, reaching a hand to swipe at his brow. John’s gaze remained fixed on Josephs, as if his eyes could pluck the answer from his face.

“I understand your confusion, John. They have caused so much destruction with their lust for war, their wrath,…” The syllables hissed as they left his lips, the words filing away in John’s mind. “Their pride… It is easy when dealing with a enemy such as this to give into the temptation of sin, the rage that plagues your soul.”

John shifted awkwardly against the pew, his indulgence in sin being brought so openly into the conversation.  He was a sinner, they all were, but he endured years of atonement and expiation to cleanse himself of the deviation that pursued his being. He had crawled into the light of the Lord on hands and knee’s to achieve purity,  to rid his body of the disease that blinded him.

“But… God demands that we must save these lost souls no matter if they desire it, no matter if they deserve it. The ones who’s sin flows thick through their veins, who’s eyes are blind and their senses dulled, the ones who fight and resist and stray from the love of God, are the ones most in need of salvation. They must be brought to the gates.”

John set his teeth. This sinner had committed such atrocities against God and his people, their ignorance and defiance sought the destruction of everything they strive for. They were not worthy of a place in Eden but John definitely was,

“ But you would threaten to desert your own brother for a sinner? One tainted soul? What makes them so special?”

“We are all God’s children, some of us lose our way and it is our job to bring them back to that path. Some will try to harm us, some will try to destroy all that we have built here together, some will betray us. You see they are blind, blind to God and his love, blind to the Garden we can all live in. Your role is to wash them of their sin, the make sure they are of devoted body and soul, to make them pure. You draw their confessions so they may be known, you expose their transgressions so there is no hidden intent, you absolve them of their sins so they can be clean. I place this task on you because I have faith you can complete it, I give you the warning because your soul needs an incentive to stay on the path. I know your loyalty to us, the flock, me, I see your devotion, but you are easily led astray, it’s my role as the Father and your brother, to guide you and keep you whole.” 

Anger kicked in John’s chest. He wasn’t a disobedient child in need of discipline or punishment, he had served his time for that. Now he was a herald of Edens Gate, Confessor and Baptist, a man with devoted followers at his back, ready to follow his word. To be treated this way by his brother was patronising to say the least, he was sick of the restraint Joseph held over him, he may be the youngest but he was proficient, and eager to prove his worth. He wanted to scream, to throw and hit things and destroy all doubt of him. He stayed silent as he internally battled with his indignation, which threatened to boil over any second, he almost shook with the struggle.

“I just think-”

“You never learnt to think did you?”

The words held venom, intended to cause harm. Regret fumbled at the words as the exploded from his lips, his voice reverberating against the bones of the church. Joseph tensed, pain flashing in his eyes. He stared at his brother in bewilderment laced with concern. A moment of deathly silence fell between the both, John’s breath heavy with adrenaline.

“”You never learnt to think, that I can be trusted, that I am capable of abstaining from sin. You expect me to just fall back into old habits at any time, I was the last one to be assigned a region, you claim to have faith, but I don’t see it with me.”

The younger brothers eyes radiated anger and sorrow, the blue depths glaring with pain and Joseph’s were a replica, sadness filling them whole.

“John. I trust you with my life. I have seen what the years of sin have done to you and I must lead you from temptation, deliver you from evil. You have to love them John. Love them as I have loved you. Do not become blind to your sin.”

His words were stern, but ever calm like a father lecturing their child. John shook his head in disbelief. Rising from the pew and Joseph followed suit. John began for the door of the church, stopping to look at his brother.

“If you don’t have faith in me. I’ll have to give it to you.”

He carried on his way to the door, taking a chunk out of the wall with his knuckles. Joseph did not call out for him. He did not attempt to stop him and change his mind. John wouldn’t listen if he did, he had work to do. If Joseph couldn’t provide him with the answers he desired, he would extract them himself. He will open them, he will pull their perversions from them piece by piece, he will expose their deepest, darkest secrets, spilling them onto the floor of his Bunker. He will mark them with their sin and lay them bare for him to witness.  Their confessions will pour from them like wine and he will see what makes them so special.

And the harder they resist? Well…The harder he’ll have to scrub their soul.

Thanks for requesting!! Enjoy!

[pazwrites]

How about, "their fingers met the silver of the moon, but their feet stayed grounded on the earth,"? Just a random thought that I had and you can interpret however you like.

thanks so much for the prompt!

i’m afraid it’s not that good but hey... it’s the first piece of writing i’ve done in a long time and i’m proud of myself for it.

A SLIVER OF THE MOON

I met Jones on the deployment train to the Franco-Germaine tunnels in the year 2117, a few months after the war started. I noticed almost immediately he was unlike any of the other recruits around, he was a draft overspill in the land of willing recruits. They tried to keep us divided, those willing to fight and those dragged into the front lines, perhaps in hopes those against the war wouldn’t taint such battle-ready brutes like myself. So whether it was a clerical error or just an oversight, there Jones was, short and bespeckled and very much anti-war.

