#(only to just end up with darkness that had time to steep and like obviously cant undo what they did experince)

[ghoul-foolery]

Dirty Windows | 27

Hancock x Nora - A Fallout 4 Soulmate AU

//

Fic Summary:

Hancock never thought he would find his soulmate. Once a common occurrence, soulmates turned into a bit of a rarity after the bombs dropped. It was to be expected when there was an influx of people getting shot in the face on a daily basis. So when Hancock discovered that he had a soulmate he was ecstatic; all of the people in the Commonwealth, and he was one of the lucky few.

Too bad his soulmate didn't want anything to do with him.

//

[ 1 ] <- [ 22 ] [ 23 ] [ 24 ] [ 25 ] [ 26 ] - [ 28 ]

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TW: Violence, drug use, mentions of rape, and trafficking. While there isn't heavy details, the situation is rather grim.

//

All of the spare time leading up to the meeting was spent searching the surrounding buildings neighboring Bunker Hill. If it had a good vantage point overlooking the front gate, it was meticulously combed through for any signs of recent activity. He looked for things like spent shells, or snuffed cigarettes, anything that could indicate a watcher or perhaps a partner waiting in the wings. He found nothing, but that didn’t stop him from revisiting the derelict buildings a second time just before midnight. After all of the time put into this little project it would be a damn shame if he ended up getting sniped in Bunker Hill. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t get sniped a little later in the evening but it was a small comfort knowing it wouldn’t happen right away.

Once the buildings were combed through, Hancock picked one that overlooked the meeting point and waited until Gerard showed up. Even in the dark, with some barely-there moonlight’s help, he was easy to spot. He had a lumbering sort of gait that meshed too easily with his messy appearance. Hancock recalled the way Gerard’s bleary glare turned into total clarity during their earlier meeting. The fucky walk was probably for show.

When Hancock finally left his vantage point and joined Gerard at the front gate, his meaty arms crossed over his too big chest and he growled, “The note said midnight.”

Hancock blinked owlishly, and hoped Gerard could see well enough as he pulled back the drooping sleeve of his shirt up along his forearm. Mottled skin, shrink-wrapped around muscle and bone. He tapped his index finger against his bare wrist.

“Sorry brother. This ol’ thing has never worked right.”

Had to make sure you didn’t bring friends, you gross fuck, he wanted to say but didn’t. Didn’t realize you trafficker types were so fucking punctual, my bad.

Plus, it was maybe 12:05. Come on. 

There was a low huff of annoyance at his antics. Then Gerard rumbled, “You bring caps? It’s gonna be a thousand up front.”

“Steep fuckin’ door fee.”

Hancock unshouldered one of the straps of his pack, then swung it around to the front. Reaching in, he withdrew the required caps. This was business. The right type of person could be a hot commodity. If their entrance fee was so steep they obviously had a very specific clientele. That, or this was the special ghoul fee. Once the caps were accepted, Gerard shouldered past him and started walking. Hancock followed at a respectable pace, and watched ol’ Gerry like a hawk. Every move that brick shithouse of a man made, Hancock followed and analyzed. The man packed a couple of weapons on his person, a pistol at his hip, a rifle resting in a holster on his back. Then there were his fists. Hancock had his sawed-off shotgun strapped to his hip, and his knife which was hidden inside the baggy denim of his jeans. It was strapped to the inside of his thigh and was only accessible if he reached down through the cut open material of his pocket. Or he could shove his hand down his pants, depending on the situation. If he was fast enough, it would do in a pinch. Regardless, he doubled-down on the idea of taking Gerard out at a distance if he could. 

Gerard weaved a deliberately confusing path through what was once downtown Boston, doubling back after turning down one block, and then making a return trip a few streets later. Hancock followed the guy through the dark in uneventful silence for nearly an hour before they reached their destination. It was some big ol’ concrete warehouse that had strong enough bones to withstand bombs, and time. It looked abandoned. The place wasn’t crawling with guards, no one was camped out on the roof, or guarding the loading dock that took up the broadside of the building. There wasn’t a single indication that someone had taken up doing business inside. They drifted through old vehicles and debris in the parking lot, circling around to the side of the building where there was a single doorway. Gerry went in, and Hancock followed.

Once the door was shut, cold light flickered on above them. The bulbs were ancient. Old enough to be humming with sound the moment that they turned on. The lighting was just bright enough to show off the structure of the room — a narrow hallway that stretched maybe 20 feet, lined with old lockers, and metal shelving — but dim enough to be mostly useless. 

Without so much as a word, Gerard suddenly lurched towards him, yanking Hancock’s shotgun from its holster. Even with his fucked up olfactory, standing in such close proximity in an enclosed space, Hancock could smell the man. It was a sour mix of booze, bile, urine. Hancock bit his tongue to keep himself from making a comment. And when his gun was tossed to the floor, just before he was pushed forward down the hall, he refrained from throwing his fist into Gerard’s face.

Bringing a gun into a trafficking den had been mostly wishful thinking on his part, and while he still had the knife the loss of the gun set him a little further on edge. The knife was accessible, but not easily, and while he was confident in his abilities the knife would take more effort, more precision, more closeness. Hancock made his way down the hall, regardless. He’d faced less favorable odds. Unless there was a swarm of armed guards on the other side of the door, the mission was still a go. As he was ushered down the hall, he tried to exude as much calm and collected vibes as possible. There was no reason for him to fret about the gun, he wasn’t going to cause any trouble, there was no need for it. There was no need to worry, and so he wasn’t. He was calm. He was relaxed. He was here to buy premium product and he would do his damn best to act like it.

When they got to the opposing door at the end of the hall, Gerry slammed a meaty fist into the old metal. It echoed cavernously, filling the hall and eliciting a series of curses from the other side. Then there was the sound of clanking, metal on metal. Gerry huffed an impatient breath. Hancock shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It felt like actual minutes before the door swung open, and the stench wafting off of Gerry only seemed to get worse the longer he was forced to bask in it. Like he could taste it. The relief Hancock felt when the door opened was short lived, however. A bit of air circulation sent the stink away, but then he got to see inside their base of operations and he felt a little sick for another reason. After a quick pat down he was ushered forward. The door was shut behind him. 

The room was big, and well lit. Off to the immediate left there was a couch, a coffee table littered with chems and booze. That was fine. That was home, basically. But then, in the middle of the room, there were a series of metal, barred cages. They were small, short. Not tall enough to stand upright in, and narrow enough that the poor soul within could barely stretch out. And each cage was separate from the other. No way to seek comfort from a neighbor in the cage next door, but 360 access to whoever came in to leer. There were seven in total, and two of them were empty. Beyond the cages there was a metal-framed twin bed tucked into the far corner. There was a naked woman on the bed, hands cuffed to the frame, ankles tied with rope and secured to prevent any kicking. There was a shining scrap of duct tape over her mouth. 

Hancock’s gut flipped. The room smelled like sex, and blood, and alcohol and chems. There was a part of him that wished he never knew that this hell hole existed. He wished he’d never had the misfortune of learning Cecil’s name. There was bliss in ignorance, freedom in being fucking oblivious. Unfortunately for the assholes running this particular shit show, Hancock was neither of those things. Not anymore. He was going to make this right. As right as he could, anyway.

“You got caps?” The guy who answered the door asked. 

There was a tinge of animosity in his tone, some kind of sneering contempt that managed to pull Hancock’s attention from the ‘merchandise’. Where he would have assumed that the tone was because he was a ghoul, actually looking at the guy painted a picture. The guy’s eyes were a little glossy, the pupils a little too big. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his pants were undone. Stains blotted the material around his crotch and thighs, and Hancock didn’t need to stare to know what kind of stains they were. Then there was the half-chub he was sporting. Hancock’s eyes drifted to the woman on the bed. The fucker was cock-blocked by Hancock’s arrival.

“Yeah, a few,” Hancock said casually. The people in the cages were mostly limp, unmoving save for breathing. 

“There is a fee for looking and a fee for touching.”

Hancock paid both. Some of the caps he provided were pre-bagged, shit he used with the kind salesman MacCready ended up sniping. Once the fees were paid, Hancock made his approach, veering towards a cage that was closest to the door he’d come through. The woman was petite, skinny to the point of being malnourished. A curtain of tangled black hair covered her face, and Hancock reached in to move it aside. She was pretty, with sharp features, full lips and long lashes — but there were bruises. A lot of them. They blotted the skin around her eye, her mouth, her neck and arms. When Hancock reached in, her whole body contracted into a tiny ball with a wavering moan. 

Slowly, he lingered to the next cage, inspecting the next victim. The cage housed a man, bound, gagged, and looking lucid enough to glare at him murderously. With the salesmen at his back, Hancock winked at the man before his gaze shifted to the woman on the bed. She was trembling, eyes wild as she tugged and squirmed at her binds.

“That’s a new one,” Door guy said, “Hasn’t been properly broken in yet. Still got a bit of a fight in her, if you’re into that sorta thing.”

Hancock rasped, “Is that what you were doin’ when we showed up? Breakin’ her in?”

There was a low chuckle in response.

Black eyes swept over the cages again. Fuck this fucking place. Fuck these fucking people thinking they had the right to sell anyone. He had to take care to keep himself calm, to keep his breath even. It was hard not to think that the second empty cage had been meant for Nora. His soulmate could have ended up here so easily…

“So, I heard this little outfit would go hunting for something specific,” he drawled, glancing over at the two men loitering behind him. “I was told to talk to Cecil?”

“Specific - like what?”

There was already a sickening sort of anger churning in his guts. Digging for more information was only going to make it worse, but he had to ask — even if it was just for the sake of knowing if there was anyone else he needed to add to his shit list. With his back to Gerard and gross guy, Hancock made a show of shoving his hand into his pants to make a few adjustments. He reached for the hilt of his Bowie knife, and pulled it from the sheath. When the handle was tucked up along the waist of his pants he turned his back to the cage hoping his clothes were baggy enough that it would go unnoticed.

Gerard was a few feet away, his body stiff with tension as he shadowed Hancock. Gross guy had veered over to the couch and had taken a seat. He’d lit up a cigarette, and was shaking a canister of jet near his ear.

“Heard there was a vaultie running around somewhere up North. Fresh to the Commonwealth.”

“Yeah, we’ve heard. Boss isn’t here to work pricing, but it could get pretty steep depending on how you want her handled during delivery.”

Talking about delivering people like he was delivering produce. And Cecil wasn’t home. All of the waiting, all of this goddamn waiting for fucking nothing. 

Hancock was unable to keep the anger from growling out low in his throat as he rasped, “The fuck you mean he ain’t here?”

“If you wanna schedule a meeting with him, we can do that. If you ain’t interested in what we have to offer you can leave until he gets back,” Gerard replied, allowing his hand to drop to his pistol.

The asshole on the couch went still, eyes catching his partner’s movement before he went to watch Hancock who started forward. The pace was slow, casual. Just enough to hopefully be non threatening. Taking Gerard out from afar was preferable, but he was down to just the knife. Closer, he needed to be just a little closer.

“And how long will that take? By the sound of it, some asshole has been sellin’ my vaultie’s information all over the fucking place, and I’m calling dibs.” 

“He should be here sometime this afternoon or tomorrow.”

Good enough.

There was time to take care of these fuckers and clear out the folks in the cages. There was time to get these poor people someplace safe before Cecil returned. He could be lying in wait when Cecil returned.

Without breaking stride, Hancock threw his knife. The movement was fluid, a byproduct of consistent training, and muscle memory. One second the blade was tucked into the waistband of his pants and the next it was twisting in his hand, the back of the blade fitting right along his index finger — and then it was sinking into Gerry’s throat with a juicy, bloody, squelch. 

The man’s eyes bulged, and a burst of blood came from his mouth as he coughed and sputtered. It felt good shutting him up. Even in the heat of the moment, as Hancock surged towards Gerard’s crumpling body to rearm himself, it felt like victory. It felt like hanging Vic from the balcony of the State House. It felt like— a goddamn fucking baseball bat plowing into his arm as he reached for his throat-stuck knife.

Hancock recoiled, lurching back and away from Gerard’s corpse just to catch the bat in the chest. The force of the blow banished the air from his lungs, and it was Hancock’s turn to topple to the floor. His head kissed the concrete, and the bat swung again. Hancock rolled, narrowly avoiding another swing of the bat — it cracked against the ground as he surged towards Gerard’s body. Gasping for air, vision splotchy, Hancock ripped the pistol from the holster at Gerard’s waist. The bat found his ribs.

“You thought you could come in here and—“ Door guy’s voice was drowned out by gunfire. The shooting started as soon as the gun was pointed in his general direction. The first bullet sank into his shin. The second went into the meat of his upper thigh, then his gut, his chest — and the rest of the magazine missed as his baseball bat wielding assailant also fell to the ground. 

Hancock flopped to his back, stretching out beside dead Gerard, and a growing pool of blood. He could feel the sticky liquid sinking into the shoulder of his shirt, all warm and thick. He took a deep breath, and when it hitched in pain, he figured that he maybe broke a rib. With his arm curled over his aching chest, he prodded at his rib cage and instantly regretted it.

“Y-yeah, that feels broken,” he told the room, his voice weak and airy. “G-gimme a minute, kids. I’ll…” A shallow gasp, and he closed his eyes. “Just… one second…”

From all the time in the world to no time at all.

There was a feminine groan, but it didn’t belong to anyone in the room. That was his Nora, and she sounded hurt. With his eyes closed, his brows furrowed in confusion before he realized he was reaching for her, searching for some kind of comfort.

”J-John?"

"Hey, honey," he managed.. "Just... wanted t'see if you were a...wake..." Breathing was hard. Keeping his eyes open was harder.

"What happened?"

He didn’t remember answering, and he certainly didn’t remember drifting off. But he woke to the sound of something rattling, loud and urgent. His body jolted, and he groaned, tugging his bum arm against his chest. The woman on the bed was rattling her handcuffs. He wondered how long he had been out… he’d been hoping to wait for Cecil. So he could greet the fucker when he arrived. The new plan was getting everyone out of this hell hole and to Goodneighbor safely, and if he could barely fucking breathe…  

He reached through the bond again, “Nora?”

“God, John, are you okay? What happened?”

“I don’t mean to worry you…” his words were broken by strained gasps of air as he slowly pushed himself to his feet. Gerard’s puddle of blood had cooled beneath him. “But… Imma’fraid imma need some help. Sooner the better, if y’can.”

“Of course,” came the immediate response. Hancock heard Nora whispering MacCready’s name, and then the kid’s drowsy grumbling. “Tell me where you are. We’re leaving – RJ, come on. John needs help – we’re leaving right now.”

