#((all of his fear just evaporated in a snap; and he was reduced to a gooey puddle of love and adoration of his wife))

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

At this moment of reminiscense, Dorian and Elizabeth's eyes met, and their smiles mirrored one another as Elizabeth commented off-handedly:

"I think I'm beginning to understand that feeling."

Walking behind the two younger couples, unable to resist cooing over her sleeping granddaughter just as her mother was, June caught little snatches of the conversation, with certain remarks just happening to make her ears prick up a little more, though she never let her face show what she was thinking and feeling, to say nothing of refusing to give voice to these thoughts. As she had told Lon earlier in the month, she had her theories, but at the end of the day, whatever was on Dorian and Elizabeth Gracey's mind was theirs to announce, and she certainly wasn't going to impede upon that.

At the very least, when the party had made it back to the attic, and Randall and Emily quietly took the twins to their room for a nap, she took Elizabeth aside for a moment, venturing to say, choosing her words carefully, "Well, if you do ever feel sick again, if any nausea or soreness pops up again...please, don't hesitate to come to me. I'd like to help in any way I can."

Elizabeth studied June's face for a moment, remaining calm upon this suggestion being put to her-the matriarch's face was just as calm as her own, and there was a gentle sincerity in the way she smiled at her, to say nothing of something of a mischievous twinkle to her eye, a sort of subtle, knowing look that reminded Elizabeth of her own mother, and the looks she would give her one and only daughter when she knew something was afoot.

But even with that look, the mistress of Gracey Manor knew Mrs. June Pace was a woman she could trust, and so she flashed her an appreciative smile, saying, "If anything comes up, I'll be sure to look to you first. Thank you, June."

"Think nothing of it, Elizabeth."

[rk1kheadcanons]

i hope all of the admins are doing well :) i'm a sucker for angst (with a happy ending) so my prompt is that, anything that comes to mind feel free to about it! a heated argument, close call with death, a misunderstanding – as long as markus and connor feel all of those angsty emotions and resolve them, that's my jam!

Oh hello! 🥰

Thank you for the well wishes, I myself am doing wonderfully thank you!

Let's go with "close call with death" since I have a little angsty snippet for that one that's been rattling around in my head for a while now:

-

Markus stared down wide-eyed at where the pale grey of his suit had only eighteen hours ago been soaked in blue. The vibrant colour had since evaporated off, but Connor would still have been able to see it...

The RK900 standing in as Markus' bodyguard in Connor's absence could still see it too if the careful avoidance of her gaze towards Markus was anything to go by. He'd been advised numerous times by words spoken under concerned gazes to go home and change but he couldn't bring himself to leave him alone like this...

Markus' HUD glitched when he let his mind wander back over the past eighteen hours. His vision suddenly filled with the image of liquid blue exploding out of the back of his lovers head as his tactile sensors involuntarily re-registered the hot feel of blood painting his face and running down his neck. Auxiliary security had tried to forcefully drag Markus away from Connor after the bullets had started flying but he had held on tight. Dragging the limp form with them off of the stage and into an armored car.

And the sound. Ra9 he would never forget that sound.

Connors usually sharp tongue reduced to nothing but bursts of static and high-pitched feedback loops. His gaze unfocused as his limbs spasmed weakly and his central processor approached shutdown. Markus had cradled him in his arms as the car sped off, ignoring the heavy flow of thirium soaking into his suit and drenching him. Amongst his pleas to the RK800 to stay with me, don't go, don't leave me please don't leave me, he almost missed the single white hand that Connor was lifting weakly towards his own, blinking dimly with blue light.

He latched onto it with force the second his attention was drawn to it. Opening up an interface disturbingly absent of Connor's usual ferocity. Interfacing with an RK800 was normally like being dropped headfirst into the ocean but now his presence felt like barely a trickle of existence...

He received one automated message from Connors systems before the countdown timer on his HUD reached zero:

UPLOADING MEMORY//:

And that was how Markus found himself deep in a basement level of Cyberlife tower, floor -45; The research and development sector of the RK lines. Somewhere between the grief and the panic and the fear, he had managed to relay the final message of Connors systems to their security team and they had been swiftly transported in a motor blockade towards the android-occupied tower. A team of the few remaining RK800s in existence had quickly snatched Connor from Markus' arms at the entrance and spirited him away to do...well Markus wasn't sure what exactly, he was uncharacteristically absent of questions at that moment.

There had been one on his lips, however, the one that was taking up space in all corners of all his processors;

"Will he still be himself?"

The RK800s had looked to one another with swirling LEDs before fifty-nine responded with the non-answer of

"None of us have ever attempted a transfer as deviants."

He had been brought to a room after that, a large white sterile space that housed a glass-plated black cube in the center which was covered in flickering LED lights; The RK800 main-server. In any other scenario he would have been fascinated to see it, the machine that connected Connor to all RK800s while his body kept him an autonomous individual...but right now his attention was focused tunnel-vision like on the two beds off to the side, one with his Connor laid broken and lifeless and the other with RK800-63, as new and as lifelike as a doll.

He stood between them for a moment, casting his gaze this way and that before slowly settling himself in a chair between the two of them and raising a plasteel white hand towards each figure. He stayed like that as he waited. As the eight hours the 800s said it would take for the transfer to complete turned into eighteen. Hand in hand with a corpse and a shell.

-

It wasn't until the twentieth hour that the multitude of flickering loading bars on the digital monitor finally circled to blue with an alert chime. After a short moment of deliberation where his head whipped back and forth rapidly, Markus reluctantly let go of Connor-52s -his Connors - hand and brought both over to grasp onto Connor-63s. The tension in the air was thick enough to make the room feel liquid as the seconds ticked by with no sign of stirring from the figure on the table.

When the LED on the android's forehead finally circled blue with a blink Markus' artificial breath hitched and he was dimly aware of the RK900 at the door taking a small step forward in involuntary anticipation. One minute went by, and then another, and then ten more until suddenly the eyes of the prone form snapped open and circled around the room frantically.

Markus' chair fell backward behind him as he jumped to his feet to lean over the RK800 who's eyes were flickering rapidly over the white tiled ceiling with an expression of fear.

"Connor? Can you hear me?"

At the sound of Markus' voice, the RK800's eyes snapped suddenly to his own in sharp focus and the expression of terror on the androids face quickly shifted into flat browed determination. Connor lunged off of the bed in one fluid motion, disconnecting the data cable at the base of his neck with a pop and pushing Markus to the ground.

The RK200 fell backwards hard, cracking his head against the side of the other bed in the process. As Connor landed on top of him, pressing his body into the ground and holding his head down with a firm palm to the side of his face, Markus felt a flash of some emotion that landed between horror and peace at the thought that perhaps Connor had been rebound to his pre-deviant programming during the transfer and was about to follow through with Cyberlifes last order to eradicate the deviant leaders. His fear, however, was cut short by the first words out of the RK800s mouth.

"Active shooter! Why are you just standing there?! Find the source and cover us!"

Markus managed to make eye contact with his stand-in bodyguard from where he lay on the floor and the look in the RK900s eyes said that she too had all at once understood what was happening. He contacted her wirelessly before she had the chance to drag Connor off of him, instructing her to not interfere lest she distress the RK800 even more.

"Connor-"

"Stay down!"

The hand pressing Markus head onto the ground tightened and he made no move to try and dislodge it. Connor continued to bark orders at the android in the doorway while attempting to shield Markus' body from an imaginary shooter.

"Connor-"

"We need to get off the stage, when I give the command stay low and move with me towards the stairs- towards..."

The younger android's voice trailed off as his eyes flicked around the room in search of a staircase that didn't exist. He seemed to be taking in the room like he was seeing it for the first time before his jaw dropped and a choked gasp escaped his lips as his gaze settled wide-eyed on Markus' suit. All at once, the pressure on Markus' face released and Connor's hands flew to the back of his own head and he scrambled backward with panic written clearly across his features.

"Connor, listen to me, you're alright..."

The RK200 spoke softly even as the other android continued to press himself into the corner between the bed and the wall, running his hands through the hair on the back of his head before bringing them in front of his face, looking for blood.

"What-"

Connor cut himself off as his eyes drifted towards the bed adjacent to him and rose upwards to fixate on the lifeless, wire-covered figure that rested upon it.

"No-"

"Connor it's gonna be alright, just look at me-"

Markus followed the RK800 as he jumped to his feet and stumbled towards his own corpse, leaning heavily on the bed rail and staring slack-jawed at the bullet wound that had left a perfectly circular hole where his LED used to be. The older android placed his hands gently over his partner's shoulders, keeping the touch light as Connor flinched at the initial contact before resting them fully upon him with a grounding weight.

"I died..."

He spoke in a monotone while reaching out a hesitant hand to trace over the sharp edge of plastic that the bullet had left in its wake.

"Yes." Markus replied simply, as his hands massaged Connors shoulders "But now you're back."

The RK800 tensed at the words.

"Am I though? Back when- before I broke my programming- when I was transferred it felt like- it was like starting all over again. I didn't feel the same. I wasn't me. I shouldn't be me I'm not-"

He trailed off and focused his gaze on the middle distance. Markus hesitated before answering. Connors worries had been the same ones that he himself had been agonising over during the hours he had sat at his bedside swinging between hope, despair, and numbness. Given Connor's reaction to waking up however Markus had little doubts anymore as to whether or not the android in front of him was his Connor.

"Do you think your first reaction upon waking up would be to try and save me if you had been reset?"

Now it was Connors turn to hesitate and Markus began gently massaging where his hands rested upon his shoulders.

"I don't know, I was programmed for this sort of work so..."

Markus has never heard Connors tone sound so unconvincing and uncertain before.

"Well do you feel like yourself?"

Connor stepped back abruptly from the bed at the question, dislodging Makrus' hands in the process and swinging his own in a wide, frantic arc in front of him.

"I don't know! How am I supposed to know!?"

His breath was hitching faster and faster as he ran the question through his processors.

"Yes." He suddenly stated firmly "Wait, no." He continued with just as much certainty

"I don't know! No I'm not me. I'm 52 im- that" He pointed to the dead android on the table "Is me. My HUD says 63. I'm 63, that is 52, that is not me. But- fuck!!"

Markus raised his hands in a calming gesture and tried to get Connor to slow down but the other android continued ranting, swinging back and forth in his assessment of whether he was or was not the same Connor as before with an increasing level of panic. It wasn't until the RK800 lashed out with a kick at the bed housing his previous body that Markus interjected with more force.

"Connor! listen to me!" He raised his voice while capturing the younger android by the biceps and turning him so they could look eye to eye.

"You said before that when you came back the feelings you had developed in your previous body were erased yeah? Like being a whole new person." Connor's face began to crumple at Markus' words and he had to continue quickly before the RK800 began to spiral even faster down his rabbithole of existential dread. "No no, let me finish. I want you to stop focusing on what it was like before for a moment and tell me what it feels like now."

A beat of silence passed where Connor stared glassy-eyed at a spot just over Markus' shoulder obviously at a loss of how to follow through on examining his feelings in his current state of panic. The elder android decided to continue prompting him.

"Try not to think too much about your feelings towards yourself. What about your feelings towards others. North, Josh, Echo, Hank. Have those changed? Do they seem different? Do you still care for them?"

Connors gaze was still focused into the middle distance past Markus head, coincidentally in the direction of his stand-in bodyguard who awkwardly shifted herself a few feet to the right to avoid his staring. His brow, however, was finally beginning to arch back into its softer default position and away from the worried furrow it had been set in before.

"And...what about me? You still love me right?"

All of a sudden Connor's pensive moment was brought to an end as his focus snapped to Markus with an almost offended expression. His mouth opened a fraction with the characteristic sharp intake of breath that usually indicated that Connor was about to absolutely go off about something and Markus could already feel his own face relax into a small smile at how very Connor the reaction was.

The rant never came however as the android all at once lit up in realization with a small "Oh." Followed by a large "OH!"

Before Markus could get another word in he was all of a sudden met with an armful of RK800 squeezing him around the middle with enough force to cause his chassis to creak and he returned the embrace with just as much strength. Finally, he allowed the emotions from the past day to overflow into a sob hidden somewhere in Connor's hairline and the younger android held him even tighter as the noise reached him.

"Markus I...Markus. Of course I do, of course i still love you. Its me, I'm me. I'm sorry I just panicked. I'm still panicking but I'm me, I promise I'm me. Your're right"

Markus just held the slighter form as he continued to ramble reassurances.

"I thought I lost you. I did lose you" He choked out between shaking gasps.

"But I'm back now. I'm okay, you're okay, we're both okay"

The RK200 was pretty sure they were both crying now as their words of reassurance lapsed into quiet sniffles and the soft sound of hands sweeping over fabric as they brushed across the expanse of each other's clothing as if to confirm that yes, the other was real, and alive and safe.

Neither was sure how long had passed before their silent embrace was interrupted by an awkward cough and the words "I'll inform the other 800's of Connors status, they'll want to run tests" as the RK900 slipped quietly out of the room. Honestly Markus had forgotten she had been there, he sent her a wireless message in thanks and received nothing in return.

When left alone they deepened their embrace, savoring the moment of privacy and peace together before Connor had to undergo whatever barrage of tests the 800s had prepared for him. Their hands connected by their sides, palm to palm with glowing blue lights dancing across their fingertips, basking in each others presence and smoothing over the pain and guilt and confusion and terror of the last twenty-four hours with happiness, relief, devotion, and love.

I am alive.

You are alive.

We are alive.

-

Come tell us your own ideas! Prompts are always open

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (46) || atz

At that one word, everything in your mind evaporates.

Gunho?

You don’t know how many times you feel like your brain has been reduced to a weak, steaming pile of mush, but you’re very sure about this, just one more bombshell dropped on you and you might as well just slip into a comatose state for the rest of your life.

You’re familiar with the word, most of all from Yunho’s lips. The lookout speaks of old tales about his brother nearly every day, recalling fond stories about their time in the arena, how their brotherhood blossomed, especially so in the bleakness of the arena. You’re well versed with the tales of how the two of them had looked out for each other, watched each other’s backs, grown up to become comrades and best friends.

In the rigging, you had listened to him recall days of training and fighting as the three of you, you, Yunho and Wooyoung, had worked to raise and adjust the sails together. When the wind was constant and the weather was good, all of you would sit in the ropes and listen to Yunho talk. You had not  much past to speak of and Wooyoung steered clear of speaking about any history of his, thus his tales entertained the two of you greatly and helped to pass the time. You didn’t mind, the lookout was a good speaker, peppering his stories with funny anecdotes and often poor attempts at acting which always brightened your mood.

But behind every happy tale, there had been a lingering sadness in Yunho’s eyes, a pained smile to the end of every story, an unspoken, sad conclusion to what should have been a beautiful chronicle of brotherly kinship.

Gunho’s death had weighed heavily on Yunho’s mind, you know, from the way his eyes sadden minutely every time you bring him up on accident. Yunho prefers remembering the happy, good times with his brother, when the two of them had been together, but the thought of his brother always brings up a single fact that he can never ignore.

He had been too late to save his brother.

It’d been like a bitter pill for Yunho, hard to swallow and even harder to accept but he’s done it already, biting back his tears to face the big, wide world with a positive, cheerful smile. He’s supposed to have moved on already, putting the past behind him as he continues to move forward… but you doubt that he would have expected for his past to be dredged up again once more, upturning everything he had once believed.

Gunho is alive.

It’s as if time stands still for a moment as the once hooded man straightens up to stare at Yunho in surprise, sword nearly falling from his grip from the shock of seeing his older brother after so long. Deep brown meets deep brown as the two of them simply take in the appearance of the other, as if they can’t really believe that fate was kind enough to let them cross paths once again in this lifetime.

You’re almost ecstatic for Yunho, knowing that this must be the most heartwarming reunion that you’ll ever have the luck to witness. A grin pulls widely at your face as you turn to look at Yunho, who’s simply gazing upon his brother in disbelief. Slowly, you see him blink, once, twice, as if trying to prove to himself that this really isn’t a dream, before his jaw clenches and you see a single tear spill over his eyelashes and down to his cheek.

“Gunho… you’re alive?” Yunho chokes out, voice overcome with emotion and the brown haired man looks as if he’s been snapped out of some sort of daze. A blinding, dazzling smile of sheer joy spreads over his face as tears rolls down his own cheeks.

“Brother, I’ve been searching for you so long!”

Hesitantly, Yunho looks over to his captain, who looks just as stunned as everyone else on board is. Then he nods, slowly, and Yunho is stepping forward slowly, as if still in a daze. Gunho throws his longsword to the side in his excitement and runs straight into his brother’s arms, embracing him tightly.

The moment the two of them meet, the entire crew seems to heave a sigh of relief. There is no one on this ship who doesn’t know exactly how dear Gunho was to Yunho, or how much Yunho regrets not being able to save his younger brother from that godforsaken arena. But now, even if it had to be through this terrible meeting with the Royal Navy, Yunho can be reunited with Gunho.

Something warm blooms in your heart as you watch the two of them hug, squeezing the life out of each other.

“I can’t believe you’re alive.” Yunho sobs into his brother’s shoulder, now that you see them side by side, Gunho is shorter than Yunho, more stocky and built as compared to Yunho’s taller and longer stature. Gunho nods, one hand reaching to pat his brother on the back reassuringly as his other reaches to his belt.

And something sinks in your chest.

“I missed you so much.” Gunho rests his head on his brother’s, voice soft and soothing, rocking Yunho back and forth gently as Yunho continues to cry, shaking his head and mumbling incoherent apologies into Gunho’s shirt. “I really do love you… brother.”

What happens next is almost too fast for you to see.

You don’t think anyone could have expected it, really. Not a single person on the ship could have possibly even guessed in the slightest that this was coming. Even though it happened right in front of your eyes, you merely stood there in shock and watched as everything seemed to fall apart in that one split second, unable to move, mind incapable of processing the events that had just happened.

One blink of an eye, the two brothers are embracing.

In the next, Yunho is crumpled on the deck, blood gushing from his side.

For a moment, no one moves.

Incomprehension.

Shock.

Disbelief.

What?

It’s a razor sharp knife, the steel drenched in dark red blood. Your eyes, wide with terror, follow the weapon as Gunho merely raises the blade to his mouth, licking the blood off the knife while he looks upon his brother writhing on the ground with what you can only describe sick, twisted amusement.

“Oh? I didn’t think you’d be on guard enough to react so quickly around me. And here I thought you were glad to see me again, brother.” Gunho merely sighs as if disappointed, shaking his head as his tongue darts out to catch a little smear of blood at the corner of his serene smile. “But then again among of the two of us, you were always the lucky one, weren’t you?”

Yunho chokes in pain, a muffled scream ripping from his throat as he curls into a ball, crimson spilling over his fingers and staining the deck red with his blood.

His brother turns around, facing Commander Kang as your brain tries to understand what has just happened, but it’s failing miserably. “Let’s go, Commander.”

Nothing makes sense to you, you manage to think blankly to yourself, as the world pitches and rolls around you. Absolutely nothing. But one thing you do know, that you’ve been trained to do ever since you stepped onto this ship, is to treat the wounded, and you know that Yunho is going to die if you don’t get to him as fast as possible.

But you’re terrified. Your master isn’t here, he’s in the captain’s cabin, together with Mingi, there is no time for you to call him, and you will be utterly alone. There will be no one to instruct you, to make choices for you, to share the responsibility with you.

If Yunho dies...

For a moment, you so desperately just want to stay rooted to the spot in fear. But you do know that every second you think, Yunho’s life drains away little by little, and with a curse, you throw all rational thinking to the wind. Hurrying forward, you tear your outer shirt from your shoulder, kneeling at Yunho’s side as you inspect the wound as fast as possible, trying to remember everything your master has taught you through the haze of panic.

The second you spring into action, your captain moves too, pulling his musket from his belt as he takes aim at Gunho, eyes narrowed with blazing fury.

But Gunho doesn’t seem intimidated in the least, simply smiling amicably and sliding the knife back into the belt as if he hasn’t just stabbed one of your crewmates in the gut in an attempt to kill him. Hongjoong’s fingers tighten on the trigger.

The crew too, begin to stir into movement, raising their weapons to fight, but then one voice cuts through the noise.

“Hongjoong, no!”

Only his true name, shouted so desperately by one of his closest friends, could have any chance of stopping your captain in the blind rage he is in. His green eye is clouded over with pure, undiluted wrath, the usual flames in his gaze fanned to a blazing inferno. Normally, you realise, no one would have a chance against him when he’s like this.

But then, it’s Yunho telling your captain to stop. Yunho, who’s just been stabbed by his long lost brother, one who he had once thought the world of. Yunho, bleeding out and dying next to you.

He can’t bring himself to kill his younger brother.

And because it’s Yunho who tells him to stop, Hongjoong does. But you can see every muscle in his body just screaming to pull the trigger, but he holds steady, the barrel of his musket trained at Gunho’s head.

“Why did you do that?” Hongjoong snaps, his voice somehow ice cold yet burning with rage, every syllable is ringing with fury. Gunho merely shrugs, a cheerful, remorseless grin on his face that honestly is starting to look a little deranged to you.

“Just a little siblings’ spat, captain. Nothing too much to worry about.”

Breathing, you recall, your eyes snapping to Yunho’s face as you check him over. He’s panting, gasping from the pain as his fingers press against his wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. There are tears of agony in his eyes and you start ripping your overshirt into strips, pressing your makeshift padding against Yunho’s wound.

At the pressure, Yunho cries out in agony, the sound tearing at your heartstrings. You try your best to ignore the sound of one of your best friends sobbing right next to your ear, but each cry is so heart wrenching you wish you could just cut off your own ears to stop the heartrending sound. With Yeosang, it was a lot easier to just treat his wounds as he was nearly unconscious from blood loss, but with Yunho writhing around screaming in anguish right next to you as you press down hard on his wound?

No amount of training with San could have prepared you for this.

You glance upwards, seeing Seonghwa drop from the ropes and sprint across the deck to your side, crouching next to you as he takes in his friend’s ashen face. Heart racing in your chest, you take one look at the wound and you know simply stemming the bleeding with your pathetic replacement of actual bandages isn’t going to be enough. Making up your mind as fast as you can, you turn to Seonghwa. “Tell San to get here as fast as he can and grab my healer’s bag from the sickbay.”

The cook doesn’t even bother giving a nod in response, pushing through the crowd on the deck and racing to the cabin. A second later, your master bursts out of the door, face white with horror as he catches sight of Yunho on the ground. Then he’s by your side, checking Yunho’s breathing and pulse as his critical eyes rake across the wound.

“Stab wound, about two and a half inches wide. Serrated on one edge, and deep, but likely to have missed all his vitals organs.” San rattles off as he moves to inspect the wound more carefully. “Pulse is weak, but the blood isn’t pumping out, which means it luckily didn’t hit an artery. But he seems to be in too much pain for a wound this size…”

Then his face turns ashen in realisation and he leans in to sniff the wound, before his eyes widen with horror. You feel your heart drop in your chest at your master’s expression.

“The wound is poisoned.”

Your captain hears San’s words over the din and all of a sudden, you feel every hair stand on the end at the sheer anger that’s rolling off your captain in waves. Hongjoong’s fury almost seems like it’s on the verge of setting the very environment around him ablaze, every survival instinct screaming for you to get up and run away from him as fast as you can.

“Where is the antidote?” Hongjoong snarls, grip tightening on his gun, but your heart sinks at the words. Somehow, deep in you, you can already guess where it is. Gunho merely laughs like a tinkling bell, tilting his head to one side as he grins at your incensed captain with an innocent smile that might just be the most terrifying thing you’ve ever seen.

“Why you got to be so serious about this, captain? The antidote isn’t with me right now.” Gunho sighs, shaking his head as Commander Kang steps towards the rowboat they had come from, followed by the guards. At the bulwarks, he turns to smile at his brother one last time. “I hope you live, brother. It’ll be a lot more fun killing you slowly that way.”

You can’t help but stare at the younger Jeong brother in shock as he simply turns around and steps off the ship, not the least bit concerned about the muskets all trained at his back. Commander Kang eyes all of you coldly from the rowboat.

“Meet us on the Cayman Islands when you’re ready and bring along the four parts of the deal. The antidote will be there. Harm us in any way and the deal is off. I expect to see you there soon, captain.”

With that, they simply lower themselves to the sea, disappearing from your sight.

You now know why they had the audacity to step aboard this ship even though they were so vastly outnumbered. Your captain can’t possibly kill Commander Kang or Gunho. He needs them alive for answers and to save Yunho’s life. And it seems like such a cruel joke, that you and the crew have all been played along like this, like marionettes on a string.

Hongjoong screams in fury, his fingers tightening so hard on the musket that his fingers go white.

Why? What does the Royal Navy want with you?

Two months ago, on the sea witch’s island, you had chosen to give up your memories. Two months ago, you had decided to walk down the path with your crew mates and family instead, leaving your history behind you as you started on this new journey.

But now?

It seems like that elusive past is finally begin to surface, bringing with it all sorts of dangers and darkness that you hadn’t once thought existed.

And you're terrified at what is to come.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Red Well (End) Sisters

You guys haven’t had the pleasure of seeing Erii fight in this fanfiction. I present to you, Erii the Dragonslayer. And yes... she really is like this.

Golden snake-like bodies were tumbling into the Red Well.  The stampede had progressed to the point where even if a Deadpool understood that, if it fell, it would die when it hit the bottom, the pressures of those pushing behind it overwhelmed its need to survive. You couldn’t tell the difference between the screams from eager hunger and the terrified cries of the dying as the over 1,000 deadpool flooded the well. The bullet-riddled far wall in front of you became a sparkling wall of gold, like someone was pouring champagne. Eventually, the bodies of the dead and dying piled feet high to create a softer landing for those that came behind and now the horde was surging forward, eyes bulging in madness.

Erii calmly put her notepad back into her suitcase as though the hellish bedlam behind her was as ordinary as morning rush hour.  Then she turned her back on the Light King inhabiting your body and stepped towards the edge of the maintenance platform.

The Light King expected fear and got none. Now it was curious and was again rummaging through your memories for this fearless being called ‘sister.’

Chisei’s voice from a memory you didn’t consciously recall spoke. “Chime… I’m sorry.”

“Brother… I just want to be with you.” Chime could barely speak for his tears. He was gasping desperately. His voice was muffled, like he was hugging his brother. “I just want to be there. Please… don’t leave me behind. I know I’m useless… Just don’t leave me behind!” His voice descended into crying again.

Your heart warms. You didn’t remember this and there was no visual. You’d passed out listening to the beginning of the sentence. But your ears had still caught and recorded those words before you had completely lost all consciousness. The meddling of the Light King in your brain gave you a gift. The Gen brothers had reconciled. It should have been impossible, but your own forgiveness for the death of Chance gave you the power to literally ‘move forward’. You’d given that forgiveness willingly and unasked and this is what managed to give them a second chance. Despite your denials that you cared for Chisei, you had internalized enough of Chime’s love for his brother to come through in the end. Chisei is still a big dummy, but now he finally understood how badly Chime loved him.

The Light King mouthed the words from your lips. “Sister…?”

This great being that had taken control of your body and locked your mind in a cage did not retain any of the memories from her prior existence. She was rediscovering the world through your mind. Since this little human Erii who stood unblinkingly before her was associated with a familial word, it was pulling the memories based on the emotions they invoked, the bond of family. 

Erii reached the edge of the engineering platform and stood at the precipice of the deep hole that would lead to the lake below. “The person speaking to me is not my sister. Let my sister go or you will pay the price.” She said.

You had never heard Erii’s speak before. The tone was sweet and clear, and almost bored, but the language was a biting commanding snarl in the language of dragons, like an alpha wolf disciplining an errant pack member and who expected immediate obedience without question. There were no honorifics or polite gestures. Just a command followed by a threat.

A boiling explosive rage burst from the Light King! How dare this pitiful speck speak to her in that way! 

Erii softly hums and a warm wind begins to rise from the bottom of the well. It carried with it the scent of death and decay. Erii points her finger down towards the water.

A dense red cloud erupts from the bottom of the well, tossing her hair and skirt before it engulfs her. It’s superheated. The pressure against the wall of the well caused the ground to shake beneath you. Heavy metal debris, pieces of the Yamata-No-Orochi and all the myriads of skeletons of the dragon kin that died in the lake are carried in what could only be described as a geyser, a pyroclastic flow from a volcano in miniature. The rocks tremble and leap at your feet.  The encroaching Deadpool swarm hesitates to advance, fearful of that great heat.

The cloud continues to rise until it reaches the well opening and would appear like a dark red smoke in the middle of the mountains. Just like a cloud, it condensed as it rose and soon an eerie red rain began to fall. The objects carried by the cloud rained down too. Bones and body parts land with dull splats on the ground.

Your body’s limbs burst with energy and leap toward Erii. Your eyes are on her delicate white neck. Your arm curls to cut her with the Gathering Cloud Sword! The killing intent was clear. The Light King wanted to see her head sail off her body! But Erii disappears into that dense cloud of red. In seconds, your body is drenched in rank deadpool blood and chemicals. 

You look down into the well. Erii had instantly evaporated all the water in the well. The kilometer wide lake was completely empty.

As the mist clears you see a delicate running figure! Erii is fleeing! The Light King feels triumphant. Yes, run little sister! Fear me!

Erii had run to the other side of the well towards the safety cabins. The Light King laughed, pulling a memory that told her that the safety cabins could protect you from harm. So this pathetic little creature was afraid after all!

Her laughter stopped when Erii tossed her suitcase into the cabin and shut the door before turning back around. She wasn’t running in to protect herself. 

She just wanted to protect her stuff. 

Erii’s flight had taken her right into the middle of the deadpool swarm and they surrounded her like an army of footsoldiers. But no one wanted to be the first to strike. There was about ten yards between her and the deadpool swarm and they swayed like seagrass on their tails while Erii raised her hand. Her mouth opened and her voice spoke a single word. 

“Death!”

Evaporating the water wasn’t just a cover. Hydra had dumped 5,000 tons of mercury into the well. Mercury was far denser than water and extremely heavy. It had settled in a silver layer at the bottom of the lake and was now exposed. This silver layer came up, not as a cloud, but as a perfect sphere of liquid metal, like the pinball of a pinball machine. 

Erii snapped her hand shut. “Death!”

The silver ball burst into millions of silver mercury bullets and fired like birdshot into the thousands of dead pool bodies. In an instant, hundreds of perfect round holes were pitting into their scales. The speed and force of those projectiles drilled into their flesh and began to corrode the deadpool from the inside out. Black blood squirted in tiny streams from each of them like someone had poked holes into a plastic water bottle.

The front of the deadpool collapsed and they rushed to the wall to try to escape. The winged deadpool and those who could sprout wings tried to take off towards the opening of the well and get away from this monster!

Erii’s crimson eyes burned red and gold. She knelt down as though picking up a large and heavy object. Her hands closed around something and a force like a magnetic pulse that crackled with blue electricity sparked across the entire well. All the weapons in the well, from guns to rocket launchers to knives and swords levitated and converged towards her hand. All the weapons from the Engineering team and the Hydra operatives that had been left in the well were now being wielded by Erii.

When she lifted her hands over her head, these thousands of weapons lifted and came to be in the shape of a great blade, a blade made out of many individual weapons, something like the world had never seen before.

“Death!”

Erii swung this ‘sword’ once in a horizontal arc. The sword fractured and all the weapons surrounded her in a spectacular circular array and fired all at once. All the pistols, the submachine guns, the vulcan cannons, the rocket launchers - They all fired at the same time in a single thunderous volley! The swords and the knives flew out like self-propelled bullets, chasing and cutting their targets to pieces.

Deadpool heads exploded, their limbs fell off, they were skewered  and pinned to the ground and to the surrounding rocks. They were even pierced together like pieces of meat on a kabob. These powerful creatures had been reduced to fish in a barrel, unable to flee the unbelievable slaughter.

The army that the Light King had summoned fell under the bullets and were sliced apart by the flying swords. The winged deadpools’ limbs were severed before they could reach the top of the well. Their bodies were split to pieces and they fell to the ground in sections.

It was not that Erii knew how to wield any of these weapons. She didn’t have to. Her command to kill was enough for these weapons to fire with maximum lethality. Her life was like a video game where the player didn’t have to know how to kill anyone or anything. The enemy units died at the push of the button.

Erii was now walking unobstructed back towards the Light King on bloody ground, her red hair and bloody skirt flapping in the wind. Her skin is covered in silvery white scales, and from her hair two crystalline horns twisted in a straight corkscrew. Her golden eyes were like determined jewels and locked on yours. She was unarmed. But for the first time, you feel a cold creeping dread from this dragon in your body. You smile inwardly as you watch Erii come towards you. 

You recite your vow in your mind. “We are bound by blood and by love. We will never betray each other. We will always defend each other. And when one calls for help, we will dash to their rescue. If anyone comes between us… may they die!”

The Light King finally understood. A sister was blood and love, a violent and desperate thing. If the Light King wanted to fully resurrect and evolve with your body it would have to kill this sister!

The monster in your body dashed across the distance between you and Erii with inhuman speed, bare feet running heedlessly over the uneven ground, splashing up a wake of blood five feet high. Erii regally pulled herself straight to her full height like a queen and let this being come. Her body grew closer and closer in your vision and a scream tears from your throat. You can see the frightening emotionlessness behind Erii’s golden pupils before a metal disc as twice as tall as you are buzzsaws between you.

Instead of using a literal sword, Erii had summoned the saw blade that had broken the Yamata-no-Orochi into pieces. With the single command, she not only controlled the weapons, but also every object on the field, including the tools of the scientists.

You see your own reflection in this metal blade. Your skin is covered in scales like Erii’s. Your eyes are the color of lava -- gold and red and black. But the sudden appearance of this sawblade made your eyes widen with surprise.  The sawblade caught the swing of the Gathering Clouds sword and snapped in half. Erii gripped those gigantic half moon blades  as easily as if they were a pair of paper fans!

With every slash of the Gathering Cloud sword the buzzsaw snaps into more pieces! But Erii doesn’t stop her assault, wielding four, eight and then sixteen super sharp pieces of a giant circular saw against you. The shattered wheel spirals like fire in the air and the Gathering Cloud sword is a blur in your hand. The images of your body and Erii’s body disappear in this light as each of you reaches the limits of your speed and agility. But Erii doesn’t have to directly control every piece like you have to directly control the sword. In this she has the advantage. Soon there are two many pieces for even the dragon to follow. You scream inside and the Light King controlling you screams with your voice! The blades slice through your dress and through your scales, leaving deep gouges of running blood.

The Light King has not fed and doesn’t have much energy, but it draws from the reserves of your body and the skin of your back cracks open revealing large bone wings.  Your new wings stir the air. You wave the sword of Gathering Clouds and shoot upward to flee! The dragon inside you has given up on defeating Erii and wants to escape to eat!

A huge metal arm swings at you before you get half way out. Attached to a tall crane is a large sling  that had been used to hoist the Orochi out of the ice. This sling catches you like a butterfly in a net. The Light King slices its way out of this net but a bright light of a laser cutter severs that crane arm in two and the arm crashes down on you and brings you back to the ground. You’re pinned under this debris.

Erii is standing, legs parted and firm, holding a gigantic steel barrel over her head. She throws this barrel and the laser cutter swings to cut it open! A clear smoking liquid splashes out and covers you. You’re overtaken with a sudden painful, unbelievable cold! Freezing fog sweeps the well and the red rain freezes solid and turns to crimson ice and snow.

Liquid nitrogen! Erii has found one of the tanks of the liquid nitrogen and was using it to slow your body down! It burns you like fire and you want to curl into a ball and pass out, but so long as the dragon controlling your body was awake so were you and you just had to endure the pain.

The Light King doesn’t give up but it’s shivering violently. Your muscles are stiff with cold and the crane arm is heavy. It presses your hands to the ground to push up and slowly the metal debris starts to lift. 

A loud rumble reaches your ears. Erii, eyes still blazing with golden fire, has turned the laser cutters to the wall of the well. The lasers started on opposite sides and met in the middle and a huge chunk of solid rock slid off the well wall, bringing down boulders the size of cars onto the scattered remains of the dead and what was left of the undamaged equipment. 

A second crane grabs this house sized boulder on a hook and two-feet thick chain and Erii’s tiny body leaps up to seize that chain. With a mighty heave she lifts that boulder and throws it down on you.

The Light King’s vision fills with what could only be described as a meteor coming down on it. But it was helpless to dodge. It takes the full force of the blow and the crushing weight that leaves a meters wide crater. Erii lifts the boulder and the Light King’s wings have been shattered. But she still looks up and cries out in defiance! Erii is merciless and lifts the boulder again! The boulder smashes down again! The Light King in your body is gasping in stunned disbelief. But Erii is not finished. She brings down the boulder again! And again!