We were lucky to be assigned not to the proto-trenches of New Britain, but to the Labyrinth that lay under the ground of most of the European Union. The proto-trenches were where troops went to die, blown apart by drones and tracer bullets in the Conflict Zones where the majority of the fighting was. They were echoing of the two world wars that predated this one. It was like the world had taken two steps backwards towards barbarism.

But the Labyrinth was a different matter, they were the peak of technology. Untraceable by the enemy, nobody knew they existed except generals and those stationed inside. They transported troops, supplies, people of interest, they housed prisoners of war and factories and our most advanced weapons. Picture a treasure chest that stretched across an entire continent. This was the Labyrinth.

When my platoon and I first got to our section of the Labyrinth, which zigzagged through France to Germany and back again, the Commanders had us stand in the huge bay opening that served as the only entrance for miles around, disguised among the Alps as a cave entrance. There was a beautiful French sunset sinking below the mountains, pink and yellow and orange and all the colors that war was not. First, the Commanders told us to face the sky, so we could kiss the sun goodbye one last time. Then, the Commanders had us turn around to face the dark interior of the Labyrinth so the sun could kiss our asses one last time.

Of all the things I sacrificed for war, fresh air was the one I missed the most.

Jones and I worked in what was called the Armament, guarding the nuclear missiles and the atomic bombs and all the secret weapons I was told to never talk about with anyone. It was the deepest, the most confined part of the Labyrinth, and as our skin grew paler our morale blanched too. Jones and I slept in bunks that were parallel to each other. I slept at night without the worry of ten tons of rock over my head, but Jones was different. I could hear muffled sobs from him, every night. The kid was small, weak, vulnerable… and his cries made my heart break. I noticed he was eating less and less, he was wasting away. His outsides reflected his insides, so it seems.

Once, he collapsed on duty. He came back three days later with sallow cheeks and a bottle of vitamins, and a pensive look in his eye.

“Corbin?” He asked me one day as we lay side-by-side in our parallel bunks. Corbin was my first name. I didn’t even know he knew it, when only our last names were stitched onto the breast of our uniforms and our Commanders exclusively called us “boys”.

“Mhm?” I had hummed back, as quietly as I could. I was staring at the ceiling, at the dome-shaped screen that projected a real-time image of the night sky. An artificial crescent moon hung among artificial stars, displayed like a museum exhibit on an artificial navy-black background. Occasionally, small blips of light would skitter across the screen like tiny race cars. Satellites that looked so innocent from earth, but in reality were peeking down at us like malicious scientists looking at an ant farm, each side studying the others tactics of war, peeking in on their goings-about and trying to get the upper hand.

Thirty miles above us lay the real thing, the real sky, and although the screen never glitched and looked real enough, we all knew it wasn’t the real thing.

“I miss the sky.” Jones replied, his voice as soft and sad as a pillow stained with tears.

“Don’t we all?” I muttered, my eyes chasing a blip across the screen. “At least we got this thing, though. Nice little placeholder for now.” “It’s not the same thing.”

“Close enough.”

“No, it’s not.” Jones took in a deep, shaky breath. I could tell he was crying again. “I miss the sky, so much. When they drafted me I begged for an above ground position, but you know what they said? All full, sir. Not enough room, sir. I must of pissed them off bad with all my insistence for them to stick me in the bottom of the deepest goddamn hole in the world.”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.” I suggested. “Besides, we’re doing good work. At least we aren’t in combat.”

“No, but we get traumatized all the same, don’t we?”

I lay in a shocked silence for a few seconds, trying to absorb the meaning of Jones’s words. We’d been told to leave our complaints, our bad attitudes at the surface. I’d readily complied, but Jones seemed stuck in his own doom and gloom.

“I’m going to go crazy down here. Just you wait and see.” I could see the black outline of his figure, his arm raising as if to point at the “sky” above us.

“Orion’s belt, Big Dipper, Cassiopeia…” He started to repeat himself, gesturing at various stars. “Sirius, Canopus, Vega. And there… The moon.”

In the darkness I could see the tip of his finger move in a crescent pattern, tracing the shape of the moon above us. He rubbed his fingertips together as if he could feel the very silver of the moon, tracing it over and over before he let out a huge sigh, letting his hand drop.

“I don’t understand war.” He murmured. “Goodnight, Corbin.” I didn’t understand war either. Nor did I understand Jones, with his lust for the above ground and infatuation with the sky.

Over the course of the next month, I could tell Jones was starting to lose it. We were often stationed next to each other, and one day only a few weeks after our conversation under the faux stars, I could see he was beginning to mouth things, his lips moving ever so slightly without letting any sound escape. These little movements progressed until sound started leaking through, whether he meant for it to or not. I could barely hear it over the constant hum and whir of generators and machinery, but if I strained just hard enough I could hear it…

Orion’s Belt, Big Dipper, Cassiopeia, Sirius, Canopus, Vega, the Moon… The Moon… The Moon.