Dark eyes peered at the woman on the bed, at the man in the cage who was staring at him, they were still the only lucid people there – he couldn’t have been out for too long. Even if he had made it out of the mess without getting injured there was no way he would have been able to corral everyone through the fens by himself, not in the state they were in. He suddenly wished he would have brought Fahrenheit along. Maybe a small army. “Help‘s comin’, kids.”

In the meantime, he would start by looking for keys to the cages – his ribs screamed as he huffed a breath – and maybe a couple of stimpacks.

//

Tag/s: @takottai / @a-little-pebbl  / @yamatra / @bubblegum-bee-otch

[valandhirwriter]

Snippet fresh from last night

Usually I don't share snippets that I just wrote, but as a certain someone is going around whining again, I decided to put out something that is actually fun. @tigerlyla-of-metinna and @laurikarauchscat, this is especially for you, as you were impacted by the latest wave of nastiness. @regis-favorite-raven knows the story idea already, because we talk story ideas every chance we get. This is a story beginning, who knows where it will lead.

Watchers and Hunters

Hello, hello, is there

Someone there who cares

For godforsaken souls

And godforsaken men?

Is there someone there who cares?

(MonoINC: Across the Waves)

Duny stumbled through the forest, hand pressed against his wounded flank, trying to duck behind bushes and boulders. Behind him, he could hear the baying of the hounds and the creaking of branches as the hunters followed him deeper and deeper into the forest. His three months of relative safety, hidden on an almost abandoned estate just south of the Amell Mountains had found their abrupt end through betrayal. Of the very few loyalists remaining another had decided that it was time to buy himself influence by betraying him to the Usurper. Duny had been warned, Ardal aep Dahy had again learned about the threat and warned him, but also letting him know that it was too dangerous to do anything more for him. Early in his flight, he had helped another man, saved him in fact, but had been forced to move on, once he had tended to his wounds. He was on his own, his feet carrying him further north, hopefully away from the hunters, hopefully, he would reach Cintran territory just soon enough for them to pull back or run into a Cintran border patrol. No such luck was forthcoming at the moment. 

The baying came closer and he could hear the sound of hooves, the hunters were catching up to him. Desperately he leaped across a boulder, racing uphill, deeper into the mountain forest. The huge trees offered little cover, and the underbrush wasn’t yet fully green, so he could not hide. The air burned in his lungs, as he reached the hillcrest, and looked panicked for a way down, the hillside was steep, and the woods stretching ahead of him, like an endless sea. Carefully he stepped downwards, maybe he could find an overhang, to hide under. 

The soft wet earth gave way under him and Duny lost his footing skidding downhill, his body thrown against rocks and bushes, unable to stop the tumbled until landing hard inside a mountain stream, the icy water soaking his clothes. The greater shock although was the head of a horse, standing beside the water to quite obviously drink, with a second horse only a few steps away. Beside the horses stood two warriors, one of them seemingly ready to go for his weapon, while the other had his blade already in hand, both of their eyes were trained on Duny. 

His stomach lurched, they had found him. The man with the sword was of medium height, appearing still tall to Duny’s eyes, with short dark hair and a short cropped beard, eyes hard and distrustful. Duny would have been frightened of him already, had his companion not been even scarier. Seven foot tall, broad shoulders, packing heavy muscle, with long slightly unkempt brown hair, and hands like paws. He didn’t need a sword to be scary. In broad daylight, Duny had no hope they could not see what monstrosity had just fallen into the stream, even if they were not with the hunters, who seemed to be on the other side of the hill at the moment. 

Duny scrambled backwards, falling over his own feet and landing in the water again, panic rising inside him. “Make it swift, please,” he whispered. He had been in a torture chamber once, he had no wish to repeat the experience.

Strangely the warriors did not attack him, nor did they show any fear or shock. The tall one looked up, his chin pointing towards the hill. “They after you?” he asked in Northern Common.

Duny had learned the language as a boy, a Prince had to understand the tongue of the neighbouring countries, but he had never had reason to use the language so far. “Tá, ceapaim… yes,” Duny struggled to use the correct tongue. 

The tall warrior suddenly advanced, faster than Duny could see, grabbing his arm, and pulling him out of the water, pulling him to their side of the stream. “Get behind me,” he said, his voice a deep resonant baritone. 

The next moment Duny saw why: hooves thundering came their way, the riders had moved around the hill and came towards them. Their hounds first baying, but then falling back and whining in fear. Surprised Duny watched as the huge hunting hounds slunk back behind the riders, who halted their horses in a few steps distance of the two warriors. He searched their ranks and his heart sank. They were led by Islwyn of Betws-y-Coed, and he hated Emhyr’s family with a vengeance. 

Still Islwyn stopped his horse and raised his to signall the other riders to follow suit. “I have no quarrel with you strangers,” he said in Northern Common, “that one,” he gestured distainfully towards Duny, “is a fugitive from Nilfgaard, with a high price on his head. Let us have him, and the coin will be yours. How do 5000 Florens sound?” 

Duny bit his lip, the sum was large enough to entice much wealthier people, and these two warriors were most likely mercenaries, who wouldn’t say no to easy pay. He peered around, assessing where to run, when the tall one spoke. “Fuck off,” he didn’t waste any more words on the riders.

“Look around you,” Islwyn replied, seemingly unfazed, “we are a dozen men, and you are two. Why seek a fight with us, over a boy you just found?” 

The smaller one gave him a sardonic smile. “Forgive my comrade here, for not being a man of many words,” he said, in almost cultured tones. “What he meant to say is: Go fuck yourselves. There is a cave a mile east of here, that we can recommend for such activities.” 

Duny felt his mouth fall agape, when he heard the rude recommondation spoken in perfectly calm tones. Islwyn’s eyes widened, he obviously was shocked by the rudeness too, but he reigned his temper in, with visible effort. “This is my last offer, give us the boy and live, resist and you will die.”

The tall warrior slowly drew a long dagger, flipping it around in his hand. “Why don’t you come here, and we insert this into your pert little ass, see if you can take it like a man?” he asked, and Duny shuddered, was it possible that the warrior was spoiling for a fight?

Islwyn certainly was, because he spurred his horse forward with a scream, into attack. The dagger left the warrior’s hand, hitting the horses’ neck, making it fall, colliding with a second rider, pulling him down, a third horse falling over the corpses. The tall warrior sprinted towards them, drawing his blade, Islwyn never came back to his feet, he died from an almost casual hit to the neck, a second rider followed. The tall warrior moved with a speed and strength that seemed impossible, he whirled between his attackers, weeding them out faster than Duny could count. One, another, a third… 

It was over before Duny could truly process all that had happened. The last hunter was brought to his knees and beheaded with one clean strike. The tall warrior stood, his breath even, he wasn’t even panting and his eyes went to his comrade. “I know, you are still hibernating, Ivo, but why don’t you wake up and give me a hand here?” he asked. 

The smaller man - Ivo - barked a laugh. “You were having fun, Axios, and you are always itchy after a winter. And what do we want with those idiots? They were crow bait now.”

Axios had sheathed his sword and pulled Islwyn’s corpse from under the horse, swiftly searching him. “Mighty fine, cowbait, there’ll be coin, clothes, and boots, at the very least. Look at the mite over there, does he look well geared to you?” he asked. 

Duny felt the heat rise in his cheeks, about the offhand comment. “I am not a mite,” he said, pride refusing to swallow mockery. He might be a cursed abomination, but he would not be belittled. 

“No, you are a cute little hedgehog,” Axios replied, “and you won’t get far in those rags you are wearing,” 

Instinctively Duny touched his chest, the clothes he wore, were still the ones, he had worn three months ago, when he escaped. They were his last link to who he had been, to all that had been washed away in blood. He wanted to dispute the words, but instead he sneezed loudly, as his body began to register the icy wet clothes. 

“C’me here,” Axios got up, waving Duny close, as he slid his own cloak, a thick monstrosity made of fur, from his shoulders and wrapped it around Duny. “There, that’ll keep you from freezing, until we have you at a fire. Now Ivo - move it, or I will leave you in some heap of leaves to sleep for another month.”

The two warriors swiftly searched the corpses and saddlebags, collecting gold, a few other items, weapons, clothes, a saddle-roll, working were swiftly, they soon had stashed the haul on one of the horses. “Come,” Axios gently nudged Duny to approach one of the horses, it was a huge hairy animal, with a shaggy mane, shaggy tail and shaggy fur. It huffed, when he came close. 

“Horses don’t like me,” Duny said, knowing how this would go. He had tried to steal a horse, twice, and learned that tame animals disliked him with a passion. 

“He knows better,” Axios replied. “Get on the horse, let’s be gone when they friends show up, and they are only a mile out.” 

Duny mounted the huge animal, and Axios followed suit, mounting behind Duny. One arm wrapped around Duny, securing him, while the other hand took the rains, before he clucked his tongue, and the horse began to walk. Soon both horses were trotting steadily along a winding paths deeper into the mountains, miles and miles falling behind them, as they moved further and further away from where they had found Duny. 

Duny had closed his eyes, he was still shivering, but the warm cloak helped a lot, as did the warm arm, securing him. He wanted to sleep, let his exhaustion claim him, but he couldn’t. Since his escaped he could count the moments when someone had honestly helped him on one hand. And that was counting the man who had given his life to allow Duny to escape at all. Those others who had helped him, all had known who he was and hoped for some kind of reward or leverage later. The two warriors, Ivo and Axios, made no sense in that regard. 

“Only Nilfgaard after you, or the bitch in Cintra too?” Axios asked after a while. 

“Nilfgaard,” Duny replied, his mind racing. “I don’t… I am not sure whether Cintra would count too. I do not know what happened recently, whether they ventured forth with the trade agreement, and what conditions they added. There might be a bounty in Cintra too, depending on that.” 

Ivo made a face. “Tell me again, Axios, why we had to rescue this little chatterbox?” he asked with growl, before looking a Duny. “A simple: I don’t know, would suffice.”

“But that’s incorrect,” Duny found himself saying. “There are factors that weight both ways, after the Uprising. Involving Cintra into the hunt for survivors, would yield a valuable ally in the North, but also expose the names of Nilfgaards enemy’s to the Queen of Cintra, which in turn could be used against Nilfgaard. Not sharing that information on the other hand, would guard Nilfgaard’s secrets but would almost certainly open chances for people to escape north.” 

“Oh… shut up, will you?” Ivo grumbled, and Axios gently squeezed Duny’s arm with an amused chuckle and Duny fell silent.

They rode for hours, until the sun began to set in the west and the two horses stopped near a small mountain pond. Looking around Duny wondered how far from people they were, it felt like they were deep in the woods. In spite of still feeling cold he began to make himself useful around camp, all too aware that he was dependent on the two warrior’s good graces. When he returned from refilling all waterskins at the stream feeding the pond, a fire was merrily burning, and Ivo was busy throwing something into the small kettle hanging above. 

Axios waved Duny closer. “Let’s get you into some decent things, these mountains aren’t as warm as the plains down there,” he said, unrolling the things he had taken from the dead men, or extricated from their saddlebags. 

Duny was hesitant to get rid off his damaged clothing, a part of him wanted to hang on to it, to somehow keep that last connection to his home in existence, but he knew it was useless. He needed warmer clothes, and sturdier ones as well. He nodded slowly, and took the things Axios handed him. The black tunic must have belonged to the elf among the hunters, because it fit Duny’s fine-bonded frame well enough, the breeches were a tad too long, but otherwise serviceable and the boots Axios handed him, surprisingly worked too. 

A sudden wave of pain hit Duny, and he crashed to his knees, as he felt his body convulse and his human form assess itself, as the night came. He shuddered, trying to not make a noise. Huge hands clasped his shoulders, steadying him. “Breathe,” he heard Axios say. “In… out… the pain is just the wind, brushing past you…”

Duny panted, as the pain slowly abated and his human form fully emerged. He looked up, surprised to see Axios face free of disgust or revulsion. Why did he not react to Duny’s monstrous existence. In the semidark warm hazel eyes shimmered softly. The breath fled from Duny’s lungs when he realised what he had not seen before. “You are a vatt’ghren, a Witcher,” he said softly. 

“And the little Nilfgaardian get it,” Ivo replied wryly, while stirring the cauldron. “Name’s Ivo of Belhaven, School of the Bear.” 

“My name is Axios,” the taller one said, “also school of the bear. And what might your name be?” 

For a moment Duny was tempted to say the truth, to just admit who he was and be done with all of it. He was dead anyway, crow-bait as Axios had called the hunters earlier on. But no, he wouldn’t give himself away. “Duny,” he replied. It was a name from a story he had loved, and that he had chosen, because it made him feel somehow a little better.

“Duny,” Axios replied, “why don’t we go over, eat a bite, and you can tell us about your curse, or spell gone wrong, if you like.” 

Slowly Duny followed him to the fire, accepting a jar of soup from Ivo. The hot liquid felt good and only now he realised how hungry he had been. “I’d… I’d rather not talk about it,” he said softly, after a while. “You’ve seen what it does. I am human at night, and a monster by day. I am grateful you helped me, but… there’s nothing you can do.” 

He was grateful neither Witcher pressed him for answers. Instead they left him to eat in peace, Ivo handing him another cup of soup after a little bit, and with the food in his belly, Duny began to feel tired. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep by the fire, warmly snuggled under Axios’ fur cloak. 

[peterbythewayi]

Being human

What if the team of guys on a mission had a sixth person - a female Marine from intelligence?

Part VIII

They walked the rest of the way to the mountains in silence, only occasionally exchanging glances to make sure their partner was okay. Most often, Santiago looked around - at the beginning of the journey, Anna always walked behind him, which is why he had to check if the girl was walking; in the end, unable to bear it, he let her go ahead of him and now she was not walking last, as before, but between him and William. This made him feel much calmer.

Having reached the ridge, the team walked along a narrow mountain road, on which a person had to walk sideways. This time, Santiago led the way, while Kushing stayed behind, next to Frankie and the elder Miller.

Will's mule was stubborn; he had to almost forcefully drag the animal forward, but it did not go further than a few steps. He also constantly crashed into Benny walking in front, which brought the younger Miller's mule dangerously close to falling and he barely had time to pull the animal back. Once again he could not stand it:

"Stop pushing on me, man. It's steep here!"

"Obviously, man!" Will noted ironically, clutching the rock behind him with his hands, "we're on the side of a fucking mountain!"

Frankie stopped Kushing a meter away from Will and stopped himself, noticing that the brothers had stopped moving forward.

"Just shut up and concentrate! Jesus Christ!" he shouted at the Millers.