The thunderous sound of this brutal beating sounds like exploding dynamite. The entire area shook and it registered on Tokyo’s Earthquake Monitoring System. She brought down that boulder on your head until it finally shattered to pieces and fell from the hook. Erii leaped from the crane and walked up to you, striding confidently through the shattered rock.

The Light King had no strength left in this body. Your mind is blank with pain. You barely register that Erii is standing over you and looking down at you.

A small thing is wiggling on your back, attached to your spine. The Light King has decided that it doesn’t want your body any more. It wants Erii’s! It lets you go and is trying to wriggle out of your scaly skin. But Erii points at it with one delicate fingertip.

“Death.”

There’s a soft snap, like someone breaking a pencil in half. The creature stiffens. Its whole body turns black and then it crumbles to ashes.

The legacy of the Light King ended in that moment. The Light King would no longer rise again in the world.

The violent presence in your mind releases and you’re suddenly back in your body! The pain is dizzying, but your body is already working frantically to heal itself from its injuries. Your muscles are twitching with phenomenal regrowth even with this terrible cold. Erii lifts off the remaining debris from you and hugs you. 

You relax into her warm embrace and you shiver. Your body is split open still and your blood soaks her head to toe. Little by little, the scales disappear to reveal plain white skin. Erii’s horns loosen and fall from her head.

“How did you find me?” You ask her.

Erii doesn’t speak again. She just shakes her head slightly and ducks under your arm to help you to your feet. She supports you all the way across one of the most devastating battlefields in history to the safety cabin and sets you down before opening the door and returning with a notebook. She writes in it and shows it to you.

“I don’t know. I was supposed to be going to the airport. Have you seen Sakura?”

[s-trawberryv-eins]

Daisy

NOT MY GIF

Daisy

Summary: Daisies on the beach, daisies in his bed. She didn’t really have much business whisking him away like that. But thank the gods she did.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, swearing, shitty writing, everything tbh. Gonna fuck ur feels up boo. Please don’t read if you’re under 18. I don’t want to deal with the consequences. 

Bucky x fem!reader

A/N: This is my entry for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​s writing challenge! My prompt was Mariners Apartment Complex by Lana Del Rey.

Word count: 3725

Reader Insert Masterlist

-

And who I’ve been is with you on these beaches

Your Venice bitch, your die-hard, your weakness

Maybe I could save you from your sins

Sandridge beach seemed like the perfect place to go. She needed the beach, said he did too. He never argued. Part of him thought this trip, holiday, whatever it was, was more for her than for him. It didn’t matter. He watched her a lot. He’d never noticed her before, not really. Not in any way other than the fact that she always smelled like daisies. Not in any way that didn’t require a gun or the room she came from.

Sitting out in the salty air, on something she’d called a Sarong, he swore he could count the amount of words they’d exchanged on two hands.

“Don’t know you very well. Not really. Who are you?”

“Who do you want me to be?”

Silence.

“Here on these beaches, I’m whoever you need me to be.”

-

“We’re kinda similar, don’t you think?” Smiles were sweet and sickly and she’d look at it forever if she could.

“If you think that’s the case, you’re worse off than I thought, Sarge.”

-

“I’m taking him someplace far. It’ll be good for him.”

“How would you know what’s good for him?”

“You’re not the only person he talks to, Stevie.”

So they left. She hadn’t looked back much since.

-

“Stop calling, Stevie. I mean it.” Pointy pink acrylics toss the phone on the bed where it lay abandoned, unwanted and imposing. A hindrance to healing, she’d called it.

“Darling, we’re going to the market.”

“The crowds, I don’t know.”

“You lose your way, just take my hand.”

“You smell like daisies.”

Daisies wherever she went.

-

I’m the board, the lightening, the thunder

Kind of girl who’s gonna make you wonder

Who you are and who you’ve been

“It’s important.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Shut up. Yes, it is.”

“Fine. I’ll humour you. Why is it important?”

“Because it is, Barnes. I see the way you look at yourself. List three things you like about yourself by the end of the day and tomorrow I’ll take you out for ice cream.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Stop acting like it then.”

A promise. To him, to Steve, to herself. But that’s not why she did it. She made the promise because he deserved it. She kept the promise because he deserved it. And maybe she did, too. Because if she could do right by just one person on this god forsaken planet, maybe she’d sleep better at night. But the fear that that notion reduced her actions to nothing more than a way to clear her own name kept her up anyway.

“I can’t do three.”

“One, then. Tell me one thing you like about yourself right now.”

He sucked in a breath and she saw any trace of comfort evaporate from his body. Torment gripped him silently, an image of every horrible thing he’d ever done flashing in his brain. A minute had passed and doubt pushed its way through her mind, trying to find somewhere comfortable to settle and tell her she’s making the man’s life worse.

“The colour of my eyes. I like the colour of my eyes.”

He rolled his eyes at the victory smile that appeared on her face.

“So do I.”

-

She wandered often. He followed, never straying from her side. After several weeks, he’d come to realise that she wandered and then she wandered. It dawned on him one sunny morning that she needed help too. She’d told him that he’d taken her sadness out of context, but he never understood her meaning. He followed anyway, knowing that she’d come back to him later on, when she was ready.

But this time, it was almost dark before she did. The sand beneath her feet grew cold and her heart threatened to stop beating as her breathing grew frantic. Her hair whipped around her face in the wind and despite how hard she wracked her brain she could not for the life in her remember where she’d left the bag with the fresh fruit in for tomorrows breakfast.

“Bucky?”

“Right here.”

And he was. Bag in hand, there he was.

“It’s okay. Don’t ever have to look too far. Right where you are, that’s where I am.”

And for the first time, he led, and she followed.

-

Catch a wave and take in the sweetness

You want this, you need this

Are you ready for it?

“Have you spoken to him today?”

“Yes. Have you?”

“Yes.”

Short and awkward and tight-lipped. Sunglasses pushed up into her sea salt laced hair, lips damp with iced tea and chap stick.

“I’m sorry. Okay? I was an idiot-“

“You’re right, you are an idiot.”

“I’m tryna apologise here.”

“Sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m still adapting and you’re very persistent and you caught me at a bad time.”

“Okay.”

She knew he was waiting for more, but her head was a mess. Half the time she thought this whole thing was a mistake and that none of this was even remotely her business and nobody wanted her or her input.

“It’s hard for me too, you know. I sorta went into this blind, in case you hadn’t realised. I know I’m pushy and I mess up. I’m sorry, too.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke but he raced to stop them. Holding her face in his hands, he took her in. Sunkissed cheeks, the freckles that the sun had brought out dancing across her nose, shining eyes and he just wanted to take the whole morning and throw it somewhere far where she’d never think of it and it couldn’t hurt her. Thumbs brushed the wet marks away and she tilted her head up and oh-

Her kiss tore his heart apart in the sweetest way, and if this was all he’d ever feel he’d happily surrender himself to it. It occurred to him that her lips were far more important than oxygen and he let his lungs burn, not caring for a moment that the pain was increasing with every second of pleasure. Soft and sweet and the taste of peaches and salt and when she pulled away, he felt colder than he ever had.

“Swim with me?”

-

You’re lost at sea

Then I’ll command your boat to me again

Twice he’d tried to leave.

The first time; a few weeks in.

Fear. The thunder came as he slammed the door, the lightening as his bike peeled away in the darkness. The rain came when he returned, angry and guilty and full to the brim with apologies, sodden and dripping. Thunder again at the door, lightening as they fucked each other rough on the carpet, not making it all the way up the stairs.

The second time; an angel had died, and God mourned violently.

“You want to control everything! You’re a control freak!”

“I am trying to help you for crying out LOUD!”

“I don’t want your help! I NEVER asked for it! YOU brought me here. YOU decided you could fix me!”

“YOU’RE NOT BROK-“

“SHUT. UP. YOU DID THIS. I’M DONE.”

As God wept, so did she.

-

He’d returned under the cover of the night, creeping in through his bedroom window despite knowing she’d known of his every move since he left her. She hadn’t tried to hide it. She’d ask him why he came home eventually, but he didn’t know when.

He didn’t know why he came home.

Home?

Is that what this is?

More daisies.

The smell haunted him, only strengthening as he buried his head into his pillow.

Daisies in his pillow.

A girl in his bed.

She’d been in his bed?

Of course she’d been in his bed.

Where else would she go?

“You lose your way, just take my hand.”

Why’d he leave again?

-

It took her two days to speak to him again.

“Spoke to Steve. If you’re serious about leaving, he can come to pick your stuff up tomorrow.” He bled and he bled. He bled until he found the strength to take a stand.

“Tell him to piss off.”

She appreciated the sentiment but conveyed the message to Steve slightly differently.

-

Even in the dark I feel your resistance

You can see my heart burning in the distance

Restless nights or horror filled sleep; the former was preferable, but God were they long. Trained feet took him away, landing outside her door. Then again to her bedside. The bed dipped with the extra weight, but she knew he was there long before he climbed in beside her.

Fingers finding each other in the dark, tracing and just barely touching. The gap closed and his chest was against her back and before he could think his lips were on her neck and the sigh that fell from her lips tore his heart in two. She was good at that.

Her body moved from his and ice bloomed in his chest as the distance grew. As his walls crept back up, she caught his face in her hands, setting his gaze on her before peeling her clothes off. Watching as she peeled off her clothes, he dared not move an inch.

How could when all he could smell was daisies and slick and heat? Drunk off nothing at all, it burned in his blood and threatened to have him on his knees for the rest of time. Even in the dark his adapted eyes could see the chill on her skin from the sudden exposure, the way she made no attempt to hide herself from his view.

Undressing her, undressing him, lips ghosting over his skin, brushing every muscle and scar as he softened and hardened underneath her in equal measure. She took him in her hand and he cursed before pulling her in, his nose buried in her neck and daisies and as he moved to set himself on her lips she sank down, slow and damp, surrounding him and filling herself entirely. The noise that released itself from his throat would forever ring in her ears and she fought for control over her own body.

His hands lay at his side and god they itched to be everywhere else but he wasn’t entirely sure what was allowed and what wasn’t. Of course, she read his mind and worked to banish his resistance as she worked him so sweet that he knew nobody that came before came close.

They’d fucked before, just once. Messy and rough and quick. This was different in every way.

Soft hands on softer skin, hips feather light as she lifted up only to sink back down again earning a string of whispered curses from the soldiers lips. Whimpers and moans and everything hushed and finally, finally he found the courage to move his hands slowly up her thighs, fingers barely touching her skin until she moved at just the right angle and suddenly the grip on her waist was almost bruising as his back arched up and he sounded so perfectly sinful.

Pushing impossibly deeper inside his eyes screwed shut, and he knew it was an action he’d forever regret as he missed the look of pure sin on her face as she hit her high, too busy experiencing his own to watch. He’d cling to the sounds she made in the meantime.

Climbing away with a soft gasp, slick and mess trickling down her thighs, she headed towards the door and his heart began to slip. The sudden thunder of water against tile was too loud in his head and panic rose from the remnants of their shared moment when –

“You coming?”

He’d never been up and in the shower so quickly in his life.

-

They mistook my kindness for weakness

I fucked up, I know that, but Jesus

Can’t a girl just do the best she can?

“When are you coming home? Can we come and visit? It’s been three months.”

“Fine. I’ll see what he’d prefer, he’s kinda…protective over this place. We miss you Stevie, I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

“Love you, kid. Both of you.”

-

They’d arrived at noon. Sam, Steve and Natasha. Steve insisted on making lunch; nobody protested. Three months apart made no difference. Old habits quickly resurfaced and she knew Bucky felt at home like this. It showed in the soft crinkles around his blue, blue eyes.

The early afternoon was spent catching up, five bodies huddled in around each other, the girls eager to be close after so long apart. Stories of the others were told fondly, and an entirely foreign homesickness settled in.

“Bucky, can we go to the beach?”

Soft eyes met bright ones, and he knew he couldn’t say no.

Not that he’d ever really wanted to.  

The girl beamed down at him, daisies on her skin and the sun in her smile.

He knew he’d taken too long to answer when he saw Sam smirk out of the corner of his eye.

-

The girls lay on the sand, towels spread out underneath warm skin, as the boys had abandoned them to wander to town. As they winded through the markets, enjoying the late afternoon sun, curiosity seemed to get the best of Sam, despite the warning he’d received from Steve before they arrived.

“So how are things? With you and her?”

“Things are good. It can be a little difficult sometimes, it just being the two of us, but we get through it.”

“Are we really gonna do this man?”

“Drop it.”

“She’s telling Nat as we speak, ya know?”

He’d never win. Truthfully, he wasn’t interested in winning this one. He hadn’t been fighting very hard to begin with.

“It’s good, Sam. It’s all so good.”

“All of it?”

“I’m done. I don’t know how else to say it but she’s it for me, man.”

There was a moment of silence and a look exchanged between Sam and Steve. It didn’t come as a surprise, not really.

He’d tell them one day.

He’d start from the beginning and he’d tell them everything she was.

But not yet.

-

“Since when does Bucky cook?”

“Turns out we were letting him get away with far too much back at the compound. He’s fairly talented.”

Natasha smiled brightly, happy to be beside her friend once more.

“He’s different. Lighter.”

“It took a while. We didn’t talk much at first. But he let me help him. He helps me too, more than he knows I think.”

She didn’t need to say much for Natasha to understand. Reading between the lines and requiring little to no explanation of what she could see. One question rang through her head, however.

“And when you come home? What then?”

A harsh inhale and a furrowed brow and a flash of denial and the girl admitted that she truly and honestly did not know. And her heart was breaking.

-

The frown on her face as she watched her friends drive off triggered a wave of guilt to pour through him like a flash flood. She’d left her home for him; her friends, her family. For him.

“Natasha was asking questions.”

Hm?

“A lot of them.”

Oh. They were talking?

“I couldn’t answer most of them.”

Why wouldn’t she meet his eyes?

“What uh…what kinda stuff?”

“One sorta stuck out. What happens when we go home?”

He didn’t have an answer. He stayed quiet. A mistake, he’d learn.

“I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up.”

-

An hour had passed and despite the nausea gripping her stomach, she headed back to the house. The sand between her toes was cooler now the sun was gone, and although it wasn’t cold she couldn’t help the chill that she felt in apprehension of seeing him.

Or maybe she wouldn’t see him.

With every passing minute it became harder to decide which she’d prefer.

Maybe he listened when she said not to wait up.

“It’s been almost two hours.”

Relief and dread filled her bones in equal measure when his voice reached her ears.

“I figured you’d be half an hour. You didn’t even take your phone!”

“I’m sorry, Bucky. Needed to clear my head a bit.”

“Did it work?”

A pause.

“No.”

Another pause.

A stretch of silence.

The loudest she’d ever lived through.

“This is it, then?”

So vague. Why did he have to be so vague? There were a thousand possible ‘it’s and her heart begged to know how the next 5 minutes would play out before they did. The pain in her throat rapidly became unbearable and the girl cursed the Gods for having her fall so irrevocobly for the man she promised nothing but help to.

How cruel of her, to offer herself as a guide and a shoulder and a light and then to do something as selfish as love him.

Because she did.

She loved him.

She loved him and-

“I love you.”

And he loved her.

A sob tore from her throat and he was by her side a second later and taking the weight of her body when she couldn’t anymore. Tears fell without pause and her cries rang out and pierced his heart like a sharpened blade.

Hands crept around her body and lifted her from the ground before heading inside the house.

Their home.

Is this home?

Wrapping her hands around his neck, she buried herself within him, desperate to feel the words he uttered so candidly outside. As the door fell shut behind them, she wriggled free from his hold and landed clumsily on her feet. A cloud of uncertainty gathered above them and as she screwed her eyes shut she fought to banish it.

“Say it again, Bucky.”

There was no hesitation; only a peace in his voice that felt foreign.

“I love you.”

“Take me upstairs, Bucky.”

-

Catch a wave and take in the sweetness

You want this, you need this

Are you ready for it?

It was his turn now; to give her what she gave him that night in the dark. And again in the shower afterwards. So as he lay her on the bed, on his bed, he knew he wouldn’t rest until she knew how deeply his love for her ran.

Flicking the light on, he thought back to their last time and made sure to correct every mistake; he wanted to see her this time, to see her properly and entirely and witness everything that she was.

Lips latched onto the flesh of her neck, feather-light kisses and soft flicks of his tongue over the bruises he made, the bruises she’d come to adore as much as she did him. Staying quiet was both useless and entirely unwanted, so the girl didn’t bother catch the whimper that fell from her lips as his hands wandered underneath her dress, fingers grazing the skin of her thighs.

They undressed quickly and seemed to move in sync. She lay on the bed all but encased within the man above her and she savoured it, locking the feeling of him so close into her memory. Pausing his assault on her skin, he took her in; pupils blown and lips swollen, breath heavy and shallow and a crease in her brow that deepened as she whimpered underneath his touch.

His eyes never left her, taking in everything she’d give him as he worked her with his fingers. Slick and warm and trickling with the heat that he pulled from her body, it didn’t take long for her to unravel entirely underneath him and he saw everything. The way she bit her lip to quieten her moans and the way she grabbed herself when his fingertips grazed just the right spot and the way her mouth fell open in silent ecstasy as she hit her high.

Leaving her without a minute to recover he sank himself into her, full and hot. She tried and tried to bring him closer, burying her face in his neck as he brought himself into her time and again. Crying out as her teeth bit down on his skin, he snapped and oh harder, please and he obliged happily because she was so far gone and the noises she made were delicious and all for him.

Sweat slicked bodies gripped each other tightly, closer she begged and his body answered for him. Need clouded his vision and he slowed his movements and how she sang for him. Pressing hot kisses to her fevered skin, he felt her approach and eyes on me baby, please as she tightened, body rigid and the wet heat flowing between them and oh, gods.

Gasping for breath, her grip on the man loosened and she relaxed into the plush pillows that surrounded her body. Eyes met again and it burned her with a warmth that had her losing her breath once more and he didn’t waste a second.

It was unforgiving and filthy and bruising and so wet and she tried to hold on, but when she felt his hips stutter against her own she lost the fight. They gave everything their bodies had, emptying within and around the other with no care for the volume of their moans and whimpers.

He collapsed next to her and sleep beckoned her relentlessly, but-

“Baby, we can’t sleep like this.”

“Mm why not Buck?”

“We’re messy. A shower and then we can sleep in the other bed, okay?”

“Suppose so Buck.”

-

A freshly brewed pot of tea sat on the windowsill next to her as she watched the sun climb higher in its efforts west. Hair in a loose braid, decorated prettily with a daisy she’d picked the day prior. Last night’s lovemaking still evident by the soft glow of her skin and he knew he was looking at everything he’d ever needed.

“Bucky?”

She didn’t look at him, instead kept her gaze fixed on the sand and the sun and the water and the clouds.

“Yeah?”

It was nonchalant, the way she said it. Twirling a bunch of dying daisies between her fingers, gaze still fixed on the horizon.

“Can we go home?”

 -

You want this, you need this

Are you ready for it?

[himluv]

Reckless

Another Solavellan oneshot, this one set after The Meadow, pt. 2. Enjoy!

Suledin Keep lived up to its name. Clearing the ancient structure of Red Templars was truly a test of endurance, a challenge Riallan threw herself at whole-heartedly. Despite the freezing temperature, sweat dripped from her temples and down the sides of her face. She breathed in heavy pants and set a brutal pace for her companions. Only Cole seemed unfazed by the work.

“It doesn’t hurt if you can’t think about it,” he said, tilting his head at her.

She caught Solas’ disapproving look, his face as red and sweaty as hers.

She ignored him. He would never admit it, but he’d been hovering ever since they returned from Wycome. And after all he’d seen in the aftermath of her clan’s death, she understood his concern, even appreciated it.

But she was fine.  She just wanted to get back to work. Back to normal. Was that too much to ask? Besides, she could handle Red Templars.

The red lyrium infected giants… Those were an unexpected surprise.

“Vhenan!”

The rock hurtled through the air at her. She’d only looked up in time to see it coming because of Solas’ cry and in that moment she thought for sure she would be reduced to red splatter in the snow.

Instead cool magic, cold as the air around her and yet soothing, wrapped her in its embrace and carried her out of range of the furious, rock-heaving giant. Solas materialized out of the Fade Step, the worry in his eyes evaporating into anger.

She kissed him, the shock of it erasing his fury. “Yell at me later, okay?”

He scowled at her but nodded.

Riallan was being reckless. A little part of her acknowledged it even as the rest of her demanded it. She could spend time analyzing the behavior, digging to the root causes and recognizing that her grief wasn’t entirely in check, or she could put that pain to use and summon great storms to obliterate their enemies.

She preferred the latter.

But all her pent up fury and loss couldn’t tear down Imshael. Not completely. It took Cassandra’s blade to sunder the demon, and Riallan found herself kneeling against the snow-swept stones of the keep, panting and tired in a way she hadn’t felt since her magic first manifested.

She was out of mana.

The bone deep exhaustion made her limbs leaden. Her staff fell from numb fingertips, too heavy for her shaking hands. She felt wrung out, as if every drop of power had been siphoned from her, leaving a husk of who she was behind.

“Vhenan?” Solas crouched before her, hands on her face to draw her attention. His eyes searched hers, and some dim part of her mind appreciated the clinical look on his face as he assessed her.

He was in healer mode, and his concern was endlessly endearing to her.

“I may have,” she winced, “overdone it.”

He frowned. “Do you have any lyrium potions?”

“No.” She never carried them because she’d never needed them before. Solas had told her once that her connection to the Fade was stronger than most mages. Maybe that was why she never seemed to tire.

“Perhaps,” he said. She must have spoken her thoughts aloud. “It may also explain why being drained is having such a marked effect on you.”

She sighed, her eyelids drooping with the effort of keeping them open. She dropped her forehead onto his shoulder. “I’m so tired.”

He ran a hand up and down her back. “Come,” he said. “Let us claim this keep and then we can make camp.”

She nodded and stood on legs as shaky as a newborn halla’s. She climbed the final flight of stairs to raise the Inquisition’s flag, then sank against the stone and succumbed to the dreamless sleep of the injured.

Voices calling to one another, the crackle of a fire and the general sounds of camp woke Riallan. She blinked at the ceiling of a tent, trying to remember how she got there. They’d been in Suledin Keep, fighting Red Templars and then the demon…

“Peace, Ria,” Solas said. He sat toward the back of the tent, legs crossed and eyes closed, meditating. “We are safe. The Keep is yours; Inquisition forces claim it as we speak.”

That explained all the noise.

She sat up, surprised at how good she felt. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Almost two days,” he said. His voice was suspiciously blank.

Riallan considered herself, the lack of pain in her limbs, no bruises or scrapes, and the refreshed feeling of her magic coursing through her veins. This was more than the product of quality sleep.

“You healed me, didn’t you?”

He cracked an eye open to look at her. “Of course.” He frowned. “You pushed well beyond your limits.”

She blushed. “I know.”

“You are not typically so reckless.”

“I know.”

He tilted his head, both eyes open now and narrowed in her direction. “Do you have a death wish?”

So it wasn’t meditative peace that kept his tone so neutral. It was barely controlled anger.

“No!” She paused, considered her actions as they battled through Suledin Keep and sighed. “At least, not intentionally.”

Nothing about Solas softened, he was all hard lines and stiff posture. “I assured Leliana you were ready to return to the field.” He arched an eyebrow at her, and for the first time in a long time, Riallan wanted to yell at him. “Was that decision in error?”

She stood, only then realizing she was in just her small clothes. The intimacy only fueled her outrage and she pulled on her leggings with much more force than necessary. “I’m sorry, hahren,” she snapped. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission to do my job.”

His voice was low and whip-sharp as it lashed at her. “Tel’abelas, da’len. Merely do better.”

She threw her tunic at him, the fabric hitting him in the face. “I’m not a child for you to watch over!”

He set the shirt aside with steady hands; all his fury burned in his eyes. “Then I suggest you stop acting like one.”

Riallan bit back a scream of frustration.

“Did you even once consider what it would mean if you perished?” He stood, reminding her of just how tall he was. “What would become of Thedas if you fell before defeating Corypheus?”

She scoffed, but he ignored her, stepping closer to loom over her.

“Did you stop to consider what would become of the Inquisition, what would become of me--” His voice broke, his lips pursed around the sound and his eyes closed.

All of her anger melted away.

Riallan pulled his face down to hers and kissed him hard. She saw through his fury, to the fear behind it, and took it all into herself. She had caused this, she would take it from him and make it right.

She pressed her forehead to his. “I’m sorry.” The words were a mere breath against his lips, but they carried the weight of her guilt just the same.

It took several excruciating moments for the tension to leave his body, for his hands to find her waist, to exhale and let his head rest against hers. She wondered then, if his reaction went beyond just her own recklessness. Solas always seemed to be fighting a war within himself, and no amount of prodding would help him open up to her. He would tell her when he was ready, or not at all.

And, without knowing when or where, Riallan had decided she was okay with that. He cared for her with a depth of devotion she had never known before. He had been by her side from that first terrifying day at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, but it wasn’t until she could lace her fingers through his that she truly felt she could be the person the world needed her to be.

For that strength, for the warmth of him beside her, she would allow him his past. At least for now.

[coneygoil]

The Home We Built Together, part 33

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9| Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Interlude | Part 32

Writer’s note: Hi everybody! Feels like it’s been forever and a day since I posted a new chapter. 2020 has drained me of inspiration and time. It’s like this whole year is cursed :/ I started this part well over a month ago and had written a good portion of it when I realized I couldn’t use the material to get where I needed to be. I had to cut out a huge portion of it and start all over. BUT, it came out way better and flowed into where I wanted it to go a lot smoother.

I hope everyone is staying safe from the crisis at hand! <3  

Change.

The word echoed in Hiccup’s mind as he stared up at the ceiling. The ripples of change had started with him then flowed to Astrid and now were moving through the rest of the teens.

They were the generation of the “few”. There’d been a sickness spread through the village when Hiccup was four. He’d been placed into quarantine at the early stages of the outbreak, along with those that hadn’t shown symptoms. The rest of the children their age group had been wiped out, and it was a mystery to this day as to how and why the sickness had targeted that particular age most of all. A few of the other children that had survived had been killed in dragon raids, leaving just the small group to mature into teenagehood.

Hiccup had thought that maybe because their age group was so few that they’d all become tight knit. But that wasn’t the case. Astrid was cold and stand-offish. The twins would rather laugh at their own pranks on people than be real friends. Fishlegs was scared to be excluded. Snotlout, the worst of them all and Hiccup’s cousin, was boorish and crude and enjoyed using Hiccup as a punching bag.

But by some miracle, by some act of the gods, all that changed.

Dragon training had shifted in his favor after learning the tricks from Toothless, and with that shift came a new recognition Hiccup had never experienced before with the other teens. They began treating him like he was one of them; like he’d never been the useless outcast of the village.

There were moments the last two days that Hiccup wondered if he’d dreamed up the whole thing. He never assumed in a millennium that the others would have had any interest training dragons instead of killing them. That was what they were bred to do from birth – to become warriors of their tribe and die in a blaze of glory as they entered Valhalla. And yet, here they were, excited to train and ride dragons.

“Snotlout, you’re first.”

Snotlout stepped back, raising his hands up in defense. “Whoa, whoa…is this some elaborate plan to get me killed?”

Hiccup nodded with great exaggeration. “Yep. Been planning your demise for months. Now, c’mon.” He grabbed his cousin’s wrist, and Snotlout hesitantly let himself be pulled along.

Snotlout’s eyes snapped open wide at the dragon he was being led to.  “Hiccup, if this thing roasts me, I swear I will haunt you forever.”

“That’s fair.” Hiccup wasn’t about to let Snotlout chicken out. He’d take the risk of having his cousin bug him from the afterlife.  

Hiccup spread his palm over the back of his cousin’s hand. The Monstrous Nightmare’s hot breath clouded around them as it watched with sharp, curious eyes. A whimper escaped Snotlout as Hiccup offered his cousin’s outstretched palm to the Nightmare. When the dragon closed its eyes and pressed its nose to Snotlout’s palm, a small smile crossed Hiccup’s features and he stepped back.

It was an odd thing, seeing his cousin grin with such pure joy. Snotlout glanced back at Hiccup, his face dropping as Hiccup walked off. “Where’re you going? Don’t leave me!”

“You’ll be fine, Snotlout!” Hiccup called back, giving him a thumbs up.

He introduced Tuffnut and Ruffnut to the Zippleback, who’s two heads immediately headbutted the twins. Fishlegs was a mix of nervous excitement, appearing as if he wanted to throw up as he was introduced to the Gronckle. After the Gronckle licked his face with a swipe of its wide tongue, the jittery noises evaporated from the boy and Fishlegs’ heart visibly melted.

The first meeting had gone well. The dragons and their future riders seemed to bond instantly. It was like neither side had ever raised a weapon or a claw against each other. Bringing peace to Berk and the dragons wasn’t just a pipe dream. It could be reality. A future unseen before.

A hitch in breath brought Hiccup’s attention to the girl beside him. Astrid was facing him. Her clinched fist peeked from the edge of the furs at her neck. Her features twitched uneasily. She drew in another sharp breath. Her eyes screwed shut tighter.

Hiccup had witnessed this restlessness with his wife before. After the near-death experience in the dragons nest, Astrid’s sleep had been interrupted with bouts of night terrors. She’d curl in on herself, features pinched with anxiety, pained whimpering escaping her. Sometimes her body would suddenly jerk and the action would leave Hiccup with a fresh bruise on his leg.

They never spoke about it, but he knew what terrors haunted her dreams. He shared those terrors in the twilight hours, though he knew his weren’t as bad as hers. She experienced falling from Toothless, the momentary panic of knowing she was plummeting to her death. The scorching breath of the Queen blasting on her skin. The reverberation of the chomping of its jaws as they shot out of the volcano. She’d lived through far worse than him. The dragon raids had never reduced her to a sobbing mess.

Hiccup couldn’t bear for her to be trapped in the nightmare. He rolled onto his side, leaning closer and called softly to her. When she didn’t respond, Hiccup swallowed and cautiously reached out to comb her fallen bangs from her face. Astrid jerked to life, swinging at his arm with such force that Hiccup shrank back with a yelp.

Several ragged breaths raked through her. She clung to her pillow, pushing her face into it. Hiccup watched her, wide-eyed and concerned. He didn’t know what to do next. Was she awake or still trapped in the nightmare? Should he risk trying to rouse her again?

Finally, Astrid inclined her face to him. Her voice small and graveled, “Hiccup?”

“Hey,” he replied, just as small, “are you okay?” Stretching his hand out, he tentatively touched her back. He could feel the trembles of her body through the furs.

For a long beat, there was silence as she stared through him. Hiccup assumed she didn’t want to talk. His hand found its way under the furs to graze fingertips gently along the length of her spine.

“All our lives,” Astrid finally began, her voice stronger, “we’ve lived with thousands of dragons attacking our village. We’ve watched our homes burn to ash. We’ve seen people killed.” Her eyes squeezed shut as she visited silence again then suddenly popped back open as if something frightened her behind her eyelids. “All of that violence and yet, none of it has affected me like this.” She clutched a clump of her bangs, pulling on it in frustration. “I feel so weak…so helpless by how terrified I was.”

“Astrid—” Hiccup unfurled her fingers from her hair. He drew the back of her palm to him, pressing it across his lips and cheek. Now he was trembling. “Besides my dad, you are the strongest person I know.”

Her hair rustled against the pillow in disagreement. “You didn’t blink an eye when Toothless flew us into the dragons nest. That dragon could have easily consumed you with fire or swallowed you whole. But you and Toothless attacked that dragon. Picked a fight with something as big as a mountain. Just to save me.” She tapped his chest with the heel of her hand. “Hiccup, you’re the strong one.”

“C’mere.” Hiccup pulled her to his side, her head resting against his cheek and shoulder. Astrid curled around him, clinging to him like her only pillar of hope. Hiccup was honored that she felt safe sharing her deepest fears and faults with him. He knew how difficult that was for her being a stoic warrior in training for basically her entire life. “You would have done the same for me. I know you would have.”

Astrid nuzzled into his shoulder. “We need to kill the Queen.”

“I know.” And I will.

***

The chill of the air clung to Hiccup as Toothless glided along the sea surface of the early morning hour. He’d left Astrid a note and a feather-lite kiss in her hair before leaving out. She’d be upset with him later, but this was something he had to do.

Toothless had understood exactly where Hiccup had requested they go. He had no desire to return to the place that haunted him – and neither did Toothless, it seemed. The dragon had warbled in concern at the mention of the Nest.

Hiccup continued to ponder why Toothless had brought him there in the first place. Toothless had introduced him to the band of dragons led by the Monstrous Nightmare. By the way Toothless acted, Hiccup suspected he’d informed the Nightmare that these humans were friends. Maybe he wanted the other dragons to see that humans and dragons could live in peace.

But then, they’d been introduced to the Queen. Hiccup wasn’t sure if Toothless had intended on revealing the Queen to them that day. After getting caught up in the dragons hauling in their kill, Hiccup suspected Toothless had taken the opportunity, knowing the Queen would show herself during feeding time. After seeing how the dragons did the Queen’s bidding, feeding her or being eaten themselves, it all made more sense. Maybe the band of dragons they’d met were setting up for a rebellion. Maybe Toothless thought Hiccup and Astrid could help them.

As terrifying as it could be, both boy and dragon understood what had to be done to achieve peace. The Queen had to go.

They didn’t know exactly how massive this dragon was. It’s head alone was at least the size of 20+ Nightmares. They didn’t even know if it had wings. It could probably cause tidal waves just stepping into the sea. What if the dragons stopped feeding her, would the Queen rise up and consume whatever it found? Just the idea that she could possibly make her way to Berk sent a cold shiver down Hiccup’s spine.

Though he and Astrid had brainstormed how they could takedown the Queen, none of their ideas had come to fruition. There was one idea Hiccup was holding out on her. It was just as risky and dangerous as all the rest they had proposed, and it’d put him and Toothless in the greatest danger of all. Astrid would never go for it. She’d want to be right up there beside him in the midst of the battle. But what Hiccup had in mind was something only he and Toothless could accomplish themselves…with some help.

As they approached the volcano island, the eeriness struck Hiccup all over again and a pit settled heavily in his stomach. This was a place of fear and death, and the atmosphere proclaimed it. Toothless touched down lightly on the rocky shore. His ears flattened and his scales shivered. Hiccup patted him, comfortingly.

“I know, bud. I don’t want to be here either.”

Hiccup remained atop Toothless, waiting to be spotted or sensed by the Nightmare leader’s welcome party. It didn’t take long before the band of dragons flew in formation down to them from an opening in the volcano’s side, the Nightmare in the lead.

The band landed in front of them, the members looking wary and alert. The Nightmare cut them with his glowing orange eyes. Hiccup hopped off Toothless and stared for a long beat, frozen in the Nightmare’s gaze. The volcanic mountain rumbled lowly. The Nightmare finally lowered its snout, permitted Hiccup to approach.

Hiccup took a cautious step forward. “Do you want to get rid of the Queen?” he asked in the strongest voice he could muster. He hoped the dragon understood.

Toothless warbled behind him, and the Nightmare’s interest was piqued. The Nightmare blew a huff of smoke from its nostrils.

Hiccup took another step forward. “You want to be free of her, don’t you?” The Nightmare gargled in reply. Hiccup glanced back at Toothless, who nodded his head. “Okay. Now that we’re clear on that.”

He licked his dry, chapping lips as a strange flutter of relief welled up in him. He felt stronger. This was exactly the confirmation he needed to move forward. “I have a plan to take down the Queen, but I’m going to need your help.”

Tags (if yall still wanna read it :)  @martabm90​ @chiefhiccstrid @drchee5e @celtictreemuffin @hey-its-laura-again 

[calamitousrpgarchive]

Take your seats folks for the S H O W is about to begin, let the Circus E N T E R T A I N you one and all...

The lanterns suddenly dim, the inside of the Big Top darkens, the only visible light streams in from the centre and barely allows sight of the person either side of the next; even those with enhanced vision struggle to determine what’s in the D A R K N E S S around them. Only driven to attention by the beams that swarm the middle; music roars to life, a mechanical twist of cogs that scratch together like an out of time clock...

It begins. Comes in gentle flushes as magnificent silks erupt from the back entrance, manipulates the shape of a D R A G O N with such magical realism it could be mistaken for R E A L and it moves with such grace, obscured figures beneath the covers of the excessive false manifestation, travels the length of the small arena, breaks the fourth walls to flurry along the pathway between ringside and the first row grandstands. 