I was half-tempted to report him, but what good would that do? At best, my claims would just be dismissed. Nowadays they only cared about your health if you got shot or blown up. Reverting back to the old war mindsets. They didn’t seem to care about us ants in the anthill. It was tense, watching Jones slowly build up pressure like a pipe bomb waiting to explode.

Orion’s Belt, Big Dipper, Cassiopeia, Sirius, Canopus, Vega, the Moon… The Moon… The Moon.

He stopped eating soon after that. At first, I thought it might just be a byproduct of stress; our enemies had found out about the Labyrinth and had been launching attacks, stealing weapons, stealing our technology and data… We knew basic combat but not well enough against their violent slash-and-burn squads. Reports came through every day, dozens dead, hundred dead, explosions and blood and prisoners taken. We all felt the terror in the air, and terror fills your stomach more than any food. So I didn’t pay much mind to Jones at first, none of us ate much anymore anyway.

Explosions started to rock our sect of the Labyrinth two weeks after that. There were over fifty levels of the Labyrinth, and the first five had fallen within a day. All our troops, all our weapons were in these tunnels but… somehow they knew how to beat us. The enemy collapsed tunnels and plundered for tools, we knew the layout but they had always been more advanced than us and we were wiped out like a child stepping on an anthill. We were told to stay put, that the weapons we were guarding were worth more than our lives, that we HAD to keep our posts until the enemy was pushed back or we’d lose the war forever.

It wasn’t as if there was any way out, except one.

There was a small service elevator around back of the huge warehouse where we were stationed, designed to allow those with special clearance like generals and scientists and doctors to be able to move between floors quickly. The rest of us took huge bay elevators that could fit whole platoons at a time. Those were destroyed almost immediately, to trap us where we stood. But they didn’t destroy the service elevators.

We were told to stay at our positions, but when the enemy reached the level just above us, Jones made a break for it.

He was little, fast, and agile, and nobody but me noticed he’d even left. The rest of us were too busy watching the ceiling, listening to faint sounds of gunshots and waiting for the fight to come to us. The kid was going to get killed up there… I couldn’t just let him die alone, could I? I could taste the metallic tang of fear on my tongue, the elevator door was half-closed before I slid through, just barely diving inside before they shut completely. Jones looked at me with disbelief. I could tell he was prepared to die alone.

“What… the fuck… are you doing?” My breath came in pants as the elevator started to rapidly ascend.

“This is a lost cause.” Jones replied. “I’m just trying to see the sky for one last time before I become another casualty.”

The elevator was deadly silent.

“Bold.” I whispered. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

“You don’t even know me.” Jones glanced at me with eyes full of tears.

“Would a coward really defy direct orders to go stargazing one last time?” I asked.

“Touche.”

The elevator took three minutes to get to the first floor of the Labyrinth.

“There’s going to be enemies all over the place.” I murmured. I felt… oddly calm. Oddly content with dying his way. I was pulsing with adrenaline, yes, but I’d left my fear in the bottom of the Labyrinth. There was only a cold call about me now, and around Jones too.

The boy nodded.

“We’ll find a way.” He murmured. His voice was more lively than I’d ever heard it.

We were both equipped with standard-grade military rifles, and as the door of the service elevator opened we cocked them - locked and loaded. I braved my body for impact, surely they’d notice us as soon as the doors open and they’d riddle us with bullets so fast we’d hardly have time to feel the pain...

The enemy was nowhere to be seen.

The first level of the Labyrinth was all loading bays and storage, but they’d been cleared out, leaving a grey-walled void with nobody in it but us. I glanced at Jones, this was… impossible, wasn’t it? Our footsteps made no noises as we slowly started to walk towards one of the many doors to the outside, swallowed by the vast emptiness.

When Jones opened the door to the outside, I gasped at the taste of fresh air. It wasn’t bright daylight, as I’d expected, it was pitch darkness under the light of the moon and stars I’d only seen in virtual dioramas for the last month. Jones stepped slowly out onto the rocky trail the door led onto, his face wide with disbelief. A slow smile began to stretch across his face… he started to laugh. To whoop, to holler, to scream out cries of victory. We’d lost, the Labyrinth was dead and our platoon was surely being massacred three miles under our feet but Jones… Jones had won.

“Hey,” I whispered, wiping away tears that had been streaking down my face. “Let’s be… Let’s be quiet, okay? In case there’s sentries around here.”

Jones ignored me.

“Look,” he whispered, pointing up at the sky. “It’s a waning crescent.”

I looked up, to the moon hanging in the sky. I said nothing.

“Touch it.” Jones said. “You can almost feel it.”

Without thinking, I stretched my fingers up towards the sky, the silver of the moon, and although our feet stayed firmly on the ground I swear I could feel the satin of the lunar surface under my fingers.

Beside me, I heard Jones draw in a deep inhale, as if to say something else. The words never left his mouth.

There were sentries outside the entrance of the Labyrinth. Snipers.

Jones fell to the ground, dead, with a bullet through his head before he could even exhale.

At least he died under the stars.

The thought barely finished running through my head before the second sniper’s bullet found its home in the back of my neck. It was better than dying three miles underground.