William exhaled and stared at Benny, who stared back at him silently.

"Come on, just go,” the elder blurted out, to which the brother completely boiled:

"Fuck you!"

"Oh, really? Keep going!"

"You wanna do this?"

The brothers' argument, or rather their loud shout, frightened Frankie's mule. He tried to calm him down, but to no avail - the donkey screamed heart-rendingly, while the Millers quarreled in raised voices over a trifle.

"Shut up, both of you!" Anna shouted, forcing the brothers into silence, "Our lives are literally hanging by a thread, and you are fighting out of nowhere, like two children who did not share the candy!"

Her voice, although quite loud, somewhat pacified Frankie's mule (if Benny could joke, he would certainly say that this was due to the fact that Anna was a female, and the mule had no one for a long time, but he was not in that position). However, the girl, noticing the younger Miller’s angry look, angrily said:

"What, Miller, wanna answer me? Well then, come on!"

He remained silent, only clenching his jaw tightly from overwhelming rage. For a moment, Anna even thought that she had gone too far, but Ben, raising his chin, silently trudged forward, no longer looking back at either the girl or his brother.

When they reached the pass, they made a kind of climb out of ropes and split up - Frankie threw the bags, Benny stood at the very bottom, Anna and Will in the middle, and Tom and Santiago stood at the top of the rock. Everyone pulled their bags with all their might in order to quickly drag them over the mountain and make a short rest. They were very exhausted and everyone needed at least some rest.

The team, having lifted all the bags up, dragged them away from the cliff and, since it was getting dark, decided to take a break. They sat in a semicircle and this time Kushing got a place between Santiago and Benny. She still hadn’t talked to him, and therefore, reluctantly throwing one of the bags under her ass, sat down on it and gloomily folded her arms over her chest.

“You could freeze an Eskimo's asshole out here,” Will muttered, licking his frozen and cold lips.

“I demand a fire,” Benny said in a boyish, offended manner.

“Me too,” Anna said, putting her hands in her armpits to keep warm.

The guy glanced at her quickly and pursed his lips.

“We cold camp,” sighed the elder Miller, and they looked gloomily in his direction, almost rolling their eyes.

Benny, looking back, took a hundred dollar bill out of his bag and set it on fire, after which he looked at his brother defiantly.

"Fuck you. This is my "fuck you" money."

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?"

He snorted and brought the burning bill to Anna, allowing the girl to warm her frozen palms on it. She sighed and closed her eyes with relief, feeling the warmth emanating from the fire. Having warmed up a little, Ben set fire to the whole pack and threw it in the middle, creating an impromptu fire.

“We don't have enough men to carry this money, so we might as well be warm,” Tom said and, as a sign of confirmation, unloaded a whole bag of money that was slowly burning.

Without thinking twice, they climbed up and crowded around the fire, finally warming up. The jackets they wrapped themselves in had never warmed them like this, this fire. The youngest in their team, Anna and Benny, thanks to their rebellious behavior, were able to beg for the fire they needed, despite Will's silent protests. He knew that if his brother set his horns on some idea, he would not give up, and Kushing, apparently, was from the same category.

* * *

The sun had already been shining full blast for a long time when shots were heard somewhere nearby. The guys and the girl, dragging the bags, managed to duck, hiding behind the ledges from the bullets and pulling out their weapons.

“I'm hit!” Benny shouted and Anna, who was near him, took aim, deftly shot one of the attackers and turned to the guy:

"Benny, you all right?"

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just grazed my shoulder,” he answered.

The girl hastily licked her lips, looking around at the highest points in the place where they were. According to her calculations, there were three or four attackers, if you take into account the one she had already shot. If they could climb a little higher and look around with a rifle...

"Oh, he likes me so much!" Tom shouted.

"Then you better keep your head down!" - Anna advised, firing a couple more shots.

"Pope, can you step out?" Will shouted, attracting Santiago's attention, "work up the trailhead!"

“All right,” he nodded immediately, “flank right, make sure no one else is coming up below!”

"I'll cut up behind you!" Frankie responded.

Garcia deftly climbed the rocks, taking up space between two ledges and dodging bullets at the same time. Kushing, who remained below, cast a quick glance at Ben and nodded to him, and went around, occupying one of the lowlands that offered a view of the entire area.

“I think Pope's in position, right now” Ben informed them.

The guys fell silent; Without further ado, they gave each other commands and moved along the stones, looking at both sides. Anna saw everyone through the scope, and therefore was very surprised when Tom changed his position, moving down and aiming somewhere. Before she even had time to adjust her aim, a sharp pain pierced her left shoulder. My vision darkened for a moment, a second shot rang out in my ears; Not understanding what she was doing, the girl, in shock, again lay down on the stones and walked along the ridge with her sight. The dimmed gaze caught on the bright unfamiliar T-shirt looming before her eyes and Kushing, without hesitation, pulled the trigger.

Pale Tom, with wide eyes, collapsed to the ground, looking dumbfounded at the breathless guy who had collapsed on the stones. The man crawled to the side; Frankie and Santiago immediately ran up to him, helping him to a sitting position. The Millers approached them a couple of seconds later.

“Oh, fuck,” exclaimed Benny, who was looking around, and rushed forward. The men looked after him in confusion and almost cursed at what they saw.

Clutching her shoulder with bloody fingers, Anna walked slowly towards them, clutching the machine gun thrown over herself with her wounded hand. She barely dragged her feet and when Benny ran up to her, she almost fell on him, catching herself in time.

He stopped her, sitting her down on the ground so that her torso was above the level of her legs and unbuttoned her vest, after which he took off her jacket and shirt from one shoulder, assessing the wound. He pulled out a tourniquet from somewhere and tightly pulled his shoulder above the wound, to which Anna groaned, covering her eyes with her elbow, where tears appeared.

“Hush, hush, Anna, damn it, shit,” Benny rummaged through his pockets in search of a first aid kit, at the same time calming the girl, “Now I’ll bandage you and everything will be fine.”

Ben put on a bandage, fortunately the bullet went right through, and bandaged everything. He acted quickly, clearly and measuredly - just like Anna when she bandaged Will in Lorea's house.

“I’m alright,” the girl whispered hoarsely, to which he could not hold back a sad chuckle.

“I know, baby girl, I know,” Benny chuckled, deftly buttoning her shirt and jacket and helping her stand up to put on her vest, “now for sure.”

Kushing snorted, but whispered a quiet "thank you" as she grabbed Ben's with her good hand and lifted herself up. His strong hands grabbed her good shoulder and back, keeping her standing so she wouldn't fall.

"Anna, you okay?" Santiago asked worriedly and the girl twitched the corner of her lips.

"Yeah, just a scratch."

"It’ll heal before the wedding,” Benny nodded and Anna snorted, to which he immediately responded: “You still think my jokes aren’t funny, so it’s not that bad.”

“Idiot,” she shook her head, pulling away and squinting at the severe pain in her shoulder.

“You saved me,” Tom said when they finally approached him and he looked up at the girl, meeting her sparkling golden-brown eyes, looking at him without a trace of anger. Her short hair fluttered in the wind, revealing a pale face and a thin girlish neck.

She just shrugged.

“This is my job.”

Tom rose up and Anna, raising her head, squinted, staring at him with an incomprehensible look.

“Thank you,” he said unexpectedly, and for a second it seemed to her that she had misheard.

However, Benny's hand, reassuringly squeezing her shoulder, brought her back to reality and Anna forced a smile.

“Okay, let’s go, end this pleasantries ,” Frankie finally says and the team, sighing heavily, continued their work.

It was easier to lower the bags than to drag them up the mountain - things went much faster. Well, if you can call it that, because now they had two wounded, and while Will had recovered a little over the intervening time, Kushing, who had recently been shot, could barely drag herself, let alone the heavy bags.

“Hey, enough, don’t carry it any more,” Santiago, who came up, stopped her, carefully taking her by her healthy forearm and pulling her back.

“I’m fine,” Anna waved it off, weakly removing her mentor’s hands. “I injected myself with morphine.”

He opened his mouth in surprise and the girl laughed quietly from his amazed expression.

"You're crazy."

“I am,” she patted him on the shoulder with a smirk and stretched her neck, again stomping upstairs for a new set of bags.

Santiago, following her with his gaze, shook his head reproachfully, muttering under his breath, “she’s stubborn, damn it.”

Benny, who was slowly climbing upstairs, was quietly humming a song, and Anna couldn’t help but notice that he had a very beautiful voice. Deep and with a slight hoarseness, it enveloped the girl walking next to him completely, completely immersing her in herself. She closed her eyes, slowly walking upstairs to the quiet singing of the guy.

[elliepassmore]

All That Consumes Us review

4.5/5 stars Recommended if you like: ghosts, dark academia, light horror, college settings, mystery, LGBTQ+ characters Big thanks to Netgalley, HarperTeen, and the author for an ARC in exchange for an honest review! This book actually surprised me with the opening, which was different than what I'd expected. That being said, a lot of the other plot points in the book were very predictable and it wasn't hard to figure out what was going to happen/going on as soon as the first threads were laid. I was actually kind of surprised Tara didn't put it together immediately. That being said, Waters does a good job with atmospheric writing and that really came through here. Before we're even inducted into Magni Viri, the world of Corbin College is set with fog and prestige and tradition. Magni Viri adds an additional layer to this, and the Victorian mansion is both elegant and creepy. The natural surroundings come into play somewhat too, with cicadas, bats, forest, and fog all playing at least somewhat of a role in creating the mood and setting. I'm personally a fan of eco-horror and Southern Gothic, so I would've liked a bit more of nature/setting as a character, but the genre of this book is dark academia, so what's here fits the bill. Magni Viri is, as mentioned, steeped in secrecy and tradition. Only people who have been inducted have set foot inside the dormitory and there are whispers around Corbin College that students in Magni Viri perform dark rituals. There's a good balance in Magni Viri of the academically/artistically intense and the supernaturally strange. The students are talented and are dedicated to their fields of study, sometimes to an unhealthy level, which contributes to the vibes of the story. Our main character Tara has the fortune of being inducted into Magni Viri with a concentration in writing. Her dream is to become a writer and so being able to join should be everything she wants, but imposter syndrome and strange goings-on plague her as the semester progresses. It kind of bothered me how insecure Tara was. She applied to a prestigious academic group and wanted it with everything she had....but then she constantly doubts her own worth and questions her place. Like, you either think you're good enough for prestige or you don't, you can't waffle in the middle. Luckily, this is also kind of the advice Tara gets from other people, though she isn't too good at following (or trying to follow) it. Tara seems at least a little more confident by the end of the book, which is good, but it would've been nice to see it a bit earlier. There's a bit of an ensemble cast, but the main people are Penny, Tara's kind-of girlfriend, and Wren, Tara's roommate. Jordan, Neil, and Azar are other members of the freshman Magni Viri class, and senior Quigg comes up a few times we well. Most everyone is immediately inviting to Tara, though Neil is a bit standoffish at first. Wren is a music major in Magni Viri and is a good roommate/friend, but clearly has something else going on. Wren is one of the catalysts for things getting started plot-wise. Penny is in Magni Viri studying bats and she and Tara are almost immediately close. Penny helps Tara to understand that she isn't the only one in their prestigious program to have a disadvantaged background and she acts as somewhat of a stabilizing influence on Tara while also helping to increase her self-confidence. I will say, as annoying as it was, Tara was justified in being angry at people for hiding things from her. Obviously it was a bad situation all around, but I still kind of think they should've tried harder to tell her what was going on. One of the downsides of this book is that all the characters are just sort of there. They each have their own personalities and quirks and what not, but I didn't really feel like we got much past the surface level for any of them. Having read the entire book, I don't really have a ton to say about anyone, which is kind of disappointing for a book with an ensemble cast who all end up caught up in the plot.

[moreeverydaythings]

Day 1689 - Monty got a raw deal

The next in my occasional series of station to station walks is from Knighton in Mid-Wales (although technically whilst Knighton is in Wales, the station is in England!) to Crick (which is just entirely in North Wales). This is continuing my walk along the Offa’s Dyke Path.

I last left the Offa’s Dyke Path on Day 1479 in Knighton. I would be joined again on this 3 day walk to Crick by my friend R. When we finished the five days’ walking from Chepstow to Knighton on Day 1479, we agreed we’d make some changes for the next section of Offa’s Dyke which included getting somebody to carry our bags (apart from a day rucksack obviously) and that we’d do it in winter to avoid over-heating again.

So here we were on a freezing frosty February morning setting out from the wonderful Horse and Jockey pub just as dawn was breaking which was around 8:15 in the morning.

This walk would not only provide the challenges of winter walking but it was also a race against the clock! We calculated that, notwithstanding that the sun may have set, we would have enough light to walk until about 5:15 each day. After that it would be pitch black! Luckily I had an app on my phone which would know our route , current speed and therefore be able to calculate our arrival time (provided we maintained that speed). What we’d already worked out without the app is that the day would be tough and that we could not afford any navigational errors.

The first part of the walk took us through the pleasant border town of Knighton. I’d seen on the map that we would need to make a right turn along a path before we reached the end of Knighton. I knew I couldn’t miss it but, of course, we did! We reached the top of a small hill at the end of Knighton and I’d new we’d gone wrong and we were only 20 minutes into our walk. Somebody shouted to us that if we were looking for the Offa’s Dyke Path, it was back down the hill the way we’d come. We found where we should be but there was no sign so we could not be 100% sure. We checked the app and decided it must be the right way.

We walked along a river bank. Whilst it was freezing cold, the hard frosty ground made walking easy and, for a city dweller like me, it was a heady experience to breathe in the sharp, clean early morning air. We passed a sign over a stream where you could stand with one foot in England and one in Wales. Despite our lost time we, of course, had to stop for a photo opportunity.

Lungs filled with clean oxygen for a change, we flew up the first steep climb out of the valley. Our app showed we had another 6 steep climbs that day. We were rewarded with beautiful winter sunshine at the top and we stopped for a couple of minutes to catch our breathe and to admire the frosted valley below. Congratulating ourselves at our awesomeness, we flew across the plateau and our app was telling us we’d be finished by around 4:30 so in plenty of time before it became dark.

We then hit climb 2. It was so steep. Head down, thighs burning and just keep going. At least at the top we reached the half-way point on the whole of the Offa’s Dyke Path – Prestatyn 88.5 miles in one direction, Chepstow 88.5 miles in the other direction.