A B A N G erupts, a single figure appears, a striped cane between clasped hands as the man stands in dead silence. Almost statue-like to the audience who watch with curious eyes to what is to come. A top hat, tipped downwards, head bowed under it; face hidden by clothing; a ringmaster that commands the room - despite the way he stands dead still. There’s a hum of voices whispering; wondering aloud if this is the man responsible for it all; Khaos in the F L E S H, but it’s quiet, bar the movements of the silk dancers that distract watchful eyes; strange shocks to peripheries. 

And the figure doesn’t move. 

From the rear of the ringmaster, a stream of bodies emerge, extravagant feathered tails; peacocks waving ribbons; they dance - match the calm pace of the dragon that amounts a growing number of hungry eyes. High above, a clatter of metal snaps every head upwards, trapeze artists thrown from bars as the business of the room intensifies. 

Though nothing B E Y O N D what hasn’t been done before, no?

The show remains like that, hold for a few more beats - present, a lion; a typical act that puts its handler close to headless; it’s truly just that; a  C I R C U S.

And the audience begin to grow restless - the immortals hungry for blood; for the promised performances that dragged them there; it becomes obvious in the room too...

The first person stands to leave - and like a trigger, the voice snaps to attention; comes from the centre of the ring:

K H A O S

Am I not E N T E R T A I N I N G you? Is my Circus not to your liking; too M U N D A N E for you to E N J O Y? Pity. 

You can’t say I really didn’t T R Y to be a good host to you all; that I wasn’t K I N D to provide my services. Let me introduce the T R U E awaited K H A O S shall I? 

Thank me later, 

If you’re still alive, of course...

It’s instant. The snap of broken chains; the S C R E A M that tears through the Big Top like a banshee freshly released from a cage; though this is pained; A G O N I S E D in its manner. Something heavy drops from the roof of the Big Top; a body H A N G S almost still. An unrecognisable face is choking on their own blood, iron clasped around their throat, a wish wash of rusted chains tight on the individual; unbreakable. The sight is ghastly, the body mauled by harsh claws, the only indication that under the mass of dried crimson is something alive is the way the spasms of muscle fight to breathe beneath the weight of chains that bind them there.

And for those with impeccable vision and know their ranks; the vampires K N O W that there hangs their O V E R L O R D; strung up for all to see by the circus as thought that is an event. it’s delayed, the hiss of questioning; the way the body writhes to escape the clutches of metal. Khaos isn’t done:

Still here? Why, thank you - have I finally gained your undivided attention? Does the OVERLORD have such an affect on you; don’t they look pretty now? 

The panic is late, the dragon that’s been dancing circles around the ringside ignites; a demon’s fire sparking it to life, catches those in the first row of Grandstand Two and the Ringside - now it truly looks alive; an impossible beast marked to carry death. There’s more screaming. Where Demon Fire lights up the wooden slats of the seating, the ones scorched by flames shriek and howl; cave under burnt wood. 

There’s a S I C K E N I N G sound of bones crunching from above, the trapeze artists suddenly replaced by grotesque creatures; demons in their true forms and human bound skin sheds and drops down below; heavy thumps of guts splattering to the ground to leave mutilated piles; a stench that’s foul comes with it.

The head of the ringmaster jerks upwards, a mask where features should be; pale like a ghost, holeless and with the impression that KHAOS cannot see; that beneath the darkness of the metal cast face there is no potential to witness his own oncoming K A R N A G E. 

Because that comes in the form of something resembling G U N F I R E, certainly sounds similar, the peacock dancers throwing spherical cannisters into the audience; paired with E X P LO S I O N S that shake the room; small metal shards pepper unsuspecting guests and that panic that’s been withheld..

Kicks in...

Everyone grapples to their feet; a free for all of sirvivors that haven’t been singed, bulleted or reduced to ash... some in pieces; limbless and crawling along grasslands... stepped on by careless immortals; stamped on by even less sympathetic monsters...

F I N A L L Y, Khaos adds, The S H O W has begun; I promised you K H A O S... 

HERE IT IS.

The dragon; now fully resembling a magical entity sits below the strung Overlord, coaxes a real awful scream for their voicebox as flames engulf the body, reduce the choking to a gargle untill nothing but a blackened and withered form remains; a S A C R I F I C E to the Circus...

And everyone in the Ringside seating can’t escape it fast enough; a wave of heat expels from the form with enough force to send all off their feet and stumbling to recompose their senses; those still alive; unharmed fighting to get to the exit. 

But it’s gone; the walls of the tent proven impossible to break - knives, guns evaporating on its touch and where the magic binding everyone in the room distracts them, still dodging Khaos’ showman who have intent to make them the G R A N D  D I S P L A Y, begin to crowd and just as a few guests direct their attention to the ringmaster himself.

He vanishes in smoke; that darkness sweeping the room in a flash and suddenly; the harshness of rough wild magic scratches claws at the skin of all within; and when lights return to the chaotic mass of moving bodies... they are no longer in a recognisable big top...

It’s a M A Z E; tracks underneath them, steel and stone walls haphazard and staggering the mass into smaller, unplanned groups that must dare to E S C A P E the new route they’ve been contained in; or at least, T R A P P E D and forced to navigate a dark pit. Khaos’ voice thrums one final twisted introduction:

Welcome to the G H O S T  M A Z E, last one to the exit is M I N E. 

Run quickly sweet creatures, for I like to keep my promises and I want you to see all the R E A L things within these walls that you’ll never have seen before...

Try not to die now will you...

                                     Easier said than done...

                                                            Because I want to look you in the eyes first...

Within the M A Z E 

it is built from nightmares; pulled from vivid thoughts of those confined within its walls and made  R E A L by imagination. The deepest, darkest monstrosities that creature fear lives inside as G H O S T S of the maze, haunting the thick stone and striking pain into those who manifested them. Accompanied by T R A P S that are designed for the strongest of immortals, there’s a sudden need to work as a team; as a unit with the ones who would deem to be unlikely allies

For if you’re left alone with your fears... driven to insanity by them and S T U C K in a loop that your mind can’t free itself from.. well then you better hope you die before Khaos catches you...

NOTE: This is the main conclusion of the Circus De La Khaos event, the final part of 3.5 comes to close the event done, but until then, your characters must survive their darkest of nightmare; face their demons and stare them in the eye whilst they attempt to navigate through a concrete maze with both allies and foe...

Are you going to try risk it alone, leave old enemies behind? Find an unlikely companion? You choose. This part of the event will conclude Monday 3rd August, Midnight. 

Keep in mind, if your character was seated in a detrimental hit zone; they might be nursing some serious injuries too... that’s without ordinary enemies playing fatal parts...

Good luck Crooked Souls...

                                                  Dare I say...

                                                                                 You might need it...

[amemixfan]

If you continue that with Hope saying "fuck you, Magnus" at some point I will love you forever

It has been a really long time since I wrote something. Here is an extra long post. ———

After so long, I thought I would be prepared for coming face to face with Magnus again. I thought I would be able to face him, that being with the Resistance would instill a shred of a warrior’s spirit in me, but any tiny drop of confidence I once had evaporates the moment my eyes meet Magnus’.

His face is locked on a patronizing smile as he roughly tugs me away from the magical trap I had accidentally activated. One of his hands painfully locks around my wrist while the other hefts his axe to one side. The blade glints ominously as if by threat. If I dare to try and run, I won’t make it very far.

“Look who I found wandering around my lands,” Magnus voices out. The corner of his mouth turns up in a sneer and he looks away from me towards the trees.

Helena and Alain emerge from opposite sides of the woods at the same time. By the look of their faces and the sound of their breaths, they had ran all the way here. I feel Helena’s presence in my mind, her magic so close to the spell blocking my memory, and feel tiny pinpricks of pain run down the length of my scalp.

“Who-?” Helena drifts off when she spots me. Her face remains impassive but I see a shred of recognition in her gaze when she approaches. She remembers me in the same way I remember her.

Magnus spins me around so I am facing Alain and Helena. They stop feet away from me and Alain lowers his weapon. At his side, Helena flicks her wrist and the spell I have activated snaps back into place and lets me go.  

“It seems my darling wife has returned to me,” Magnus idly comments, “About time.”

His tone of voice is casual, patronizing, yet the grip on my wrist tightens painfully. I can feel the anger radiating off of him as he stands next to me. I have deeply humiliated him by leaving, and I have to reel in my emotions to keep from displaying my fear.

“Magnus,” I whisper. His name leaves my lips in a pained breath and I draw myself inward. My body is beginning to shake and some of the color is leaving my face. A familiar fear is beginning to settle across me and I am powerless to stop it.

“Your wife?” Alain comments. He looks away from me and instead focuses on the trees nearby almost as if disgusted by the sight of me.

Magnus tugs me forward and I am forced to walk at his side. His arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me flush against him in a very awkward and threatening embrace. I tense and a part of me, the piece of myself that spent years enduring him, slowly begins to recede into a dark corner. Without meaning to, I begin to fall into the old me, the one trapped in an ivory tower.

“My wife went missing during the fight where Captain Goldhart escaped. I couldn’t find her because someone had removed her ring,” he lifts up my bandaged hand.

A hiss of a breath sounds from the other two, startled horror, and they look away. I bite the inside of my cheek suddenly reminded of the ring I had left behind and the agony that it had been to remove it. Feeling a little ill, I yank my arm back.

Magnus is playing at an angle, aiming for something, and I watch him out of the corner of my eye. His gaze is focused on me and I can see a patronizing false pity on his face. His embrace tightens just a bit.

“Were you afraid, dear? Did they forcibly take you?” His voice drips with false compassion.

A lightbulb clicks in my head. So that’s the angle he is playing at.

His wife running from him would be a blatant embarrassment. Magnus always projected confidence and arrogance when I was at his side. He paraded me around like his doll to every event and flaunted the power he had over me to anyone who would see us. To have me run from him would be a spit on everything he tried to project. He wants Helena and Alain to believe that I was taken from him against his will. By reducing me to a helpless victim, he gets to seem like a gallant knight.

A wave of fury rises in me. After years chained to him by spells and rings, I am done being used as a victim.

As Magnus continues playing the part of the concerned husband whose wife was stolen away by a bad man, I snap. I throw my body to one side and manage to escape his embrace through sheer surprise alone. A startled sound leaves his lips and I glare at him with as much venom as I can.

“Fuck you, Magnus!”

There is a large pause full of shocked silence. Alain and Helena are gaping at me with undisguised shock, and Magnus is stock still as if his mind can hardly comprehend my outburst.

My heart beats wildly against my rib cage and my fingers clench into tight fists at my side. How long have I spent a prisoner to him? How long was I chained at his side with no method or means of escape? How could I have let myself be taken down so easily?

Color floods my cheeks and I force myself to meet Magnus’ eyes. He’s startled, I can see utter shock in his gaze, and his lips are parted. In all the years I had been with him, I never once spoke back.

I may have disobeyed, I may have plotted my escape with my every breath, but I never raised my voice to him. To do so would have been suicide. He lorded my death over my head for so long that I believed myself a corpse on the ground with no means of escape-

But I won’t let him treat me as a doll any longer. He locked me up in an ivory tower but I found my way out. I sacrificed everything to leave and will not allow myself to be imprisoned again. I am tired, I am angry, but most of all, I am strong.

Magnus raises his hand and a coil of fear tightens in my stomach. I tense and await the blow like always but the fire inside me refuses to douse. If he will hit me, I will fight back. My hands move up to shield my face and my tongue is poised to strike-

And suddenly the taste of magic fills my mouth. My tongue is pressed down to my mouth gagging me and my hands are seized by invisible hands who forcibly hold them together before me.

I look towards Helena who has her fingers moving in circles. Her magic zaps at her fingertips and the look she gives me is frigid. She turns to Magnus with an eyebrow cocked.

“Must be in shock from everything,” she remarks. Her hands move down to her canister and she passes it over to me. Water.

She gets close to me and forces the canteen to my mouth. Cold water rushes down my throat and my tongue is released from her magical grip. Her mouth moves near my ear and she hisses a single word at me.

”Quiet.”

Her eyes are narrowed as she screws the lid back on after I’ve coughed down my share of water but she doesn’t move away from me. Instead, she almost moves me slightly away from Magnus with a hand at my back and steps protectively before me.

She’s protecting me, I realize. Some of my earlier anger deflates and I dig my nails into my skin.

Had she not stopped me, I would have fought back. I would have taken on Magnus-

And then he would have killed me. He would have struck me dead and everything I’ve survived would have been for naught. I have to keep my wits about me if I am to live.

Magnus recovers after another moment, vivid fury still burning in his gaze, and his hand drops back down. He doesn’t dare strike me, not with Helena before me and Alain eyeing him nearby with a hand near his sword. To hit me in front of them would be foolish. Magnus would be seen as a weak willed husband who could do nothing to control his wife but to beat her into submission. To someone so concerned of how others perceive him and with a fragile masculinity he needs to preserve, nothing would be worse.

He reels himself in and gives me a final glare before turning to Helena and Alain.

“Her time away must have frightened her. She was always obedient,” a pointed glare at my direction, “But she is back with me. I am sure she will recover.”

He narrows his eyes at me and fishes underneath his armor. On a gold chain rests his wedding band, the one enchanted to mine.

“I felt you leave the barrier when Goldhart kidnapped you. I have been tracking your movements since.”

I eye the ring on the chain and grind my teeth together. My hand with my missing finger throbs and I almost feel dizzy. The memory of what it took to escape the charm fills me and I have to suppress a shudder.

A hand at my shoulder keeps me steady. I turn to see that Alain has moved to my side. Like Helena he serves as a half shield from Magnus. His eyes are narrowed pensively and his hand is still at his sword.

“Well you found her,” his voice is cold, “But we have more important matters. Goldhart marches on Lennox’s domain. His men will invade our lands. We have a task to complete.”

He moves past Magnus and knocks his shoulder purposefully as he walks. Magnus grits his teeth and glares at his back.

Helena makes a sound underneath her breath.

“General Richter is right. The Witch Queen ordered us to bring her the head of the Captains of the Resistance. We are not here for your marriage counseling.”

She puts a hand on my back and moves me around so that she is behind me and we are walking away from Magnus. Acting as a shield, she moves me towards a fallen tree log and eases me down into it. My wrists are still bound so she keeps me steady as I sit.

I eye her wearily, suspicious, yet she ignores me.

“I have not forgotten my responsibility,” Magnus’ reply is as frigid as the Witch Queen. He tucks his wedding band back under his armor and he pulls out a map. The Fairy Domain has been circled and bolded.

I bite the inside of my cheek and try to make myself seem small as I think.

Ryland and the others have marched there already. They are probably halfway there. Magnus is behind. The thought fills me with some relief but I try not to let it show.

“The Resistance is ahead of us now. Lennox called for our forces a long time ago. We must move on. We sent our men ahead of us but they will be of no use without us as their heads. We have to move now,” Alain calls out from behind Magnus, “We have no time to waste. Take your wife back to your castle and leave her there. She will be a nuisance on the battlefield.”

Helena murmurs her agreement as her fingers move before her. I feel her magic seep into my skin and some of the exhaustion and pain from my journey recedes. Her magic is almost soothing in a way and I feel a part of myself ease up.

“You can leave her at your home before we march on. No need bringing her with us when you will be at war-“

“Not quite,” Magnus interrupts. His gaze is on me, assessing every inch of me, and I feel the hairs at the back of my neck stand. I hate him, every fiber of my being loathes him, and to be stared at by him makes me feel exposed somehow. I hunch my shoulders as if to shield myself from view.

“Goldhart had to have taken her somewhere nearby. An encampment perhaps? His little brigade is fond of those. I have no doubt my loyal and obedient wife may know a thing or two that could help us. Saving Lennox’s hide is all well and good, but finding the Resistance’s camp is much more beneficial. Think of the gold mine we’d hit by finding their hideaway.”

My blood turns cold at his words and it takes all of my strength to stay quiet.

The Resistance’s encampment is nearby, he’s right about that. If they find it, it’s all over. Ryland and Caligo took their best men out, but everyone else is hidden away. It would be a massacre and I would be the cause.

My fingers begin to shake and I am glad Helena’s magic keeps my arms tightly bound. Otherwise, I may do something reckless out of pure fear.

Magnus moves on me like a hawk. He approaches me and his gaze is powerful. I feel stripped bare as he takes in every inch of me.

I am wearing clothes from the Resistance, I am not entirely ragged from a long journey, and there is some semblance of nourishment in me. I have been well cared for and he knows it had to have been a camp. Only a camp could have provided me with the level of care I received.

“I-“

I open my mouth to concoct some lie about something, anything, but Alain beats me to it. He’s staring at his own map, measuring the distance with his thumb, and his jaw is tight.

“Are you purposefully trying to be dense, Magnus? We have no time for a foolish bid. The Resistance has several camps. We find one, they’ll move to another one. Meanwhile, Goldhart and Hawkeye march as we speak. Lennox’s lands will fall if we dally.”

Helena glares fiercely at Magnus as well. “Do you take Goldhart for a fool? He would have hidden his camp well and blindfolded your wife before taking her. She knows nothing.”

I raise my chin and make my voice seem feeble. Perhaps there is strength in weakness after all. My eyes burn with tears.

“I don’t know where it is. I just ran,” I shrink into myself to play off the effect.

My heart is a hummingbird in my chest and my legs shake. No matter what, I can not let him find the encampment.

I was an idiot to have ever left the camp, but I will not allow myself to be a risk to everyone who remains within.

Magnus’ eyes flash with a challenge and his double bladed axe is in his hand. Alain and Helena tense preparing for some battle. I tuck myself flat against the tree trunk and avert my gaze.

The Generals fight all the time, I recall, and I have definitely seen them get bloody before. Serving the Witch Queen does not make them loyal to each other. They often trade blows like lovers trade kisses and more than once I’ve seen them bleed each other out. It wouldn’t surprise me if they attack each other now.

Yet Magnus takes no step towards Helena or Alain. Instead, he marches towards the tree line.

“Goldhart’s forces are ways away from Lennox’s lands. We can take a bit to search for the camp and still make it in time for all the fun. Imagine how pleased our Queen will be when we deliver not only the Captains but one of the Resistance’s encampments? She will reward us then.”

He sets his axe down and comes towards me. His arm hauls me up and I grit my teeth to keep from crying out. His arm will certainly leave a bruise.

Alain and Helena are tense as they watch him grab me. I am reminded of all the times he has hurt me before in front of the Generals. He never dared raise a hand to me in front of them before, it would have been humiliating to him, but there were always other ways to harm me.

No one ever stepped in to help me in the years that I was at his side. The day Magnus had taken me, Alain had been there. He had said nothing as Magnus selected me as his own and had simply turned his back when Magnus had forced me to leave with him. Then Helena had complied with the Witch Queen and Magnus’ orders by enchanting my wedding ring and erasing my memories. She had never raised a finger to help me either and even now refused to release the magic she held over me as Magnus forced me to walk.

“You can try to find it for me, can’t you?” Magnus shakes my arm furiously. His pent up anger simmers underneath his skin as his nails pierce flesh. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out.

Fear settles within me, that familiar feeling I always got right before he did something to me, but it is accompanied by white hot anger and something deeper, primal. It is protective and strong. I will not give up the encampment, no matter what he does. He can raise his blade to my neck and I will die with the encampment’s location accompanying me to my grave.

“I didn’t see the way,” I protest, “It’s all a blur. I just ran for hours until I reached your lands.”

Tears roll down my cheeks as his grip tightens even further. I am sure he will break bone as he takes his anger out on my arm-

And then Alain is at his side wrenching his arm off me. He shoves Magnus away and takes my wrist in his. His grip is forceful yet it lacks the pain that Magnus’ grip brought.

“She will hardly be able to think between the pain of a missing finger and a broken arm,” he hisses, “Give her time. We can walk around the perimeter of the area for a bit to see if something jogs her memory. Otherwise, it’s fruitless to try.”

Magnus glares at him reproachfully but cocks his head to the side and cracks his neck. His fist is squeezed at his side and he reluctantly complies. He can’t lose control of his anger, not in front of Alain and Helena. It would ruin his reputation of being in control of me.

“Then lead the way, my obedient wife.”

He does not wait for me to start walking before shoving his way past some trees. Alain forces me forward and Helena takes my other side using her magic to illuminate our path through eternal darkness.  

—————

Magnus’ lands are a labyrinth and I get lost several times. It is only the Generals’ sense of direction that keeps us from going in circles. Pretty soon, we pass the barrier marking the end of his realm and find ourselves in more woods.

The trees all look the same and I am relieved for it. If I can’t recognize the path ahead of me, I can’t possibly bring them anywhere close to the camp.

“This is pointless, we waste time,” Helena hisses. She folds her arms in front of her chest and digs her heels in the terrain. Spinning on me, her lip curls with distaste. “Does anything resemble a camp to you?”

“No!” I protest for the hundredth time then realize I sounded too forceful. Getting a hold of my emotions once more, I make my voice sound desperate. “Please! I never saw the way to the camp!”

For the first time, I am thankful that I am hungry, tired, and shell shocked. The tears come faster than what I meant and add to my desperation perfectly. I let them roll down my chin before I move my bound hands upwards and make an attempt to wipe them away.

Magnus scoffs and Helena directs her ire at him instead.

“As Alain told you before, we have more pressing matters at hand. Let us give up this fool’s bid and head for the Coastal Domain. The Resistance is bound to be close now.”

Ryland is traveling with a whole rank of men. A group that large will be traveling slowly even if they only make necessary stops. They must be close to the Coast now-

But not close enough. If Magnus and the others depart now, they will be close on them too soon. They are only three companions.

I have to find a way to slow them down. Anything.

I move away from Alain’s grip and stare at a random tree’s direction. Alain’s eyes narrow at me suspiciously and Helena purses her lips.

“Anything?” Magnus takes notice of my reaction.

“I-“

I don’t give an immediate answer. Instead, I pretend to be entranced. I walk closer and grind my teeth.

“I recognize this,” I murmur.

Magnus wastes no time in moving towards me. “Did Goldhart take this path with you?”

I don’t answer him. Alain rolls his eyes and Helena clenches her jaw. They are fed up with Magnus’ dream of finding the camp.

“What are you waiting for? Find the camp!”

Magnus gives me a forceful shove and I stumble. I manage to right my balance out of miracle and quicken my step to prevent him from coming too close.

“This is pointless,” Helena hisses but she follows at my heels and, after another moment, Alain steps towards me too.

Praying that I’m giving the Resistance enough time to reach the Coast, I walk them further in the woods.

—————

I lead them on a wild goose chase. For the most part, I am successful.

I really do not know the woods, so it is hardly difficult to get lost in them. I zig zag through the trees and bite my lip until it bleeds pretending to be deep in thought. When Magnus begins to get furious, I let a few tears out and cower behind Helena or Alain. They keep Magnus away and get more frustrated with every passing tree. Anger radiates off of them yet they never direct it at me. Instead, Magnus takes the force of it.

They never wanted to search for the encampment to begin with, Magnus pressured them into it. The time they are wasting on my wild chase is his fault. They constantly remind him that the Witch Queen will not be pleased Magnus made an impromptu scavenger hunt against her wishes.

Magnus pales at that reminder but remains firm. He yells at me, clenches his teeth so hard I am surprised they don’t crack, and reaches for his axe menacingly.

“Anything look familiar?” His voice is tight.

I don’t dignify him with a glance. Instead, I move past in another direction. Anything to get them as far away from the Coastal Domain as possible.

“Close,” I murmur under my breath and make a show of trying to concentrate. I pretend to analyze some bark and then pretend to be stumped.

When Magnus makes a move for me, I walk even faster away from him and deeper into the woods. Behind us, the other two Generals hiss furious comments to each other.

We walk for another half hour and my legs begin to burn. I have walked too far without much rest. My head begins to pound from the lack of food and I cannot reach my water with my hands tied.

I close my eyes and will myself forward.

I have led them far enough away. The Coastal Domain is in the opposite direction now and Ryland, even with all his men and the many side roads he’ll have to take, should have a nice head start for it. The Generals are tired from my hunt, they’ll need to make a temporary stop soon. For now, I can pretend to lose the scent and give up my act-

Something tickles at my magic and I tense slightly. In my bid to confuse the others, I’ve reached a magical force of some sort. I will my powers outward and skim the surface of a ward before paling.

The Camp is well hidden by the magical wards in place, but such strong magic leaves a potent trace. It’s hard to hide a spell so strong from magic users. Even my magic, as weak as it is, can detect something in the distance now that the wards have been particularly active as of late-

And if I can detect them-

I risk a glance at Helena to see that she has stopped. Her eyes are pensive as she scans the horizon. I feel her own magic surging outwards, past where mine can touch, and I hold my breath.

Alain and Magnus can’t feel anything amiss, but they stop all the same when they see that Helena has halted.

“What is it?” Magnus whirs on her then at me.

I look away and pretend to be as confused as they are.

“I can’t find it,” I whisper to myself.

Helena moves closer to the direction of the magic and my heart begins to race. It pounds against my ribs so loudly I am shocked the others can’t hear it.

Please, please, please.

“Is the camp nearby?” Magnus marches towards Helena and grabs her arm. He’s fed up with all of us and is desperate to find the Resistance.

Helena ignores him. I feel her magic envelop us, surround the area, and my blood turns cold.

Her magic is strong, she can shatter the wards with a flick of her wrist. Once she finds them, it’s over.

I feel real tears burn in my eyes and my cheek stings as my teeth draw blood.

Please, please don’t let the camp be found.

I sense the arcane powers in the air, sense the wards of the camp, feel when Helena’s magic brushes past it-

And then Helena turns around and clutches her pin in the shape of the Witch Queen’s crown.

“There’s nothing here, this was a waste of time. Lennox just sent out another distress signal.”

She unpins her pin and brandishes it towards Magnus. Magnus reaches for his own and frowns. Their pins are silent and show no sign of any signal coming through. The Generals can communicate with them together, I recall, but there’s usually a light shining in them when they’re active.

“Mine never lit up-“

Alain pulls his own off and eyes it. “Well Helena’s and mine did. Lennox needs us now. Can we give up on your pathetic bid?”

He rolls his eyes and turns his back on Magnus. Without waiting for a response, he walks back the way we came. Somehow, he has been keeping track of our path.

I stare at Helena almost gaping. Confusion and terror linger on me. My mouth is dry.

She felt the wards, I sensed it. I felt it when she bumped against them. She could have torn them down like paper with just a finger, but she hadn’t.

I have no idea what to make of it and do not have the time to try and process it out. Helena turns towards me sensing my gaze on her and I pointedly look away.

Magnus is livid as he seizes my arm again.

“Fine,” he hisses. He glares at me and I feel dizzy.

There will be hell to pay later, I realize. Once he can get me alone, he will take out all his pent up anger on me. My stomach churns.

“We can still reach the Coastal Domain before the battle if we hurry,” Magnus comments.

I open my mouth to say something then never get the chance to. My foot catches on a twig and I fall. With my hands bound, I cannot stop myself in time.

I land on the ground painfully and cannot find the strength to rise back up. All at once the exhaustion from the journey takes hold and I slump down.

Helena hisses something and Magnus nudges me with his boot. He orders me to stand up, gets frustrated when I don’t, and Alain makes a face.

“She’s passing out,” he remarks.

He is right. Before long, my consciousness fades.

—————

It can’t be more than another half hour before I wake again. I am propped on a tree and Helena sits next to me as she keeps watch. I blink slowly and sit up.

My muscles ache, my head is pounding, and my mouth feels like sandpaper. I groan underneath my breath and find that my hands are looser than before. Some of her magic has been weakened.

“Awake at last,” Helena idly comments. She passes me her water container and I nearly drain it dry.

I am exhausted, hungry, and thirsty. I need hours and hours of sleep.

“Did we move?” I press a hand to my forehead and feel the skin there hot to the touch. Hopefully it’s nothing major.

“Alain carried you some ways away. We’ve been traveling all this time. I made them stop to rest.”

Helena nods at the distance. Alain and Magnus are poured over a map bickering. They haven’t noticed I’m awake.

I try to calculate how much time we have wasted. By now Ryland’s group should be arriving to the Coastal Domain soon. By early morning tomorrow, they’ll regroup with their other Resistance members, and the battle can begin in two days.

Some relief fills me. The Generals are still here and Lennox is still waiting for them before making a move. The Resistance has the upper hand while they remain far away. I have done good in creating a diversion.

“Are you hungry?” Helena fishes in her bag for something. An apple.

A memory of Ryland and his apple game fills me. I eye the fruit and the thought becomes painful. I move away from Helena and clench my jaw.

“Get away from me,” I hiss.

Asides from Magnus, I hate Helena the most. My memories are trapped behind her magic, my finger is gone because of her, and I was kept a prisoner by her own spell. I trust her as far as I can throw her and refuse to take anything she gives me that isn’t water.

Helena, for her part, doesn’t complain. She rises to her feet and sets the apple in front of me.

“I am not your enemy,” she says quietly.

“Could have fooled me,” I retort. I raise my hands to show her the magical binds on them and the nub that used to be my finger.

She winces and looks away. For a moment, something like pain and remorse fills her-

And then it’s gone and a mask falls over her face. She moves her fingers and the magical binds fall away from me.

I stretch my arms apart wearily and eye her suspiciously. She tilts her head to the sky and her jaw is tight.

“I did what I had to do,” she comments. She nudges the apple towards me, “You do not need to trust me or like me. Just keep yourself alive.”

She then spins on her heel and marches towards the others.

—————

I doze off again somehow. I wake up an hour later and Helena is gone along with Magnus. Alain is pacing the perimeter keeping guard. I pretend to still be asleep as he gets closer to me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him murmuring into his pin. The light is shining within it and Helena’s voice carries out like an echo from it. They murmur in hushed voices to each other via the connection and I catch Ryland’s name several times.

I strain my ears to hear something, anything, but Alain is too far away. I then try to inch closer but a twig snaps and Alain turns towards me in a flash.

I barley have time to close my eyes again before he sees me. I wait for a few moments in tense silence praying that he still thinks I’m asleep. Finally, after a long pause, I hear him walk away and open my eyes again.

He’s by a tree and still talking to Helena. I watch as he shakes his head, argues back and forth, then comes to some agreement. Finally, after a long pause, he pins his device back on his armor and moves towards me.

My eyes fall close automatically as he looms near. I hear him approach then sidestep me towards the other side of the perimeter.

He’s taking patrol, I realize, and curl in on myself. Helena and Magnus must be somewhere else scouting something. Running would do me no good. Even if I could outrun Alain, I have no way of knowing where Helena and Magnus are. I may bump into one of them or set off another one of Helena’s traps before making it far.

Frustration fills me and I clench my teeth.

Alain walks towards me headed for the other direction of his patrol. I slump my head on my arms getting ready to sleep again-

And then hear his voice next to my head. He has bent down towards me and is whispering something near my ear.

“Ryland made it to the Coastal Domain. He’s headed West.”

Before I have a chance to process what he said, he’s moving away from me and back towards his patrol as if nothing ever happened.

My eyes snap open and I stare in his wake.

—————

Magnus returns before long with Helena in tow. He tosses Alain a water jug and rouses me from ‘sleep’.

“Up,” he orders.

I comply and pretend like my hands are still bound. Helena has not retied my hands since she freed me.

“We can still travel some more hours. Had we not gone searching for the impossible, we would have been in Lennox’s camp by now,” Alain chastises Magnus.

Magnus ignores him and stares at the distance. His jaw is tight. He sends me a freezing glare and looks away.  

“Had my wife not passed out, we wouldn’t have had to stop,” he comments.

Helena eyes him with frustration but says nothing. She comes to my side and helps me up as if my hands were tied. She makes no effort to use her magic on me again.

Although I tense at her touch, I don’t shrink away. Despite my hatred for them, Helena and Alain have been helping me thus far. I can’t deny them that. Biting the hand that feeds never ends well.

“Should we move now?” Helena asks.

A moment of quiet.

Thanks to Helena’s ever present light, we can move freely in eternal darkness, but that doesn’t mean we can push past exhaustion. Alain looks tired as he leans against a tree, Magnus is perched on a log looking worn down, and Helena herself has dark circles under her eyes.

I managed to fall asleep briefly, but they’ve been busy at work. They need some rest if only just to drink water and catch their breath.

“One hour,” Alain concedes. He gives Helena a look as he sits down and Helena’s eyes narrow. Something passes between them and I can’t read it.

Magnus, oblivious, rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest.

They set up a brief camp.

—————

A fire crackles before long and Alain dozes off. Magnus and Helena are left awake as I cower to one side. After a lull in planning, Magnus orders Helena to get firewood.

I tense at the realization that I will be left alone with him.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears and a part of me thinks of wild flowers. That corner I’ve been receding to all this time, the place I go to disassociate and escape, comes to me in a rush and I squeeze my hands into fists.

Once Helena is gone, what will he do then? I’ve been pushing it this entire time. I provoked him earlier, have been using the other two as shields, and have yet to pay for running away. How will he hurt me once she’s gone? Will I still be alive by the time the Coastal Domain falls to the Resistance?

My hands shake in my lap and my breath comes in a quiet pant. Panic seizes me and I close my eyes tightly. More than anything, I pray that it is over quickly. Let him be done with me quickly. I am out of practice in surviving him.

Helena makes a sound at the back of her throat and I realize she has not moved from her spot.

She looks at me and something dark passes in her eyes so quickly I am almost sure I imagined it. Almost protectively, she inches towards me.

“Lady Vestergaard shall help me then. Two sets of hands can carry more firewood.”

Magnus’ face hardens with anger. “That is unnecessary. I need my wife with me-“

“Come.”

Helena ignores his protests and helps me to my feet. She pushes me in front of her and puts herself between me and Magnus. If he were to try to rush me, he’d have to go through her first.

“Get some rest, General Vestergaard. We have a long battle ahead. I will bring your wife back safe.”

Without any more fanfare, she walks me as far away from Magnus as she can.

—————

I can’t help myself. Once we are out of earshot, I wrap my arms around myself in relief. My teeth grind together and it takes me a moment to compose myself.

“Why did you help me?”

My tone is still cold, poisonous, but Helena ignores the animosity I give her.

She fixes the straps on her swords before answering. Taking her time. When she finally opens her mouth, her voice is quiet.

“It hardly takes a genius to figure out what he was planning. Were Alain and I to leave you alone with him, your end would be tragic.”

I try to keep the fear from my face as my fists tighten at my side. Awful memories flood me one after another, painful experiences that I wish would go away. I have to close my eyes to gather my bearings and try to shove them down as far as I can. Some other day I’ll deal with them, some other day they won’t break me, but today I want nothing to do with them.

If Helena notices my internal conflict, she pretends not to. Instead, she nods at my hand still injured after everything. The pain is ever constant but my magic does a good job at keeping most of it away.

“How much does it hurt?” She inquires. There’s something strange in her eyes as she does so, something flickers there but it’s too fast for me to catch.

At the memory of my finger, anger comes rushing back. Helena is the reason why it is missing. She enchanted Magnus’ ring to keep me locked up. Her magic has kept me a victim all these years.

I am relieved that Alain and Helena have purposefully avoided leaving me with Magnus as much as possible this entire time, from when I passed out to now, but that does nothing to erase everything else. Alain was there when Magnus took me. He could have said something, done something, but he turned his back and walked away. Helena took my memories, my name, and used her magic as my chains. She could have helped me sooner, refused Magnus’ demands, but she always looked away from me whenever I needed help.

My anger flares quickly and I turn away from her and give her my back the way she and Alain have all these years. “What do you care?”

My tone of voice is positively murderous and I hear her wince despite not being able to see her. A small sense of victory lights within me at the knowledge that I was able to hurt her the way she had hurt me.

The feeling does not last, however. Immediately after, guilt floods me like a wave and I clench my jaw tight. Who am I to delight in the misery of someone else? That is something only Magnus does.

A bitter taste fills my mouth and I worry his influence has poisoned me more than I realized. Perhaps I will too one day hurt those around me the way he has-

“I do,” Helena’s voice is quiet next to me and I turn remembering her presence suddenly, “Alain does too.”

I huff and make a face.

“You never cared before. Not when he took me, not when you saw how frightened I was, or when you saw the bruises.”

My fingers move to my neck.

Everyone had seen those bruises on me before, Magnus was never particularly worried in trying to hide them. The Generals had seen them, the Witch Queen had seen them, and the staff at Magnus’ castle had seen them. No one had cared.

What Magnus did to his wife was his business. As long as he did it in the privacy of his own room or away from prying eyes, who would care? What happened in a marriage was private and none felt the need to intervene.

I had attended events with the Generals covered black and blue. I had come with scratches and bite marks too messy to be consensual. I had sported shiners and hand prints along my neck speaking of strangulation and aggression. Helena had seen them. Alain had seen them. Yet none had raised a word in concern.

Helena’s head is down when I turn back to her. Remorse comes off her in waves and she closes her eyes as if the sight of me were too much to bear. Funny how she and Alain have a habit of looking away from me when I needed their attention the most.

“What would we have gained? Were we to raise a concern to Magnus about what he did, what would he have done? Told us to mind our business? Hurt you twice as hard in retaliation for our intervention? We never said anything directly to you, but we tried to help from the shadows. Alain made cutting remarks to Magnus, I hurt him harder during training so that you would not be the only one in pain. I even broke his arm once in a training session just so that he would not be able to raise it against you while it healed. Forgive me if I could not do more.”

Her apology is the last thing I need. A ‘sorry’ does nothing to erase everything that happened. My family is still dead, my mind is still shattered and spread thin between awful memories of pain and misery, and her magic still corrupts parts of me that cannot remember my past…

My missing finger aches with a phantom pain. I clench my jaw.

“You took my memories from me,” I close my eyes as my voice shakes. My heart is pounding in my chest. “Your magic was more painful than anything he did.”

It is a low blow and Helena reacts to it immediately. She looks like she is in agony for a fraction of a second before a cool mask washes over her and she moves away from me. I have no idea if I meant what I said, all I know is that a part of me still delights in hurting her the way she hurt me.

“I had to,” her back is turned to me, “I had to.”

She repeats it as if the words would make a difference.

“Yes, I forgot the part where Magnus held his axe to your head and threatened your life if you did not willingly use your magic-“

Sarcasm spills from my lips and she spins around. Fed up with me, she seizes my arms sharply and forces me to see her. She towers over me and I feel afraid although I try not to show it. The rest of the words die in my throat.

“I had to!��� She has to keep herself from screaming it out, “What would have happened to you had I not been the one to do so? Magnus asked the Witch Queen for magic to restrain you! It was his reward for his military talents. She complied and ordered me to provide it. What do you think would have happened to you had I not been the one to do that?”

Realizing my fear, she drops her hands from my arms and takes a step back. Her eyes move away from me and she almost cowers into herself. Her arms come up around herself like a shield and she bites her lip.

“Had I not done it, do you think you would have been allowed to remain without magic? The Witch Queen would have stepped in and hurt us both if I-“

She clenches her jaw as if she has revealed something she should not have. A hand goes to her hair.

Hurt us both.

Her words echo around me and I gape at her. What did that mean? She looks as if she has let out a secret that she would have rather liked to keep hidden.

Still she isn’t done. She pushes past her blunder and keeps going.

“I tried to help you even as I used my magic. The ring Magnus gave you had a warning in it. It would get hot when you got too close to the barrier. That was not for Magnus, that was for you. Magnus wanted it to kill you when you tried to flee. I tried to give you a warning so that you would know what to avoid as you ran. As for your memories…”

She closes her eyes.

“I hid them away with a wall of magic. They are still there just kept at bay with my magic. I was so careful when I charmed you. The human mind is a fragile thing, I treated it with care. I made sure not to harm your memory more than what was necessary. I had to restrain myself from erasing all the painful things he had already done to you but in the end it would not have mattered. He would have done more. I had to be the one to enchant you, don’t you see that?”

I am beginning to but am too stubborn to admit it. My teeth sink into my lower lip again.

Helena is agitated now and wraps her arms around her frame as some form of comfort.

“I had to be the one to enchant you. I was careful, I did everything I could to keep you in one piece. Had I refused, the Witch Queen would have done it herself. She would not have cared to be careful. She would have torn through your mind without a care. Her magic would have torn your memories apart, shredded them one by one until she found the ones Magnus wanted erased, and you would have broken under her. The Witch Queen delights in hurting others. You would be a shell of something had she been the one to do it.”

She turns away from me and looks up at the eternally dark sky.

“I tried hard to atone for it if it makes you feel better,” her voice is quiet, “I made myself memorize every memory I took from you. Committed it to memory so that at least someone would know the truth. You deserved that much.”

“What do you mean?” My fingers rub at my neck in agitation.

Helena turns towards me and her lips are pressed thin.

“I cannot undo all the hurt he has done, but I can make one thing right. Do you wish to know your real name?”

For a moment there is total quiet before us. I shiver in place.

‘Hope’ was a name given to me by Ryland and I appreciate it, but a part of me still longs for my real name. Perhaps it is curiosity more than anything, but I do want to know what my old name was. I close my eyes and steel myself.

“Please,” My voice comes out in a small whisper.

Helena takes a deep breath as if preparing herself to shed some burden. The weights of regret are heavy within her.

“Laelynn, your name was Laelynn.”

—————

When we return, Alain has woken up and Magnus is done resting.

Helena and I set down the firewood as Magnus pours over his map. He measures the distance with his thumb. A scowl breaks through his features.

“We have to move soon. We are close to my lands. From there, it’s another journey.”

Helena has not had time to rest like the other two yet she says nothing as they pack up and begin to move. Magnus leads the way while Helena and Alain hang back with me.

I am still reeling from Helena’s revelation and keep to myself.

I have no idea what to make of the new information, have no idea if the name still fits, and the thought gnaws at me as we walk.

We reach Magnus’ lands and it’s still a little jarring when his barrier washes over me. Still, we cross it through with no problem and keep moving.

The Coastal Domain is midway from our place. Ryland has reached his destination by now according to what Alain said earlier. That means they are behind schedule. Magnus’ ego in trying to find the encampment has delayed them. A part of me feels like smirking.

By now the Resistance must have made camp in the Coast and is planning out their next move. They are leagues ahead of the Witch Queen’s forces who are still missing three Generals.

We walk in silence for an hour or two, hard to tell in the darkness, and Alain stops. He approaches Magnus and they talk together while pausing.

I eye Helena who lowers her voice.

“A break again. Listen closely.”

I strain my hearing and pick up what sounds like a river nearby. Helena lifts up her water canteen and shakes to show me how little is in there. If we are to make the full trip to the Coast, water is needed.

Magnus orders me to stay put before he and Alain take our water cans and disappear amidst the trees. Helena crosses her arms in front of herself and sits down on the ground. She looks exhausted but is still pressing on.

The Generals are not using horses to travel, their forces must have taken the animals with them when they departed separately to the front lines. They’ll need their horses well rested for the upcoming battle.

“You haven’t slept,” I remark.

Helena shrugs. “I have survived worse.”

She sounds bitter and leans her head against the base of the tree. Her eyes close and I wonder if she has dozed off before she opens them again and talks.  

“Do you know where we are?” She scans our surroundings.

I don’t but I am sure we are closer to the Coastal Domain. We passed Magnus’ barrier and kept traveling for a while. We probably passed his castle some time ago which means we are heading for the Coast. If we were to follow West as we have already, the Coast will not be far.

“Just follow West?” I muse.

Helena stands and her face is serious. “Yes, just follow West.”

She glances behind her but Magnus and Alain have not returned. Moving quickly, she drops her voice low and grabs my arm. Her eyes are serious.

“Ryland arrived to the Coast while you were asleep. He and Caligo split off in halves and surrounded Lennox’s lands. No one is moving yet, the battle won’t start for another day and a half, but everyone is already in position. If you move West, you could get there soon too and reach their encampment. You would just need to dodge my magic wards. Wherever the wards are, Lennox’s men are nearby.”

I blink at her once, twice. Her words slowly begin to make sense.

“Travel? Alone?”

I risk a glance around us but there is nothing. Alain and Magnus are still gone.

Helena begins to lead me West. Her voice is still low.

“Magnus has bigger fish to fry. If you were to run now, you could make it far. Alain and I would distract him.”

I swallow. “You would let me go? Just like that?”

My pulse begins to quicken. Please, please, please.

Helena closes her eyes tightly.

“Whatever you think of us, we are tired of this war. The Witch Queen won years ago yet her mind is gone. She spends her days screaming accusations of treason and using her magic to hurt those around her. The Capital is in shambles. Alain and I are tired of serving someone who can never be saved.”

“If I run, you will be delayed more. Ryland and Caligo are already there. You would have to humor Magnus by trying to find me.”

Helena’s lips quirk up in a bitter smile. She runs a hand through her hair messing the blonde strands. “Like I said, Alain and I have grown tired of the war.”

Her words finally click in my mind and a prickle of shock overtakes me.

Helena had felt the wards protecting the Resistance before yet hadn’t made a move. She had purposefully made it seem like she hadn’t spotted anything then lied about Lennox’s message. Alain had corroborated her lie.

Alain had stayed with me while I slept rather than leave me with Magnus and had taken the time to tell me that Ryland had made it safe. He had to have had eyes on him through a spy network, yet he made no orders to attack him.

Plus, Helena and Alain had sent their forces ahead of them knowing fully well they would not be able to act against the Resistance without them there. They had allowed Magnus to go on a wild chase finding the Resistance and had not tried to stop me from leading them in circles.

My breath hitches in my throat. Everything suddenly makes sense and I have to resist the urge to laugh.

I press a hand to my mouth and close my eyes.

What a fitting development. The two most loyal Generals of the Witch Queen have purposefully been delaying the battle.

“Go now, Laelynn,” Helena urges and she does not wait for me to leave before turning away, “Run far.”

I hesitate wondering if I should thank her, open my mouth to do so, but no words come out. Despite her help, a part of me can never thank someone who stood by idly as I was broken for years.

Helena bows her head like she understands and turns her back towards me. She slumps against the base of the tree and leans her head back as if she has lost consciousness. A ruse for Magnus.

I give her one last look before turning and running away.

—————

My sides burn as I run and exhaustion drags my limbs. I skirt trees and dive between bushes. I have nothing on me for travel and hope that I can at least make it to the encampment by today.

I risk a few glances behind me and can hear activity. By now, Magnus has certainly returned to find me missing. I can hear distant calls for me to return. His rage is almost palpable.

I hope Helena can lead him astray and keep him occupied for a while. I hope she meant wanting to help me.

I dodge a low branch and my sides ache. My breath comes out in rapid pants, yet I know I cannot take a moment to pause.

Around me, there is some movement around the trees. The Generals have split up in their attempts to find me. I desperately hope Magnus is far away.

Helena said to follow West. I do not have a compass with me but she aimed me West when I left. I am still facing it surely.

I run more and hear something nearby. A curse threatens to spill past my lips but I press a hand to my mouth to muffle it. I crouch near a tree just as Alain emerges from the tree line.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. None of us move and my heart begins to race. Helena tried to help me but that does not mean Alain will too. I pause waiting.

Finally, Alain moves silently and I tense. I wait for him to turn me in to Magnus or yell for Magnus to come for me, but he never does. Instead, he hands me a water canteen silently before turning his back on me. He goes back the opposite direction I am headed in without another word.

My breath comes out in a quiet rush with relief.  I take a moment to compose myself.

Once upon a time, Alain had turned his back on me when Magnus had taken me from my family. Now he turns his back again this time to give me a chance to run.

I don’t let the chance he gave me go to waste. Preparing myself again, I take off running. This time, I don’t stop.

—————

Running has never been my strong suit but adrenaline keeps me going. I run until I am sure Magnus is too far to present an actual challenge for me using a small fireball in my hand as a guide through the dark. Once I am certain I am far enough away, I slow down to a walk and take measured sips of water.

I don’t have a map to guide me, am just following West directly, but I do somewhat remember the way now that I have traveled for a while.  

Magnus used to take me to the Coastal Domain with him whenever the Generals held meetings. Sometimes he made me walk while he rode on his horse. A cruelty that now I am grateful for. When I was forced to walk the path to the Coast, I was able to pick up on the route.

Now, I begin to recognize it. I recognize the road I arrive to after another hour of travel and know that if I just follow it, I will arrive to the Coastal Domain.

When I risk a glance behind me, I don’t hear or see of the Generals. It seems Helena has kept her promise and delayed Magnus enough to give me a head start.

I bite the inside of my cheek and press on. My legs burn with the effort, my hands shake from hunger, and my head is pounding from the lack of sleep, but I have survived worse. I press on and tell myself that I will be safe if I reach the Resistance. I was an idiot to have left the encampment before, and now I have to atone for it.

Just when I think I cannot possibly walk any more, the ground underneath me goes from dirt to sand. I bend down and pick up a handful of it letting it fall through my fingers. My heart aches to realize that I have reached the Coastal Domain.

I grew up in this Domain before Magnus arrived. I used to run around the sand with my brother playing and enjoying life. We would take a boat and ride across the coast fishing for fun challenging each other to see who could capture the biggest fish. Other times, we would curl up in the sand with a campfire listening to the sounds of the mermaids singing just comfortable being with each other the way only siblings could.

A part of me longs to be back home and I feel my eyes begin to sting. Another part of me, however, no longer feels like she belongs here.

I take a moment to gather my thoughts, just one to compose myself, then straighten myself back out.

My magic spreads out from where I am and I can sense some of Helena’s wards nearby. She told me to avoid them because they meant Lennox’s men were nearby.

I pause and think.

Alain said Ryland had headed West once he had reached the Coastal Domain. Helena’s wards are spread out in one direction and there aren’t many in the other. I bite the inside of my cheek and turn in the direction where the wards are least prominent. That must be West.

Stealing myself, I continue on my path even though my legs begin to shake.

—————

Walking through sand is much harder than walking on dirt. I grow tired more quickly and have to take more breaks. Each time, I am keenly aware that the Coastal Domain is to be the site of a battle. I pause at every sound and feel utterly exposed as I move.

Helena’s wards are easy to avoid once I can detect them, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other dangers. There are still soldiers of the Witch Queen in this Domain. Any one of them could spot me and raise the alarm. Asides from them, a fairy might spot me too and turn me in. While no one likes the Witch Queen’s rule, they are too afraid to challenge it. People will turn in neighbors and family to her if it means they get to escape her ire an extra day.

I travel some more until I sense a shift in the arcane atmosphere. Helena’s traps have a distinct quality that I can easily pick up, but they are not the only magic here. Past the edges of my vision, I can detect something powerful humming in the air. It reminds me of the wards protecting the Resistance from view.

A flicker of hope ignites in me and I travel faster where I can pick up the magic.

It becomes stronger once I get closer. My eyes cannot detect anything different, the landscape looks the same, but my magic senses protective wards all around me. I raise my hand to feel the area.

Finally, my hand presses up against something solid and powerful. I feel courses of magic buzzing underneath my skin and I close my eyes. The wards are strong and I am tired. I can’t collapse them the way I did at the Resistance’s Camp, but I can disturb them.

I trace the same symbols I did at the last camp but don’t take the wards down. Instead, I just let my magic seep into them.

If Solaire or Caligo built these wards, they will feel a disturbance soon. It is just a matter of time.

—————

True to my prediction, I sense a shift in the wards. Near me, one of the wards comes down and someone emerges. Their weapon is raised and I recognize who they are in the dim lighting my hand can provide.

Caligo.

A wave of utter relief washes over me and the stress I’ve felt this entire time makes my knees weak.

“Hope?” Caligo openly gapes at me and lowers his sword. He rushes for me and I meet him halfway.

I swing my arms around his neck in relief and he holds me steady. My mind is spinning and exhaustion makes me sink to the ground.

“Hey! Hey! You alright?” Caligo is the only thing holding me upright. “What are you doing here?”

I feel darkness surrounding me and fall back.

“It’s a really long story.”

I never get the chance to say it. My eyes roll back and I pass out in his arms.

—————

A sound wakes me up moments later. I blink up and find myself in a tent of some sort. Someone is sitting at my side. When they see my eyes open, a quiet breath leaves their lips.

“Hope?” Solaire peers down at me with immense relief.

I sit up quickly and feel dizzy. Solaire pushes me gently back down.

My head is killing me and my mouth tastes like cotton. I press a hand to my throbbing temple and take stock of where I am. I am in a tent of some sort tucked in a sleeping roll. Around us, is the quiet murmur of voices. The Resistance.

“What happened?” I ask weakly.

Solaire huffs and I see she is upset. She is frowning down at me and looks exasperated.

“I should ask you that!”

She jerks a letter at me and I recognize the one I had stashed in her stuff.

“Are you crazy?” Her voice rises in tone, “What were you thinking?!”

She cuts herself off and crumples the letter in a tight ball. Her hands press to her eyelids and I can see her try to reign in her anger. Her shoulders shake with the effort.

Guilt gnaws at me and I look away. The letter must have frightened her. I put her through needless worry with my stupidity.

Once Solaire has calmed down she sinks to her knees and sits next to me. Her arms encircle her knees and she looks away from me. I can still see how angry she is, but she keeps her voice at a steady level.

“I found the letter in one of our stops. I showed it to Caligo and then we felt the wards open. We were worried General Klein had found us but we never heard any reports of an attack. We figured you had escaped.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and takes another breath. Her hands shake from either anger or fear. At this point, I can’t tell.

“We had to keep moving. I wanted to rush back and find you because we heard reports that the Generals were still in the area but we could not waste time. You should have seen Ryland. He was distraught. We were so worried something would happen to you. What were you thinking?” She glares at me and her jaw is tight. A sound of anger leaves her lips and she tosses the letter away from her, “If you were not injured I would curse you!”

I stare down at my hands and the weight of everything comes crashing down all at once. My eyes sting and I bite hard on my cheek.

What was I thinking? Did I not realize the danger I was putting myself in? Or the danger I put the camp in? Had I really let a pair of scheming council members rattle me that much?

Helena protected the Resistance by surprise, but that was never guaranteed. She could have very easily torn the wards down and killed everyone there. I not only put my life at risk but I also threatened every person there.

My throat burns and suddenly Solaire’s arms are around me. There is something entirely sisterly about her embrace and I sink into her. Some tears run down and she wipes them with her thumb.

We sit there quietly for half a second before she buries her face in my hair and speaks.

“I am very angry at you, Hope, I can hardly look at you, but I am very relieved you are safe-“

Her voice cuts off and she stops talking. I can feel her heart racing in utter fear.

Fear for me.

“I am sorry,” I murmur.

It’s a weak apology, a ‘sorry’ can’t erase everything I put her through, but I can think of nothing more to say.

Finally Solaire moves away and pushes a strand of my hair back. For the first time, I can see that there is dirt all over me.

I wince and realize how I must have frightened her and Caligo. To have arrived covered in dirt, frightened and tired, then to pass out in his arms? No wonder Solaire was furious.

“Tell me what happened before I change my mind about cursing you,” Solaire orders.

I close my eyes and do so.

—————

Having been summoned, Caligo arrives and listens to me recount my story. His good eye narrows pensively and he presses a thumb to his lip. Solaire runs a hand through her own hair.

“We need to send a Rider to the camp and tell them to fall away,” Caligo announces, “If General Klein knows where we are located, everyone is in danger. She may have hidden our location briefly but that does not mean she is trustworthy.”

I do not argue. Helena might have helped me escape and might have said she and Alain were tired of war, but they have been enemy soldiers for as long as the war has been fought. She may have pitied me, but she could have lied about everything else. The camp is in danger every moment it remains there.

Solaire rises to her feet. She dusts herself off.

“What about Klein and Richter? Can we trust that they no longer want to fight?”

Caligo makes a sound. “Hardly. Richter is the Witch Queen’s loyal shadow. He would die for her and destroy the world on her command. Klein is in the same boat. To have two of her most loyal Generals turn away from her…it is too good to be true.”

Caligo digs into his pocket and fishes out a letter. He hands it to Solaire. A spy missive.

“My network spotted Magnus not long ago. He just arrived to the Coastal Domain and is regrouping with Lennox. We have to prepare for battle.”

Solaire glances at me as she reads over the report. “Ryland is not here, Hope. We split off our forces before you arrived. He headed further out with his group of men. We cannot risk taking you there now. We need to get our forces in line. The battle will start before we know it.”

“I will write a letter to Ryland telling him that you are here and then go out to infiltrate the Witch Queen’s forces pretending to be one of their soldiers. Let me bring you something to eat, Hope.”

Solaire gives me no time to answer before she disappears out the tent flap. Caligo moves to let her pass then takes a seat next to me.

Like Solaire, he is upset. I wait for the lecture that is sure to come but he does not scold me. Instead, he leans back on his arms and closes his eyes.

“You look like a mess,” he muses. His fingers move a leaf out of my hair.

I wince and am keenly aware of how my clothes are ripped and of the sand that clings to my skin. I am in desperate need of a bath and a change of clothes. I must look like some monster risen from the dirt.

“I bet,” I comment.

Caligo moves away from me. There is a wall between us and I distinctly remember the unpleasant encounter we had before he departed for the battle. Things are still awkward between the two of us and it seems like he does not know what to do.

He clears his throat and fiddles with the strap of his eyepatch. “I can find you something to wear. Solaire can bring you some water to clean up before she leaves. Ryland may not be here but you can still count on us for help.”

He moves away from me and crosses to the tent flap. Just when he is about to leave, he changes his mind and turns around. His eye stares at me and his jaw tightens.

“And I mean that, Hope. You can count on us for help. You do not have to run from us because you are afraid.”

There is a tense silence between us and I clear my throat. He may be better at hiding his anger than Solaire but I know he is also furious. I frightened him when I left and nearly scared him to death when I showed up at his camp only to pass out in his arms.

“I am sorry,” I murmur. There is no other answer I can provide.

Caligo tightens his jaw, decides against saying anything else, then spins on his heel and walks away.

—————

I wash most of the dirt and sand from myself that I can and go about fixing my hair. Solaire brought me a new change of clothes that fit too big on me, but it is a relief to be able to strip out of the muddied clothing I had been wearing. She also brought me a plate of food and I pecked at it just enough to stave off the hunger. An old habit, I cannot bring myself to eat even at the prospect of death.

Caligo has not returned since he left and Solaire tells me he is talking strategy with his troops. The battle is on the horizon and they are making last minute preparations.

Lennox’s forces are spread out and the Generals hold meetings in their own camp. The Witch Queen is in the Capital, has not bothered to show up to what she believes will be an easy victory, leaving only Lennox, Alain, Helena, and Magnus to defend the Coast. Their forces are matched evenly with ours and it is a coin toss to see who will take the Coast.

This is a major battle from what I can gather. While the Resistance has always fought to liberate villages and towns, this is the first time they have fought to free an entire Domain. There are a million ways everything can go wrong and only one way it can go right.

I pace the length of the tent and wish I could say goodbye to Ryland before he leaves for the front lines. Unfortunately, he has already mobilized with his men. He is at the center of the battlefield waiting only for Caligo to bring his own forces before launching the first attack.

Solaire hugs me before leaving. Wearing the Witch Queen’s teals, she has another job to do. While Caligo and Ryland will fight directly, she and other spies are infiltrating the Witch Queen’s men. They will sow chaos from within their ranks.

Left alone, I leave the tent I was in and emerge in the Resistance’s camp. This one is tiny, nothing compared to the other camp, and only able bodied warriors are here. I spot Caligo and Bayard in the distance discussing the last of the battle plans.

When they see me emerge, they stop. Caligo beckons me forward and Bayard peers at me curiously.

“Hope will have to remain behind while we fight, she is in no state to join a battle,” Caligo states.

I join him at his side as Bayard nods. As a Council Member, he has authority over battle plans. He hums under his breath.

“I will be staying behind keeping watch from an altitude. I can take her with me and keep her safe. You just focus on liberating the Domain,” Bayard says.

Caligo thanks him then turns to me.

“Stay with Bayard. He may be an old bag of bones but he is a good man,” the corners of his lips turn up in a smirk.

Bayard huffs and mutters something about Caligo being much older than him under his breath but nods. He extends a hand towards me. I take it silently and realize he is much stronger than he lets on.

Bayard is older and sports a bad leg, but he is still the father of August Falke. August was one of Reiner’s best fighters and had even inherited the Resistance from him before dying. His might is legendary. I have no doubt Bayard is every bit as strong as his son was. At his side, I will be safe.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

Bayard rolls up the map and hands it to Caligo. “I will be away from the camp with Miss Hope. We will overlook the battle while you fight. Make us proud.”

Bayard beckons me towards him and Caligo presses a hand to my shoulder in a farewell. He smiles at me in a way that serves to soothe me. Someone as strong as Caligo will not fall tonight. I have to remind myself of that.

“See you soon, Hope.”

Caligo waves and disappears.

I stare at his back and take a deep breath. Caligo, Solaire, and Ryland will be fine. I repeat it like a mantra in my head and tell myself I will believe it.

—————

Bayard leads me far away from the camp and we trek over a large hill. When we reach the top, he stops and points in the distance where I can see a fire in the darkness.

“See that? That is Lennox’s camp. They do not use protective wards to hide themselves from view the way we do. They have no need to. The Domain is theirs and they are arrogant to the point of believing they are invincible.”

“Where is the battle taking place?” I wrap my arms around myself in anxiety.

Bayard nods in another direction. In the darkness, it is impossible to make anything out. I strain my eyes but cannot see anything.

“Over there somewhere, our forces are getting ready. Ryland’s men and Caligo’s men will meet and group together. There will be a signal, a fire will be lit, and then the battle will begin. They will rush Lennox’s camp and begin the invasion. We cannot see anything now, but when the battle begins they will light the area. Soldiers can hardly fight in the dark.”

I nod and bite my lip. Somewhere down below are my friends. I want to desperately believe that they are okay.

“What do you do here then?” I ask.

“I am too old to fight and this leg of mine would make me an easy target. It took me a long time but I finally accepted that fact. Now, I am a lookout. I oversee the battles and take call for a retreat if I see they are not going well for our forces. My job is to keep our men safe.”

He nudges a parcel strapped to his side. When he opens it, he pulls out a war horn.

“The horn?” I muse.

War horns were used to call for retreats or send signals to the soldiers down below.

Bayard holds it in his arms.

“One long blow means either the battle has just begun or it is time to retreat. Two sharp blows and it means that our reinforcements are arriving. Three short blows in quick succession and it means that the enemy is closing in on our men so they have to move away and regroup. I am the eyes for the Resistance in battle.”

He pulls out another tool from his bag and hands it over to me. A spyglass that looks like it has seen better days.

“Look in that direction,” he points towards the fire.

I raise the spyglass up to my eye and see a line of soldiers gathered by the fire. From this far away, even with the spyglass, I can’t see anything productive, but I can make out their uniforms. The teals of the soldiers have a capital crest on their chest plate. They are Alain’s soldiers.

“Capital soldiers means Richter commands them. Look over there.”

I follow Bayard’s finger to another location near the fire where Dwarven soldiers in teals file in a line.

“Dwarves means Klein is in control. Next to them are Arnold’s cultists and further behind are Vestergaard’s men,” Bayard points to each group in turn.

It seems like this battle will only involve four Generals. Jinhai and Yovith have not sent their men to help Lennox and the Witch Queen hasn’t bothered to send aid either. They do not actually see tonight as a threat. They think Ryland is weakened from the men they killed. After all, they thought the Resistance would die out if they executed the men they captured. They have sorely underestimated the Resistance and I hope that serves them well.

“Four Generals, four different commands of troops but they do not have more forces than we do. Klein, Richter, and Vestergaard only sent the bare minimum that they could get away with. They do not care to save Arnold,” Bayard states. I hand the spyglass back to him.

“They think it will be easy to push them back. The Resistance has never done an invasion on this scale before. They think Ryland and Caligo are just here for a few villages?” I turn to Bayard.

He is looking out the spyglass now and nodding.

“The Witch Queen has always underestimated us. Even when she knew we were a threat, even when the Captains defeated her, she never believed we were a true force. In her mind, she will always be victorious and we will surrender at her feet. She has not come tonight and has not given a direct order for her Generals to come either. If Vestergaard, Klein, and Richter are here, it was because they decided to send men. The other two Generals stayed in their domains and could not care less what happens.”

Bayard motions for me to sit and I do. He struggles to kneel with his injured leg and I wonder if he had the injury from before the war or if he sustained it during it. He looks in the direction where the Resistance is hiding and purses his lips.

“What now?” I ask.

Bayard takes a moment to answer. He sighs and his age shows when he looks exhausted.

“Now comes the worst part. We wait.”

—————

Another hour or two passes. I spend the time recalling stories with Bayard. He tells me about his son, August, and his daughters. He’s a family man, had a beautiful family, and owned several inns back before the war. There is sadness in his tales, he misses his son terribly and wishes that the Witch Queen will pay for his death, but his grief has not broken him. He has dedicated himself to the Resistance and risen above the ranks quickly. He took the role of Council member in order to spread good and oversee the Resistance.

When the topic of the Council emerges, Bayard is quick to soothe my fears. There may be conflict brewing between the Council and the Captains, but he assures me nothing will come out of it. Once Ryland and Caligo win the Coastal Domain, the Resistance will back them up. Whichever Council members are upset will be silenced by the Resistance’s gratefulness to the Captains that led them in victory.

During our conversation, one thing remains clear. He looks up to Caligo and Ryland, they remind him of the late Lord Wolfson and his son, and he believes in the cause more than anything. He claims that evil will never triumph and that the Witch Queen will fall as all tyrants do.

There is something fatherly in him and I ache for the memories of my own father. Helena did not remove her magic from my memory, I can still only access the bare minimum, and the thought fills me with grief. To mourn your family is pain enough, but to mourn a family you barely remember is worse still.

After hours of conversation, Bayard sits up suddenly. I follow his gaze and see a spark flare up towards the sky on the side of the Resistance.

A breath hitches on my throat. That is the signal.

Bayard pulls out his horn and blows it hard. One long blow. The battle is beginning.

In moments the space beneath us is lit up by magic. While the atmosphere is dark, the land is illuminated by spells from faeries. I squint and see members of the Resistance in their reds rush towards members of teal.

The Generals have formed a line with their troops and they meet the Resistance face to face. Even from our location, we can hear the clashing of hundreds of swords.

I clutch my neck in anxiety and pray to whatever gods are out there to keep the Resistance safe.

Bayard keeps his eyes glued to the battle. He surveys the scene with a spyglass.

“Vestergaard’s troops are taking the lead. The cultists branch off to fight the Resistance on their own.”

He takes quick notes down on a piece of parchment. They are war notes, I realize. They will be used to analyze the enemy later on and to strategize future attacks.

Without a spyglass of my own, I see only blurs of color. Reds and blues. They clash and bump into each other over and over again. I hold my breath the longer it plays out.

There is no way to know which side is doing better. Do our forces have the upper hand or are they falling? Are my friends still alive down below or will they be commemorated in the next ceremony?

I shuffle in place and dig my nails into my throat. Bayard points to something in the distance. I follow his gaze to see the Resistance’s reds split in half. They break off quickly and move in opposite directions.

“A pincer formation. The Captains are breaking off. They will divide the enemy troops and try to corral them in.”

They move quickly and I squint. For a moment, it looks like the Resistance has the upper hand because they press in on the sea of teals and usher them tightly together-

But then the teals break off into sections and outmaneuver them. Bayard swears under his breath as a purple fireball rises up in the sky and the Witch Queen’s army sections off.

“Looks like Klein caught on to their plan. The Generals are breaking off now too. They will each fight a section of the Resistance.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Bayard presses his lips together.

“Richter and Arnold fighting Caligo’s men while Klein and Vestergaard take on Ryland’s men. It’s two separate battlefields on the same battle ground,” he explains.

Ryland and Magnus fighting each other off. I grind my teeth together. The thought of Ryland facing off Magnus directly is terrifying. I know what Magnus can do, he is the General with the most war experience, and I worry. I know Ryland is a legendary figure in the Resistance, but I know firsthand what a dangerous man Magnus Vestergaard is.

Bayard places a hand on my back and shakes his head. His eyes are sympathetic.

“Have faith in the Resistance, here.”

I take the spyglass from him and aim it in the direction he points. It is impossible to make out specific faces in the battle, but I can see how Magnus’ troops are being beat down by the Resistance.

Helena’s troops hang back and let Magnus take the lead. I cannot see Helena either but I can see her magic firing off in different colors around the Resistance. Helena, a legendary spell caster, seems out of her element tonight. Her spells miss the Resistance by inches.

I pass the spyglass back to Bayard. He aims it near Caligo’s forces to see how they are faring. The corner of his lips moves up.

“Hawkeye is fighting off Arnold’s cultists. Richter‘s men are regrouping,” he announces.

The battle continues split off into separate sections. So this is how the Resistance fights. Each Captain takes the helm.

Caligo is in charge of a spy network but even he is a great leader. Bayard points out how his men are driving a wedge separating their opponents in half. Ryland does the same on his end of the battle.

At some point, I drift my eyes towards Magnus and Helena’s forces. There is some commotion from down below and I see the teal army scramble. Where they had once been perfectly aligned, they are now broken. Has Ryland cut through their file?

Bayard rises suddenly and aims his spyglass over to Ryland.

“What is that?” He asks. He sounds alarmed and confused.

“What is it?” I ask. My stomach turns cold.

The teal army is scattering and the red army is frozen in place. I can hear sounds of a commotion as the soldiers scramble in utter confusion.

“I-“ Bayard hands me the spyglass, “There is something happening on the Witch Queen’s side of the battle. Klein’s soldiers are in disarray. They broke off formation and threw off Vestergaard’s men. It is chaos down below on their ranks.”

I aim the spyglass towards the teal army.

Sure enough, it is like Bayard said. Helena’s army of dwarves have broken off formation and are in a state of chaos. They seem to have conflicting orders, do not know what they are meant to do, and Helena does not raise fireballs to direct them. The human soldiers belonging to Magnus are still on their file but they are alone as Helena’s men refuse to help. Something has confused them down below and the fight is quickly turning to Ryland’s favor.

The Resistance takes advantage of the chaos and splits off Helena and Magnus’ troops completely. They corral them together and soon the blue army falls a part.

My breath hitches in my throat as Bayard let’s out a sigh of relief. Ryland has won his half of the battle.

Just as we turn our attention to Caligo, the same confusion happens on his side of the warfront.

The cultists and Alain’s men split off into opposing sides and Alain’s men fall apart. Where once his Capital soldiers were the most arrayed and efficient, they now scramble and branch off into confusing arrays. Squadrons collide with other squadrons and I hear the commotion on their end. They are lost and have no idea what to do. Whatever happened to Helena’s men has happened to Alain’s as well.

“What is it? Did Solaire’s spies confuse the army that much?” I turn to Bayard.

Bayard shakes his head and pays rapt attention to the chaos down below.

“No! Solaire and Caligo’s spies are valuable in battles, but there’s few of them there. They could never have toppled an entire file the way whatever else did tonight. Klein and Richter’s men are in complete panic. They are confusing Arnold’s and Vestergaard’s forces,” Bayard replies.

I hand the spyglass back to Bayard. Soon enough, the red army belonging to Caligo similarly surrounds the scattered teal army.

For a moment, the battlefield is two separate rings of blue with a red outline, but then a war horn sounds from somewhere else. One long burst calling a retreat of the Witch Queen’s forces.

I see the men belonging to Lennox and Magnus immediately scatter but Helena and Alain’s men are still trapped. They seem to have no leadership and are clueless as to what to do.

In the end, it does not matter.

My breath leaves out in one long breath and I sink to my knees. Bayard begins to laugh and clasps his hand together in prayer. He calls out his son’s name and turns to me. His eyes are alight with joy.

“They did it! They freed the Coastal Domain!”

—————

We descend the hill and find Caligo’s men heading our way. The men are injured and their numbers are smaller than when they first set off, but tonight is a major victory. They cheer and embrace each other.

“Captain Hawkeye!” Rings out a single shout and then the men begin to chant it in unison.

Caligo emerges from somewhere near his men and Bayard rushes towards him. They clap each other on the back.

Caligo is bloodied and bruised but he is smiling. He grabs Bayard by the shoulders and his eye is alight with pure surprise.

“You should have seen it, Bayard! Richter’s men fell completely apart! They broke off file and had no idea what to do. Then Lennox’s men got confused and broke off too. Lennox tried to call out orders but it was too late. Their army was in shambles so they called out a retreat.”

He lets out a breathless laugh and twirls around Bayard. He comes towards me and similarly wraps me in a hug. I tense in his embrace yet am relieved he is safe. He lets me go after a few moments and whatever awkwardness was between us evaporates.

He is in high spirits and rushes towards his men to congratulate them too.

Somewhere further away, the other half of the Resistance is cheering. Ryland’s men.

“What happened down here? We saw the confusion,” Bayard says.

One of the Resistance soldiers shakes his head.

“I have no idea, Councilor. General Richter took off in the middle of the battle and his men fell apart. He abandoned them and left Lennox behind,” he voices out.