Then to climb 3. Halfway-up the hill we were climbing I could see that the path branched; one route went to the left around the hill, the other went verticaly upwards. I optimistically shouted to R that this hill wasn’t too bad as we would soon be taking the left hand fork. Turns out my optimism was misplaced. The path went vertically up. It was so steep it was almost impossible to stand, let alone walk upwards. Somehow we made I to the top. As we were recovering, we both agreed that it would have been impossible to get up that hill had we been walking with full rucksacks. It would also have been impossible to get up had the ground been mud, rather than hard due to the cold. We counted ourselves lucky.

By now I’d given up with the scenery and just concentrated on getting through the next 4 climbs. The descents though were just as bad as you have to resist gravity through your knees to avoid plummeting downwards. The hills though were taking their toll. After the 7 assents and 7 descents the last 4 miles to our overnight stop in Montgomery would be largely flat. However all this ascending and descending had slowed us down. The app was saying a 5:35 finish which would mean we’d be having to walk in the dark. We tried to pick up the pace but we succeeded in knocking only a few minutes off. We really didn’t want to walk in the dark. As it got darker the temperature started to fall off a cliff! My hands were now numb with cold. Yes I could take my bag off, rifle through it and I’d find some gloves but every minute counted now. Cold and exhausted we arrived at our hotel in Montgomery at 5:30. We’d avoided total darkness but only because the last 10 minutes had been lit by street lights. Tomorrow we’d be walking further and we couldn’t afford any mistakes or any time for resting on the walk.

[cllnsllvn]

West Auckland

Today was all about waterfalls and beaches. I drove out to the west coast to enjoy the black sand beaches and some of the tracks available in the Waiatakere Ranges Regional Park. I started the day off at Karekare Falls.

This was the view from the road, but obviously the track gets much closer. It's only about five minutes to the falls. There was no one at the falls when I got there, but a few groups were behind me.

Next, I walked over to Karekare Beach. It felt like their entire surf lifesaving club was there, so it had me wondering whether they were expecting a huge crowd or whether they just all wanted to be together on this Easter Monday. There weren't a ton of people, but more kept showing up as I was walking the beach! I did have a bathing suit in my car, so I could have gone for a swim if I wanted to, but it was perfectly lovely just walking with my feet in the water. It kept spitting on and off, so it was like I went for a swim anyway.

The mist does give it a bit of a dark, spooky vibe! Next up was a drive over to Piha Beach with a stop right by the beach for lunch. Who doesn't love the combination of pulled pork taco + poutine?

Piha Beach is well known for its massive waves, which make it good for surfing, and not so much for swimming. Again, it seemed like the whole surf lifesaving club was out, but they did have to get in the water to corral people back to shore.

I won't lie, I had watched a documentary on TVNZ about people who had gone missing in Piha, and it had freaked me out enough that I wasn't sure I wanted to come out this way. But what better day to do it than a public holiday with hundreds of others. Only a few minutes away from Piha Beach is Kitekite Falls. This is a slightly longer track, maybe 20 minutes one way, and was much busier. The car park was heaving, the trail was busy, and the end of the trail was packed. I didn't stay as long because it was really chaotic and a bit stressful! It did come as a bit of a surprise to me that part of the walking track was to ford the river, but luckily there were still enough rocks sticking out, even if the river was more full than usual!

I thought about heading back after Kitekite Falls, but then I remembered that someone had suggested the Fairy Falls track. Y'all, I should have headed back 😂 Jokes aside, this track is hard. On the way down, it's not so bad, because you're going down. Down steep inclines and hundreds of stairs, and even that had me working up a sweat. You'll see it in the photo someone kindly took for me. I'm sweating, and that was downhill. Now, imagine going back up! There was this little tiny section of falls that you could see from further up on the track, and I seriously considered calling it a day and turning around right there, but I didn't.

So, from that little section of falls back to the top was 336 stairs (and lots of steep incline). I kept miscounting the stairs below it, so I reckon maybe about 500 altogether? But, that doesn't even count the lower section! Once I got to where you could truly see the falls, I decided that was good enough for me. If you look in the picture down below, you'll see that there are more people at the bottom of the falls. Which means, there were still more stairs I could have taken.

But I decided enough was enough, called it a day, and headed back. I had run out of water before this hike, so I stopped at the grocery store on my way back to pick up a Gatorade for those electrolytes! Now I am beat, but it was a good day all around. Fingers crossed the weather does seem to be improving! If it could be all better by Saturday, that would be A+ for me. Oh! And one more thing I noticed in the accommodation this morning. There's a bunny on the fridge! I am going to pretend it's for Easter, but I feel like it's probably more likely that it's up all the time. It's a strangely decorated place - lots of Hello Kitty and plushies and things.

[theweaverofdreams666]

Darkness Descends - Chapter 12

The big, resounding booms continue, like a giant drum. The constant echo makes it impossible to determine where it is coming from.

"I have no idea where this is coming from!" The Shadow yells over the reverberating pounding. It is almost as if the drum is right inside their skull, disorienting, dizzying. And then as sudden as it had started, it stops, the silence almost deafening.

"What the hell was that?" Alistair exclaims louder than needed.

"Beats me," Sanford responds, just as loud.

"Funny guys, really funny," Myfanwy scoffs. "Now what?"

As if as an answer, a glow begins to appear out of nowhere, as if rising from the ground. There is no visible source, but they can see their surroundings for the first time. In front of them is a sheer dark cliff with an uneven hole in it, obviously the end of the chute they had come out of. As they turn around, they see a seemingly endless expanse of white, stretching in every direction, the faint glow making it impossible to discern any details.

The Shadow looks back at the rock cliff before turning again. "I'd say straight ahead."

"If you say so, boss, got no better suggestion," Sanford says with a shrug.

They set out, the snow crunching under their boots. As they walk, they look around and can't see anything but white, which is not helping with orientation. Suddenly Myfanwy lets out a scream as she slips and hits the ground hard in a sitting position. The Shadow helps her up and rubbing her rear she says, "Careful, this is not just snow anymore."

"Are you ok?"

She nods, "Yeah, ground broke my fall. Seriously, I'm fine. Got some padding."

Alistair snickers, causing Myfanwy to punch his shoulder, shutting him up.

"OK, enough. Smaller steps, I don't want anyone to get hurt."

Having to watch their steps now, their progress slows down considerably. If they had thought the previous circles looked desolate, they were nothing in comparison to what they were seeing around them. Where in previous circles there had been rock, fire, staircases, swamps, rivers and buildings, there was nothing here but a cold, white desert or ice and snow. They had thought the scorching heat had been unbearable at times, but the increasingly cold air is already starting to sap their strength. The unchanging landscape also makes them lose any sense of time, unsure if they have been walking for 20 minutes or 2 hours.

Then, they see some shapes appear on the horizon, which turn into rocky outcroppings breaking through the ice and snow. As they continue on, pillars of dark rock rise to either side, the places where they touch the ice glowing like embers but not melting the ice. Ahead of them lies a vast expanse of ice and, jutting out from the ice, heads, many heads, all bowed.

“Caina, the sinners that betrayed their own kin or friends.” The Shadow says with a low voice.

The figures don’t lift their heads as they pass between them, completely unaware of them. They also are completely silent, making the quartet’s footfalls the only sound. There were thousands of them, likely more, as the eerie glow would not penetrate all the way toward the steep rock cliffs flanking the wide valley.

They advance in silence, the valley gradually narrowing. Any embers are fading away, and instead, the walls are covered in thick ice as if cascading water froze in place mid-motion. The temperature keeps falling, but that’s not all that makes them shiver. Ahead are figures trapped in the ice to various degrees, most of them completely encased with only their faces showing. Those that are not, seem to be sinking into the ice as if standing on quicksand. They can see their mouths moving but the chattering of their teeth makes their laments unintelligible.

“This is Antenora, where the sinners lie that betrayed their homeland or political affiliations.”

Their wails echo off the ice-encased walls, amplifying the eerie sound and they try to hurry along, but the ice underneath their feet makes the terrain extremely slippery and dangerous. After sliding more than walking, they notice that the valley is turning into a round cavern, the temperatures continuing to fall. The breath in front of their faces almost crystallizes the moment they exhale. They stop in their tracks as they see a grotesque sight ahead of them.

The cavern steeply climbs around what looks like a gigantic carving in the ice, with figures trying to scale the icy cliff ahead, but upon closer inspection, they are not carvings but actual figures, their skin discoloured to almost the same shade of the ice they are frozen to. All around stand figures holding weapons of various kinds, frozen mid-motion, their faces distorted in agony, their tears freezing on their faces.

“Ptolomaea, harbouring the souls of those that betrayed their guests or those who trusted them…”

“Most of them hold weapons…” Alistair says, looking around.

“Guess it’s the ultimate betrayal, isn’t it?”

Their feet are starting to feel numb from standing their unmoving, so The Shadow urges them on. By the time they scale the cliff, they can barely feel their fingers anymore. They are thankful when the ground level out. Rubbing their hands in an attempt to get the blood to circulate again, they shuffle on until the cavern widens into a huge lake of ice. Sinners are entirely frozen, contorted and twisted in unimaginable shapes.

“We have reached the innermost part of Cocytus. Judecca, the place of the ultimate traitors, those that betrayed their benefactors, those who showed them kindness and generosity.”

The cold makes it painful to breathe, every breath feeling like a shard of ice.

“They’re all facing in the same direction.” Myfanwy points out.

They raise their heads to follow the frozen figures’ stares and at the far end of the icy expanse rises a kind of stone bridge toward a round cavern, a silhouette illuminated by a bright glow from behind.

The Shadow mutters almost breathlessly. “Lucifer…”

[thetravellingvagrant]

Day 10: In Which I Walk Until I Am On Fire

I awoke without having set an alarm - which I figured may be a mean thing to do to my dorm-mates whilst I was in no substantial morning rush - for what, I think, must have been the first time this trip. The hostel in which I found myself was still very comfortable and quiet and everyone in my room seemed, bizarrely, to match that vibe, too. Just to be sure I wasn't going to be annoyed in the night, though, I had still jammed my gummy earplugs far deeper into my ears than was medically recommended and so spent the first five minutes of my day digging around, attempting to retrieve them from my inner canals whilst silently mourning the word “ow” as I strangled the huge clumps of hair that had become tangled in them during the night.

Having been marginally successful in that task, leaving only a few tightly clumped flecks of silicone still clinging to my ends, I set about getting up and planning my day. Not that I really needed to put too much thought into what to do - everybody to whom I have ever mentioned that I was coming to Granada from my parents, to TripAdvisor has said some combination of the following phrase: “ooh, that will be nice, obviously you have to see the Alhambra” and while usually that level of unanimity would immediately make me avoid whatever has been suggested to a witheringly comprehensive degree, walking, most likely, along a ring road without a pavement in exactly the opposite direction of the attraction while quietly whispering “yeah…I'm a travel rebel” under my breath, the Alhambra did actually sound kind of dope, so I decided to go there anyway.

The Alhambra, which for the uninitiated is a big hilltop fortress complex, made my some Islamic fella in the 1200s and apparently of massive Islamic historical significance, is a cunt to buy tickets for. The website for it (or at least the one that seemed the most trustworthy - there were loads) was pretty broken and unintuitive, spitting my out of the purchasing process about five times and then, when I had finally managed to get tickets in the basket, not allowing me to select an admittance time for the Nasrid palace until I backed out of the process entirely and selected another day for my visit. Unsure if that was because the site was fucked or all the available slots were filled and it just hadn't deigned to tell me or allow me to progress without one, I reassessed my options and instead bought a cheaper, non-palace ticket, saving ten euros in the process. Get fucked Nasrid palace. And Ryanair.

I set out on my walk to the fortress, taking the opportunity to have an actual look at Granada, properly (as opposed to just walking to a supermarket in the dark) and…yeah, it.seems quite nice. I don't think I've quite worked out the vibe of the place fully, but it does seem very pleasant without being too touristy. Except under certain circumstances of course. This is foreshadowing.

After a brief walk through Granada's busy, though not soul-crushingly so, streets, I began my ascent to the Alhambra, winding past a, frankly, insane amount of tatty souvenir shops in the process. I lost count after the first ten or so, but it must have been half a mile of road wherein every building was a souvenir shop of ever-decreasing quality. I obviously went in them all. 

Soon though, the touristy part of the walk started to dissipate behind me and I was permitted to enjoy a stretch of very steep, but also very picturesque walking

Hey, look at that, there.

I was just starting to relax into the relative peace of my surroundings when I turned the final corner to the fortress and fuck me was it ever busy. Absolutely mobbed, it was. Like, a mob so thick you couldn't even pass through the impenetrable wall of flesh without resorting to coughing quietly behind people, which doesn't sound like a lot, but having to do six hundred and fifty small coughs in a row eventually adds up. God, I'm brave.

Eventually, more just wheezing an empty, ragged breath at people more than coughing by the end, I navigated my way through the throng and found myself at the first checkpoint of three. At this one a surly woman checked to make sure I had a ticket and told me to prepare my passport, which I had been told was ABSOLUTELY VITAL to my.visit and I wouldn't be let inside without one and to make absolutely double triple extra sure was with me when I came on pain of death. 

The next checkpoint has another surly woman in it, who then scanned my ticket, thereby making the first surly woman s job entirely irrelevant. She also told me to ready my passport, which I did.

The third surly woman in my checkpoint obstacle course was the passport checker. At least I think she was - I approached her, passport in hand and she just sighed and waved me through. I'm not really sure what happened, but…cool? I guess? Anyway, I was in. Fuck em.

Of the areas which my ticket allowed access to, I opted to have a look around the Generalife gardens first (which apparently is pronounced “genera-lee-feh” and not, as I had been saying it “general life” which is an excellent name for either a herbal supplement or a corner shop)

The gardens were quite cool, as loathe as I am to use that word to describe some plants. They were very pretty and the view was phenomenal to boot

See?

They too, however, as with the aquarium in Seville, were absolutely rammed up the arsehole with slack jawed tourists. The air was less heavy with them than the aquarium but fuck me backwards in a bin, there were still too many people there. All queuing to take selfies in the exact same spot because, honestly, what better augments this beautifully constructed wonder of pre-modern architecture than your fat girlfriend obscuring half the view of it. Absolutely infuriating and grinding slow to make it anywhere, even walking at a leisurely pace which I reserve only for looking around gardens and when I'm very tired (and today I was both).