Bayard and I exchange looks.

Another section of the Resistance comes towards us. Ryland’s men are regrouping.

Like Caligo’s men, they are diminished in number and are wounded, but they are still overjoyed. They embrace Caligo’s men and cheer Ryland’s name.

Solaire emerges from one side and rushes at me in a hug. She laughs and then joins Caligo and Bayard.

“It was chaos! Klein’s men fell apart in the middle of the battle. Magnus tried to get them back in formation but they weren’t listening. His forces began to fight each other. Klein’s men turned on Magnus’ men and Helena took off. She left Magnus in the middle of the battle and disappeared somewhere,” Solaire breathes out.

I tense in place. My breath comes out in a quiet gasp.

Helena and Alain.

I remember what Helena told me, that she and Alain were sick of war, and wonder if this was their plan all along. Had they purposefully delayed the march for as long as possible only to plan to desert their military and throw the battle in our favor? Have they escaped today done with the Witch Queen and her war?

“Klein and Richter deserters? I think the world is about to spin out of orbit,” Bayard remarks.

Caligo shakes his head. “They were there when our men were executed. Ryland said they looked like they were still fiercely loyal.”

I shake my head and remember the day the captured Resistance members had been walked on a platform. Helena and Alain had been there with the Witch Queen, but being present and being loyal were different things.

Ryland had mentioned something in his speech, about how the people gathered there for that execution were only there because they were fearful they were next if they angered the Witch Queen. Perhaps, without knowing it at the time, Ryland had also hinted at Helena and Alain. Maybe they were only there because they needed to be.

Regardless, I do not give myself time to think. I spin around to where Ryland’s men are coming from and push my way through the crowd. I search for Ryland and weave through soldiers.

My heart beats in my rib cage and I hear my name shouted from somewhere deep in the file.

Ryland.

I hear his voice before I see him and pick up the pace. His own name spills from my lips and one of his soldiers points in one direction. I follow his finger and find Ryland.

For a moment the world seems to slow down and then I take off running. He meets me half way and picks me up. Like a fairytale prince, he picks me up by the waist and spins me around.

Laughter bubbles out of my throat, a pure genuine sound I haven’t heard in a long, long time, and I cling to his neck.

He smells like blood and sweat but I do not care. I bury my face in his neck as he sets me down.

“You did it,” I breathe out.

Over his shoulder, I can see the Resistance cheering and embracing.

Ryland laughs and holds me tighter. “We did it.”

—————

The Coastal Domain comes alive with lights. The Resistance Members use their fairy lights to light the way. Caligo emerges from somewhere and rushes at us. Solaire is hot at his heels with a breathless laugh.

They collide with us and join our hug. It turns into a group hug with Solaire at my back and Caligo at Ryland’s.

“The Coastal Domain is free,” Caligo cheers. He jumps in his excitement and almost knocks Ryland over.

Just as he said, the Coastal Domain is free. The Witch Queen’s forces have retreated out of the Domain. Missing two of their star Generals, there will be utter confusion which will prevent them from retaking the domain for a long time. For now, the Coast belongs to the Resistance.

The Witch Queen has ownership of the other Domains still, but we have taken one back and have taken two of her Generals from her. The Resistance is one step closer to winning the war.

Solaire hugs me tighter then lets go. Caligo follows suit and Ryland releases me from his embrace but keeps an arm around my waist. His touch is questioning, almost asking if it is alright, and I lean closer into him in reply.

We look over towards the Resistance to see that the Coastal Domain is coming back to life. Whereas the fairies and mermaids had been hiding when the Resistance arrived, terrified of Lennox’s men, they now emerge and celebrate. They are liberated.

Solaire grins. “One Domain in. The Witch Queen still owns the other ones.”

Ryland smiles and the sight makes my heart race. He surveys his men and there is pride in his gaze. The legendary member of the Resistance believes in his forces like no other. He never doubted they would win for a second.

“We’ll free them too. Her reign will end.”

Ryland sounds absolutely sure as he says this and the conviction in his voice makes me believe it too.

The Witch Queen may own the other Domains, but the Resistance will prevail. For the first time in my life, I believe in it as strongly as I believe in Ryland.

—————

Days later, the Coastal Domain is free of the Witch Queen. Lennox has fled to the Capital having lost his Domain and the Resistance has turned it into their stronghold. Caligo’s spy networks confirm that Helena and Alain have truly deserted the Witch Queen. Their whereabouts are unknown, but the Resistance is unconcerned.

The old camp that belonged to the Resistance stayed true to its name and fell away at a moment’s notice. The people within moved to different camps or came to the Coastal Domain.

The Council wastes no time holding a meeting days later. There are loose ends to tie and more things to plan for.

I watch as Ryland, Caligo, and Solaire enter the Main Tent for the meeting. As a non-council member, I am not allowed in.

I pace the length of the sand nervously.

The Dwarven and Elven Council Members wanted to overthrow Ryland and Caligo before I left. Have they changed their minds yet? Has taking back an entire Domain soothed their fears?

I can only hope Bayard and Caligo were right when they each said not to worry.

At some point in the night, one of the Resistance Riders arrives with a letter. Riders are messengers traveling from camp to camp passing messages. As of late, they have been sending the Captains more and more missives in preparation for the next steps.

I almost dismiss this new Rider as yet another letter asking about the Coastal Domain until a fairy light illuminates his attire.

He is not dressed in the reds of the Resistance. Instead, he wears a green overcoat that looks like it came from another Domain. He moves his head and elven ears shine in the light. A gold crest is emblazoned on his horse’s bridle and he walks towards the Main Tent with a letter in his hand.

I frown in confusion as Ryland emerges from the Main Tent to accept the letter. He quickly realizes that the Rider isn’t one of the Resistance’s and freezes. The Rider sidesteps him and enters the Main Tent to Ryland’s protest.

From the Main Tent there is a raise of commotion before a deafening silence. Ryland rushes back in.

I freeze in place and feel my heart quicken in my chest. Whoever this Rider is, he does not belong in this camp.

It feels like an eternity before the Rider emerges back out. The Council follows him out in tow and Ryland emerges with Caligo hot at his heels. They both look shellshocked and Caligo tugs at Ryland’s arm. They have a hushed conversation.

I run towards them just as Solaire reaches them. Her face is pale.

“What happened?” I glance back to see that the Elven Rider is now having an animated argument with the Elven Councilor.

For a moment, no one speaks, and then Ryland lets out a deep breath slowly.

“The Rider. He brought a letter for the Resistance.”

His voice sounds far away and he trades glances with Caligo. They both look at a loss.

Frustrated I turn to Solaire. “Anything bad?”

Solaire shakes her head and draws her coat tighter over herself.

“There were always rumors that they were still around but…they never approached us or any other rebellion…” Her voice drifts off surprised.

Caligo shuffles his feet in thought and stares at the Elven Rider now preparing to embark again with a letter from the Council in response.

“What exactly did he say?” I ask for the second time feeling frustrated at their lack of response.

Ryland turns to me and his eyes are wide with surprise.

“The Rider is an elf. He came from a hideaway when he heard of our victory over the Coastal Domain. The letter he brought says that they want to work with us.”

“An Elven rebellion? I didn’t know there was another rebellion group,” I murmur.

Caligo shakes his head.

“There isn’t, Hope. He isn’t a part of an Elven Rebellion. He’s a member of the Elven Royal Staff. What’s left of the Elven Royal Family wants to work with us.”

[greatshell-rider]

day twenty-nine of quARTine: artifice (prompt list)

The door banged open and Jerry was shoved through into the room. He staggered, tripping over his own feet, and would’ve fallen had the guard not caught his chained arms and dragged him upright. They cursed at him, hauling him deeper into the room before kicking the back of his leg so he fell heavily to the worn wood floor on his knees. He stifled a groan, his ribs aching where they’d borne the brunt of his beating. He blinked away the blood trickling into his eyes as he peered up, a dull fear gnawing at his stomach as he watched Cindy be dragged in by two guards after him.

Zir arms were bound behind zir back and chains shackled zir feet, reducing zir movements to mere shuffles as ze came in. The guards barely came up to zir chest and ze had to duck zir head, slouching and bent almost double, but the ceiling still scraped zir shoulders. Along with the chains, a knife’s edge was pressed against zir side by one of the guards. Jerry knew the guards in the room, the chains, even the knife, wouldn’t have been enough to stop cindy. What worried him then was how ze shook, just slightly, zir skin almost buzzing. Ze kept zir eyes closed, even as ze was forced to zir knees—a guard tried to kick zir leg like Jerry, and ze merely lowered zirself down slowly—and Jerry could see the tight line in zir clenched jaw as ze tried to maintain zir growth. Ze was at zir limit.

Captain Banisi stepped into the room last, double throwing axes at their hips, and they left the door open, allowing sunlight to stream in behind them. Arms folded behind their back, they didn’t glance at their prisoners but faced the far side of the room. “It’s over, Starweaver,” they called, a low growl barely discernible under their voice. “The council knows what you’ve done.”

Jerry looked up sharply, and the fear in his belly blanched into horror when he saw Lani sitting at her desk across the room, scribbling on a paper with a purple quill. Her assistant Wren stepped forward as if to defend, hand going to the dagger belted at her waist, but Lani stopped with an absent hand, still bent over her work and writing intently.

“Wren,” Banisi said, their voice softened. “She’s not who you think she is. She’s a traitor.”

The young woman hesitated, looking torn, confused, and not a little panicked.

“Trust me,” the captain insisted, a note of pleading in their voice even as they waved the eight soldiers not guarding Jerry or Cindy forward. The pleading was replaced with firm certainty as they lifted their chin. “This is for the good of the world.”

The soldiers moved forward, edging cautiously toward Lani and Wren with quarterstaffs upheld. They knew who they were dealing with. Jerry coughed out a choking protest, but his guard’s hand dug into his shoulder, keeping him there.

Wren stepped back in fright as the soldiers advanced, eyes wide in shock—then they hardened. Jumping to the forefront of Lani’s desk she thrust her hand out, yelling, “Come no closer!” A burst of blue light shot out from her palm, expanding into a translucent, glimmering wall of magic splitting the room in two, her and Lani on one side, the soldiers, captain, and prisoners on the other. When a soldier tested it with their staff, the barrier buzzed but held firm.

Yes! Jerry thought, hope beginning to spark dimly. I didn’t think we could trust her. They had a chance now. Lani might still be able to escape.

Captain Banisi’s lips drew thin.

“Really, there’s no need for such theatrics,” an amused voice purred. Everyone looked as Lani rose from her chair, quill set aside, paper rolled into a scroll in her hand. “Wren, your friends were just paying a visit.”

She rounded the desk and stepped up to the ward, staring straight at the captain. “Weren’t you, Captain?”

“Of a type,” Banisi growled, then in a louder, official voice, “Lani Starweaver of the enchanter’s guild, you are under arrest for treason against the Sunmasked Council and the suspected murder of the Heirknight of the Moon Chalice. Your allies are beaten. Your plots have been thwarted. You are alone and powerless. Surrender, and you will allowed to beg mercy at the council’s feet.” Their lip curled in malice. “But I would rather you try and resist.”

Lani’s lips curled in a smirk. “Alone and powerless,” she repeated, amused. She rapped the knuckles on the back of her hand against the light-blue barrier, causing the surface to ripple. “And this is . . . ?”

Banisi said nothing. The soldiers shifted their stances uncertainly.

“Lani,” Jerry finally managed to wheeze. “Run! Go before—” His guard rammed their fist into his stomach, and Jerry choked, doubling over. They smacked his head with their staff, snapping it to the side. His blood sprayed across the floor in a dark splatter. He leaned heavily to the side, head dangling, hair damp with sweat and blood sticking to his face. Cindy growled, a low thrum in the back of zir throat, but one guard dug their knife deeper into zir side and the other raised their quarterstaff in warning, and ze stayed still. Ze’d shrunk an inch, and ze trembled more.

Lani paid no attention to them, either the beating or his warning. She was studying the ward, palm hovering by it as her eyes flicked up and down, corner to corner, her face expression focused and intent. She didn’t need to mumble or even mouth spells anymore.

Her head tilted to the side. “Curious design,” she told Wren, as if discussing with a student in class. “It’s almost as if—”

“Enough,” Banisi snapped, striding directly toward Lani. “This ends now.” They pulled at a string around their neck, yanking a stone amulet out from under their shirt that glowed orange where it was carved in spirals. Even Jerry recognized it; an unbinder. It undid magic, and would bring down Wren’s barrier in a blink. The captain stretched it out to touch the glittery surface and their soldiers crouched in readiness.

Lani met Jerry’s eye. She grinned, then clenched her fist around the scroll in her hand right as the unbinder pressed against the barrier and dissolved it.

Fiery red and yellow runes exploded from Lani’s feet, scorching the wood into black ash behind them as they ran hungrily toward the captain and soldiers. Ends of quarterstaffs glowed dark green as their wielders slashed them downwards, blocking the twisted lines of magic. When slashes of green met red-yellow, Lani’s rune died, leaving blackened wood. But one soldier missed, stumbling at their overswing, and the rune jumped onto their leg. They frantically drove their staff down towards it, but the rune wrapped itself around their ankle. It seemed to tighten, then its red-yellow glow faded to black.

The soldier became a pillar of fire, their scream evaporated in their throat, and fell a second later as a pile of ash.

Lani laughed at that.

Jerry launched himself at his guard, slamming his chained wrists against their head like a club, and heard Cindy grunt behind him as ze attacked as well, zir guards yelling out as zir body suddenly shrunk to zir regular size, loosening the binds—then one arm swelled massively as the growth previously used evenly throughout zir entire body surged to that one part for a brief moment, allowing zir to knock away the guards’ staffs with a giant fist.

They fell back together, Jerry still bound and Cindy now completely out of growth, both bruised and hurting, surrounded on three sides by soldiers, their backs against the wall. Best place to fight, Jerry thought grimly, as another rune caught a soldier and set them aflame, distracting the others. They might be determined, but we’re desperate. Let’s see how—

Lani’s laugh cut off suddenly, ending in a choked gurgle. Jerry snapped his gaze to her, then froze. Cindy cursed under zir breath.

A dagger was at his sister’s bared throat.

“Stand down!” Wren barked at them, one hand holding the blade, the other gripping Lani’s wrists behind her back. “I’ll slice her open if you don’t.”

Jerry tried to catch his sister’s eye, but she was staring at Wren out the corner of her eye, appraising her, looking mildly surprised, curious even. He swore violently. Of course they couldn’t trust her. No one was to be trusted! Why had Lani let her close? Why hadn’t she protected herself? Why did she always do this—

Cindy moved first, relaxing zir defensive stance and holding up zir hands in surrender, and at that, the soldiers pounced. Jerry didn’t resist, letting them knock him to the ground and grind his face against the floor with a booted foot on his neck. Cindy thumped down beside him a moment later; he twisted his head and their eyes met. Cindy shook zir head.

“Target neutralized, Captain,” Wren said, pushing Lani down to her knees. “That was the last enchantment Starweaver had on her.” The scroll in Lani’s fist crumbled to soot.

The captain stamped out the last of the burning runes. “Excellent job, soldier.” They approached, pulling a pair of manacles off their belt, then stopped. They stared at Lani, and Lani stared back, a slight smirk on her lips.

“You know what to do,” Lani told them, and Jerry winced at her mocking tone. “I resisted, didn’t I?”

The captain didn’t move. They seemed to be arguing with themself, trying to decide something. The fear clenching Jerry’s insides dropped to stark, ice-cold terror.

“No,” he rasped. Then, louder, “No!”

The captain’s eyes flicked to Wren. She stared steadily back, dagger held attentively.

“We surrendered!” Jerry yelled. The boot ground into his spine deeper, but he didn’t care, pushing himself up, straining to reach them. “You have us! Captain! Take us to the council! Only they have authority to order an execution! Banisi!”

Lani’s lips split to show teeth, grin stretching wide across her face. “Their death wasn’t clean, you know. Wasn’t quick. No, I made sure—”

The captain growled. They jerked their head at Wren.

Jerry screamed.