I continued through the gardens, which, to be honest, are a lot more impressive in pictures rather than prose, so here are a few

Imagine these with fewer fucking people in them, and they'd be good

And eventually, after a couple of hours, found myself back at the beginning of the route. Half of the complex currently available to me explored, I set about doing the other half: the Alcazar (or Islamic castle, I think? Not pronounced as I had been up until then as “Alakazam”)

The short trek to the Alakazam was choc full of both people who didn't know how not to stop every four seconds in the middle of a crowded public thoroughfare, plodding through tiny street after tiny street of additional, now more expensive souvenir shops all of love locally produced artisanal shite. My feet hurt, I was tired and I felt a little queasy from my delicious, though with the best will in the world, quite badly cooked meal the previous night. I started to wonder if it was actually worth having a go at the fortressy bit of the fortress at all, however being nothing if not both incredibly brave and unwilling to spend money on something I won't use, I pushed on, manfully. 

And I was very glad I did. The fortification ran around the northwestern corner of the compound and, despite the climb, offered some absolutely honking views of the city from its various peaks

It was so good, in fact, that it almost - almost - made having to queue to take a photograph of anything other than the backs of other tourists heads worth it. I wouldnt necessarily call it breathtaking, although there had been quite a lot of stairs leading up to it. They can't all be zingers. But that one was. 

With some reluctance, though also, not an insignificant amount of fatigue setting in, I descended, eventually, from my lofty perch above the city and rejoined my place among the shit munching ground-levellers like the scum I was. By this point it was nearly 4pm and I hadn't eaten, so I stopped to wolf down a lunch of sandwiches I was now incredibly sick of and a small doughnut of which I could never tire and considered, very strongly, heading home. It has been a lot of walking and I felt fucked. I knew, though, that my plans for the next day would take me in entirely the opposite direction from the old town and so, begrudgingly, opted to piece together a little walking tour gradually and gently leading me home as I went.

I wouldn't describe the subsequent walk as ‘blogworthy’, to be honest, but it was, for the most part, fairly pleasant, leading me as it did, to various fountains

Like this'n here!

Churches

And this'n too!

And even a Carrefour express, the most impressive of the bunch, to purchase some auxillary ingredients to recreate the salmony pasta from the previous night, only becoming cloying and infuriating towards the tail end of the sojourn when everyone who has ever existed for in my way, one at a time until they had all had a go.

I returned home to the hostel, my pedometer reading a number so high that the background colour of the app had changed to demonstrate how on fire I was

Ahhhh!

to sit in bed, breathing quietly yet deeply in an effort to let all my rage go, before I done the - apparently - requisite late afternoon nap and bibble combo, until around 9pm, at which point I decided to make food. Not because that's when I got hungry; I'd been hungry for ages, but because that's when I assumed the kitchen would be quietest before it closed for the night at 10:30. The salmon, if your are interested (and you are) was fucking excellent this time. I added more lemon, less parsley and burned the garlic substantially less. It was exquisite and you should all be fizzing with jealousy.

Full of really great pasta and empty of all energy, I then returned to my bunk to bibble - not loudly, but definitely more loudly than anyone else in the room, for the remained of the night, before passing out on my laptop, upside down, fully clothed. 

[godzexperiment]

okay but not situations where nix messes with things he really shouldn't (ie: you might be too close to death for most, but I could attempt to pull you back from the brink)

[delimeful]

show your fangs (2/2)

warnings: illness, past trauma, threats, arguing, injury/blood mention, dehumanizing language from an antagonist, enemies to friends speedrun edition

-

Janus found the encampment at the southern end of his woods, not far from where Virgil and Elli had parted.

It seemed to be a group of mercenaries, going by the metal-and-leather armor and assortment of scars each of them bore. He didn’t obviously didn’t tolerate human bounty hunters in his forest, but they were far enough away from the woods that if he hadn’t been searching, he likely would have dismissed them as another gaggle of normal passerby.

They didn’t seem to have any intention to get closer, either, only ever glancing in that direction with the familiar wariness or disgust that most humans wore while regarding his sanctuary.

Instead, they were moving along at a moderate, steady pace, with all the assuredness of a wolf running down an exhausted deer. Janus recalled the dark shadows underneath Virgil’s eyes, and felt that the comparison was far too apt.

The forest wasn’t what they’d come for.

Janus’s displeasure made the trees’ branches rattle all the same.

He didn’t waste another moment watching them, twisting the space around him and emerging on the far east side of his woods.

Virgil’s pace had been dogged for the past few days, digging his fingers into nooks and crannies as he climbed and hauling himself over steep ledges, never pausing to sit and rest the way Janus had seen many a traveler do.

(At the time, he’d thought it strange, a waste of energy and disregard for self-maintenance. Now, he wished the path had been smoother, the human’s efforts more fruitful; the distance between him and his pursuers seemed far too small.)

Currently, however, his progress seemed to have ground to a halt. He’d moved since the previous evening, but not far. He was only a handful of yards away from the stretch of ground where he’d previously knelt.

The reason was obvious. Even as he sat with his back pressed against a boulder outcrop, eyes closed and head tilted back, his leg was carefully angled so that there wasn’t any pressure put on the back of his calf.

It had been bandaged, at least, though Janus didn’t hold any hope that the makeshift fabric was particularly clean. After all, his shirt had been sacrificed to make them, going by the missing right sleeve. Days of travel tended to leave behind layers of dirt and sweat, and his current clothes had certainly seen better days.

Janus watched him for a few long moments, and then sent a loose, cold breeze that way, rustling his hair and tugging at his clothes in a silent encouragement to keep moving.

Virgil breathed in deeply, and then dragged himself to his feet, his face twisted into a silent grimace all the way up. He glanced over at the woods, gaze once again landing eerily close to where Janus stood, and then began the arduous process of walking along treacherous terrain with an entire limb out of commission.

In light of the situation, it really wasn’t that surprising that he stopped to lean against a heavy rock only a paltry twenty minutes later. It was, unfortunately, still very frustrating to watch. Janus sent another breeze.

They played this game of stop and go for another few hours, Janus peripherally aware of the mercenary party continuing to grow closer, and only when they stopped to camp for the evening did Janus finally relent and stop battering at the human with winds chilled enough to keep him awake and on the move.

He left Virgil to curl up and sleep in peace, following his steps back to do what little he could to make the terrain harsher, less forgiving. Still, even with all his effort, it wasn’t enough to halt the party for anything close to a significant amount of time. They were traveling outside the reign of his forest, his control, and he’d sworn noninterference with human matters.

(The oath had been easy to make, a bitter satisfaction in it. He’d expected it to be just as easy to uphold. He hadn’t imagined anything like this.)

–

When he returned the next morning, unsatisfied with the night’s work, he perhaps made his gale break upon Virgil’s sleeping form a bit too harshly. He repressed a wince at the misplaced anger.

It didn’t end up mattering. The human didn’t stir, not even an inch.

A jolt of electric panic ran down Janus’s spine. He couldn’t see the human’s chest, not all curled up against the stone as he was. Was he breathing?

He stepped up to the edge of his territory, a new sort of alarm spreading through him, but even now he couldn’t shake his suspicion. If he went out there and this was a trap, a long con intended to get his guard down, he could be killed. Along with his own life lost, he’d be leaving the forest undefended, with a group of mercenaries as witness. Spreading the word of a forest full of vulnerable myths would be the least of what they could do.

He should leave the human to his fate. It might even be a sort of mercy, granting him a less painful death. That was something his pursuers surely wouldn’t give him.

Virgil continued to lay there, more motionless than he’d been since first appearing at the forest’s border.

Janus scowled, and stepped carefully past the barrier, his invisibility fading away as he moved past the pines.

If Elli– who had indeed been trekking through the forest with bullheaded determination, asking anyone they saw where they could find the guardian– found their friend like this, the results wouldn’t be pretty. That was the only reason he was checking. It was on behalf of one of his residents.

Besides, there wasn’t much that one human could do to harm him when he was in this form.

(Janus pointedly wasn’t thinking about the few things that one could do.)

He crouched next to the human, his shadow completely enveloping the little figure, and reached out with a cautious hand to prod Virgil onto his back.

At the first touch, his heart jumped. He’d half-expected to meet cold, stiff flesh, but instead found he was practically burning up. He could also feel the chest under his fingertips rising with strained breaths. Still alive.

Alive, and likely suffering from an infected wound.

Janus carefully worked his fingers underneath the human’s back, scooping him into his grip fully with all the gentleness that handling someone so small required. He was well-practiced after decades of handling human-sized myths, but they were also usually a bit more durable.

Virgil was decidedly not, this fact only emphasized by the inflamed skin and weeping pus revealed when Janus pulled back the bandages.

To make matters worse, the wound’s scabbing had dried against the bandages, meaning that pulling it free had caused another fresh wave of bleeding from the long gashes in his calf. The human twitched, the pain finally enough to wake him where being battered by winds and picked up by a giant hadn’t.

Janus forced his face to remain neutral and cold as Virgil’s eyes fluttered open, knowing exactly what the human would see. Even with most of his more monstrous traits tucked away, he still had the pointed ears, slit pupils, and curved fangs long enough to poke past his lips. Those features, combined with the giant form that each guardian was blessed with, were sure to send any human screaming.

How irritating. With a sigh, he curled his hand into more of a cup, intending to pre-emptively prevent any falls from thrashing.

Virgil took a long moment to blink, visibly trying to focus his gaze on his surroundings. Eventually, he seemed to find Janus’s face, more or less.

“H‘lo?” he asked, squinting. “Who…?”

Janus raised an eyebrow; this was possibly the most sedate that he’d seen the human ever. Not the reaction he’d expected. The fever had certainly taken its toll, in a different way than he’d expected. “I am the forest’s guardian.”

Virgil’s face did something, probably an attempt to smooth out into a mask of his own, but only succeeded in going lax enough that every little twitch of emotion was exceedingly easy to read.

Right now, the primary emotion was hurt.

“Not inside,” Virgil replied, and it took Janus a moment to realize it was a promise, rather than a request. “Leaving.”

That was right, the last time he’d been confronted with a myth outside these woods, they’d been trying to kill him. Janus moved his assessment of Virgil’s sedate reaction from ‘weird’ to ‘concerning’.

The human in question tensed, like he was going to try and get up and show Janus that he was, in fact, doing his best to continue away from the woods.

Janus had enough foresight to see how badly that would go, and set two fingers against Virgil’s torso and upper legs, keeping him in place. Jostling that injury by trying to stand would have the human in a world of pain. “I know. You’re not in trouble.”

Virgil’s face pinched slightly in doubt, but he didn’t fight against the hold. He didn’t seem to have the energy to try.

Another moment of hesitation. Janus knew he couldn’t treat the wound like this. Healing was delicate work. He’d have to bring himself to Virgil’s level. Could he?

Virgil didn’t seem concerned with his silence. He curled slightly against Janus’s palm, wrapping an arm around one of the fingers pinning him in place. He was just seeking heat, shivering with the false cold that fevers brought. It didn’t mean he wasn’t scared.

But he was staring up at Janus’s face, still, and there was nothing in that look but idle, hazy curiosity.

Janus hissed lowly to himself, and Virgil’s face went pinched up again as he hissed back, the human version of the sound made even more pathetic by how little force was put into it. Virgil looked confused afterwards, like even he wasn’t sure what point he’d been trying to prove with that.

It wasn’t funny. Janus wasn’t charmed, not by the ridiculous responses or the utter lack of fear.

He wasn’t even fooling himself, at this point. It was his choice that decided whether the human lived or died here, and despite everything, this was one human he didn’t want to watch die.

–

Janus left Virgil briefly to retrieve what he would need to treat him, leaving one glove to insulate the human from the cold stone ground upon seeing how miserably he attempted to cling to Janus’s fingers.

All that was left was to take the form that he hadn’t worn in years. The one that bore the traces of far more memories than his normal guardian one. The one that he needed if he was going to keep Virgil from dying any time soon.

It’s just one human, he told himself, and folded himself down into the shape that had once been his only one, in his life before this sanctuary.

It was like a layer of confidence, of false bravado had been stripped alongside his size. His gait was stiff, his jaw clenched tight, but he forced himself onwards, past the safety of his woods. The only one around to tell on him (to hurt him) was nearly delirious with fever.

He approached with audible steps, which stuttered just the slightest bit as the human turned to face him. He looked undersized in the heap of yellow fabric that Janus had been wearing on a single hand earlier in the day, but from this angle, Janus suspected that the human would actually be taller than him.

Thankfully, for both Janus’s nerves and his own health, the human didn’t attempt to stand up, only staring up at him for a long moment, frozen like a deer in place.

“I’m here to help you,” Janus attempted to reassure, the usual sly silkiness gone from his voice. He’d known this would happen. There was no hiding the scales along his skin or the scars carved into his face. Not in this form.

The moment his voice split the air, though, the tension left Virgil as though it had never been there in the first place. “Y’re back,” he managed, the words coming out sort of lopsided but still legible. He sounded pleasantly surprised, of all things.

(If not his identity, his appearance, what exactly had frightened Virgil about this form? What had made him go still and alarmed when even his giant self hadn’t elicited that sort of reaction?)

Janus blinked, and then shook his head, forcing himself to breach the few meters of distance between them and crouch beside his patient.

Virgil didn’t protest as Janus slowly maneuvered his leg out and into the best position to be treated. He did make a low pained whine as Janus continued the process of peeling the stuck bandages away, but he didn’t lash out or pull away, and the process was eased once Janus had dampened them.

Cleaning the wound was significantly more painful, and this time Virgil did lunge forward, but it was only to grab onto one of Janus’s hands, squeezing it with force as he rode through the pain of the disinfectant.

(Janus continued to wipe away dirt and grime from the wound, pretending that his heart hadn’t skipped a beat in sheer learned terror for a moment there.)

It was a hassle to go through each task one-handed. His grip was borderline-painful. Still, Janus didn’t pull away.

Once the wound had been rewrapped (with clean bandages, this time), all that was left to do was wait for the fever to break. The human could do that on his own. Janus was no longer needed there.

He stared down at the hand gripping his, clinging on firmly even as the human slipped back into sleep after the exhausting ordeal, and sighed a long, dramatic sigh.

There was no harm in sitting here for a while longer.

(He had plenty of memories of gentle touch, of friendly contact. It shouldn’t matter that all of them were from after he’d become a guardian. It shouldn’t matter that in this form, the sensation of a warm hand in his was new and unfamiliar.

It mattered anyways.)

–

When the human woke the next day, his fever had broken. Mercifully, he’d woken before too much of the day had been lost.

He also woke alone.

Janus watched as Virgil climbed blearily to his feet, slow but not nearly as hindered as he’d been before. Watched as he put weight on his injured leg and found that, properly bound and with the application of a little healing water, it didn’t hurt nearly as bad. Watched as he took a moment to stare down at his hand, flexing it open and closed for a moment as though feeling some phantom sensation.