Lani’s assistant slit her throat.

~~~~

Lani hadn’t been sure if the captain would keep their end of the bargain. When was she? After all, she’d thought Wren had been genuine, as genuine as anyone could be. And Wren had been—just not to Lani. Well, she’d been useful while she lasted.

Captain Banisi, however, Lani just couldn’t decide. They were a very conflicted person, so good at their job and yet yearning for something else, something more. Lani had weighed the odds, and when the scale kept tipping marginally side to side, never settling on a heavier fate, she’d gotten impatient and decided she would just have to keep going and see how it turned out. Just like any normal human being.

And now it was turning out. Lani smiled at the captain, and made a guess. “Their death wasn’t clean, you know.” She had no idea how the heirknight had died. Their body had disappeared. But that hadn’t stopped Banisi from devoting all their attention and resources to finding the murderer, and Lani had found that intriguing letter in their rooms alluding to a forbidden lover . . . “Wasn’t quick.” And yes, there it was. Where once several emotions had waged war behind the captain’s eyes, now only rage—hatred—blazed. Where reason fails, heart prevails, Lani mused. “No, I made sure—”

Banisi motioned to Wren, and Jerry screamed. Obediently, even willingly, she cut her dagger across Lani’s throat.

Then she did it again. The blade passed through her skin, not even nicking it. Certainly spilling no blood.

Yet Wren tried again, desperately this time. “Captain, I’m trying but—”

Lani shook her head, sighing. “Such theatrics.”

Then she dug her fingernails into Wren’s hand around her wrists, deep enough to draw blood. Deep enough to let the poison powdered under her nails to enter the bloodstream. Wren yelped, reflexively dropping Lani’s wrists, and Lani mentally activated the enchantment bound to the powder. Wren’s cry of pain turned into a scream, then high-pitched shrieks as she dropped to the floor and scratched madly at her hand. Swiftly, her veins were bleaching to white. Captain Banisi ran to her, yelling at their soldiers to attack while they desperately tried pressing their unbinder amulet to various spots across Wren’s body.

Lani picked up her assistant’s dagger, and the faint blue glow around it faded, the enchantment spent. The remaining four soldiers rushed her, and Lani switched the blade’s spell from one of warding to one of intent. Of hunt. It blazed a deep dark red and Lani let it go, stepping back to avoid a quarterstaff’s swing. The dagger fell for but a moment, then spun in midair and darted quick as the flick of a bird’s wing to bury itself in the neck of the nearest soldier. As they fell, the dagger yanked itself back out and chased immediately after another. Staffs smacked it and sent it spinning, one soldier heroically threw themself on top it to protect another, trying to wrap their body around the blade to bury it, but the enchantment was strong, digging itself out of pounds of flesh. It was relentless, always spinning back to seek its target after being deflected away. And it was hungry—the more blood it touched, the more frenzied it became.

Across the room Lani caught glimpses of her brother and mercenary fighting their guards and so was unhindered as she hopped over her desk and crouched behind it to slide open a drawer. A thunk, followed by a triumphant yell, announced that a soldier had figured out to catch the enchanted knife on wood or cloth or leather or metal—any material that was already dead—rather than deflect it. Sadly, her blade wasn’t a scavenger, and was powerless when embedded in something that wasn’t living flesh, blood, or bone.

Lani stood back up, gripping a fistful of purple quills in each hand. The soldiers—four left, now—held up their staffs defensively at the sight.

That made her grin. “Oh, you’re learning,” she purred, and activated the enchantments she’d laid on the feathers long ago. Not quite as effective as the dagger, but she kept all her extra quills sharpened and ready for use. Just in case. She could never be sure when one might snap.

Maroon blazed down the vanes, complementing their violet dye quite nicely. The soldiers’ faces went pale. There were far more quills than survivors, and despite their fragility, Lani suspected that would stay true at the end. She opened her hands.

Unlike with her fire-trap runes, these soldiers could still scream as they fell.

A pair of quills took out the guard slamming their fist into Jerry’s face repeatedly as Lani left her desk and approached, and Cindy expertly tripped the soldier lunging away from a quill, sending them right into the path of a second aimed for their eye. Ze had Jerry’s arm over zir shoulders and was supporting his weight against zir body so he could stand somewhat upright when Lani reached them. Behind her, the last soldier’s scream cut off to a gurgle, followed by the thump of their body hitting the floor, and it was suddenly quiet but for Cindy’s panting.

“Ho, that was fun,” Lani said cheerfully, bending to check if her brother was still conscious. Nope. A faint breath bubbled blood at his lips though, so he would live.

Cindy nodded at something behind her, and Lani turned to see Banisi kneeling on the floor with Wren supported in their arms, the young woman’s veins now a sickly gray. But her chest still rose and fell, and her eyelids fluttered. Impressive, Lani thought, grinning. Unbinders had a hard time undoing magic inside bodies or minds, but the captain, untrained in magic as they were, had still managed to counteract the curse enough to keep Wren alive.

“This was not part of the deal,” the captain growled. Lani didn’t ask which part.

“You’ll get your payment nonetheless,” she said airily, sidestepping a pool of blood creeping towards her feet. “Look for a potion on your doorstep next darkmoon. It’ll stop the wyrms.”

“I should’ve turned you in,” they said bitterly, more to themself than to her. “Better that evil than this. Than you.”

Lani smirked. “You would doom your world to have me dead? Isn’t that kind of selfish?”

The captain said nothing. Again, that struggle, that ceaseless conflict. Lani snickered. Oh, imagine, not knowing what to do. Not knowing what you wanted. Wondering how to sacrifice want for need, or vice versa. Imagine hating yourself for your own greed. How amusing.

She turned to go, Cindy carrying Jerry in zir arms now right behind her.

“Starweaver,” Banisi said quietly. Lani paused, but didn’t turn. “You can’t run forever. Your crimes will catch up. I’ll catch up. I’ll find you. And I will kill you.”

Cindy sighed when Lani didn’t move and stepped around her, marching out the door. Ze never had cared for all the swapped threats and playful banter. Didn’t like how Lani played with her mice. But games were fun, even ones like this, where Lani’s opponent had no chance of winning.

Still, her brother did need medical attention.

“Hmm,” she said as she stepped after her mercenary. “Good luck, then.” She turned her head to give the captain a final lazy smile, the edges of it just a little mocking, just a little gloating. She’d guessed correctly, after all. “You’ll need it.”

[wondercatjjong]

Fantasy of a Vampire

“Ah Jonghyun-ah, I feel a little sad that we deceived that girl like that. She trusted me and we just used her”.

“You’re too soft. You always have been. That’s the problem with your kind. You have too many emotions”.

Jinki furrowed his brows in annoyance. His kind? What did the vampire know? Jinki was a descendant of one of the most powerful creatures ever known. His ancestor would draw his power directly from the sun and was really terrifying to look at. Over time, his kind had evolved into having human-like features and emotions, not to mention they had become much weaker. Instead of drawing all their power from the energy of the sun, they were able to draw only a quarter of it. Unless they had fed, their light would reduce, and they would die if they had no light left. Jonghyun had absolutely no idea how lucky he was, being undead for several centuries. They had known each other for a long time and started to work together, doubling their strengths and covering up their weaknesses. Jonghyun, with his ability to get inside people’s heads and hypnotize them, and Jinki, with his baby face that made every human trust him, made a great pair. When a human entered their forest, it was a fight between all the creatures to grab and devour him. The last human who’d entered their forest, a girl, was different. For starters, she was so noisy that almost every type of living being in the forest had tried to devour her. For the first time in years, he’d had to fight off everyone else to get his victim. However, his memories of the girl still plagued him.

Jonghyun couldn’t understand why Jinki was so bothered about the incident that had happened earlier. Sometimes, he felt as if he didn’t know him at all. Jinki was the one being whose mind Jonghyun had never been able to enter. The first time they’d met, Jonghyun had had a rude awakening when he’d tried to hypnotize Jinki. He’d been stunned when he’d received a punch to the face. For a guy who looked slender and timid, Jinki possessed a brute force that was completely opposite to his build.  For a moment, Jonghyun had felt something other than pain and admiration. He had felt a little flicker of lust. Jinki’s soft features and honey blonde hair, mixed with the bright aura of his, made him utterly stunning. Jinki had never known this, but he made Jonghyun’s cold heart melt each time they saw each other. Each time Jinki’s light diminished, it would send Jonghyun into a state of panic. He really couldn’t imagine not being around him.

Jinki had never understood why Jonghyun had always taken such good care of him. It has taken them a while to stop looking at each other as an enemy. Once they had got used to each other, they had become inseparable. It was unnatural for a demon of light like him, to be friends with a vampire, but he really enjoyed his company. He knew his life would have been very different if he hadn’t met Jonghyun. He would have missed out on knowing someone who always gave him the first share of their kill, lest his aura faded. Someone who’d once risked everything to save him from the shadow creature that had attacked him. Someone who had come to be his best friend.

The delicate water sprite watched the fire fairy walk past him, angrily. It really seemed as if he felt no other emotion. Taemin watched with bated breath as another bush was destroyed by the ball of flame that was flung at it. Water sprites loved nature, and Taemin was no exception. It made him angry to see his favorite flowers and trees being destroyed. He was going to put a stop to this.

Minho was in a horrible mood. He wanted to destroy anything and everything that was in his way. A few weeks ago, he’d had a choice prey just blatantly stolen from him, and he still hadn’t gotten over it.  He cracked his knuckles and let out another beam into a rose bush, but it strangely didn’t catch fire. Confused, he tried again and heard the sound of his flame sizzling. This had never happened to him before. Was he losing his powers? That couldn’t be it. He looked around to find a boy sitting at the edge of the nearby stream, immersing his feet in the water. Dressed in a pale blue shirt and black pants, with his sharp features, he resembled an elf. Minho continued staring at him, feeling more than a little mesmerized by his sapphire blue eyes. Blinking himself back into reality, with his brows furrowed in concentration, he tried yet again to burn the bush. From the corner of his eye, he saw the boy wave his hand, and he felt a gentle mist touch his face. What kind of elf could control water?

Taemin grinned as he saw the annoyed expression on the fairy’s face each time he doused the flames. The fairy looked almost regal in his red and black robe, and dark hair. He would look really handsome if he smiled. Carefully watching his expressions, Taemin sent a shower of water droplets on him, to douse him.

“Stop it, elf. You don’t know whom you are dealing with”.

“I’m a water sprite, not an elf, and you can call me Taemin”.

“I’m Minho”.

“Well, Minho, you need to learn to trust people. I’ve been watching you for a while now, and I really think you need to relax”.

Minho couldn’t do anything but just glare at Taemin. The nerve of that boy, telling him what to do. Taemin was going to get it, once Minho got dry again. His powers weren’t working at all, as he couldn’t even form a little spark, thanks to Taemin’s antics. His breath got caught in his throat when Taemin came even closer to him and nonchalantly trailed his fingers along his face, almost as if he was tracing his features. For a creature that seemed so delicate, Taemin really was quite compelling.

Although he had Minho under his control for a while, Taemin couldn’t help but feel a little scared. If Minho wanted to, he could increase his flames so much that they would evaporate all of his water. So,  he couldn’t push him too much. Although he knew they were in fact, opposites, he really wanted to see if he could change Minho a little bit. He pushed a bit of Minho’s long hair behind his ear, while he lightly ran his tongue along his lower lip.

Why was the sprite looking at him like he wished to eat him? It had been a really long time since Minho had even interacted with anyone. He preferred to stay by himself, but right now, he couldn’t help but wonder if having some company was indeed as bad as he thought it would be.

“Get away from me, sprite. I don’t want to hurt you”.

“I told you before, my name is Taemin. You can’t hurt me. Not when you can’t use your powers”.

“You don’t know me. I’m so angry right now, that I could snap you like a twig”.

“Are you angry because of that girl? I am, too. I had also tried to devour her. If we work together, we can have our revenge on the one who defeated us”.

Minho knew Taemin was right. A combination of fire and water would prove to be difficult for the light being to control. At this time, this alliance was the best. He nodded slowly when Taemin sent forth another shower of water droplets at him. Before he could figure out what was happening, he felt Taemin gently press his lips against his cheek.

Tenderly moving an errant lock of hair from Jinki’s forehead, Jonghyun smiled as he looked down at Jinki dozing on his lap. Off late, he’d got comfortable enough to touch him even unconsciously. It was a good thing that they’d had each other. Jinki was more powerful during the day, whereas his strength was at night. They’d both fed recently, but Jonghyun always wanted to make sure that there was something more for Jinki to have before the sun set for the day. Slowly easing Jinki’s head from his lap, Jonghyun set out to capture another prey. He heard the rustling of the bushes nearby and prepared to strike the expected herd of deer that would graze there. However, once he’d sprung to the other side of the bush, instead of a deer, there was only a dark mass. He watched in silence as the shadow creature made himself visible in his true form. Unlike Jonghyun and Jinki, shadow creatures were able to use their powers all throughout the day. Jonghyun hissed in pain as the creature bared his fangs and attacked him, stabbing him in the wrist with his knife-like nails. Jonghyun could feel his strength leaving him, as he continued to fight. All of a sudden, his mind went black and he fell to his knees. The shadow creature prepared to strip the vampire of his shadow when he was hit by a bolt of light. Jinki glanced at Jonghyun’s unconscious form in horror before assuming his fighting stance. Since it was still day, he was able to imbibe more strength from the sun. He continued striking the shadow creature in anger without even pausing for breath and only stopped when the creature disappeared. Lifting Jonghyun, he walked back to their spot in the forest. Filled with fear, he let out a sigh of relief when Jonghyun opened his eyes.

“I thought I’d lost you, Jonghyun-ah. Don’t ever leave me like that”

“Does that mean you were worried about me?”

Jonghyun saw Jinki blush at the question and smiled.

“Of course I was. I care for you, Jonghyun. I can’t even imagine how I’d survive without you by my side”

“I love you too, Jinki-ah”

Jinki felt his heart beat faster as Jonghyun cupped his face in his hands, and kissed him. As he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, he felt Jonghyun moan as he slipped his tongue inside his mouth

 ******************************************

Meanwhile, Kibum was furious at being defeated by the light demon. Assuming his shadow form yet again, he wandered about the forest searching for the creature that would be able to defeat the demon once and for all. He followed the trail of burnt leaves until he reached the lair of the fire fairy, who looked as impressive as he’d imagined. With long dark hair with red streaks, there was no doubt that his main power was to control fire. He would be the perfect ally to take down the demon and vampire.

Minho was surprised to see what looked like a dark cloud approach him. He gaped as the cloud turned into a blonde creature with a dark aura swirling around him.

“Get out of my lair, creature or prepare to suffer the consequences”

“I’ve come to ask for your alliance, fairy, and not to fight”

Kibum saw the fire fairy falter a little, and took his chance.

“We have a common enemy, fairy. We can defeat the light demon together”

Minho seemed rather suspicious as this was the second creature to approach him for an alliance. The shadow creature was handsome, albeit not pretty like the water sprite, but Minho still felt a tiny spark of interest.

“Alright. Let me know when you plan to strike. I know a water sprite, Taemin who also has a score to settle with him”

“Thank you, fairy. I’m sure we will work well together. I’m Kibum”

“Minho”

Kibum shook Minho's’ outstretched hand and laughed, just imagining the downfall of the demon who had bested him. The demon and vampire surely had another think coming. It would be three against two, and there were no doubts as to who would win this battle.

Kibum spent his time thinking of how they could overpower the light demon. Three versus two would just make it too easy. If they didn't want the demon to have much strength, they would have to attack at sunset, before the vampire brought him something to feed on. He'd watched them both for quite a long time so that he'd become familiar with their habits and routine. He knew the vampire could be easily overpowered, and that it was the light demon who needed to be watched. From his last encounter with them, he knew that if they were separated, they could easily be defeated. The best time to attack would be when the vampire had gone hunting while the demon slept. Fire, water and his shadow. He was glad he'd secured this alliance. The combination of their powers was required in order to make his plan work.

Meanwhile, Minho hid a smile as he watched Taemin dancing daintily and gracefully along the bank. He created little step like waves and continued to dance his way higher and higher above. He was amazed by how flexible Taemin was, but then again water sprites were the most graceful of all the creatures in the forest. He couldn't stop thinking about that fleeting little kiss Taemin has given him. Truth be told, Taemin was all he could think about. Fire and Water. They were opposites. The only thing that seemed to worry him was the fact that he could destroy Taemin in a heartbeat. Perhaps it would make more sense for him to choose the shadow creature, but he was unable to get Taemin out of his thoughts.

Taemin enjoyed the attention he was getting from Minho. He knew he had greatly startled the fire fairy, but it had definitely been worth it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Minho smile, which made him feel good. Minho's good looks became even more apparent when he smiled. Smiling to himself, Taemin threw up a shower of the smallest water droplets directly at the sun that was shining on Minho's face so the tiny sparkles appeared to be mini rainbows.

Enthralled by the sparkly water droplets, Minho watched, fascinated as Taemin continued to dazzle him. He had never experienced anything like this before. He laughed, happily and was rewarded with such a smile so filled with sunny warmth that made him doubt why he had always chosen to be so reclusive. He saw a dark cloud approaching them from a distance and knew that it was Kibum, the shadow creature who'd come to inform them that it was time to strike. He beckoned to Taemin to step out of the water and waited for Kibum to assume his true form. 

"Minho, the demon is on his own now. This will be the perfect time to strike"

Taemin simply shrugged his shoulders and followed Kibum and Minho to where the demon lay, resting. He turned to the shadow creature to hear what his plan was. In order to gain control over the light demon, they first had to make sure that he couldn't see a thing. Minho lit a spark and set it to the water droplets that Taemin threw to the sky. With a sizzle, the water evaporated and turned into a light mist, to which Kibum sent a bit of his shadow, just to test the waters.

***************************************************

Jinki awoke with a start, to find that everything was dark. Had he slept through the sunset? This had never happened before. He looked around to find that Jonghyun was nowhere to be found, which was odd. He'd usually be back before it got dark. When he looked up at the sky, he could see darkness only in the area above him, which kept increasing. He took a step back to figure out what was happening when he heard the sound of a twig breaking.

"Jonghyun-ah, is that you?"

"You wish. You thought you'd seen the last of us, hadn't you?"

Just then, the darkness reduced and he could make out the shape of three silhouettes. As they stepped forward, he saw the shadow creature whom he'd defeated a few days ago. He was back, with reinforcements this time. Focusing his energy, he let out a beam of light towards the creature who was immediately protected by a shield of water. Dodging as a ball of fire flew at him, he hoped Jonghyun was alright. True, he could defeat each of them separately, but without his whole power, he didn't have much of a chance. He jumped as a cold mist hit his face, followed by the dark cloud that blinded him, once more.

Jinki could feel himself growing weaker, especially since there was no more sun. If he had to stay alive, he needed to feed immediately. It was beginning to get increasingly difficult for him to keep dodging their teamed attacks. The worst part was the dark mist, which overpowered his feeble beams of light, not allowing him to see a thing. He managed to dodge a lot of the attacks by relying only on his hearing. 

Taemin paid keen attention to the light demon and noticed how he cocked his head to one side and then jumped out of the way when Minho flung a fireball at him. So, the demon has a keen sense of hearing. All they had to do, was increase the noise around them, and that way, he wouldn't be able to escape them. Winking at Minho, he pointed to a tree which had little dark bats hanging from the branches, and grinned at their telepathy when Minho immediately set fire to it.

Surrounded by a dark mass of bats, with their screeching and squeaking all around him, Jinki couldn't focus on his enemies to figure out the direction of their attacks. He fell flat on his back, after taking quite a big hit from the fire fairy. Was this it? Was this how it was all going to end? He closed his eyes and thought of how Jonghyun would manage. Once he was gone, it was just a matter of time before the shadow creature defeated Jonghyun. He'd just discovered his true feelings for Jonghyun and he was about to lose him.

Meanwhile, Jonghyun had completed his hunt, when he spotted that a certain area of the forest had suddenly grown dark. This could only be the work of the shadow creature he had encountered earlier. Filled with foreboding, Jonghyun ran as fast as he could, towards where he'd left a sleeping Jinki. The clearing smelled of smoke. Praying that he wasn't too late, he rushed to the side of Jinki, who lay on the ground, with his eyes fluttering. He saw the three silhouettes, of the other creatures in the forest, who had chosen to attack Jinki when he was alone. He cradled Jinki's body in his arms, with tears streaming down his face, as he raised his face to look at those who had done this to him. As he had expected, it was the work of the shadow creature, but he'd managed to involve a fire fairy and water sprite as well. He wouldn't let them come any closer. He would protect Jinki with his life.

Taemin felt a sudden pang as he watched the vampire rock the demon's body in his arms, his whole body shivering as he sobbed. Had they gone too far? He didn't want to kill the demon but just wanted to hurt him. The demon had a tiny bit of power left, but would definitely not last through the night. He saw the demon raise his hand and touch the vampire's face.

"I don't feel good, my love"

Taemin continued to just stare at the demon whose light started fading again. It was a sure sign of his weakness, which meant that he would die once it faded completely.

"You can't leave me. Take my blood" said the vampire, tears streaming down his face.

Stepping aside to wipe away his own tears, Taemin heard an eerie sound in the distance, as his vision was shrouded in red. Stunned, he glanced at Minho and Kibum whose faces matched his fear.

Minho couldn't believe his eyes, as he looked up at the blood moon. It happened very rarely, but each time it did, it caused the werewolves in the forest to go berserk, almost as if there was someone else controlling them. He remembered the time it had happened last. That was when he had lost his family. Only the light demon was strong enough to battle them, but he was close to death, because of him.

He stepped towards the vampire, who had cut his arm by now and was frantically trying to get out enough blood to save the demon.

"Step aside, vampire"

"You'll have to go through me first"

"I want to help you. Look around you. Tonight is the night of the blood moon. I need the light demon back, more than you do. He's the only one strong enough to help us face those werewolves"

Jonghyun stared at the fire fairy in disbelief. He couldn't believe that he wasn't trying to hurt Jinki anymore. He tried to flex his muscles to allow his blood to flow out faster into Jinki's mouth, but it wasn't enough. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked into the deep blue eyes of the water sprite.

"You must be tired, vampire. Let me help"

Taemin slashed his wrist and let his sky blue blood join the vampire's into the demon's mouth. This was the only way they could bring the demon's strength back. Both he and the vampire had lost a good amount of blood, but the demon's light still wasn't bright enough. He looked at Minho and Kibum, wondering what they should do next.

"This won't do. He is still too weak"

At this rate, it was going to take them ages to get the light demon back, not to mention the fact that Taemin and the vampire had lost too much of their blood already. They really didn't have much time. He could hear the howls coming closer and closer.

"We need to move fast. It is only a matter of time till they find us. My lair would be the safest for now. Taemin and the vampire need time to recuperate and get their strength back"

Between them, Kibum and Minho managed to lift Jinki and guide the weary Taemin and Jonghyun to safety. Kibum felt his conscience prick him for the first time in years, as he watched the way the vampire was struggling to save his friend. He truly only wanted to teach the demon a lesson. He hadn't thought of the consequences even once, before just charging. As part of his penance, he offered to go out and search for prey while Minho watched over the three beings in his care. Shifting to his shadow form, he glided about, until he saw a large wild boar that he knew would give them all a significant amount of strength. Attacking it ferociously, he absorbed the carcass into his shadow as he couldn't afford to carry the meat back, especially when there were zombie werewolves on the loose. On his way back to the other side of the forest, he spotted a lone werewolf and took his chance to figure out their weakness. Creeping stealthily, he grabbed a bit of the werewolf's shadow and started to reel it in. The werewolf jumped up immediately and looked around, its eyes glowing red. Kibum moved away quickly, as he saw the wolf sniff the area where he was, just a  moment ago. With their heightened sense of smell, there was no doubt that these creatures were indeed, formidable.

"Minho, I'm worried. What if we don't get the demon back to his full strength in time? I can give him some more of my blood"

"Don't. You're already too weak, Taemin. Once Kibum gets back with food, we'll all feel a lot better"

Jonghyun was amazed at how the sprite and fairy supported each other. They seemed to be opposites, just like him and Jinki and they already had a spark between them. He blinked back his tears as Jinki cleared his throat faintly.

"Jonghyun-ah, you look tired. Rest a while"

"Not unless you're back, Jinki-ah. your light is still faint. I'm afraid to leave you, even for a minute"

Hearing the love in the vampire's voice, Taemin felt happy that the demon was loved by someone even more than he loved him.

"Jonghyun, don't worry. We won't let anything happen to him"

Just then, Kibum returned with his prey and they all fed together. Although the quantity wasn't enough, all except Jinki were able to regain their strength. Throughout their meal, Minho's brows were furrowed as he kept thinking of how they were going to face the beasts. Now that Kibum had seen them firsthand, he knew they needed to be extremely vigilant.

"Kibum, I've got it. The demon draws his light from the sun. If we generate that amount of heat, we can bring his strength back"

"I don't understand how this can happen. In case you haven't noticed, it is night now and we can't wait till the sun rises"

"I control fire. If I can increase my power to its maximum, I think I would be able to generate as much heat as the sun, which the demon could easily absorb"

"Let's try it. I think you're right. This has a chance to work"

His blue eyes glittering with unshed tears, Taemin led Minho away from the others for a few moments.

"I'm glad that you're able to do the right thing. I'm really going to miss you, Minho. Know that I'll always care for you"

"Taemin, I don't understand what you're talking about"

"With that amount of heat, I will evaporate. I won't be able to withstand it at all"

"Trust me. I won't let you slip away from me. I'll protect you always"

After dropping a featherlight kiss to Taemin's open mouth, Minho walked towards the other beings. Taking Jinki's hand, he led him to the mouth of his lair.

"Kibum, shield Taemin and the vampire. Neither of them will be able to handle the heat. I'll take the demon to a secluded area in the forest and use my powers. Don't leave the lair until you hear the sound of our return"

"Go. I'll protect them"

As Minho walked away with the demon, Kibum spread his aura around the lair. He manipulated his shadow to form a wall that covered the mouth of the cave and waited patiently. His aura was powerful enough to absorb the smoke that would be generated by Minho and strong enough to keep the heat away from the cave.

Jinki was stunned as he was led to a secluded portion of the forest. Never in his wildest dreams had he even imagined that the fire fairy would help him. After all, they were natural enemies that hated each other.

"Wait here, demon. I'll move a little further away and then turn up the heat. See if you're able to absorb it"

Why was he helping him? Whatever the reason was, Jinki was just thankful that he wouldn't be leaving Jonghyun alone.

Minho grunted as he tried to increase his flames more and more in order to reach the same level of heat as the sun. Try as he might, he was unable to remove the thoughts of the water sprite from the back of his mind. He could smell the singed leaves of all the trees that surrounded him but knew this wasn't the highest he could go. This wasn't even close enough. Struggling, he put every last bit of energy he had and increased his flames tenfold and scorched the entire area.

Jinki watched the fire fairy try his hardest to reach his highest potential, and was shocked as he saw his hair turn into flames. With the way he was going, it was just a matter of minutes before the fairy would ignite the entire forest. The ground the fairy stood on was covered in hellish flames, and Jinki stepped closer so that he could absorb the energy. Bracing himself, he shouted to Minho to fire a beam at him.

What was wrong with the demon? Minho shuddered to think of what would happen if the heat of the beam he sent was too low. If it was high enough, then the demon would easily be able to absorb it, but he would be attacked if it wasn't great enough.

"Demon, wait. I don't think this is hot enough. You could get hurt"

"I trust you. Do it. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can get back to the others"

Minho took a deep breath before creating a beam with all the power and energy he could muster. Watching it hurtle towards the demon, he felt a small tremor of fear touch his heart. He heard the sound of a small explosion, and fell to his knees, just hoping that he had missed.

*********************************************************************

Meanwhile, Kibum had started to absorb all of the smoke that was created by Minho's heat into his aura. After a while, it started getting too hot even for him to handle. Hoping this heat had been enough for the demon, he stretched his aura even further, to protect Taemin and the vampire.

Taemin, on the other hand, had crept to the darkest corner so as to not be affected by the heat. He could feel himself getting more and more heated by the minute. This was indeed what he had been afraid of. It was just a matter of time before he evaporated.

Jonghyun watched the little sprite cower in a corner, and felt genuinely worried. Rushing to his side, he took his hand to find that it was warm. The normally sapphire blue eyes had turned into sky blue and he watched Taemin struggling to breathe. The sprite needed to be taken to the stream, and fast, if he was to be saved. 

Kibum saw a flash of light and knew there would be a heatwave that would hit them shortly.

"Brace yourselves. I don't know if I would be able to stop this one"

Closing his eyes, he struggled to keep the protection in place with every last ounce of his strength. Feeling a huge wave of heat hitting his aura, he finally withdrew it all and turned around to see that the vampire had protected Taemin with his own body.

"Jonghyun, you...you protected me. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Taemin. Let's get you to the stream. You need water"

*******************************************************

Once the smoke had cleared, Minho went closer to see the damage that he'd caused when his vision was marred by a dazzling flash of light. With his heart in his throat, he walked towards the light to find the demon, restored to his full health and glory.

"Thank you, Minho"

"You're welcome, demon"

"You can call me Jinki"

"Let's go back to my lair, Jinki. The attack may start anytime"

**********************************************************

Fully hydrated, Taemin and the others were back at the lair when they saw Minho and Jinki return, arm in arm. With uncharacteristic emotion in his eyes, Minho swung an elated Taemin around while Jonghyun and Jinki embraced each other.

"It's almost time. We need to prepare ourselves to fight for our lives. These werewolves are dangerous"

"All of their senses have heightened since the last time this happened, and we are just five against twenty or thirty of them"

"If we bring them near the stream, I'd be able to use that water as well"

"That's a good idea, Taemin. We've all got our strengths, and we'll be able to take them on and defeat them for sure"

There was no doubt about it. It was finally time. The five beings got into a V formation as they heard the howls approaching them. A pack usually had 20 wolves, but when they were affected, all of the zombie werewolves would form a pack together. At that moment, Jinki and Minho were the strongest in the group and were going to lead the attack. Stretching his aura all around the area, Kibum was able to form a sort of screen so the wolves wouldn't be able to see them. Bracing themselves mentally, they waited for the wolves to attack. Less than five minutes later, they could see around 50 wolves snarling and rushing towards them. As Kibum had expected, although their vision was not clear, these wolves clearly relied on their superior and heightened sense of smell to pinpoint the location of all the beings. Minho and Jinki continued to hurl fire and light at the wolves and managed to slow them down for a while when they suddenly changed direction and seemed to focus only on Taemin. The gentle water sprite was the easiest to scent. Although he kept pushing them away with waves, they just kept advancing on him.

"Kibum, can you stretch your aura over Taemin? They seem to be sensing only him"

"They seem to be a lot stronger than we thought, Jonghyun. We won't be able to destroy them at all"

"If we can just hold them off till the blood moon is over, that would be more than enough"

"They're too strong. When we cut off their vision, they're using their hearing and sense of smell"

"Not for long"

Jonghyun sent a mind strike to the wolf closest to Taemin and watched as it stopped in its tracks. Maybe, just maybe he could be able to hypnotize it. He slowly crept into the wolf's brain to hypnotize it into stopping the attack but failed as the wolf wasn't in control of its actions. He continued to send mind strikes until he was finally able to hit the part that controlled the olfactory senses, which made the wolf fall, spread-eagled to the ground, and unable to move. Although these effects weren't lasting, this would hold them off for a long time. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jinki and Minho fighting side by side, with both resorting to physical attacks as well as their powers. It warmed his heart to see those who were natural enemies, fighting together and protecting each other. He continued to use mind strikes for a few more wolves until he felt a headache like he'd never experienced before.

Minho saw around five wolves lying motionless by Taemin's feet, and spotted Jonghyun on his knees, with his head in his hands. Shooting more beams of fire, he rushed to his side.

"Jonghyun, are you alright?"

"Mind strikes work on these wolves, but they're too strong in their current state. If they're a lot weaker, I will easily be able to turn off their olfactory senses and stun them from inside"

Jinki's knuckles were raw and bloody, as he continued to wreak havoc on the werewolf army. With his strength, he was the only one who was able to get as close as possible to the wolves and strike them directly, without getting too injured. Feeling a light spray of water on his face, he turned around to find Jonghyun on his knees.

"Jonghyun-ah"

"Don't worry about me. Just keep attacking. I've figured out how to stun them"

By now, more than half of the wolves were weakened significantly from the injuries they had sustained, but the rest of them were still strong. Once again, using their combined powers, Minho, Taemin, and Jinki continued to strike. Panting, they looked around them to see that all the wolves were now on the ground, struggling to stand up. Immediately, Jonghyun stood up and used up the last of his strength in sending a group strike to all the minds, thereby rendering them unconscious.

Immensely worried, Jinki caught Jonghyun as he swayed and almost fell.

"You've done well, Jonghyun-ah. Now, rest. I will watch over you always"

Smiling weakly, Jonghyun tucked a strand of Jinki's hair behind his ear.

"I know, Jinki-ah. I love you. Always have, always will"

The five of them huddled together on the grass with Jonghyun snuggling close to Jinki, watching the blood moon fade to its normal color. Things would now slowly get back to normal, and those injured werewolves would soon be able to control themselves. For the next 50 odd years or so, the forest and its beings would be safe.

Slipping an arm around Minho's waist, Taemin pulled him closer and rested his head onto his shoulder.

"We make a great team, don't we?"

"Yes, we do. All five of us. Together"

[willowgust]

What the Horde Scum Did

The metallic clamor of Ironforge sang through the corridor stretching past Qaradoc’s stone porch, drenched in the smell of rust and earth. In his weathered chair, he settled a cobblestone with a thousand-mile daze. It wasn’t quite pensive, but thoughtful. Peaceful. A curt puff of smoke billowed from his lips. He stared into the polished bowl of his pipe. It was running out.

Throrim sat on the floor sharpening his axe, his beard still damp from his last drink of mead. "Qar old friend. I dunnae know how ye survived as ye did. But ye did, and tha' pincer made a noice tropheh." He nodded up to the fireplace inside where a large silithid hung, polished to a bright sheen.

A thin-lipped smirk tugged Qaradoc's face. "Don't be coy. I'd be popping clogs if you hadn't dragged my sorry arse to that lovely... What was that nurse's name? Sandra?" He glimpsed through the door at the manicured carapace. It was probably the nicest gift anyone had given him. "It does rather spruce up the mantelpiece, doesn't it?"

"Ain't one for interior decoratin'," Throrim chuckled, resting his freshly sharpened axe against the wall and taking another sip of his mead, drying his lips with his beard. "So wha did ya need me here for?"

"Ah!" Qaradoc perked with one last cloud of smoke. He set his pipe on the stone armrest. "Yes, I was wondering, how much do you know about Ironforge pests? I'm not certain of what mind you, but I seem to be getting some unwelcome guests in the kitchen, and I can't be sure what sort I may be deali--" Qaradoc froze suddenly. His attention was locked on something.

Throrim stroked his beard in thought about the different pests of the place, and between the rats and roaches they could be up for a tussle. "I dunnae kn... what are ye lookin' at lad?" He peered over toward his friend's point of view.

The monk blinked. They were still approaching him. His mouth parted as he slowly rose from his seat. The normally stoic Gilnean looked like Uther’s ghost was delivering him a pie on a unicycle.

Three young dwarves beamed at him from the corridor. “Oye, Master Taliesin!” a ginger-bearded man barked. “We’re back! There better be enough o’ those cigars fer all of us!” 

Everything in his chest tingled with the astonished joy he’d given up on feeling weeks ago. 

Throrim blinked at the dwarflings. "Well well, wasn't expectin' a party ya old coot." He stood with a brush of his beard and a low bow. "Evenin' lads. Name's Throrim Stoneframe." He grinned, leaning back against the wall. "What's all this with your skin fadin', weren't expecting company?"

Qaradoc shook his head at him. Before he could allow a knot to form in his throat or a sting to offend his eyes, he smoothed his expression to a blank gape. “I most certainly was not. These are Pydilgri’s nephews and niece - not sure if you recall my mentioning her. I thought they were pronounced dead back on Argus." 

"Pleasure meetin' ya, Mr. Stoneframe!" the same nephew exclaimed. "I'm Omn, that's Raggyn, and this is Dandarian," he pointed respectively. 

"How in blazes are you all still alive?” he muttered in disbelief. 

The question bore instant sobriety to their faces, slowing their climb up the porch stairs. Of course, it was a question they should have expected, but that didn’t make the reminder of their escape any less unpleasant. Dandarian hesitated. She pulled at the sandy-brown foxtail cascading over her shoulder before stepping forward. Her brothers slumped in gratitude as she accepted the burden.

“Yer, uh...” She huffed an awkward chuckle. It was shattered by a frown. “I dunnae if yer gonna believe it, Qaradoc. Or approve. It was...” Dandarian swallowed. All of them carried a vague sense of fear, shame even. Their eyes latched onto Qaradoc’s face, his posture, as though uncertain of a scolding. 

Qaradoc found himself disliking how ‘sheepish’ looked on them. It was making him nervous. 

“Well, we were critically wounded,” she said finally, “but two healers arrived and covered us so we could retreat.”

Throrim nodded as he listened, smiling as he realized the origins of these young ones. "Good old Alliance, sending healers in after the kids." He remembered his time on Argus fondly. Though his words only seemed to make the three fidget more uncomfortably. 

Qaradoc's forehead creased. “As much of a miracle as this surely was, that doesn’t sound so appalling,” he remarked. 

“We were... we were saved by a Pandaren wavespeaker.” 

There was an unimpressed pause. “...Is there an ‘and’?” 

Dandarian braced herself. “And a Forsaken priestess.”

Throrim choked on his mead. "For fooks sake lads. I'm surprised they didn't take you out themselves!" He cleared his throat and waited to hear Qaradoc’s response. 

Qaradoc said nothing. He went pale.

Raggyn took a defensive step to stand beside her, "Just--let me explain," he started.

"I'll get more mead." Throrim waddle-limped to the kitchen.

---

The Legion-painted sky was littered in planet debris. A broken horizon curved up at an eldritch angle. Azeroth’s breathtaking, marble-esque colors churned slowly across the stars; both a reminder of hope and a cruel mockery to those still on Argus’ sundered remains.

Bright felfire streaked above two figures fleeing for their lives - one blubbery, and one frail. They dashed behind a violet boulder. 

Seo-yun and Chavivah paused to clutch their knees. The shaman heaved rattled breaths, peering expectantly down at Chavivah through his scruffy mop of hair. 

She glanced at the edge of the boulder, and let out an exasperated sigh of relief. The eloquently patterned barricades of Light protecting the camp pulsated several yards away. “Oye,” she droned, “thank the Light.” Chavivah stood upright. “Catch your breath and for the last time we’ll run.”

He nodded, his deep panting beginning to fade. Practically tasting the stench of charred sulfur was proving to be an effective motivator.

Chavivah settled a sullen gaze across the wastes. It took seconds for her to spot a trio of dwarves in the distance, desperately fending off an onslaught of demons. They were losing. One of them howled as a blade buried into his shoulder.

The pallid embers in her eye sockets narrowed.

Straightening his egg-shaped torso upright, Seo-yun prepared to signal his readiness, but stopped. Chavivah seemed distracted. His caterpillar brows knitted as he veered to get a better view of her face.

She looked overcome.

In both slow motion and breakneck speed, her veins were frozen lightning, her body was lead, and her heart was falling glass. She watched as a fel axe screeched towards her grown baby’s neck. He was too far for her to prevent it. 

He could still be at home if she’d nagged harder. If he’d become a doctor or an alchemist or a farmer. If she had just caught him leaving for the Isles in time to stop him. All she could think were two blaring words, reducing the core of her being to shredded tissue: “I failed.” Her son, the warlock. Killed in front of his poor mother.

'Too far away’ her decaying tuches! In a blind frenzy she flung back her arm to prepare a shielding spell. Before it could snap back out--

THUD. 

Isaac winced. The axe was buried into a shield. The dwarven warrior it belonged to gave a ruffian grunt as her foot kicked out the felguard’s knee. He buckled. She yanked the axe from her wooden buckler. Her orange pigtails whipped back as she threw it into his chest. The demon went limp. 

Retrieving her blood-soaked weapon, the middle-aged shield maiden marched up to Isaac with three younger dwarves in tow. There was a younger woman with a long braid, a man with a weaved beard as fiery as her hair, and another, whose blond, Van Dyke brush strew loose over his robes.

Isaac was too shaken to move. Pydilgri glared. Turning away from him with a scoff, they stomped up to Chavivah, warily steadfast. The four of them bore a family resemblance.

Pydilgri wasn’t sure if she already regretted it or not. Then she saw the petrified gratitude on Chavivah’s face. 

She expected instant, bitter envy - that was the face she deserved years ago. Her son should have been saved, not this undead demon-caller! But that wasn’t what she felt. Even if it would last for meager seconds, she realized she was living through her. And it was intoxicating. The priestess's expression was so powerful, she could taste her out-of-body deliverance from grief, feel her shock, her reverence, the manner by which she would now consciously cherish him.

Her glowing orbs shuddered. If they were capable, they would be crying. “I--” Chavivah choked. “How to thank you, I can’t begin to say.”

“...Don’t go tellin’ anyone, ya deader,” Pydilgri muttered gruffly, before she and her brother’s children stormed off.

A paw landed on Chavivah’s bony shoulder. With some concern, Seo-yun gestured to the distant camp with a jerk of his head.

Chavivah turned to look back at him. The profound weight of her stare chilled him. Her head finally gave a slight shake inside her cowl.

“...No.”

Time crawled as he watched Chavivah burst out from behind the boulder, her cloak and robes blooming out in a wild flutter. Her gaunt form evanesced, half-visible, in a brief attempt to remain unseen. Seo-yun’s confused panic evaporated when he saw what she raced towards. He discovered the same grim tenderness she wore on his own face.

He knew then. He knew that he and Chavivah were about to die. Black claws tightened around his Moa’ki spear. The lumbering Pandaren bounded after her, his trinkets clacking violently over his leathers.

Raggyn, the blonde mage, wheezed in a shallow puddle of blood. His siblings grunted in fervor as they tried to dodge the demon’s blades. CLANG-- Dandarian’s eyes went wide with a gasp. She held her side, stumbled back a few steps, and fell. Blood gushed from the torn plate onto her hands. 

Omn quaked with a vengeful roar. He ignored the broken arm that flailed behind him as he flung his axe at the wrathguard’s chest. The demon sidestepped. His new momentum hastened his raised sword. SSHHHINK-- “AAAUUGH!!” He launched Omn backwards, who landed with an agonized skid beside Dandarian. The Eredar scholar poised herself to finish them off. A ball of sickly felfire erupted between her hands. She hurled it.

The dwarves grimaced. They heard it land with a smoldering blast. Nothing else happened. Their eyes peeled back open.

Remnants of felfire tumbled over a dome of Light. A Forsaken priestess gritted her teeth in pain, her arms quaking to sustain the shield. 

Seo-yun plodded to her side and aimed his spear, grizzled and determined.

The dwarves gaped at them. 

“No, no!” Chavivah snapped. “Heal them, you fish-smelling shlemiel!”

Seo-yun blinked dumbly. He reached his spear over his shoulder to holster it, then jerked his paw skyward. A totem ornamented in blue surged from the earth. Gushes of water, magically shimmering in sunny light, swelled from nowhere onto the dwarves. The glittery deluge poured over each of their wounds. With every wave that poured over them, their gashes mended further, then further...

Forcing a spare hand, Chavivah reached into one of her pockets and threw something at them. “Here, catch!”

Omn snatched it instinctively from the air, still wincing from the residual pain. He peered down at it. It was a gold pocket watch. 

“If we don’t make it,” Chavivah shouted, “be sure this gets to Isaac Benesh, my son. You promise?”

Dandarian’s throat felt dry. Raggyn’s mouth twisted as a sting formed in his eyes. Omn was glued onto the watch nestled in his hand, silent as the Forsaken’s sacrifice really began to sink in. “Aye lass,” the sister murmured, unable to say anything more.

“Good answer. Seo-yun,” Chavivah shot a glimpse over her shoulder, “are they good to run?”

Seo-yun flounced his scrutiny over their injuries. They weren’t completely healed, but it was good enough for them to run back to camp. He lowered his arms while his totem wriggled back into the ground. Then he gave a nod.

“All right, run back-- and don’t you destroy your mother’s heart by dying! Now gay avek!!”

Heaving themselves up, the dwarves stared at her, dumbfounded. Raggyn mustered the stomach to speak up, “B-but what aboot--”

“GAY AVEK, I SAID!” Chavivah bellowed, pointing a jagged, clawed finger. “GO! GO ALREADY, GO!”

They ran. In a whirlwind of thrashing limbs, wounded bodies, and sobs, they tore across the remaining stretch of battlefield.

Omn, Raggyn, and Dandarian managed to fumble behind the glowing barricades untouched. Barely able to see them anymore, Raggyn turned to a group of Draenei galloping to retrieve them. 

His eyes were raw with tears by the time a gloriously armored paladin knelt to his level. “Let’s get you--” 

“P-please,” Raggyn blubbered out. “Someone has ta get ‘em. Please...!”

The paladin knitted her brows. “Who?”

The shield atrophied into nothing. Seven demons stared the pair down. Chavivah faced him, her illuminated gaze soft. “Seo-yun...” Gratitude and heartache did not begin to describe the way she said his name.

Seo-yun gazed back. For the first time since they began working together, months ago, he actually spoke. 

“Family is worth dyin’ for, Chavivah.”

Her decayed lips quivered into a small smile.

The demons charged. Seo-yun grabbed his spear, a chorus of totems bursting beside his feet. A bubble of Light wobbled over him, then herself. Chavivah lowered into a fiendish pose with her claws erect. Tentacles of dark, celestial Void lashed out beside his totems.

The last thing the dwarves saw before being dragged off was an exploding flurry of spells.

---

Throrim had come back with his mead about halfway through the story, mouth agape and a freshly wetted beard. He couldn't believe his ears.

Qaradoc was stone. He gave a quiet sigh. “Only half-decent Horde I’ve ever heard of and they wind up pushing daisies.”

“Actually we just heard they survived,” Omn said. “They’re bein’ treated in Dalaran.” He dug into a pocket and revealed the watch. There was a brief reverent pause when he glanced down at it. “We were plannin’ on visiting ‘em to return this. Lucky fer this Isaac lad, there’s no reason to give this thing to ‘im.”

"Ye lads are expectin' us tae believe that ya were rescued by some horde fookers... Well I never thought I'd see the fookin' day." Shaking his head he looked at Qaradoc. "Well ya git. We escortin' them or wha?"

Qaradoc fixated on the watch for a long time. He couldn’t move. His neck shifted as though he had literal trouble swallowing. Hardened by a demanding thirst for answers, he cast a resolved stare on his cherished survivors.

“...May we come with you?”

Throrim trotted off upstairs to find his gear. "Well that settles that dunnit?"

Special thanks to @commander-dawnstriker who played as his muse, Throrim. Any writing about Throrim belongs to him.

If you’re interested in following my other toons: Chavivah: @illsufferdear Seo-yun: @whalecarver Qaradoc: (no tumblr yet, but there will be one soon!)

Thanks for reading!

[solivar]

Since I couldn’t find my original post on this topic...

....Seriously, Tumblr, I hoped your finding stuff features would be better than this...

My Thinky Thoughts On The Shimada-gumi (With A Special Emphasis On Hanzo and Genji’s Mum)

Things I Have Learned While Doing Research About the Yakuza:

Firstly, the Yakuza, as a whole, is an extremely male subculture – not much different from the dominant culture in any significant way, to be perfectly honest. One can literally count the number of women who have held significant positions of authority within any Yakuza sub-organization on the fingers of one hand. (Notable instance: when Fumiko Taoka, the widow of the Yamaguchi-gumi’s late kumicho stepped into the power vacuum created when both her husband and his chosen successor died within a few months of each other and held the clan together while the rest of the elders selected a new kumicho.)

Secondly, the Yakuza as a whole tends to be rigidly hierarchical and, bizarrely, socially conservative to the point of being outright reactionary in many ways. The Yakuza is not a friend of democracy or democratic institutions. The Yakuza is, for all practical purposes, medieval in its internal structure, its social rules and customs, and the manner in which its sub-organizations interact with one another and the rest of the culture at large. In fact, it romanticizes Japan’s lengthy medieval period to point of occasionally claiming legitimacy as the final bastion of Japanese culture untainted by outside (i.e., western) interference.

Thirdly, most popular history and depictions of the Yakuza tends to gloss over the extent of their involvement in the ultranationalist right wing organizations that drove Japan’s swift modernization and militarization in the years preceding World War II, favoring instead the colorful/tragic gangster/gambler with or without a heart of gold narrative when it comes to pop culture. This tends to neatly elide their ongoing support for and involvement with reactionary right wing political organizations, and through those organizations their influence on Japanese domestic and foreign policy to this day.

Fourthly, the Yakuza was as strongly impacted as the rest of the country by Japan’s domestic economic issues, to the point that traditional Yakuza “industries” and their subsequent organizational financial stability were deleteriously effected. This has caused a spike in internecine friction among the various Yakuza subgroups where expansionist efforts to secure new sources of income among several parties encroached on one another’s territory, setting off actual gang warfare in several instances. The ultimate result of domestic economic instability among the Yakuza has been an outward expansion into the Asian mainland and the Americas, with lesser penetration into Europe, the Middle East, and Africa. In short, the ultranationalists started going transnational for the sake of economic survival. Many Yakuza organizations run, in addition to the expected criminal enterprises, multiple legitimate businesses, for purposes of both money laundering and providing stable income streams for their members.

 My Not Entirely Organized Thoughts About the Shimada-gumi

Point the First: Canon is silent on the topic of how much and how badly Japan was impacted by the Omnic Crisis. Korea was severely impacted and is still regularly impacted, though whether any of this spills across the Sea of Japan is debatable.

My Personal Supposition: Japan was less physically impacted by the Crisis than it was by the global economic downswing/New Great Depression that hit when the Omnica Corporation collapsed. (Is there any canonical information on where the Omnica Corporation was headquartered or who actually owned it? Even international corporate conglomerates have a headquarters, a CEO, boards of directors.) Canon implies that a great many territorial governments and private individuals invested heavily in Omnica’s promise of a world of post-scarcity profit-for-all built on the back of omnic slave labor and when Omnica imploded under the weight of its own inability to deliver, it blasted the sort of hole in the global economy that causes whole governments to resign in disgrace and extremist factions on all sides of the political spectrum to seize the advantages to be found in chaos.

Point the Second: The Shimada-gumi is, canonically, clearly intended to be read as a Yakuza organization though it is never explicitly referred to as such, being called a “criminal empire” instead. But, yeah, they’re totally Yakuza with all the baggage that this suggests.

My Personal Supposition: The Shimada-gumi was one of the organizations that seized the day in the aftermath of the Omnica Corporation’s collapse – primarily because they were among those who presciently declined to involve themselves with it, through either investment in the corporation itself or by employing its technologies in their plethora of legitimate financial endeavors. While many of their compatriots/competitors were going down in flames, they were positioned to snap up assets at fire sale prices, seize territory they desired through coercion (I’ll bet they absorbed the useful remnants of more than one organization that completely dissolved in the midst of economic and political upheaval) or judiciously applied violence, and insert political operatives beholden to them and their largesse into the reorganized Japanese government (those laws specifically targeting gang-related activity are such an impediment to the nation’s economic recovery). This campaign of ruthless acquisition and consolidation of power was the brainchild of [Papa Shimada], who emerged as a thoroughly competent and capable lieutenant from one of the cadet branches of the House of Shimada (because the Shimadas are one of the organizations whose innermost core of power is, in fact, built around an actual clan of blood relations – achieving access to it requires marriage or formal adoption), and who ascended to the rank of kumicho after the death of the previous head...and his marriage to the late kumicho’s daughter.

Point the Third: The Shimada-gumi is also pretty obviously not just a Yakuza clan because, seriously, we’ve got ninjas and dragons and unambiguously supernatural shenanigans going on here. Hereditary supernatural shenanigans.

My Personal Supposition: The Shimada are far, far older than their involvement with the Yakuza, dating all the way back to the Heian period, where they served as onmyoji to the imperial court, being part warrior, part kannushi, and weighing far more heavily at the Shinto end of the spectrum. They persisted, part civil servants, part quasi-noble retainers with the castle to prove it, until the 19th century – when the practice of onmyodo was outlawed as superstition and their grip on power evaporated completely, reducing them to the same marginal social status as the tekiya and bakuto “clans” that made up the nucleus of the proto-Yakuza, into which they were eventually absorbed.

This is my way of saying that not only are the Shimada-gumi hugely old school, they are also hardcore social conservatives who resent the entire twentieth and twenty-first centuries, the intrusion of western values into Japanese culture, and the diminuation of everything they once were in the face of modernity. It’s a good thing the Omnic Crisis came along when it did and offered them the chance to assist in the reconstruction of their country into what it always should have been and should always be.

Point the Fourth and My Personal Supposition: [Mama Shimada] is the Shimada of Shimadas. She is the daughter of the kumicho of the House of Shimada – only daughter, and only child, bearer of a dragon, who took one of her own distant cousins to husband to secure the legitimate bloodline of the clan. She is the embodiment of all the traditional Japanese feminine virtues: wisdom, loyalty, modesty, and, above all else, loyalty to her family – its needs, its goals, its mission – even to the detriment of her own heart, more than once. Highly educated, it was she who advised her somewhat younger husband when he came to the leadership of the Shimada-gumi after the death of her father, her skill at determining which alliances to accept and which to spurn, which resources to fight to claim and where to reserve the clan’s strength for later conflicts, which politicians were sympathetic to the cause of purifying the government of corrupting outside influences and which were too deeply compromised to be worth the effort was uncanny nearly to the point of being supernatural. (It is definitely supernatural. She and her dragon are old hands at the magic of knowing, of reading stars and omens and the movements of the seasons.) Deeply committed to the cause of restoring both her family and her nation to the pre-eminence she feels they both deserve, she bore her husband two sons and did her best to raise them to value all the things that she valued, as well as to perpetuate and expand what was, indeed, rapidly becoming an empire-within-an-empire, eclipsing its rivals within the Yakuza, building itself into a hidden pillar of the post-Crisis government of Japan.

She succeeded, for the most part, with one of them. Hanzo was everything she wanted in a son – fortunate, because he was the heir and could never be anything else until his father died and passed the rulership of the Shimada-gumi to him, dutiful, devoted, obedient in word and deed. He worked so hard, did her Hanzo, to master the skills she required of him – not only the rigorous practical education in contemporary academic matters but also the more refined physical and mental arts that were the true heritage of the House of Shimada and his perseverance was rewarded. He was the first Shimada in generations whose summons was answered by more than one dragon, though she harbored a fear that it was because he would, in the end, need more than one protector.

Genji…was his father’s son from the moment he took his first breath, to his mother’s never-ending despair. Younger, much less inflexibly conservative and traditional in his outlook that she herself, her husband took their second son in hand and very simply ruined him. Oh, Genji was well-trained – Genji was gifted, enormously so, everything that Hanzo had to work for came easily to him – and immensely skilled but he lacked discipline, the inner core of strength built around loyalty and duty, and he was permitted to spend entirely too much time with unsuitable companions, unsuitable pass-times, to become a child of the debased and unsuitable age in which they were forced to live. Her husband protected him from the consequences of his actions, against her advice, to the frustration of the senior members of the clan, again and again, and so he learned nothing.

Point the Fifth: The Yakuza does not, as a general rule, hand down a death sentence for the crime of being a feckless playboy. That’s what fingertips are for. Death is generally reserved for serious breaches of trust like, you know, betraying your family/organization to its enemies. Like another Yakuza clan. Or to law enforcement.

My Personal Supposition: Genji was up to way more damaging shenanigans than being a premeditatedly unreliable spendthrift with green hair. That alone would not be worth expending the sort of effort that went into training him in the first place, not to mention that fact that he is a legit dragon-carrying supernatural being/heir to supernatural heritage himself. Death is a high price to pay because it’s messy and not particularly possible to undo – which is why it’s reserved for seriously unforgivable crimes, like actual treachery.

This is my way of saying that I seriously doubt it was coincidental that Overwatch happened to have a team handy to scrape up what was left of Genji and whisk him off to cybernetic rescue.

Point the Sixth and My Personal Supposition: [Mama Shimada] knew the score with her fractious younger child, even if she didn’t know the precise details, and moved to neutralize him for the good of the family. Her husband, too? Maybe. Hanzo was young and strong and, as far as she knew, completely devoted to both the family and its goals – coming to power in his youth would finish the process of forging him into a kumicho capable of bearing the weight of what circumstances would ask of him, and that would be solidifying the power of the Shimada-gumi into something that could not be broken or dislodged without breaking far more than them.

Executing judgment on Genji was, in essence, her last test of will for Hanzo and, ultimately, he failed it. He did what needed to be done but it broke him and she was forced to confront the fact that she had honed her best weapon to too sharp an edge. She had not done enough to wedge them apart, had not weakened the bond between them to the point that it would fray under the weight of what Genji was doing.

And then Overwatch dropped on them anyway.

Now? She has had to start all over again with a greatly reduced base of power, a greatly reduced quality of tool – the only thing she still possesses in its entirety is her own power, which is still considerable, and disregarded only by the foolish. She managed to talk the rest of the clan’s elders into not sending any more cousins after Hanzo because, even if they aren’t dragon-bearers themselves, they are still Shimada by blood and their children could be what they are not. She has not entirely given up hope on Hanzo, even though it would take genuinely supernatural effort to reinstall him as kumicho after all he’s done – because he has, after all, retained what she taught him, even if he hates himself for it. If nothing else, she hopes he will one day give the Shimada-gumi an heir of her blood.

She has no idea that Genji is still alive.

[butterflyinthewell]

Palimpsest (autistic!12th Doctor fanfic)

TITLE: Palimpsest SUMMARY: Disability does not equal tragedy, and love is a promise that endures beyond missing memories. (Set after the episode ‘Oxygen’. Blind!autistic!12th Doctor, Whouffaldi) RATING: T GENRE: Angst / Hurt-Comfort / Humor PAIRING: Whouffaldi (Wait for it...trust me.) LOCATED: FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12493583/1/Palimpsest AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10938483 (Whouffaldi Forever) and also under the Tumblr cut TRIGGER WARNINGS: Unsanitary moments, food, graphic description of suffocation in a vacuum, eye scream, body horror.

I wanted to play around with blind!12 using a mobility device and being independent. The Doctor losing his sight doesn’t have to be tragic and I don’t think he would see it as such. 

This story is an acknowledgement of Face the Raven from the Doctor’s POV, and it’s meant to point towards Every Love Story. That makes it kinda-sorta an AU, yet I wrote it with a “could be canon if you squint” mindset. 

Bring tissues, you might need them. Allons-y! 

[Still image from the Doctor Who episode Hell Bent. Taken from inside an old-fashioned diner. There is a juke box and red booths on the left-hand side of the photo. On the right-hand side are red stools, the counter, a drink machine and other diner-type knick knacks. The 12th Doctor is outside the glass doors, poised to step inside. He’s carrying his electric guitar and wearing his sonic sunglasses.]

“Had to let you know just what would happen. Yes, I had to let you know the truth. I know I've got to do this. Would you hold my hand right through it? Would you...”

--Gloria Estefan, “I See Your Smile”

.o

People died because of his recklessness. But not Bill. Not today. Not if he could do something to prevent it.

The Doctor inhaled deeply and blew all the air out ten times in a row. Hyperventilating left him tingly, but it would buy him time. Chaos reigned around him, yet he remained calm. He removed his space helmet with a decisive snap-click.

Frigidness bit into his skin like fangs. Pain slammed through his ears as they popped in the negative pressure, and they rang so loud he hardly heard his own hearts pounding. The last breath he inhaled rushed out in a cloud of thick, white mist. It seemed to shape like a bird before evaporating.

Bill’s eyes fluttered and rolled; she had lost consciousness. Ice formed where she sweat from fear. Her brown skin looked ashen and the membranes inside her twitching mouth turned a terrifying blue-gray.

The Doctor’s chest burned. He shoved the helmet over Bill’s head, twisted it into position and grabbed her arm. Ringing continued inside his skull while he pulled Bill’s space suit panel open and rerouted its circuitry. His body gasped spasmodically for air, but the strength of his diaphragm couldn’t overcome a vacuum. What little breath he dragged in got violently sucked out before he fully inhaled it. He swore his internal organs were on the verge of bursting through his nostrils.

One more twist and Bill’s suit began to march in the same instant he felt the spit in his mouth become froth. He gestured at Nardole to get Bill outside. Ivan and Abby had already gone ahead to clear the way.

The Doctor hunched his shoulders, which pressed the rim of his space suit over his ears and mouth. Somehow, that helped the pain. He staggered outside. Now there was nothing to inhale, like having plastic wrap pressed over his nose and mouth. Flashes of light lit his visual field. Just cosmic rays, not too dangerous in small doses.

His eyes stung, then burned. So did his eyelids. The lack of oxygen triggered a brief myoclonic seizure-- his whole body jerked and flailed. Nobody saw that, thank the stars. 

Nardole kept stopping and looking back. The Doctor stumbled ahead of him when Bill’s suit took her off-course. Another seizure wracked his muscles. Darkness pricked the edges of his vision. Details began to disappear as if his retinas lost resolution. Everything swam around him. Who turned his vitreous and aqueous humor into carbonation? Oh, right, vacuum.

Bill came closer. She was still too out of it to correct her course. The Doctor caught her shoulder and redirected her towards Nardole. Their destination was ten steps away. Nardole didn’t look back when Ivan and Abby disappeared into the other open airlock with Bill. Maybe they thought he was right behind them.

Pain became unbearable agony. The Doctor’s skin went numb. Pressure built up in his muscles and a feeling of irrational anguish heated his bones. How ironic, he was going to have a meltdown in the vacuum of space and probably die right after.

But he saved Bill. That made the pain worth it.

The Doctor spread his arms, squeezed his eyes shut and screamed. It didn’t matter that his lungs had no air to produce sound. Screaming felt good. Screaming gave that energy somewhere safe to go. He curled his fists and thrashed his head backwards. There was nothing to bang it against, but his body did it anyway.

Reality turned dizzying as his eyes rolled. Now his entire visual field bubbled as he cried the tears that always followed the peak of a meltdown. Euphoria flooded through him. Reality became decidedly less real. He didn’t care about the pain anymore. Endorphins were kicking in. If dying felt like this, it wasn’t the most horrible thing in the world.

Consciousness began to leave him as someone grabbed his arm and hauled him forward. Visions of a petite woman wearing a pale blue sweater danced through his head. Briefly, he glimpsed the edge of a smile on her lips. 

He noticed himself shouting something. It didn’t make any sound until the chamber pressurized.

“C-Cl-Clara! Clara? Clara!”

Mid-shout, he noticed something missing. Then he passed out. When he woke up later, he realized he was blind.

.o

.o

Palimpsest 

.o

.o

A search for solitude drove the Doctor into what he always did-- he ran. He needed to get away from Bill and Nardole for awhile. Bill wasn’t much of a bother. Nardole’s overabundant concern after the events aboard Chasm Forge wore on his last nerve. He tried to be helpful without it seeming obvious...and it got annoying!

The Doctor hated other people imposing limits on him. Rules were one thing. Rules needed to be followed, and he understood the utterly painful consequences of breaking them.

But limits? Limits were, well, limiting! How did anybody expect him to adapt as a blind man when they tried to do everything for him? Everyone bumped their head, banged their knees and tripped over things. Why did he hear sighs of pity if he did it a little more often than sighted folks? Blindness, shimdness!

So off the Doctor ran, and here he was, materializing the TARDIS in Nevada yet again. He liked Nevada. A huge, rocky nowhere similar to Mars. Somebody could wander the highway forever and never see another living person unless they sought them out on purpose.

He’d been coming here for a month now to practice independent blind travel. Being careful to park the TARDIS back in his office exactly zero-point-zero-zero-zero-one seconds after departing made his exits and re-entrances almost undetectable.

The Doctor tugged his coat lapel for a reassuring whiff of chalk. The electric guitar strapped to his shoulder shifted against his back. He saw the TARDIS so well in his mind’s eye that he forgot he wasn’t actually seeing until he opened the door. 

Hot, dry and dusty desert air stung his nostrils. Everything looked like what he saw if he pointed a flashlight at his eyelids while they were shut, except they weren’t really shut and the haze had more white than red in it. Light perception was all he had. Ironic, his eyeballs didn’t hate light until they couldn’t see properly anymore. They focused instinctively whenever they sensed bright illumination even though his brain knew they weren’t going to see anything useful. Old habits died hard. 

Cutting out vision reduced his chronic sensory overload and absolved him from worrying about bothersome social cues. Actually, going blind made his tendency to miss social cues a little more understandable. Only one dilemma remained: the anxiety of chronic sensory under-load. No problem-- his previous incarnation was prone to hyposensitivity. Doing something stimulating filled in the void.

And a long walk in the hot desert sun would do just fine. Nardole might tear out the hair he didn’t have if he found out about this. The Doctor chuckled at the mental image without regret. 

He whipped his sonic sunglasses out of his breast pocket and put them on. A tap from his fingers turned the already-dark lenses nearly opaque. Dimming the perception of light forced his eyes to relax. Next, he reached into his side pocket for his white cane. The rigid cane fit in his pocket the same way he fit inside his TARDIS. Pocket dimensions were awesome like that. 

Folding canes didn’t work for him. They were nifty, however they didn’t transmit enough tactile information. Also, they weren’t sonic.

This cane was the coolest thing he ever asked the TARDIS to design, if he said so himself. The long white cane looked nearly identical to the typical white canes used by blind humans. Black golf club handle, white body and a reflective red strip near its mushroom tip. It nearly reached his nose when he let the tip touch the ground. People who walked fast needed longer canes.

The Doctor arranged the leather handle comfortably in his right hand. Leather, because rubber felt disgusting to his hands the same way unevenly lumpy foods felt disgusting on his tongue. He held it as if shaking hands with the handle, slid his index finger down until it rested on the smooth fiberglass length and positioned his hand in front of his navel. This pushed the cane tip forward at an angle outside the TARDIS door.

Faint blue light shone in the cane’s tip, the glow overpowered by the sun. The same blue light erupted off the top of the handle. Information traveled telepathically from his hand to his brain-- there were plants and rocks ten meters ahead. Fifteen meters beyond them, the highway. He grinned as he received input about the position of the sun and the direction he faced.

Not the first sonic cane I ever used, but definitely the best! 

“Nice work, Sexy,” The Doctor patted the TARDIS’ door frame.

After he emerged onto the dusty desert soil, he marveled at how everything sounded clearer without walls blocking the sound waves. He swung the cane to the left and tapped the tip against the ground as his right foot took a step. Then he swung it in a low rightward arc to tap the ground again when he brought his left foot forward. Clear a space, step into it, clear the next space, step into it. Each swing arced slightly wider than his shoulders. 

Wait, there were rocks around, weren’t there? He switched to sliding his cane instead of tapping it. Instantly, he found himself gathering more information about the hard-packed dirt that felt like cracked clay. The repetitiveness of exploring the ground wore itself familiar in his mind. He hardly had to think about using the cane just like he hardly thought about blinking, breathing or stimming.

Thinking about stimming prompted the Doctor to bring his left hand up to his face. Few people knew of the stim toy he kept literally up his sleeve. He chewed the stem of his black No Gloom ‘Shroom, which he wore on his wrist via a clear key ring coil. His sleeve concealed it perfectly when he wasn’t using it. He continued forward with the ‘Shroom poking out of his mouth. Gnawing the hard food-grade silicone felt similar to chewing the bottom of a well-worn tennis shoe. Biting that instead of his fingers redirected his urge to chew his fingernails until they bled.

Lots of toe-smashing rocks peppered the area. The cane warned him of each one. He stepped over them without breaking his stride. Hot tar scents wafted towards him. Loose, rough dirt gave way to hard smoothness. He put the No Gloom ‘Shroom away and slid his cane in a wide arc to seek obstacles. Asphalt had a much different rattle than the dirt. Ah, the highway. Newly re-paved since his last visit, judging by the feel and smell of it. He knelt and gave it a quick lick so he wouldn’t burn his tongue. It tasted strongly bitter and a tiny bit earthy. Yup, re-paved exactly one week ago.

“South,” said the Doctor. He knew which way was south, but he wanted to see if the cane did, too.

The cane shifted slightly left like metal trying to reach a magnet. Perfect. Excellent. He hopped onto the road, letting his cane lead him to the double yellow line in the center. The seemingly endless asphalt radiated the sun’s heat like a furnace. He welcomed the warmth.

Being able to go any direction he chose without being shouted at to watch out for something in his path felt like liberation. So what if he looked a little silly when he stumbled? Did sighted people really think he experienced the same discomfort they did about his blindness? 

Sure, things were hard and frustrating at first because losing a sense took getting used to. Honestly, he had more trouble shaving than he did walking, but he figured shaving out eventually. 

Regeneration was harder than going blind. Learning how to use a whole new body with all new sensory issues, differences in hand-eye coordination, being taller or shorter than before and learning to recognize a different face in the mirror definitely took more getting used to than being blind.

Maybe that was the tragedy to the sighted-- they thought of all the things a person never got to see before they went blind and they forgot that life experiences came from more than vision. The Doctor had already seen a great many things. In his mind, there wasn’t much to miss now.

Loud, fast rattling noises made him pause mid-stride. Its rhythm was snake-ese for back off, stranger.

“Oy, Hissy, I’m not going to step on you. You’ll get run over if you stay there.” He gestured to his right with his cane. “Go on, go find a rock to sun yourself on.”

The snake hissed in protest. She got here first, this was her spot. The Doctor stood his ground.

“You won’t attract a boyfriend if you’re road pizza.”

This stubborn snake didn’t relent until he sent her a weak telepathic nudge. Using barely-functional telepathy without touch required immense focus and effort. All he did was appeal to the snake’s instinct for safety. Finally, the reptile came to her senses and slithered off the highway.

The Doctor resumed his former stride and recalled the entertaining outing he yesterday. He popped into the early 1950′s for a visit with an old friend who happened to be blind. The moment he told her he lost his sight, she sprang into action and taught him a few tricks that made eating a much cleaner affair. His only issue was understanding some of what she said. She spoke with the unique pattern of a deaf person and read his lips by touching his mouth. They had a fascinating conversation about politics over dinner.

Then he accidentally left his Rubik’s cube behind, yet didn’t have the hearts to retrieve it when he went back and discovered her fiddling with it. He wondered if she ever figured it out. She probably did-- that cube had raised patterns as well as bright colors.

Nothing about her seemed tragic at all.

And last week, a present-day pal gave a guest lecture on physics at the university. The Doctor held the elevator for the esteemed visitor while he and his entourage filed in. There was a lot of beeping and soft hissing while the elevator whirred.

As they emerged, the Doctor said, “Don’t get tired up there, Stephen.”

A long pause followed. The Doctor waited patiently. 

Stephen’s synthesized voice replied, "Dream on, Doctor.”

Nothing about him seemed tragic, either.

The Doctor surfaced from his thoughts and listened to his cane clacking. Colors and shapes swirled through his ‘visual’ field. On some occasions they resolved into elaborate multicolored grids on a solid gray background. Other times, they were swirling blue-white blobs much like what he experienced when he closed his eyes to sleep. More often than not, it resembled old analog TV static. 

Humans called it prisoner’s cinema, the hallucinogenic response of a brain amusing itself when its eyeballs couldn’t relay visual input for long periods. It got its name via the experiences of prisoners kept in dark solitary confinement cells. The Doctor learned to enjoy the 'visual’ stimulation whenever it happened.

Freedom like this had his feet itching to dance, so he did! He took a diagonal forward step with his left foot, crossed his right leg behind the left one so the toes of his right foot pointed to his left heel, bounced off his right foot and immediately opened up again by landing on his left foot. Another dance step followed, this one beginning on the right foot. A hop punctuated every step in perfect syncopation. His cane stayed centered in the road, almost acting as a pivot point while his skipping had him hopping from one side of the double yellow line to the other. 

He did an absolutely perfect imitation of Judy Garland following the yellow brick road in The Wizard of Oz. Being able to dance like a total goof without hearing someone chastise his carelessness greatly lifted his spirits. He skipped half a mile down the highway without a care in the world. 

Normal walking resumed once the Doctor worked the excess energy out of his system. Exerting himself caused sweat to bead on his forehead. His cane alerted him to a TARDIS a hundred meters ahead. Oh, that ridiculous thing, it still thought buildings were TARDISes?

The Doctor detoured off the highway. His cane gently tugged him towards the door. He shifted to hold his cane like an extremely long pencil and choked up on his grip to shorten his swing. The tip clanked against the metal on the bottom of the door. He extended his arm until the cane lay flat against the door and slid it side to side until it hit the handle.

Air-conditioned coolness wafted against his face as he stepped off grit and onto smooth laminate tiles. Outside the diner, he had zero idea of why he woke up in the middle of the night panting with desire or longing to kiss the lips on a face his mind refused to see.

Everything rushed back whenever he entered here, and it would leave him again when he exited. Very similar to dealing with Silents, except no suggestions got left behind. Neural blocks never liked the overabundance of neurons in autistic brains. Time and neuroplasticity would eventually restore everything the way nature overtook abandoned towns. Until then, he had to play mental peekaboo.

A sigh escaped him. This was the one place where his loss of sight wasn’t horribly tragic. His first stop-in brought a ton of questions. He explained that being exposed to the vacuum of space boiled his eyeballs like eggs and that was that.

Here it came, the memory flood. He let it wash over him. 

Her smile. Her laugh. Her face. Their adventures together. The trap street. Darkness. Feeling time fracture and snap back. A flash of light as the raven plunged into her chest. Hearing her shrill scream of agony. Watching black smoke emerge from her mouth. The way she fell to her knees, her arms still stubbornly outstretched. The way he nearly rushed forward to stop her head from hitting the cobblestones. Being held back only by his honoring her wish to face the raven alone. How helpless he felt at seeing her slump backwards. Her body convulsing in a death spasm. Approaching her and kneeling amid the leaves littering the cobblestones. Seeing her last agonal gasp. The shock, the silence, the utter pain. Finding pebbles from Gallifrey caught in the treads of her shoes. Feeling the end of his own timeline in those pebbles and realizing he could still save her. The hell within his confession dial. Those billions of years he gave up for her sake. His rage at the Time Lords. 

He plucked her out of time like he swore he wouldn’t. He broke every rule laid out for him and almost tore apart the universe because she meant more to him than his own existence. His duty of care nearly ended everything. 

Somehow, mere days afterward (relatively speaking), he found himself in the past, blabbing to a stranger named Erwin about the whole thing before his last memories of it faded away. After hearing the rant, all dear Erwin wanted to talk about was cats in boxes.

The Doctor mentally derailed his own spiraling thought patterns and refocused on the present moment. He came here on Wednesdays for...well some memories weren’t so clear. Habit, perhaps. 

Telling stories about his adventures over a snack or drink showed her he was wasn’t wandering the universe alone. He needed her to know that, but couldn’t tell her why without jeopardizing their future.

She sought desperately to see any sign that he remembered her. He worked desperately to convince her that he didn’t. Breaking the facade needed to be done carefully or not at all. No tidal waves allowed.

The diner door swung shut behind the Doctor. Ice cubes crackled into a glass cup, followed by the slush of liquid being poured over them. He smelled tater tots fresh out of the oven. His mouth watered. When did he last eat? He couldn’t remember.

“You’re early,” said a woman’s voice.

A brief, brilliant smile lit the Doctor’s face as he propped his cane up against his shoulder. “I beat my old record by--” he licked his lips, tasting the air, “exactly ten-point-two minutes.”

She snickered. “What did you do? Run the whole way?”

“Nope. I skipped.” He demonstrated for her upon approaching the counter.

“You’re daft.”

"Mmhmm.” The Doctor waggled his eyebrows behind his sunglasses. “Tried to be normal once. Worst ten minutes of my life.”

His guitar and cane got propped up against the counter while he eased himself onto the stool. The sunglasses came off next. He placed them beside the radio. She liked to see his eyes, so he wouldn’t deny her that even though it meant being irritated by the daylight filtering through the windows. The colorful prisoner’s cinema show dissolved as the left side of his visual field turned uniformly gray. By contrast, the right side was hazy black.

Always the perceptive one, she closed the blinds on the windows framing the door. The bothersome brightness cut in half. He followed the sounds of her movements with his eyes. Just a reflex he allowed to “run” without interference-- the exact same reflex that prompted students to glance up whenever someone slunk into class late. People born blind lacked it because those pathways never formed in their brain. The same wasn’t always true for those who lost their sight.

Footsteps crossed behind the counter again. Water ran. A damp towel wiped down the counter top. A plate clunked and slid audibly closer. Near it, a glass.

“Lemonade is at twelve o’clock, napkins are at two and the tater tots are at three.”

“Thank you.”

The Doctor brought the warm plate to six o’clock, placed the napkins at three o’clock and shifted the cold, moist glass to two o’clock. The greasy tater tots were already arranged end to end in concentric circles with the ketchup in the middle. Just how he liked them.

He started on the outermost ring of tater tots first. “Your lady-friend mentioned you’ll be heading out soon the last time I came here. Are you flying back home?”

“No...I’m going to travel for a bit to clear my mind.” She sighed. Her shoes squeaked softly on the tile floor. "The man I told you about still has amnesia.”

“Oh. Nothing new? At all?”

“Nope.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Clara,” said the Doctor with sincerity. He offered her a tater tot. 

Clara’s small, soft fingertips brushed his when she accepted his offering. The brief touch rippled across his nerve endings like fireworks. He absentmindedly rocked back and forth a few times to avoid reaching for her hand. Instead, he pulled his lemonade glass closer and sipped generously. His eyebrows went up in pleasant surprise.

“Oh, this must be the pink lemonade. It’s sweet.”

“Yeah? A sour drink and tater tots don’t sound appetizing.” She smiled-- it was remarkable how easy it was to hear smiles in peoples’ voices-- and poured herself a glass. Then she cleared her throat and took a sip. “How are classes going?”

“Fantastic. Did I mention I’m the professor and not a student?”

“Huh. No, you didn’t.” Clara leaned on the counter. “I was a teacher once.”

The Doctor tilted his head to make eye contact with her. Not hard, he followed her voice and measured a few centimeters upward. His eyes instinctively focused. Sometimes it made Nardole forget briefly that he wasn’t actually seeing. He liked that it unnerved some people.

“You were a good one,” he said. Silently, he added, You taught me, so I teach the world.

Something dripped on the counter. She wasn’t holding the towel or anything drippy. He made her cry again. That wasn’t good. He pretended to reach for a napkin and knocked over his lemonade, causing it to spill everywhere.

“Oops!” The Doctor leaped to his feet and tried unsuccessfully to contain the spreading mess with his hands.

“I’ve got it.” Clara seized the wet towel that plopped on top of the sticky spill.

“Sorry, I wasn’t watching what I was doing.” The Doctor joked. He reached for the towel. “Did I ruin anything?”

A barely perceptible giggle entered her voice. “No, no, it’s fine. Eat your tater tots. I’ll clean this up and get you a fresh glass.”

Success, he steered her away from feeling bad for now. He let her clean while he finished off the delicious tater tots. She took the plate and set his new lemonade in its place.

“Ah, thanks. So...” The Doctor sipped generously, using it as an excuse for his sudden, awkward pause. His mind scrambled through a list of ‘small-talk’ phrases. Talking at people was easy. Talking to them proved challenging. “Where do you plan to travel to?”

Clara was at the counter again. Her gaze felt like a physical presence. One that wasn’t unpleasant.

“I don’t know yet,” she said, “Maybe somewhere far away and not like here. Somewhere different.”

Faint crackles issued from the radio when the Doctor settled his guitar against his body and began absently strumming chords. Each note transmitted through his sonic sunglasses to emerge loud and clear despite the tiny speaker.

Lately, he’d been on an embarrassing Gloria Estefan kick. He caught himself strumming the vocal line of I See Your Smile. Then he decided that wasn’t so bad and kept playing.

Clara tried to move stealthily closer. She forgot how sensitive his ears were. Their sensitivity hadn’t changed since he went blind, but he paid more attention to the information they gathered. He feigned obliviousness as he ‘accidentally’ turned his eyes towards her. Only a blind man could look into the eyes of the woman he loved without her realizing it.

All at once he switched to the song she wrote across his hearts in the cloisters. That song was love, and love was a promise. It sounded slightly more elaborate than its first incarnation. He still hadn’t finished it yet. Maybe he never would. How did anyone finish a song still being sung for the first time?

The Doctor’s fingers stilled, letting the dissonant chord he just played fall silent without resolving. Somehow, in two swift movements, he set the guitar down, grasped Clara’s shoulder and stood up.

Rather than pull away, Clara clutched his coat lapels and stepped forward to wrap her arms around his waist. He returned her embrace. The crisp, stiff fabric of her waitress uniform almost burned his fingertips, yet he couldn’t make himself care. She felt so small in his arms. Was she always so tiny?

Time to drop the bomb.

“Clara,” said the Doctor, “I won’t remember much --or any --of this when I step outside.” 

Clara’s arms tightened. Not feeling her heart quicken became unsettling. Unsettling wasn’t the worst thing in the world, though. 

“So you’re heading out?”

The Doctor nodded gravely. If he stayed any longer, he knew he wouldn’t want to leave.

"I may not recognize you if we cross paths outside this diner.” He turned his head and spoke against her hair, “I’ll always be around, Clara, but this is when we talked.”

“So that’s it? Goodbye forever?” She sounded slightly cross, and he didn’t blame her.

He snorted disdainfully at fate. “What’s ‘forever’ to an immortal?”

Clara slipped her hand past his coat’s collar to cup the back of his neck. Her warm, soft skin suffused a myriad of emotions through his body. Tears welled in his eyes when he tried unsuccessfully to see her face. He sensed her looking back. What irony-- he struggled to make proper eye contact with her when he had perfect eyesight. Now, he couldn’t stop doing it.

"Clara, there’s something I didn’t get to say to you.”

Clara’s other hand joined the first. She didn’t care that he couldn’t see her. “You said goodbye when the neural block kicked in.”

“I’m not saying goodbye again.” A teary-eyed half-smile appeared on the Doctor’s face. “I wanted to say hello. Hello, Clara Oswald, it’s so very nice to meet you.”

He cupped her cheeks in his palms. They were wet with tears. Another fell as he touched the corner of her mouth.

“There has to be something I can do.” She swallowed hard, struggling to maintain barely maintainable composure. “Something to help you remember.” 

The Doctor expected heartbreaking sadness. Instead, he felt the same warm joy he got after seeing Rose one more time. Hope worked miracles on broken hearts.

He wiped her tears away. “Smile for me, Clara. Go on. One last time.”

Clara gave him a little, impatient shake. Such an endearing human response.

“How could I smile?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Because love is a promise,” the Doctor’s half-smile finished unfurling, a reflection of the joyful hope he felt inside, “and I promised you that I’ll remember your smile.”

Finally, Clara, by virtue of being Clara, picked up on why he asked. The Doctor noticed her tense facial muscles relaxing. Her cheekbones softened and rounded. Feeling her smile form was as glorious as seeing it happen. 

He slid his hands inward, his long fingers tracing all the details of her lips, cheekbones and the corners of her eyes. Time had no grasp on her skin. Like a photograph, the way she looked now was how she would look forever. Only death had the power to corrupt the smile beneath his fingertips, and plucking her out of time meant she decided when to meet her ultimate fate.

“I won’t forget,” whispered the Doctor.

Fresh tears dribbled onto his thumbs. Clara’s uniform rustled when she leaned closer to him. He bent towards her. They bumped foreheads once, nuzzled noses twice and exchanged three brief pecks on the lips. A perfect Wednesday kiss.

The Doctor drew back for a breath and returned to kiss her properly. Clara slid one hand up into his curly hair, keeping him close. No tongues, just the silken slide of soft lips and warmth.

When their mouths parted, she asked, “Will you be okay, Doctor?”

He brushed his lips against her brow. Her hair smelled like strawberries this time.

“Of course,” he said, “I’m the king of okay.”

A total lie. He was going to resume feeling empty and lost without knowing why. A grief different than he felt for River. He knew what became of River. He wasn’t going to know what became of the hole in his mind where someone very important to him used to be.

“The sun’s going down,” said Clara.

“Hm, describe it?”

She stepped out of his embrace to open the blinds. They creaked a lot. He squinted instinctively in the light.

“It’s bright yellow at the horizon, orange higher up and fading to dark blue. Kinda reminds me of an ocean.”

“Visit Europa in 9990. They have a great seafloor cafe if you like sushi.”

“Space sushi?”

“Clara, you can’t put ‘space’ in front of everything that isn’t on Earth. I thought we went over this.”

“Right, space-man.”

The Doctor had no comeback for that. He closed his mouth and put on his best grumpy old man frown. Rather than speak, Clara leaned against him with her arm around his waist. He relaxed and awkwardly slipped his arm around her shoulders.

People treated sunsets like endings. The Doctor hated endings, so he saw sunsets as sunrises somewhere else. Planets turned and life went on. Sometimes part of continuing onward included painful separations. He couldn’t sit around doing nothing for a thousand years. Stagnation ruined people. What good was he if he let his skills get rusty?