When Virgil set off again, Janus turned away to return to his duties.

The human was healed, and with a blessing set on him that would obscure his trail and make it near-impossible for human trackers to follow, the mercenaries were sure to get frustrated with the tangled, hostile path Janus had so kindly created for them, and they would give up. Virgil would make it past the whole of the forest without trouble.

The problem had been resolved. There wasn’t any need for him to interfere further.

At his side, he kept his own fist clenched.

–

For the next couple of days, Janus forced himself to focus on other tasks, namely requests made of the guardian, of which there was an unending supply.

The only attention he allowed himself to dedicate to the human was a slight awareness in the corner of his mind, tracking his progress as he continued along the perimeter of the woods.

Well. That, and avoiding the repeated requests for a meeting with Elli that other denizens kept passing along to him, often with an unimpressed stare when he completely dodged around the subject.

Ultimately, Elli brought the meeting to him, instead.

Janus was pinged by several of the sanctuary’s residents at once, and he paused only long enough to set aside his current task before slipping between two trees on one side of his forest and emerging from a completely separate set on the other side.

He couldn’t really call it a fight, since one participant was warily backing up, and the other was being forcibly restrained from lunging at them. Still, the intent was clearly there, and against his rules.

“What did you do to him?!” Elli was shouting, voice cracking as they forced it several levels louder than they normally spoke. They’d been lifted clear off the ground by one of the other bystanders, arms pinned to their sides, but this didn’t seem to cool their ire even slightly.

“What’s it to you?” Heidi growled defensively, her hand hovering over the knife strapped to her side.

Virgil’s knife. Ah. Yes, that would do it.

“Tell me!” Elli kicked out futilely, their face twisted up in desolate anger and tears budding at the edge of their eyes. Janus stepped forward before they could reply, his presence immediately drawing the attention of everyone there.

“Curator,” Heidi greeted, already looking frustrated. “This one was not my fault.”

Perhaps normally he would have doubted the claim– she’d started more than her fair share of disputes– but not this time. “I’m aware. You can work out your differences with our new arrival and the company they keep at a later date. Right now, I believe they’re owed a long-overdue conversation with me.”

He held a hand out and Elli didn’t argue as they were lowered back onto their feet upon it. In fact, they hardly even waited for Janus to move them to a more private setting before starting their petition.

They cleared their throat, eyes still red-rimmed. “Curator, th-there’s someone who needs sanctuary from you–,”

“I’m aware of what you want from me,” Janus cut in smoothly, “and I cannot grant your wish.”

“Why not?” Their voice was softer now, but there was still that underlying thread of steel.

“Humans are not granted access to these woods.” That was the simplest way to put it.

“Why not?” Elli repeated, brow now twisted with confusion.

Janus tapped one finger lightly against their leg, the one that had been injured when they’d arrived here at Virgil’s side. “Don’t you already know?”

Elli frowned. “Virgil didn’t do that. He helped me.”

“Do you think you’re the only one here who’s been hurt by humans?” Janus proposed the question without the cutting edge he might have normally given it, and waited for it to sink in before continuing. “Your friend is alive. He’s traversing the edge of the woods, and he’ll be free to continue on as he pleases once he reaches the northern trade path. You can head there and accompany him, or stay here in the sanctuary, but he isn’t welcome.”

The naiad had sagged with relief upon hearing that Virgil was still breathing after all, but Janus’s ultimatum made them shoot him a stung look, so full of betrayal that he had to work to keep his firm expression from slipping.

Elli stepped back, shaking their head in silent condemnation. “Let me down.”

Janus lowered his hand to the ground, and they scurried off as if the touch burned. They turned to face him again before speaking, their head tilted back to maintain eye contact.

“This isn’t the sanctuary we believed in,” they told him, chin lifted up in a stubborn jut. “Not if you’re willing to let good people get hurt because you’re afraid.”

Janus refused to react, still as stone, and Elli left him behind to walk northwards.

‘The sanctuary we believed in.’

What kind of human was Virgil, to hear tales of a forest full of monsters and think of safety?

—

In the end, it was pure luck that he hadn’t been too late.

A flare of magic near the barrier had caught his attention, and he’d followed it curiously, expecting a wary myth testing his magic or signaling for aid.

(He was pointedly ignoring the little voice that told him he could check on Virgil’s process while he was on that side of the woods.)

There hadn’t been a single sign before this moment, no warnings that he could have noted.

Even so, there was no disputing the band of mercenaries that stood before him, visible from the barrier’s edge.

They stood in a loose semicircle, their backs to the woods, surrounding the last person he’d wanted to see there and the only possible person he could have expected. Virgil.

There had clearly already been a fight, and Virgil had just as clearly lost. He was on hands and knees, posture curled in to brace for a blow, and one leg was held up gingerly, as though the wounds on it had been freshly reopened.

Of course they were. He’d been up against five fully armed men, and he didn’t even have a knife.

“… just tell us what we need to know,” the apparent leader was saying in a faux-coaxing tone. He held a glowing wooden trinket in hand, the source of the magic flare up, and Janus cursed his own stupidity. He hadn’t thought bounty hunters would stoop so low as to use enchanted tracking tools, hadn’t accounted for it in his blessing.

The leader stepped closer, impatient with Virgil’s lack of response. “Come now. Everyone can see how quickly your little ‘friend’ abandoned you, and you’re still defending it?”

Virgil muttered something, and when the leader leaned in closer to hear, he lifted his head and spat directly in the man’s face.

The whole group rippled with violent intent, and the leader let out an unamused bark of laughter before backhanding him hard enough that the sound of it echoed. Virgil rocked with the force of the blow and then wavered in place, looking close to passing out.

Janus couldn’t look away. He felt a sharp, icy anger sweep through him, the trees creaking ominously as his temper swelled. Some of the mercenaries glanced over their shoulders at the forest, visibly nervous.

The leader didn’t seem to notice. “We’ll do it the hard way, then. We’ve waited this long, we can stand to keep our patience a little longer, see if a little fresh meat won’t bait out a monster worth our time.” Virgil twitched at that, his breathing going shallow, and the mercenary laughed. He pulled a wicked-looking knife, the edge ridged like a saw blade, designed to hurt. “We might even make a dime off the leftovers if we’re careful. Turns out traitors like you don’t look so different from the monsters on the inside. I’m sure your guts will be convincing enough to scam a few amateurs, at least.”

The wind kicked up sharply, clouds blotting out the sun, his fury creating an unnerving harmony of rustling leaves and hollow whistling, but it was all cosmetic, surface-level. If Janus stayed hidden, it was also all he could do.

But if he went out there, he’d be vulnerable to those mercenaries, to humans that had already proven they had magical tools and were willing to use them.

At the feeling of the breeze through his hair, Virgil lifted his head and locked eyes with Janus, past the barrier, past the veil of invisibility draped over him. His lip was split, one eye swollen and crusting with blood. The other had the unnatural sheen of true sight, the sort of gift Janus had watched humans use to hunt down myths in hiding for ages.

There was no fever haze to obscure the truth this time. Virgil could see right through Janus, all the way down to the paltry, scarred little being he’d been before this forest.

Yet there was no disgust there. No greed. No hatred.

Janus stepped forward despite himself, despite everything.

And Virgil— Virgil’s good eye widened, just slightly, and gave the tiniest shake of the head. The near-unnoticeable motion was belied by the vehemence in his gaze. ‘Don’t come.’

He recognized Janus as the guardian. He believed in the forest’s sanctuary. He wanted to protect it.

The least Janus could do was return the favor.

He let himself fold down into his original form, and dropped his invisibility, looking every bit as vulnerable as he’d been years ago. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The distraction worked, the men who had been watching the trees warily shouting out in alarm, and for a moment every eye turned to him.

Virgil went tense, seeing the misdirection for what it was, but when he angled his body to run, he did it in the wrong direction.

Really, was it too much to ask that Janus’s abrupt change of heart simply be an understood thing? Must he really communicate it himself?

Without breaking eye contact, Janus lifted his arm and held his hand out, fingers splayed. A beacon. A lifeline. An extension of trust.

Virgil reached back.

He darted past the broken ranks of the mercenaries, his pains ignored in favor of one final fight-or-flight rush, and streaked directly towards the barrier, bolstered by the wind at his back.

Janus could see the fear in him, had witnessed it lingering in this human the entire time, but it was abruptly overshadowed by sheer, dumb courage.

It was in the way he didn’t slow down, already intimately aware of how the barrier’s refusal had felt and forcing himself forward anyhow. The way he believed in that outstretched hand enough to take the chance that this was a trick. To leave the crevice. To give up the knife. To be small, vulnerable.

For the first time, the barrier parted for a human hand. For the second, a hand grabbed on to his.

At some point in the middle there, they both realized that approaching at a dead sprint wasn’t conducive to a graceful collision.

Janus stiffened up for impact, a tactic that worked significantly less well when he wasn’t a giant invulnerable magic forest guardian, and Virgil twisted so that his momentum was sent to the side rather than hitting Janus head-on.

They went spinning, a dizzying series of rotations, and despite Virgil’s best efforts to keep them on their feet, they shortly ended up hitting the ground in a tumble of limbs.

“Ow,” the first human to ever set foot in his forest said plainly.

Janus let out a hysterical giggle, one that he would henceforth deny to the end of his days.

They made eye contact, and Janus realized that their hands were still clasped. Virgil offered him a tentative half-grin, but a moment later his gaze shifted to something behind them, and then he was shuffling to cover as much of Janus as possible with his longer frame.

Janus followed his gaze, finding that half the mercenaries had advanced while the others waited warily behind. One had a crossbow loaded and aimed at them, and another had tested their luck against the barrier and was now clutching a burnt hand to his chest.

The leader stood there, a scowl on his face, knife still in hand. “You think you’re safe there? It won’t be safe for long. No magic is impenetrable.”

“Why bother with all that work?” Janus asked, his lips curling into something self-satisfied. “I can let you in right now, should you truly wish to enter.”

He disentangled himself from Virgil, who protested and attempted to follow him to his feet with no success. He was clearly feeling the effect of moving so much while injured. That was fine. Janus could stand and face their opponents for the both of them.

“Oh, but…,” he tapped a finger against his lips thoughtfully. “I should greet you properly, first.”

Between one moment and the next, he was once again towering over everyone there, as vast and implacable as the mountain and its grove. He crouched over Virgil, placing his hands on either side of where the human sat and leaning on them, a show of faux-casualness.

“As the guardian of the forest, it would only be fair to return any intentions you have towards its inhabitants. What was it they said?” He directed the question down to Virgil. “That they wanted to provide fresh meat for those who live in my woods?”

There was a pause, and for a moment Janus worried he’d miscalculated, that this was too much, and then–

“I’m pretty sure they were saying that human organs are pretty valuable if you hand them over to the right people,” Virgil mused, lips tugged up into a smirk. He leaned back against Janus’s wrist, happy to play into the act. “I wonder how many they have between the group of them?”

“We could certainly find out,” Janus practically purred, and what little color remained in the mercenaries' faces drained away. “Please, do come in.”

He moved, the slightest shifting of weight forward, and two of the mercenaries turned and bolted, bravado visibly snapping. The rest, abandoned by their greater numbers and outclassed in every other way, were soon to follow.

Once they were out of sight, Virgil burst out laughing, a hoarse chuckle that immediately cut off with a wince as he jostled his wounds.

“For goodness’s sake,” Janus frowned at the fool, shifting back to give him space but keeping his wrist still to support his weight. “Haven’t you re-opened enough wounds?”

Virgil rolled his eyes, staying right where he was. “Hey, it wasn’t my idea to get the crap beat out of me by a bunch of assholes. Give the credit where it’s due.”

“If they ever show their faces here again, I certainly plan to,” Janus replied, voice saccharine. He then paused for a moment before slowly curling a hand around where Virgil sat. “We should get you treated.”

The human blinked up at him as well as he could with one black eye. “What, I’m… I’m staying? This wasn’t just a one-time, scheme-based entry?”

His tone was forcibly kept light, but Janus could see the badly-hidden hope in his posture.

“You’re staying,” he replied, as trustworthy as he could manage. “If you want. I’ll warn you now, the others may take a while to… adjust.”

Virgil cracked a grin, shrugging slightly as Janus’s fingers moved to support his back. “Hey, between you and the lady who stole my knife, I’ve convinced two out of two people not to murder me so far. My streak could continue.”

“Nobody will be murdering you on my watch,” Janus told him, and then tried to distract from the utter soppiness of that statement by lifting Virgil up. “Besides, you haven’t even accounted for your greatest proponent.”

Virgil shuffled, getting comfortable in Janus’s grip, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Janus said, turning to set off to where he could feel a stubborn presence hiking up the mountain. “I''m certain Elli will be more than willing to counter anyone that wants to trouble you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Virgil brighten at the mere mention of his friend, and knew that he’d made the right decision after all.

[pinkpruneclodwolf]

For the Malleus thing: it's overexposure on my answer. Malleus is a main staple character that has a lot of fans compared to say: Cater or Kalim. Of course, Octavinelle matches in turn for numbers with Malleus but Malleus also has a dedicated shipping fandom that are so attached to him that they cause... problems.

Shipping is fine in moderation but when I see enough people start fighting that this fictional character is "their" man and not someone else's OC, I know Malleus has had too much time in their head or something warped him. I like shopping and run a sort famous /Reader blog for all genders, and that gives me insight into who people kinda want on that side and Malleus is very famous. Shipping aside, Malleus also has such diehard fans that... they forget his CHARACTER!

Malleus' fandom is the same as Octavinelle (woobifying/creeps flooding in) and now bleeding in Savanaclaw (creeps flooding in/racism against dark skinned OC's): the story is revealing that Malleus isn't gap moe and is an actual character that can do wrong, and hurt people... and they HATE that. I've seen four people drop Malleus like a hat because he was didn't understand what he was doing wrong in the Dorm Uniform. Malleus has had a rigid set of understanding of creatures and it's very straightforward instead of nuanced, and even Malleus admits that he wants to try and projects that his advancement on human understanding will only take 100 years. That's fair considering he's been in the human world for 3 FREAKING YEARS, guys. I believe if we were given how long it took Lilia to understand a human customs outside of Silver experience, it'd not do anything to people's opinions. Because to them, it's not about him learning. He doesn't know so he's obviously a BAD CHARACTER, that must be it! "He's a jerk and now I'm going to do a 180° on my own Malleus opinion that is all over my blog and gave my followers whiplash, starting a bashing war by actually not doing a proper review of his character!" No. That's unfair. Why?

Malleus is an interesting character and I'm so sad that he's gone so far into the fandom that he's been woobified and there is no self warn anything: no disclaimer that this is a more romantic Malleus compared to the canon one, or people admitting that Malleus might be OOC as his character reads so incomplete because they write him so... wrong? I think my real problem is the tail end of fandoms that radicalize and throw Malleus around as something he isn't, and that's okay to a certain degree (my /Reader blog acknowledged that Malleus is a canon as I can do without just being Readers buddy, which he's more likely to be in canon). It's just... people are too radical, I think.

I fear the wars this man will create when Chapter 7, Part 3 shows he's got more flaws then he does. I can see a Rook Chapter 5 happening. :(

But I'm not all pessimistic, I know the right fandom should be encouraged and the minority should be ignored, so I know whatever Yana/Aniplex gives us: I support. I know common artists, writer's, editors are all doing fine and I interact normally, but I hate the "drop him" culture these games have in the EN side.

Oh no I get you.

Malleus by himself is an interesting character in his own right, without needing to be steeped in fanon.

I do think that because he was left to stew on his own with pieces of content to hold Mallelikers over, people ended up turning him into their own character to fit their own needs.

And in some ways it's kinda meta because that was something he was trying to escape his whole life so that he could be welcomed by those around him.

I'm usually not as steeped in the fandom as I used to be what w college and stuff creeping up but I'm genuinely sorry that everyone has experienced some form of harassment from both sides of the fence bc one hc didn't fit the other's or the argument of whether his character is good enough or not.

It's disheartening to see others get jumped because of how strongly they feel towards a character and its horrible that you have to endure that on your page anon.

I'm honestly praying Malleus doesn't go through what Rook went thru because that moment is still be felt to this day due to how decisive it was 😭😭😭.

And it's funny bc Rook not choosing Vil was supposed to give Vil growth, who was so hard pressed on winning to the point that he'd contemplated killing his opponent and subsequently Overblotted. The point was that Vil wasn't supposed to win because it'd feed into him. It was a lesson.

With Malleus' Dorm Vignette, I'd argue that him summoning the other dorm leaders was a long time coming considering they weren't doing any affirmative actions to ensure that Malleus could attend. He brought them to him because it was the only thing he could think of; he's not good with technology, time is a construct to him, and no student is willing to approach him for the fun of it unless it's to get smth out of it. It was mostly an act of burning the village to feel its warmth tho it wasn't out of malicious intent.

In the end I can reason he was still partially wrong, he only considered brainstorming with Lilia [and Lilia, a jokester that he is, encouraged him.] Instead of talking to Crowley.

But I do think that Malleus being the poster boy has led to him being so oversaturated in the fandom that a lot of his personality is lost in translation once more.

I liken it to Ace Trappola. Fanon!Ace played up his worst traits to the max without allowing the nuance of his character growth to shine thru. Luckily, Ace is in the recovery period but the same cannot be said for Floyd 😭😭😭.

My most basic observation is that popularity takes the nuance out of characters and I'm hoping against hope that Chapter 7 shows a new side of Malleus that sets the record straight bc as someone who loves character studies watching Malleus get chopped and screwed is 🥶🥶🥶.

[imperatorium]

Ppffff- I love sister imperator and papa nihil because they are the epitome of the “(evil) divorced parents who still occasionally fuck” and the kids have to constantly deal with it and have to do the most long winded response when people ask them if they’re parents are together or not

wbu

See, so, okay. I know it's not uncommon for people to see them as hella divorced but still horny for it and my assumption is that this must make sense for anyone who has come in post-"Kiss The Go-Goat" music video. As someone who came in about a year before that, I had plenty of time to steep in the information we previously had, which was just that a) they're fucking so obviously in love with each other and b) there's some nebulous reason that they aren't formerly together, despite clearly (to me) wanting to be.

I think GoGoat gives nice context as to some shit that's happened between them, but besides that, we have seven other chapters of content and one music video (two, if you're me and headcanon-count "Cirice") showing the hopelessly romantic way they related to one another both in the past and (maybe more importantly) present.

Here's one of my things - despite the Church being a long-lived institution, the events in "Dance Macabre" show that Nihil seems to not have previously had any knowledge or involvement with it. Because I, II, and III are acknowledged as legitimate heirs to the Antipapacy, but Copia, the only one we know has - at least by Clergy standards - been brought in as a third-party is not acknowledged as a legitimate heir, I struggle to imagine that they were children of Nihil's from his previous life outside of the Church. As such, they must have been conceived after his induction into the Antipapacy.

Moreover, Copia is easily seen as the youngest of the Papas, given the other weird canon age/timestamps we've been given - Papa I being in his 70s (I still struggle with this one)/II & III being in their mid-50s circa 2013 and Copia being almost 100% obviously the baby Sister is pregnant with in 1969. So, I, II, & III would have been conceived/born between the events of "Dance Macabre" and GoGoat, but there's also in-character interviews TF has done as Special Ghoul, indicating that each of the other Papas all have different mothers. Maybe you can assume Sister is one of them, but to me that just doesn't track given the way she promotes and dotes on Copia, while putting the others down without much as a second thought.

(Admittedly, I colour a lot of how I see this with an Arthurian tint. Sister is so obviously Morgan Le Fay, Copia is so obviously Mordred to me.)

MY POINT IS, there's something else going on that's kept them apart besides just Nihil falling into rockstar adultery. His moments of rockstar weakness may have been a temporary nail in a coffin, but I have...other (admittedly kind of dark) ideas about how that all folds together. So I do believe there was a bit of a rift between them for a little while, but not an indefinite one.

So, yes. I've always been someone who is drawn to The Main Character's Parents (or Parental Generation) in like 75% of my fandoms, but this one's just like...extra got a hold on me. Over half a century of, at minimum, absolutely longing for each other. The power and legacy she gifted him with. The utter devotion and twitterpation radiating off of him every time they interact. The way she tries so hard to engage him even while she's at her weakest in the hospital. The way his face lights up when her bandages come off. Their little kiss at the NYC tour announcement for Prequelle. The way they look at each other at the end of "Dance Macabre". Her little handgrasp in his direction as she revels (pre-disaster) in watching him perform in "GoGoat". The sheer adoration. Forget Satan, they are each other's religion.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Happy (late im sorry) birthday @aka-indulgence !!! I wrote you a special thing... with one of your special boyos whomst you managed to convert me into loving. I hope you had a fun day!!

Tw; caves, broken bones

You’d stopped screaming a while ago.

There were a lot of reasons- for one, the air in the cave was damp, thick, choking... screaming required you to take a deep inhale of the stale smog and your lungs were already starting to reject it. It was borderline unbearable and you were pretty certain that if you survived this, you’d be choking and coughing for a week at least.

... But that wasn’t the biggest reason. That wasn’t the most important reason you were keeping your mouth shut tight, as you laid on your back in complete darkness, eyes darting around as fast as they could and leg numb with agony.

By this point, screaming was a critical danger that would get you killed.

... The cave just behind the cliff was rumoured to be impossibly deep, to have once contained some kind of legendary terrifying monster that reacted violently to intruders and killed those who didn’t heed its immediate warnings to leave. Of course, there were no modern sightings of this mythical beast, and it definitely sounded less like fact and more like some urban legend designed to keep people away from a dangerous area. No one had ever mapped it... no one wanted to, even the most intrepid of local explorers. The stories (and a healthy serving of common sense) seemed to have prevailed long enough for that particular entrance to just be left alone.

...

So of course, your study group decided it’d be such a good place to spend a Friday night, armed with nothing but half-charged torches, rucksacks full of drinks, and borrowed walking shoes.

You could feel tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, gravity dragging them down the sides of your face as you stared upward into the total blackness. It was stupid to come down here, horror movie levels of stupid- but you just couldn’t say no to them. The study group was the closest thing you had to friends, and you let them lure you into coming along, you’d allowed yourself to be led by your terror of being left out.

... You had no idea how long you’d been lying on your back in total darkness with your immovable leg throbbing with pain, but it was getting clearer and clearer no one was coming back for you.

... So I guess you’ve been left out after all- left out in a cave to die. 

...

A noise. You turned your head, quickly- a familiar blood red colour standing out against the black, closer than last time. Panic jolted through you once again and you grappled with your flashlight, turning it on and pointing it directly at the red; a harsh white circle of light appeared and illuminated a section of the cave. You saw bone and a wide maw of terrifying teeth for a split second before it retreated quickly from the glow in a flurry of movement, disappearing back into the nothingness, an aggravated snarl rippling through the cavern.

...

Your friends, if you could even call them that, seemed to have followed the philosophy of ‘don’t outrun the bear, just outrun the slowest person’. When the monster had attacked your group in the dark, everyone panicked and ran for the exit... and when you stumbled, falling down a steep shaft into what was most likely going to end up being your grave, you became the slowest person.

And the ‘bear’ focused on you.

... It was hanging around in the darkness surrounding you. You could hear it, scuttling, waiting, the terrifying sound bouncing off the walls and coming from every direction at once, you hated how your panic and the enclosed space worked perfectly together to fuck with your hearing. Your only hope was the flashlight you clutched in both quivering hands.

...

You turned to the left, and caught sight of the red again. An engorged, blood coloured orb, slowly moving closer to you like a stalking wolf- it paused when you raised the flashlight, ready to recoil, and you jammed your clammy thumb onto the on button.

...

Nothing.

...

“... N-no.” You said, tiny, voice cracking, shaking the device and mashing the useless button over and over. Suddenly, just like that, the darkness around you had swallowed you completely whole. “No, no, no...”

... 

The monster made the same realisation you had. The flashlight was out of battery. The bloody red eye contracted a fraction... and then, upon realising your only line of defence was gone, advanced toward you.

...

You screamed as loud as you possibly could. You screamed with your whole chest, so hard it ricocheted across the walls and rang in your ears, you kicked your good leg against the ground in a desperate attempt to push yourself away but your heel just slipped on the floor. The sound didn’t deter it- and the eye got bigger and bigger, coming closer by the second, the true scale of the thing hunting you was dawning alongside the panic.

It’s gonna eat me.

The eye was the size of your fist. You could smell something, something warm, its breath, you were seized with unparalleled fear and you blindly swung the useless torch like a weapon. To your shock, it connected- landing squarely on what must’ve been a cheekbone. But it did about as much damage as a pillow would to a rhino and the flashlight shattered into pieces upon impact, with the monster not even so much as flinching.

It was definitely breath, you could feel it in your hair. It smelled like blood. Giant hands moved around your torso, under your arms, and picked you clean up off the ground- and the oh-so-familiar heavy ‘scuttling’ sound of him moving filled your ears. 

S-someone help me!

You punched at his ribs, still ‘screaming' (it was hardly screaming anymore because it was punctured by cracks and thin breaths), the world was beginning to drown out. The sounds and smells and pain were all so overwhelming, the dark and red of his eye were already eating you before he’d even opened his mouth, all you could think about was how no matter how much you didn’t want to you were going to die.

...

Light. Light that wasn’t his eye. It was enough to distract from your shouting, pathetic attempt at making noise catching in your throat. Little glowing rocks- crystals, maybe, they dotted the floor and walls, creating a faint white that was just enough to see by but still filled the world around you with wriggling shadows.

... It was enough to, for the first time, properly see the creature that was taking you.

He was huge; a skeletal upper half, barrel-chested, shoulders twice the width of your own and a heavy sternum with ribs like prison bars. The size of his jaw and thickness of his teeth told you he wasn’t the kind of predator that wasted any time with theatrics; there was no serration, probably no venom, he wasn’t going to be using valuable time to suffocate victims. With a mouth like that he would get right to the point- crushing straight through bone like eggshell.

He was staring ahead. Concentrated.

... Your eyes darted past his skeletal body to the main thing you'd been afraid of seeing; his lower body was a centipede. Giant scar-mottled gleaming brown carapace, trailing off into the dark, massive hooked 'feet' working in perfect undulating tandem to move him effortlessly across the uneven cave floor. You had absolutely no idea how long he was, you couldn't even hazard a guess. No wonder you'd heard his scuttling all around you in the darkness, it wasn't your mind playing tricks on you, he'd literally been all around you- you never stood a chance, did you?

You'd wedged your arms between yourself and his massive ribcage, shaking hands pushing as hard as you could. Despite how obviously little it was counteracting his hold, it was your last way of feeling like you were fighting. Your face and neck ached, your chin was wobbling, your head pounded.. you were a melting ice statue ready to shatter at the slightest push.

You were running out of fight.

... He carried you up, over a lip, into a small alcove. A recessed section of rock, a cave within a cave- a slightly more concentrated cluster of those glowing stones revealed the interior was lined with furs, rags, chunks of sleeping bags, old and well-loved blankets. Some kind of nest.

I’m... am I hyperventilating? you thought, feeling disconnected and dizzy, mind retreating further and further away from your body as a final defence mechanism. Everything’s spinning. 

...

Softness. At first, you thought you’d just gone completely numb... but when you concentrated a little more, you were surprised to find you were staring up at the glow-dotted stone ceiling. 

...

... He’d... put you down. On his nest of blankets? He was hovering over you, breath still brushing your cheeks and forehead... that terrible eye shifted its gaze down your body, you felt like a dinner being surveyed.

... You couldn’t even bring yourself to try and wriggle away. What chance did you stand? Further and further into numbness... am I going into shock?

...

He reached toward your broken leg. You didn't even want to look at it; it hurt so badly. You squeezed your eyes shut, suppressing a sob.

...

Warmth.

A pleasant kind- like you'd just laid the broken limb beside a fire. Tingling faintly... magic? Healing magic? You couldn’t look, you didn’t have the stomach to see just how mangled the leg was, that’d just make it hurt even worse. But it was... 

... Nice.

The warmth was like an eraser. It floated over the leg, fuzzy and comforting, and wherever it floated the pain just... ebbed away. 

...

You opened your eyes again. When he stopped, there was no more pain in your leg. None at all. And he was just... sitting there. Staring at you.

...

“Y-you...” You croaked. The hole in the centre of his eyelight shrank a fraction. The magic felt like it was doing something to you; you could feel your shoulders slowly unwinding, chest relaxing enough for you to take breaths that actually filled your lungs, throbbing head settling down. “... You healed me?”

... Was clubbing him with a flashlight the wrong idea?

...

... He made a sound. Several sounds, actually... soft, throated, deep and staggered... chuffing, like a tiger. Such a gentle noise, for such a giant monster...

...

He seemed to make a decision. With one last little chuff and a nod to himself, his socket lidded... and he laid down next to you. One of his thick-as-your-head arms gently looped over your middle; you were vaguely aware of his centipede body gathering itself into the little alcove, some of it draping lazily over your lower legs.