The Doctor watched his ‘gray’ world go dark as the sun sank below the horizon. He reached past Clara to gather his guitar and cane. She handed him his sunglasses. He put them on with flare.

Clara offered her elbow even though the distance to the door was less than ten steps. The Doctor accepted and let her guide him. 

“Let me be brave, let me be brave,” He heard her mutter to herself. She worked up the admirable courage she showed on the trap street. 

They paused just inside the closed door, hugged and exchanged another long, lingering kiss in the last moments of dusk.

Clara cupped his cheek in her palm, her soft hand like balm on his aching hearts. “Run, you clever boy, and remember your promise.”

Smiling-- a sad, hopeful smile-- the Doctor turned and said something he always wanted to say to her. 

“Run, you impossible girl, and remember me.”

She laughed. It was music that made his hearts dance. His throat ached at knowing he wouldn’t remember that sound five seconds from now, but he got her to laugh one more time. Her happiness became his hope.

The Doctor pushed the diner’s glass door open. Stinging pain screamed across his skull and faded. Everything that took place inside sloughed away. A small pang tightened his throat. He frowned and pursed his lips, trying to figure out why he remembered what he ate and drank, but not who he talked to. 

Who was that girl again?

“Hm.” The Doctor absentmindedly stepped without tapping his cane.

Lucky for him, the cane caught a rock long before his foot did. That reminded him to start tapping. Wait, wasn’t he testing this new cane?

“TARDIS,” he said. 

The cane’s mushroom tip and handle glowed brilliant blue in the darkness. And the damn thing tried to turn him around towards the building he just exited. 

“No, no, no, not the diner. TARDIS.”

But the cane insisted a TARDIS was present. Apparently, the programming still had some bugs. Pesky, annoying bugs. 

Suddenly, the diner emitted a groaning noise that rapidly faded. The Doctor gasped when air rushed in to fill the empty space. He walked across the vacant ground, reaching with both his hand and his cane. Nothing, like a diner never stood there at all.

A strange sense of familiarity washed over him. He tugged on his coat lapel and breathed in the reassuring chalk scent.

“You’re going senile,” muttered the Doctor. To his cane, he said, “And you are, too, you silly thing! Take me to the TARDIS.”

Now it began leading him in the right direction. Arriving here required going south on the highway, so the return trip took him due north. 

The cane informed him of which prominent constellations were present in the sky. Remembering the stars caused grief to wash over him. He traveled among them with someone special, and he couldn’t remember what she looked like or how she sounded. 

No, Doctor, get away from the hole in your brain. It hurts to poke. Just leave it.

Making his brain think of something else often helped. He thought about his cane. The sonic cane proved a rousing success. A success to be proud of, bugs notwithstanding. He gripped it properly, grinned at the night sky and ‘Dorothy-skipped’ his entire return trip to the TARDIS. In fact, he got so into skipping that he would’ve overshot his destination if the cane didn’t alert him.

The Doctor pocketed his cane and removed his sunglasses once inside. He twirled around the console room, shifting dials and pulling levers. The TARDIS wheezed around him as he sang under his breath.

“I get a little tongue twisted every time I talk to you...”

Ding went the cloister bell. A perfect landing less than a second after he took off. He cracked the door, waited for signs of Nardole and stepped out when there weren’t any. For effect, he brought along a broom. Brooms provided great excuses for being in strange places.

The Doctor hurriedly swept his shoes clean, then swept the floor around the TARDIS until he didn’t feel any grit under his feet.

Satisfied, he left the broom leaning on the TARDIS and crossed the room to his desk. Daylight poured through the windows, so he put his sunglasses back on to block it out. Then he sat, spun his chair around once and laid his hands on the heavy book atop his desk. Still open the way he left it. Of course it was, he hadn’t been gone a full second!

Raised dots peppered the page like tiny bubbles. Grade two Braille was way more efficient and quick than grade one. Grade one Braille spelled out entire words. Braille cells were six dots high and two wide. And whole words filled a lot of page-space. Books written in it were enormous. 

Now, grade two Braille? It took long words and shortened or abbreviated them. Syllables and even whole words got condensed into fewer cells. It had a lot of similarities with text-speak, but grade two Braille abbreviations made more sense.

The Doctor’s Braille reading speed wasn’t as fast as he read while sighted. He annoyed himself by continually trying to look down at the book, so he closed his eyes. Wiggling the toes on his right foot as his fingertips glided across the page helped him process the dot patterns. Funny, his brain didn’t fully absorb the information unless he did something with his right foot. 

He considered himself a quick study, though, so he fully expected to be an expert by tomorrow morning. Besides, knowing Braille would let him read in the dark if he got his eyesight back. Why wasn’t it required curriculum in every school on Earth? Braille was cool.

“A-hem!” Nardole announced his presence. He didn’t sound pleased.

The Doctor did his best to appear distracted by Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry. He turned the page when he realized he was reading The Raven. That poem upset him for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint.

Nardole cleared his throat again, louder. “Doctor, you did it again.”

“Did what?”

“Traveled.”

Oh, great. Did Nardole find out about his trek on the highway? The Doctor removed his sunglasses and squinted at him.

“I didn’t go anywhere.” 

“Liar.” Nardole stomped forward and plopped something paper on the desk, “That’s a photograph of Helen Keller.”

“Yes, and it’s a very nice photograph. But I can’t judge a photo as much as I judge thoughtless potato-heads who wave photos in a blind man’s face.”

“That’s not the point!” Nardole’s voice rose in pitch. “It’s a photograph of Helen Keller solving your textured Rubik’s cube! This is...Doctor, this-this-- this is an epic fail!”

“It didn’t change history, did it?”

“Again, that’s not the point!” Oh, the poor bald bloke’s face had to be redder than his clothing by now. “Stephen Hawking just sent me an urgent email. He wants an explanation for the monster truck tire delivered to his house yesterday afternoon.”

The Doctor slammed his Braille book shut and burst out laughing. 

.o

Groaning-wheezes issued from the TARDIS engines. Such a comforting, hopeful sound.

“...so wait, you’re like, I dunno-- Rain Man?” asked Bill.

The Doctor had just spilled a secret to Bill, a test to see what she knew about the information he gave her about himself.

“Actually, the character of Raymond was based off a man named Kim Peek. Kim Peek wasn’t autistic. He had FG syndrome, a condition that results in learning disabilities due to partial or complete agenesis of the corpus callosum.”

“Oh! I saw a documentary about him in high school. I don’t remember much about it-- I kinda, uh, fell asleep in that class.”

The Doctor smiled and shook his head. “Kim’s memory was exceptional because his brain tried to work around its own unusual structure. Not everyone with FG syndrome has abilities like he did. Nice fellow, by the way, much smarter than people gave him credit for.”

“What makes autistic brains different, then?” 

“Autistic brains have an excess amount of connections that don’t get trimmed away over time. Some areas have stronger connections than others.” He shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head. “Simply put, my ‘socializing’ and ‘recognizing social cues’ connections are dialup, but my mystery-solving connections are fiber optic. Splinter skills, basically.”

“Really?” She was asking questions. He liked that. It meant she didn’t pretend to know things when she didn’t. “Doesn’t life get hard, though? I thought autistic people were sensitive to noise and stuff. Are you?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I have more trouble with touch than hearing.” He followed her pacing with his eyes out of habit. 

“Let me put it another way: Autistic brains constantly search for symmetry and asymmetry. Then they try to avoid asymmetry as much as possible because they prefer symmetry. Symmetry makes sense. Symmetry is safe. Sometimes, if symmetry isn’t present, I create it myself-- that's the repetitive behavior known as stimming.” 

“Stimming, that’s what you’re doing with your hands.” Bill smiled-- she absorbed what he said like a sponge. What a great student.

“Yes, actually, I am. I do it a lot.” The Doctor twisted his clasped hands against each other to put pressure on the joints. “Every autistic person's inner balance is unique to them. Some people don’t prioritize socializing because their brains are too analytical to chin-wag about somebody’s new baby. Sometimes sensory issues make focusing on conversation a chore if the lights are too bright or flicker too much. It’s like you trying to have a conversation with someone constantly taking your photo.”

“Ugh, that happened to me at a party once. It was annoying. I finally shouted at him to clear off before I broke his camera.”

“See? Autistic people can have a similar reaction to things that seem totally innocuous to you.” The Doctor waved his hand in a ‘there you go’ gesture. 

“And all those ‘difficult’ behaviors you see so-called ‘martyr autism mums’ complain about? They’re what happens when somebody mucks up the mental symmetry an autistic person creates for themselves. Maybe it’s a routine, maybe it’s a form of stimming, maybe it’s an interest-- and these mums wreck it all the time because they think it looks too abnormal. Then they blame the child for being difficult or misbehaving. 

“Guess what? A teetering tightrope walker flails to keep their balance, and so do autistic brains. If either loses their balance, they fall. For autistic people, falling means meltdowns or shutdowns.”

“But what about people who are...um, I dunno, really severe?” Her jacket’s zipper clanked against the console. “You know, the ones who wear diapers and can’t communicate at all?”

Amusement crinkled the corners of the Doctor’s eyes. “That form of autism doesn’t exist.”

“Why?”

“High functioning, low functioning. Mild, severe.” He opened his hands in a sweeping gesture, “All arbitrary observations from the outside. Autism is autism. Nonverbal autistic people communicate in their own way. They’re not locked up in another dimension-- they’re right here, waiting to be treated like real people instead of problems. Someone who can’t talk or feed themselves can still be smart. Just because you can’t see what’s going on in their head doesn’t mean nothing’s going on.” 

“Like Stephen Hawking,” Bill said, smiling, “He isn’t autistic-- he has ALS-- but I went to his lecture a few weeks ago. What an amazing man. He has eyes like yours.”

“Blue?”

“Wise.”

“Ah. There! Wait! There you go! Stephen Hawking is a fine example of what I’m talking about. Take his computer and fame away, and all of a sudden people will start treating him like he’s an infant incapable of complex thought and lamenting how tragic his disability is. The same thing happens to autistic people. I was one of those, as you put it, ‘really severe’ ones when I was a kid. Not everyone ‘grows out’ of being nonverbal or needing help with basic tasks. But I know first hand what that’s like to be talked to as if I’m stupid. It’s offensive.”

Rustling noises from Bill’s coat. The puffy yellow one. He could tell by how it sounded. She was scratching the back of her head in thought.

“But you talk. How did you learn that?”

“Painfully,” he answered, “It isn’t something I like to talk about. Let’s just say damage was done.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Bah,” He shrugged, “it’s not your fault.”

“How can I help if you need it?”

“For me, personally? No light touches. It hurts. Firm is better.” His eyes crinkled at the corners even though his mouth didn’t smile. “And in general? Listen to autistic people about autism. They know what it’s like.” 

He blinked, “Oh, and avoid Autism Speaks and anything ‘light it up blue’ in April. That ‘charity’ doesn’t represent what autistic people want. They operate like Chasm Forge, so barely any of your money goes to autistic people who need it right now. Donations fund marketing, advertising, fundraisers and research that may lead to eugenics later. Autistic people may end up like a lot of Down’s syndrome babies.”

Bill stayed quiet for a long moment, taking it in. A rail creaked when she leaned on it. 

“Blimey, I had no idea about any of that. I just did a walk for-- oh, wow. Never again. I hope I didn’t offend you or anything.”

That time, he smiled. “You wanted to help. That’s a good thing. Sometimes good intentions go bad. That doesn’t mean you’re bad. You know better now, so do better. Wear red next year and you’ll be fine.”

“Red instead of blue. Gotcha.”

And that was that for the conversation.

A light flashed on the console. The Doctor sensed it and instinctively looked down towards the source as he eased the locking mechanism into the upright position. Deeper wheeze-groans sounded while the TARDIS rematerialized.

They were in Nevada again. The Doctor crossed the console room and stepped outside. It wasn’t as hot out this time. The air smelled wet.

Bill hesitated in the doorway. Good, she was learning to be cautious and curious. Her rich, low voice almost blended into the wind when she asked, “We aren’t going to run into robots that speak Emoji, are we?”

“Nope. Not in that timezone. We’re still in the present.” The Doctor snapped his fingers to close the TARDIS doors. “All we’re doing is taking a walk.”

“Ah, like a Sunday stroll?”

“More of a ‘Wednesday wander’ if you want to get literal.” 

The Doctor pulled his cane out of his coat pocket and held it in the pencil grip. Bill joined him, her shoes crackling on the dry soil.

“Good thing I brought my umbrella.” She jiggled her umbrella. It squeaked. Ah, one of those huge clear ones that four people could fit underneath. “The sky looks dark.”

“Over there?” He pointed south.

“Good guess.”

“Tch, no. My cane told me.”

Bill chuckled and zipped her coat up all the way. Dirt crackled when she scuffed her shoes over it. “Does it make coffee, too?”

“Har-har. It’s not a Starbucks, but it can find the nearest Starbucks.” He beckoned her closer, a gesture of trust. “C’mon, elbow.”

More coat rustling. The Doctor felt Bill’s elbow brush his knuckles and lightly held onto the back of it. His fingertips rested just above the joint in a manner that wouldn’t obstruct its free movement.

“I’ll assume you already know about the rocks.”

“Mmhmm. Let’s get on the highway. It’s straight ahead.”

Bill stepped cautiously over the rocks. The Doctor’s cane bounced off a few. They hopped onto the highway and walked south. Their footsteps nearly got lost in the desert’s vast openness. Bill stayed close to the highway’s edge rather than venture down the center. The Doctor edged her inward.

“Don’t worry about vehicles, Bill. It’s flat for miles, you’ll see one coming long before it gets here.”

“It’s a two lane road.”

The Doctor released Bill’s elbow and dodged ahead of her. He spun around to face her while walking backwards, clasped his hands behind his back and tapped his cane just as he would if he were moving forward. A big, silly grin lit his angular features.

“We’re fortunate, then. I have great hearing.”

Oh, he could almost sense her momentary alarm at seeing him walk backwards like that.

“You’re weird,” she muttered under her breath.

He stopped squarely in front of her and curtsied elegantly. She laughed and whacked his arm in passing. Chuckling, he pivoted on his heel to grasp her elbow again. 

“There’s a truck coming towards us,” said Bill, her voice still light with a smile. She edged over to the opposite side of the highway despite it being a long way off yet.

The Doctor heard its engine. Typical knock-knock noises. It was a semi.

“Oh? Big truck, little truck? What’s it look like?”

Engine noises rumbled closer. Now the truck would be close enough to see details.

“Big truck. Not sure of the make. The nose curves sort of downward and there’s three pipes on each side of the cab. There’s a silver grill and bumper.” Bill slowed her stride as the truck noises approached. “It has a really cool custom paint job. The background color is blue, but there’s stencil work that looks like red flames on the front and sides.”

“Ah, an old friend.”

“You know the driver?”

“Yeah.”

He raised his hand in a wave when the semi was less than a hundred meters away. The truck honked its horn as it rumbled by, its huge tires vibrating the asphalt.

Bill stopped and twisted to look at the departing truck. “Um...”

“Problem?”

“I didn’t see a driver.” She faced forward again. “Probably too much glare from the sky. Anyway, speaking of tires-- did you really get a tire delivered to Stephen Hawking’s house?”

“Yup.” The Doctor grinned at his own impish wit. “You could say I ‘tired’ him out.”

Bill wiggled the elbow he held back and forth. “Doctor, you’re impossible. Absolutely, ridiculously impossible.”

That word. Impossible.

An impulse in the back of his mind had him releasing his grip on Bill’s elbow before he realized he’d moved. He turned abruptly right. His cane slid off smooth asphalt to rattle over hard-packed dirt as he ventured into a large, empty space beside the highway.

Something important happened here. But what? Why? How?

“Doctor?” Bill hedged.

Mysteries. The Doctor loved mysteries. He grinned as he rubbed his chin in thought.

And froze.

Here. Here, on this spot, he touched and kissed another smile. The owner of that smile didn’t materialize in his mind. He propped his cane against his shoulder and extended his hands to trace an invisible face. 

A tsunami of grief slammed through him. In its wake, an incredible, comforting love stretching beyond time or space. A love that eclipsed his sadness and shone around the hole in his memory like an ethereal solar corona.

Tears trickled out from beneath his sunglasses. They weren’t sad. Sad tears meant endings, and this didn’t feel like an ending. 

Bill, sensing his concentration, came closer without talking. Her unobtrusive presence subtly shifted the air flow on his right. He could hear her breathing.

“Brains forget people, but hearts remember the feelings those people gave us,” said the Doctor. He remained poised, his fingertips mapping the air. “It’s why you never doubt that your mum loved you, isn’t it?”

“I was too young to remember her,” she said back, her voice soft.

“Your heart beat inside your mum’s belly for nine months. It knows things your brain doesn’t. Sometimes, I think people would be better at listening to each other if hearts had ears.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm.”

A cool drop hit his face. Not a tear. Another landed in his hair. Splat-splat noises began around him. Within seconds the sky opened up with a full-on downpour that drenched everything it touched.

“Oh!” Bill’s umbrella squeaked, then snapped open. Rain pattered noisily on the plastic. “Doctor, you’re getting soaked.”

The Doctor pocketed his sunglasses to keep them clean. He pushed Bill’s umbrella aside. She got the picture. Her umbrella plopped on the wet ground as she opened her arms to let the downpour swish over her coat.

“See? It’s just water falling from the sky.” He grinned, invigorated by the hope rising inside him. “The best parts of life are experienced, Bill. So be still. Close your eyes. Experience the rain with me.” 

“Wow.” She was smiling, too.

“Yeah. Wow.”

The impact of each chilly raindrop twinkled like stars against his skin. He ran both hands through his wet hair, tilted his head back and spread his arms. The hope in his hearts spiraled upward into the rain pouring down. 

Once, he told Missy that love was a promise. And Clara’s smile-- the tactile memory of its wrinkles and curves-- had embedded itself in his fingerprints where the neural block couldn’t wholly wipe it away. The rest of her face escaped him, but not the smile. He must have promised to remember it because he loved her.

And love always found a way to continue, regardless of time and space.

“Doctor...are you crying?”

The Doctor totally forgot Bill was still there. Rain pattered off her umbrella-- she picked it up when he wasn’t paying attention. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. They were wet. It wasn’t rain. 

“Yeah, I am, but it’s not sad.” He sniffled, “I was having an experience.”

“I can tell. I didn’t want to interrupt. Aren’t you cold?”

Light wind blew against his face. The downpour began to let up. They were both soaked to the bone.

“Me? Cold? Nah.” The Doctor said, feigning offense. “I have a lower body temperature than humans. Now come along, Potts. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

She automatically stepped ahead of him. He sped up and walked beside her, opting to tap his cane rather than hold onto her elbow.

“Have you seen The Wizard of Oz, Bill?”

“Of course. Who hasn’t? Why?”

“Oh, no reason...just this.”

The Doctor showed Bill his Dorothy-skip. She was greatly amused. Then he taught her how to do it. They skipped back to the TARDIS together.

.o

“...‘Cause when I close my eyes, I still can see your smile. It’s bright enough to light my life, out of my darkest hour...”

--Gloria Estefan, “I See Your Smile”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTd1r_6lfrE

A palimpsest is a piece of paper that has been written on, erased and written on again. The old writing that gets erased to make room for new writing is still faintly visible and may be legible. An old grade school spelling test with erase marks that were later written over is a fine example of a palimpsest.

[magnetar1]

Presence of the Dead

Entering Baltiasa.  Town of my birth - Vestiges of a former life.  A soul darkly seasoned in this place for all time . . . I did not wish to return, but felt there was little choice.  These last couple years the old violence I felt as a younger man was returning & the only legal way I knew to neutralize  it was by drinking more & writing less - From a fairly young age I knew I wanted to be a writer & had modest success, but now felt the urge leaving me.  All I did was drink & pretend.  Waking up too early, staring into the fog in my mind, counting down the hours before I could start drinking again.  Getting on the bus,  going to a job I hated, fantasies of snapping the necks of those who sat around me.   My tyrannical mind leading me here, to the source of the violence that has stayed benign for most these years.  While many kinds of violence or forms of rebellion might be regarded as youthful nihilism. Seek & destroy, burn the school, rob a gas station.  Horrible acts by society’s standards, but generally no one gets hurt.   Unless, of course, things go terribly wrong.  In my case, an understatement. - - - Walking up to my old house with tears in my eyes.  Practically a hovel when I left.  Now little more than a pile of sticks, collapsed in front with some of the structure still standing in the rear.  Windowless frames boarded up, graffiti scrawl over weathered plywood, symbols that are a mish-mash of other known symbols: swastikas looping out into flaming spirals until becoming scrawled names of made-up heathen gods.   My old house was near the high school.  Besides this, a cemetery. Alongside the main road leading to the edges of town.  On one side a slough winding its way behind it, toward the ocean.  Sludge of mud, bullheads & discarded animal corpses; human too, I imagined. On the other side there is a place called Indian Legends.  Miles & miles of unkempt wilderness right in the backyard.  Shot through with a  transit of trails snaking their way to the ocean.  Or ending abruptly in a tangle of dense forest.  My two best friends & I spent entire summers exploring & getting lost.  Up all night drinking the cheap, shitty rum that David liked to drink.  While Bryan & I got stoned, tripped & look at stars.  David was fourteen, a couple years younger than us, & already preferred alcohol to psychedelics . . . Suddenly, a shape lurking in the corner of my sight.  A cold feeling I recall from living here.  Best not recall too much, though, as I’d need to conserve my strength.  Taking a flask out of my shirt pocket to ward the spirit away.  I still remembered some of them by name even after all these years.   Making my way to the shed out back.  A trail winding through a dense thicket which in those days seemed like primordial lands.  Toward a canopy of trees that eventually connected to a secret entrance leading to Indian Legends - On night journeys, with burning torches, in search of spectral portals to demonic realms.  Things I now ascribed to a steady diet of D & D, heavy metal & horror films. - - - Sitting on a cracked stool stunned by how intact our temple seemed. Other than a few more weeds growing through cracks in the floor it was as we’d left it.  No longer the upturned cable-wheel we used as a table.  Nor the homemade bookshelf sagging with stacks of comics & porn: a secret compartment built in back where we could stash joints & hits of acid . . . I thought of all the acid I took in those years & now it makes me shudder.  Getting ripped apart without even leaving my room. Listening to record after record on my headphones in total darkness. Opening my eyes to strange shapes in the corners.  A palpable resiliency that never left.  In the house.  Town.  Inter-dimensional.  I want to forget it all over again.  My muscles tightening just thinking about . . . I get back up to pace in the tall grass outside.  I drain my flask. Walking back to the car a friend let me borrow - To fix my head, I’d told him.  He had it in his mind that I was going to a retreat or something so wanted to help. I was beyond that, I thought, refilling the flask with a fifth from behind the driver’s seat.  I tugged from the bottle itself & pocketed the three hits of acid I’d brought. - - -       No one pays me any mind as I continue to pace outside.  I think about breaking into the house, but did not have the courage.  The house, itself, situated on the edge of a precipice that I did not quite understand.  Leaving a trace after it crumbles.  Sealing its flagrant energy back into the soil which erected it.  All terrible things that have happened inside. With a history of violence before we got there.  My father got it for cheap much like in a classic horror film scenario.  The entire town was starting to degrade rapidly at that time due to the waning logging industry.  A rather large house could be rented for practically nothing. Less, even, for a house like this.  Even though they were all rimmed by a kind of destitution.  Still, citizens of Baltiasa would not mourn the death of their town.  A shift so gradual they never acknowledged it, or were too dumb to care. I didn’t care either.  I wanted to make my peace & get out.  Suddenly, the grinding mechanism called the city didn’t seem so bad.  Only it was existence itself, bane of life, that had forced me to accept this as some kind of metaphoric suicide mission. Unable to say what I needed to say & trapped between worlds.  All secrets buried deep making me sick.  Many resided in this house. Haunted traits & a disdain for familial settings - Waiting for my father to leave for work every morning.  After which, hearing footsteps approaching my bedroom door followed by a thing’s ragged breathing. I never turn around to see what is there.  I don’t turn around now.  I try to keep my mind on what it is I came here for.  Still, I remain aware of their correspondence.  Voices I heard in the basement telling me to kill them all.  To cut off their heads in their sleep.  To cancel their dreams with bloody screams: I am the last thing they see.  Blind Incubus . . . For a moment I feel the same demonic power I felt then & I am nearly repelled back into a sane state.  Tears once again mounting in my eyes.  I feel the weight of car keys in my pocket & am crushed by an urge for escaping.  Instead, I pace harder & wait for the sun to go down.  Dusk evaporates into night as the wind picks up & tosses the trees around. It never occurred to me that it could rain this night.  While the town itself hunkered in a low slung valley.  Hills sprouting far & upward before sinking down.  Creeks wind their way across beds of silt & stone, leading to the slough or out into the harbor. I’d cut across these many hills toward the Pacific.  Tidal waves of soil rippling ahead to where it meets the ocean.  It’s where ghosts of my past will meet.  An undisclosed location fixed above a long stretch of beach.  A cave burrowing through a quarter mile of sheer rock. Station for our secret ceremonies: Fortress of Leviathan. - - - Bryan & I discovered the cave together.  Rumored as a spot for ritual sacrifice.  Shamans in the old world went there to enter darkness & come out reborn: To sacrifice their own meandering spirits toward more evidence regarding the afterlife.  Since, they say, it was a hive for local satanists.  Mostly living in Cascadian foothills above the town line in burrows worse than mine.   These were the poorest neighborhoods.  A grey zone of  meth-heads & veterans living off meagre pensions.  Single moms who’d given up hope.  Detritus of a third world nation beginning to show.  Hid in overgrown places, nestled deep as worms.   David came from this place.  And although Bryan & I came from poor families, he was a different breed.  Some kids at school referred to him as ‘the vampire’ at the beginning of his freshmen year because of his pale skin & frail demeanor.  Always in black wearing headphones. He rarely talked to anyone but himself.  Bryan & I became friends with him because we listened to a lot of the same bands.  Smoking pot in the cemetery.  David passing a cheap bottle of Rum around.  Ditching school to wander the hills: the triad . . . Now, as I look down at those three tiny hits of acid in my palm, I think of David.  It hits me hard & heavy.  Nearly hurling the doses to the ground & getting out of there.  Instinct becomes focus as my brutal emotions abate.  Having trust in the moment. I swallow them down, unthinking.  A grand meditation reduced to an afterthought. Realizing I’ve never been afraid to die & the flashes of fear I suffered are spectral.  I was so young.  Scarcely do I remember exactly what it is I saw.  Writing it down from various angles.  Snapshots of Hell. Waking up in the middle of the night with total entropy on the mind. To see it all burn for a chance at freedom.   Meanwhile, returning to the wellspring of my nightmares for another look. - - - The acid kicking in.  I stood with residual trepidation: At the foot of The Portal . . . Everything Bryan & I did was epic.  The real world faded as we delved deeper into more truant manifestations - Beyond the shroud of the town.  Our sensitivity toward what was considered the ‘normal’ world greatly dimmed.   Holding my breath in my room every morning so I could summon the thing I was too frightened to face.  Force of violence assumed in the form of its wraith-like stare.  A messenger, perhaps.  Or guide.  A combination of the energy surrounding the place co-mingling with the synaptic edge that we were experiencing from the drug. One might argue it all away with this very excuse, but I awaken cold in the night to this day with the feeling that it’s never left - Bryan & I. Unafraid to die.  Sorcerers.  Spending morning hours after we’d endured the long night talking about how reality was changing for us. No longer devotees of spatial reasoning or fenced logic. Everywhere we looked there were signs of the other world.  It is this feeling that has never left.  Even as it’s the first time I’ve dropped in all these years.  I’ve been unable to undo the retooling my consciousness received when Bryan & I were taking it every day & getting lost in the ghost-like radiance of it all. Procession of past lives into shadowed lands.  I hear the dirge as I followed.  Much sadness in the final days of my youth: a violent crossroads where I might have become a different person.  A shrink, perhaps.  Businessman.  Or serial killer.   All the ugly things I might have become.  I keep them at bay by starting to write.  All the demons & the ghosts.  Everything gets in. Every relationship I’ve been in & each alcoholic nightmare.  Family that’s abandoned me & so I’ve abandoned them.  Still murdering them in their sleep after all these years - Weakened side.  A sick return to my base person . . . Standing at the foot of the Portal about to go in.  Wind howling around me like it did the night Bryan & I led David to the Fortress. Lifting my gaze to gathering clouds overhead & the dense haze of the night sky’s hammering thoughts.  Rain comes hard at first before settling into a whispering drizzle.  At tail-end of the procession they are taunting me. All the town’s dead shadows co-mingling with ancient spirits that lived here.  Standing in the rain above a pale, flickering light.  Irreal fog packs densely across its shimmering back. Rise of the Wyrm.  When warm rain comes.  All spirit clings to her.  All moving along Leviathan’s course . . . - - - The howling winds made me think of my last few months here.  I was nineteen & gaining on becoming a full fledged burnout.  I rarely saw Bryan anymore until, finally, he held up a gun-shop with one of the shop’s own guns.  Shooting it out from behind the counter with a couple of rednecks who’d walked in during the middle of it.  Soon cops busted in to finish it: one clean shot to the head.   Suddenly, I wish Bryan was here.  He always knew how to talk me through.  It made me feel bad, though, that I’d thought of him as evil in the end.  Now, feeling evil myself, with hatred becoming clear & concise.  I fought back the urge to turn it loose on Baltiasa itself.  A point in space where time is stalled by lethargy . . . That’s how it happened.  All the energies swirling up in that place at once, getting inside the collective mind - Wind howling around me. Nature’s screams co-mingling with the guttural cries of the dead.  In place of shadows I saw faces. Now I could see beyond the hills, across galaxies, & I no longer felt human.  Somehow, the grid of all existence was grasped.  Turbulence of spirits at the moment of rebirth.  I look into the heart of the town from above.  It struggled just as I had struggled.  It could not get past the point of remission - Disease without consent.  Breeding ground for old serpents dropping seed in veiled & foetid gardens.  Blind, slithering masters of forlorn kingdoms. - - - I follow Leviathan to her grave.  The ocean.  Alive with her strength & law.  They couldn’t make her abate even as the world went on. Civilizations thriving & fading where time could still pick them up & tear them asunder.   The shore slips off the edge of the world & into her widening maw.   That’s what I feel like entering the cave of my youth.  Momentarily, I feel the sublimity I used to feel when Bryan & I came here.  Quickly, it withers away . . . So why had I come?  To face an evil that was as much a part of me as I was of it?  Or to sever my spirit from a violence that might take over at any time?   I embrace the feeling before I’m able to move on.  To see past it: shapes flickering to life. Crawling on hands & knees careful not to stumble.  The cave’s not as big as I remember, but just as long - The moon does not penetrate so deep.  Instead, a ghost-light is seen, hiding forms in its murky translucence.   Electrical glow from that charged night.  At the peak of our elemental powers . . . I hold back retching as I watch the image of Bryan take out his sacrificial knife.  Glinting off cave walls to reveal all the symbols that have been scrawled there.  Some that are similar to those on the side of the old house - Gateway, connecting ALL private underworlds, horrors that have followed me for years.  A sanguine propensity for death over life.  My inability to re-imagine it any other way.   - - - I’ve lived through it every day, shadowy but prospective.  Return trip: on the first day I forget the world I left behind.  Burning around a dark seed we left.  Everything else scorched in its wake.   Stumbling through ashes toward the goal.  David, on his knees, in a halo of smoky light . . . I swear that Bryan is burning from the inside out.  He often talked about feeling like he was on fire while tripping.  I could feel it, too, but on a current adjacent from his own. Poles meeting where David lied unconscious.  His face streaked with vomit & blood.  He drank too much & lost his balance stumbling along. Bryan is freaking out.  He says there are spirits inside the cave that are trying to possess us.  He explains the spirits are even older than those of the shamans who came here for night journeys &, when necessary, sacrifice. To the spirits themselves, both caustic & liberating.  The only way to save ourselves was by absorbing one who is weaker; liberating his weakness with our strength. Bryan’s eyes as big as saucers as he waits for the child to go limp.  Mad, inhuman,  nature’s frenzied look. Later claiming to have had an obscure vision: raging ocean below a pregnant moon.  Bilious forms in the undercurrent.  Nauseating & serpentine mass.  Tumorous . . . Afterwards, I never did experience those same evasive manifestations in my room & considered it a powerful sacrifice.  However, taking harder drugs, drinking more.  I spent the months following the 'disappearance' of David in a brilliant stupor.  And yet I was content to see old demons replaced by new ones.   The entire town (outside this experience) dissolved & I was eventually able to consider some mode of suffering to call my own. Ghosts of my youth became the internal grief of my adulthood as I tried escaping it through artistic means: to distance myself from the eventuality of my own mortal breakdown.  A Sacrifice, to nothing, in the morning . . . - - - I look in Bryan’s eyes & understand that he’s done with this life.  In many respects, I am too.  Is that considered evil? Cutting David open with his sacrificial knife.  Bryan feeds me parts that are both revitalizing & repugnant . . . Across the divide.  I look back on my life from a vantage point of strangeness & grief.  Baltiasa & its aftermath; mythic, cannibalistic fortune. I’ve survived with these rites in my personal canon.  While the rest of the world sits & waits for instant communion - Vital force at center. Shaman’s gift.  Nature’s everlasting council.  Demons prey, but never attack.  Benign to the ever expanding universe. Harboring true reality’s conquest.  That we were never meant for this. False agendas of the weak.   Sacrifice becoming necessary when rot awakens.  While under the surface is a percolating dawn.  So easy to see, yet out of reach.  When we are are not the thing we aim to be. When purity of vision becomes a nightmare . . . Hunched, broken, grinding my teeth.  Welling tears in darkness, I impress all my will on growing past it.  How else will I go on with my life?  Keep murdering until the feeling goes away?  Drown myself in alcohol until the last drop takes me?   Pounding a fist against the cave floor until my hand is raw & bleeding.  I taste my own blood &, unsheathing the knife I brought along, consider going all the way.  Letting my guts spill across. Uncoiling.  Opacious.  A serpent awakens.  Possibly to let me pass without devouring my spirit, suffering no cognition of a world beyond its own.

[thepragmaticsoul]

The Pragmatic Soul - A Sonic the Hedgehog Erotic FanFiction by SuperL00NTheHedgehog86

Natural selection is anything but random - Richard Dawkins

Chapter 1 - The bureaucracy of clairvoyance is closed-minded in its anthropology

The sun crept over the green hills of Green Hill Zone, signalling the beginning of a warm, autumn morning. Having defeated the vile and contemptuous Dr Robotnik, Sonic The Hedgehog - a blue hedgehog of the hedgehog species of hedgehog - dashed through the morning stricken Green Hill Zone, which was now bathed in the morning sunlight.

Gotta go fast, he kept telling himself. It was all he had ever known since the moment he was born. But what was he running from? Himself? A tear crept down his morning sun bathed face and immediately evaporated due to the friction generated by the supersonic speed of motion he was generating with his legs. Sonic had chosen to wear cargo pants in an attempt to limit his speed and, for the most part, it had worked. Mostly. However, he knew he would come to regret it later when his muscular inner thighs would be red raw from the friction. Luckily, his thighs would not evaporate due to supersonic speed friction, because his legs (and the rest of his body for that matter) was not entirely made of liquid. Unlike the tear, which was nearly entirely composed of liquid. Gotta go fast. 

Choking away at the lump swelling in his throat, Sonic was suddenly snapped out of his emotional state at the sound of a thunderous explosion. The explosion - thunderous in its nature - was 10 miles away, a distance he (a supersonic hedgehog btw) could quickly and easily reach in a matter of moments. Gotta go fast. No time for emotions, he thought to himself, putting aside his emotions, which weighed heavy on his heart, similarly to how the cargo pants weighed down his legs, thus slowing his usual speed. Sonic dashed towards the direction of the thunder explosion, unsure of what to expect. 

Dashing through the hills of the Green Hill Zone, Sonic the Hedgehog discovered a most disturbing sight. No way?! He gasped to himself in his thoughts (it wasn’t an audible gasp) when he saw none other than the contemptuous and sinisterly vile Thanos from Marvel Cinematic Universe battling none-other DIC animation universe’s Captain Planet. Sonic was shaken to his very core. 

The battle was intense. Thanos, wielding the power of the infinity stones embedded in his infinity gauntlet, delivered a mightily robust punch to the battered and bruised Captain Planet. Sonic noted that NONE of the planeteers were present - neither was Gaia! 

“Stop right there, Thanos!” Captain Planet heroically sounded, having coughed up a tooth. “Your infinity stone-wielding days are over!”

Thanos cackled “Is that a matter of fact?” He cackled. Then, remembering he could snap his fingers to reduce Captain Planet to ash, he stated: “With a snap of my fingers, I could reduce you and this planet to ash, Captain Planet.”

Defeat momentarily crossed the mighty hero’s mind. But he resisted. As alluring as that thought was, he resisted with all his might. “No. I will NOT be defeated. I WILL resist any thoughts of submitting to you, Thanos.”  

Thanos sighed before chuckling. 

“I know what it’s like to lose. To feel so desperately that you’re right, yet to fail nonetheless. It’s frightening. Turns the legs to jelly. I ask you, to what end?” The mad titan slowly walked towards the minus 1 toothed Captain Planet. “Dread it. Run from it. Destiny arrives all the same.”

“Like our relationship?!” Captain Planet’s face twisted like a fist in anguish. Thanos was startled. Sonic was also startled and he gasped another inner thought gasp (which was not audible to neither Thanos nor Captain Planet). 

And he, the blue hedgehog in cargo pants, would be lying if he said he was not aroused… 

Chapter 2 - The omnipotence of politics is philosophical in its poetry

“Reality is often disappointing.” Thanos somberly mutters. “That is, until I met you.” He looks at the glimmering reality infinity stone in infinity gauntlet and, even though there is an infinite number of realities he will into existence, he chooses not to do so. No. Not for DIC animation universe’s Captain Planet. Not the Cap’. Cap’ Pla’.

Captain Planet wipes the rolling tears off his shattered cheekbones and stands on his own two feet, which were not shattered. 

“And yet, the reality is, we both disappointed each other.” The green skinned Captain Planet said, despite the excruciating pain of talking with fractured face bones and missing teeth. 

A lump grows in Thanos’ throat. “Reality is often disappointing.” He reaffirms, despite having made a statement to the contrary moments earlier no less. The two former lovers stare at each other. 

Meanwhile, Sonic’s penis has reached maximum chub. He cannot contain himself and only made matters worse when he attempted a Texas tuck - a stealthy manoeuvre, wherein a man who has been stricken with an erection, attempts to conceal it by tucking it under the penis under the waistband. Although Sonic was able to do it without alerting the fighting lovers (he only made a slight erotic moan), the tip of his penis was now exposed and in the open. For alas, despite the cargo pants having an additional useful function, he had no t-shirt to cover his wee-willy-winky!

“You once talked about how things need correcting and that you were the only one to have the will to act on it.” Captain Planet says, after a long pause. “Will you use your will to will our relationship back into a state of correction?”

“I ignored my destiny once. I cannot do that again.” Thanos groans. “Not even for you.”

Captain Planet sobs. 

“I’m sorry little one.” Thanos says, referring to the size difference between the two. “With a snap of my fingers, I could make our relationship cease to exist. I call that… mercy.” 

There is a moment of shock and horror that stuns Captain Planet’s broken and shattered face into a state of pure astonished shock. Before he can scream a mighty ‘NOOO’, he is caught off midsentence as a blinding flash of white light explodes from the snapped fingers of Thanos’ infinity gauntlet. 

Sonic pears over the hedge or whatever he was hiding behind and watches in stunned, aroused amazement. He looks down at his penis. Precum is spilling over. 

“All that for a drop of cum?” Thanos says, towering over Sonic. “I knew you were there the whole time, Sonic the Hedgehog. Watching me.” 

Sonic is stunned into aroused silence and, despite the fear of seeing Marvel Universe’s Thanos The Mad Titan, he is deeply aroused. 

“B-But--”

“But what of Captain Planet?” Thanos finishes Sonic’s sentence for him. Looking over his shoulder, he looks at a seemingly cheerful Captain Planet (he even has his hands on his hips). “He knows nothing of the bond we once shared for each other.”

Captain Planet looks at the two, confused for a moment and not knowing where he is or how he got there. Instead, he gives a reassuring thumbs up to the pair and says “The power is YOURS!” for some reason. 

Thanos draws his attention back to Sonic and his erect member. 

“Let’s bring some balance to this world.” And with a twist of his infinity gauntlet, Thanos wields the power of the reality stone to remove first Sonic’s cargo pants, then Thanos’ own armoured battlesuit cargo pants. “See, now we’re even.”

Blushing furiously like a paedophile in a playground, Sonic rushes to cover his member with his gloved hands. And then his eyes land on it. Thanos’ large, throbbing cock. But even more shockingly, the hedgehog saw his testicles. Or rather ONE large testicle, which was shaped like a mango. Additionally, the scrotum was perfectly smooth and hairless and was not a wrinkled mess like the mad titan’s chin. Sonic’s mouth dropped in awe. 

“Oh, this? Look.” He grabs his testicle with his giant meat paw of a hand. “Pretty, isn’t it?” He then balances it on one finger. “Perfectly balanced --”

“As all things should be…” Sonic murmured, lost in a drunken haze of horniness. Thanos blushes a little before nodding.  

“Too much to one side…” He rubs a thumb over his testicle like a jeweller gently polishing a priceless diamond. “Or the other...” He repeats his thumb action as Sonic lurches towards the mad titan, as if mesmerised like a voodoo zombie (not like a modern day infected/disease/parasite zombie). “Here… you try…” He let’s go of his testicle and, like a deer in the headlights, Sonic gingerly grabs both the testicle and the penis with his mouth and hands. 

“Way too cool.” Sonic says.   

But before he’s able to get a proper go at it, Thanos lovingly picks Sonic up in his arms and walks a few feet towards a softer looking patch of grass… where they would make tender, sweet love.

Chapter 3 - The musings of morality and the courage and love that defines it

He tenderly lays down Sonic and, as if in a dream, awakens their sexual desires. But also like a dream, he is unable to remember exactly what it was that originally stirred this passion, or as much at all beyond the simple fact that he dreamed about being a sexually empowered blue hedgehog. He touches Thanos’ smooth, wrinkly, ballsack of a face as he warmly smiles his warm smile; he thinks that it is good to be a sexually empowered blue hedgehog with cargo pants but it is also good to be without cargo pants and able to consider the mystery of cargo pants… its beliefs and desires. I will write about all of this one day, Sonic - who is a hedgehog by the way - thinks, and knows it’s just a thought lost in passion, an after-dreaming thought. But it’s nice to think so for a while in the morning’s clean silence, to think that sexual empowerment and cargo pants have their own sweet secrets and confirms morality and that morality defines all courage and love. To think that what has looked forward must also look back and that each life makes its own imitation of immortality: a pair of cargo pants. 

Or so Sonic The Hedgehog thinks, as he lays fragile on the green grass of the Green Hill Zone, when he almost remembers his cargo pants and the friends with whom he shared them with. 

Chapter 4 - Thanos fucks Sonic the Hedgehog 

THANOS SPITS INTO HIS HAND AND SLAPS IT AGAINST SONIC THE HEDGEHOG’S PUCKERING BOY-PUSSY BEFORE SLAMMING HIS FUCKING GIANT COCK DEEPLY INTO IT SONIC WELPS BUT HE IS ROCKED WITH ECSTACY AS THANOS’ ONE PERFECTLY SMOOTH MANGO-LIKE TESTICLE SLAPS AGAINST HIS ASS CHEEKS AND BEFORE IT EVEN GOT GOOD IT IS OVER THANOS’ THROBBING PURPLE MEMBER SHOOTS A HUGE FUCKING LOAD INTO SONIC’S TIGHT BOY-PUSSY WHICH FORCES SONIC’S COCK TO THROB AND CUM HARD AND THEY ARE BOTH SPENT. 

CAPTAIN PLANET GIVES A REASSURING THUMBS UP.

Chapter 5 - The proliferation of agnosticism is idyllic in its pride

Sonic lays limply in the grass. His ass is broken, like his body. He rolls onto his side: Thanos is no longer there. 

Confused, bordering fever dream, sonic looks dizzily up to the sky. Thanos is in his space car (which looks like a Jetson’s style flying spaceship car by the way) and rolls down the window.

“Get tested.” he says, coldly, before zipping off into space.

Sonic lays there, confused.

Captain Planet gives a thumbs up.

“The power is yours!”

END