... Keyword ‘vaguely’ aware. You were so tired, so tired and sick of being in pain, that you barely even wiggled in response to his strange cuddle-like gesture. He was... actually pretty warm... and he smelled like amber and campfires.

...

You were asleep before you could remember you needed to be scared of him touching you- that claws carding lovingly through your hair wasn’t supposed to feel nice.

[enicherry]

On a Snowy Night ☆

The chilled air brushed against the lone Inazuman's pasty skin. It was a welcomed chill, refreshing against his newly acquired burns. Another reminder of what he had lost.

He had anticipated this type of weather, it was Snezhnaya after all, what he didn't expect was the lack of shelter and local villages. All that he could see ahead of him was snow, thick white freezing snow.

When The Cruz first anchored in Snezhnaya, he was welcomed by a small town filled with, what he guessed to be a little less than a thousand residents. The small streets were quiet, the only thing audible was the harsh snowy wind that brushes against the Inazuman's ears.

He silently roamed the streets for a bit, lost. This was nothing like Inazuma. There was no sweet scent of the Sakura blooms, no calming sounds of flowing water from the nearby streams, there weren't even any merchants on the sides of the paths that pestered you into buying their products (this was actually a good thing, though)

After circling the streets multiple times, the Samari eventually found a small clothing shop. The owner was a petite young woman, no older than 30 with bright blue eyes and sickly pale skin. She welcomed the Inazuman at the door, seemingly expecting his arrival. He was also welcomed by a 'ding ding' sound, he looked up slightly and saw a small bell above the door, it was obviously there to alert the owner of customers coming into her store.

He looked around the rest of the shop, quickly glaring at the price tags. One read '25,000 mora. Pure animal skin. Hand crafted by local Snezhnayans' It was a steep price, and the Samari reached down into his red pocket to make sure he remembered his mora. He had definitely remembered it. He let out a silent sigh of relief.

"Don't just stand there son, look around!" The blue eyed woman said loudly, the Inazuman looked over at her. There was something in her expression, fear? disgust? anger? She gave him a fake smile when she noticed his scarlet eyes were looking at her. He shot her a fake smile back.

"Thank you for your kindness" he bowed his head slightly, a habit he picked from living in Inazuma.

He browsed the shelves, trying to look for the warmest attire he could find, not caring for aesthetics. He ended up finding a warm looking cloak, the tag read; '27,000 mora. Pure animal skin. Hand crafted by local Snezhnayans' similar to other tags he had been reading. He picked up the dark coloured cloak, it had some weight to it. The Inazuman brought it to a small table near the back of the store, past all the stuff he had just been viewing. The owner was sitting there waiting for him, he handed her the cloak and she quickly looked over the tag.

"27,000 mora." Her voice carried none of the volume it had moments ago, or the fake excitement the Inazuman had witnessed before, instead she had spoken in a monotone voice, obviously annoyed at something. Most likely himself.

The Samari reached into his hidden pocket and took out some mora, he counted it quickly then put it on the small table in front of the woman.

"There you go, ma'am" he shot her another fake smile.

she passed him his newly brought cloak, and took the mora and walked away into a back room, mumbling something under her breath and leaving the Inazuman just standing there, awkwardly.

'what a unpleasant experience' he thought to himself as he put his cloak on, covering his red Inazuman clothing, and headed out the store.

Marking the start of an unforgiving and tiring journey.

[ayamturd]

brother│sbi family

summary: y/n will always stand by their brothers no matter the hardship or challenges they should overcome in the end.

song: Brother by Kodaline

warnings: angst to fluff(?), cursing, blood/gore descriptions, death, slight spoliers for dsmp

pairing: in-game platonic!sbi family

a/n: i heard this song the other day and knew i had to give it a try (give it a listen!). also, each section/scene change is supposed to show a period of growth for the reader, both in age and confidence wise. as always, pls feel free to comment or give feedback!

wc: (4.1k) - m.list

When we were young we were the ones

The kings and queens oh yeah, we ruled the world

“Techno, wait!” 

“Keep up then, slow poke!” 

Technoblade and y/n were running through the village, laughing like madmen while jumping over the hay bales serving as their mini obstacle course. They were passing the time while Dadza finished his tradings with Wilbur, him volunteering to assist in hopes of exploring the market place. As they continued their chase, Technoblade began to gain a lead; his long limbs giving him a far unfair advantage against his smaller sibling. He was nearing the local well in the town square, and y/n knew they would have to take drastic measure before he could claim victory. 

Quickly assessing their surroundings, y/n grabbed the first product they could snatch off the closest stand. They beamed it at Techno, the potato hitting him on the back of his head, causing him to falter and trip over his hooves. Y/n leaped over him, grin wide when hearing the vendor and their brother yell after them.

“Y/n! What gives?!” Technoblade scrambled up in a hurry, rushing to meet their stride. Y/n only cackled, shouting back, “hey, it’s like you once said, ‘What the ancients called a clever fighter is one who not only wins, but excels in winning with ease.’”

The sun beamed down in the late afternoon, yet y/n was too driven to notice. They reached the center square and rang the bell, signifying their win. “I regret teaching you the ways of Sun Tzu.” Technoblade was panting with his hands on his knees; he had tried to catch up given his fall slowing him down, but ended up running in vain to his defeat.

“Ahh you don’t mean that now, do you?” Y/n climbed up the well and jumped on Technoblade’s shoulders, forcing him to adjust to the sudden weight while they gripped his pink hair. He grunted, “I do if it means you beating me.” Y/n giggled. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll always remember your miserable loss as the origin of my success.” 

“Gee, thanks.” Despite their bickering, the two children held large smiles, snickering while spinning carefree and contently. They tuned out the world, purely existing in the moment while conquering each trivial challenge at a time.

We've taken different paths

“Come on, y/n, you’ve got to let go some time or another.” Y/n clung onto Wilbur’s side, curled into his chest while the lanky man hovered his arms above them.

“Not until you hug me back, you jerk!” Wilbur sighed, pulling them in again. “I already hugged you in the house. We’re not gonna be here for another 10 minutes, right? You know how impatient Tommy can be.”

“Alright, fine you dickhead. I’ll let you go. See if I care the next time you want a hug,” y/n huffed. They pulled away in haste and crossed their arms, turning away from him completely. 

“You’re such a cry baby, s’not like we’ll be gone forever. Can visit and shit,” Tommy spoke up, walking towards the pair with his saddle in hand.

“Shut up, bitch. I won’t miss you anyway, I was talking to Wilbur.”

“Like hell you won’t!”

Wilbur stepped between the two, hand on Y/n’s shoulder and a push to Tommy’s face. “Maybe it’s best that we’re leaving, y/n. Tommy’s obviously influenced you too much.”

“Why the hell you say that like it’s a bad thing?!”

“Ugh, God please no.”

Despite all odds, y/n was the shortest in the family compared to all the boys. They were forced to look up at Tommy while he glared down at their smug face. 

Phil came forward from the house and chose to stand besides y/n. “I’ve only just gotten them to leave, don’t tell me you’re holding them down any longer.” Y/n muttered a small no. Wilbur and Tommy looked offended at the comment, and Phil only chuckled at the sight. “You’ll see them soon, y/n. You know they’ve been waiting for the opportunity to explore, and one day you’ll take your chance too.”

“Yeah, I know,” y/n sighed and leaned into Phil’s side. They were openly pained to have their brothers leave their home, disliking the idea of their family separated, yet they knew they didn’t have the right to stop them from their ambitions.

Phil checked over their supplies once more before patting their shoulders with encouraging words. Giving them room, the brothers mounted their horses and pulled the reins to the East, taking one final glance at their home. They both waved and rode off. 

The sun laid above the horizon, strips of color spread across the sky as night began to fall. Though they were too far to hear, y/n waited a moment before speaking. “Till next time.” 

And travelled different roads

“You can’t be serious.”

“You rather I leave them to die?” Technoblade was packing, grabbing his best weaponry and stuffing rations into his satchel. Although contemplating to bring his armor, he opted out of it in favor of traveling light. Y/n was trailing behind the large piglin, eyes irritated and upset. 

“How can you say that? I’m only concerned on why you think a revolution is what they need right now!” Technoblade spun around at their words, standing above them menacingly. Any rational person would be afraid if it weren’t for the fact that they grew up together. 

“Y/n. You and I both know there’s a reason they called me and me alone. I’m going there to help and do what is ask of me. What else do you expect from all of this?” Technoblade spoke steadily, his chin still raised while his eyes looked down at them. It only angered y/n more. 

“What I expect, Technoblade, is for you to be their brother and help them! Be their brother for once and not just ‘the Blood God’!” Y/n emphasized each point with a jab to his chest. It was rare for the two to fight at all, them being considerably close and maintaining the same idealization for the most part. 

Techno only narrowed his eyes before grabbing y/n’s wrist. “We’ve talked about this, y/n. Don’t act like you don’t understand the difference between ‘the Blood God’ and myself. Don’t act like there is a difference at all.” There was a slight pause as y/n’s eyes widen at their close proximity, Technoblade having had moved closer towards their face.

“… you’re hurting me, Techno.” Glancing down at their hands, Technoblade immediately let go and grabbed his crossbow behind y/n, leaving the room as if the conversation never happened. Y/n was quick to follow him before he left the house. 

They screamed out, “This isn’t right, Techno! For their sakes, you and that tactical brain of yours should realize that at the very least!” Technoblade stopped near the exit and tilted his head to the left, a brief silence before speaking. “If you weren’t so afraid of the world, you could always go save them yourself.”

He slammed the front door close at that, leaving a still y/n in shock at his words. The night was dead quiet as y/n stood there for some time, a ringing silence impeding the air. Phil came down the hallway from his room, tired yet aware of the situation; he was admittedly awake during the argument. “Are you alright, dear?” His voice was soft as he was unsure of y/n’s current emotions, their back to him while facing the front door. Y/n turned towards him with teary eyes.

“No.”

And when you're in the trenches

And you're under fire I will cover you

“Ya’ know what, Wilbur?” Tommy was sitting on a furnace, Wilbur leaning against the cavern walls across him. They were both eating dinner together in the dark, dimly lit and empty space, the only sound coming further down the cave where Technoblade farmed until Tommy spoke up. Raising a hand to chew, Wilbur swallowed before asking a what?

“I’m getting real sick of potatoes.” They both laughed at that, temporarily finding joy in the small joke before fading back into a helpless silence. They were still reeling from their situation; no home, no friends, no government to stand with. While they were in the presence of their brother, Technoblade was focused on their main goal: revolution. Even through perseverance, the brothers couldn’t help but feel exhausted from the efforts, the previous war having taken a toll in spite of the approaching age of a new one.

“I miss home,” Tommy expressed, eyes trained to the ground. Wilbur stared at the boy before looking down at the baked potato in hand. “Me too.” 

A sudden noise came from above, as if someone broke down their stone entrance. Although Pogtopia had gained an underground support from the citizens of Manberg, their location was still undisclosed to the others, secret letters and Tubbo being the only communication. Grabbing his sword, Tommy nodded to Wilbur and headed up the steep stairway. Wilbur briefly looked up and ran to warn Technoblade of a possible intruder. 

Weapon in hand, Tommy creeped up the path determined. Footsteps echoed underground and Tommy paused to push himself against the wall. The light of a lantern glowed ever so brighter with each approaching step behind the corner above. Right as he rose to strike, a familiar voice spoke out. 

“You’re not seriously going stab me now, right?” Tommy’s gaze shot up to see his sibling smirk at his surprise. “Cause that would suck after traveling this whole way to see you idiots.”

Tommy laughed breathlessly in disbelief before shouting their name for all to hear. He ran up to quickly embrace them and pulled them down to meet the rest. Technoblade and Wilbur visibly relaxed at the sigh of the two, weapons dropping to their side.

“You’re here,” Technoblade stated, his eyebrows raised unexpectedly. Expression neutral, y/n only spared him a glance before looking to the side. “I’m here.” 

Wilbur ignored the small tension and walked forward, a soft smile at the sight of them with his arms raised. “Am I still allowed to ask for that hug?” Y/n grinned and let him engulf them in a hug. They squeezed his torso tight while they swayed slightly side to side. Tommy, elated to see his sibling for the first time in practically years, vocalized his excitement loudly behind the embracing pair.

“Are you here to help us fight?!”

Y/n hesitated before turning back to smile wearily, “I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

If I was dying on my knees

You would be the one to rescue me

“You want to be a hero, Tommy?”

The battlefield was suspended in apprehension, everyone amassed on the small platform above the caved in trench. Standing before them, separated by the broken landscape, Technoblade held large, black skulls in each hand. In front of him, two structures of sand guarding his sides. He was perched over them, eyes red in blood-like fury with tusks that pointed in pride and determination. Y/n gaped in horror at the sight, whispering a small no that fell on deaf ears. 

“Then die like one!”

A sudden light blinded the field, Technoblade having had completed the ancient ritual due for destruction. Before anyone could collet their thoughts, a small force pushed everyone back. Strong winds blew as dust covered the the terrain, and from the ashes of white fire rose two mythological beasts with holo eyes and a grotesque body of dark bones. There was a beat of stillness before chaos erupted.

Yelling and panic ensued as some began fighting the monstrosities while others worked to kill those preventing the end. Y/n felt lost as others pushed and pulled them every way. They tried looking for their brothers, crying out their names in the frantic space, but could no longer define anyone in the tumultuous crowd overwhelming them. 

By the time they were able to separate themself from the group, a building hum penetrated from above. Explosions descended around them as they became trapped by the blasts. Arms covered and crouched close to the ground, Y/n was helpless to the wither, and they stared in dread as the creature began to glow to attack once more. 

Before they met their final end, however, colors invaded the sky and erupted against the wither’s side. It roared in rage at the measly ambush and turned to find the source. Y/n was still frozen in the futile position, but was hoisted from behind and dragged up the small crater entrapping them. 

Technoblade let go of their weight once on solid ground again and stepped away immediately. Y/n, wheezing from the realization they could have died, turned to look up at their brother while still laying on the ground. Arms beneath them, they struggled to raise their head to him. 

“Why, Tech,” y/n exasperated, eyes begging for a justification for more destruction beyond that of their recent brother’s death. Tears fell in anguish of the devastation around them. “Just why?”

“Not everyone can be saved. Not everything is worth being saved.”

And if you were drowned at sea

I'd give you my lungs so you could breathe

“Come on Toms, stay with me now.” Pulling with all their might, y/n grappled the thin boy through the water as they fought to swim against the current in the rising dawn. As they crawled onto the sandy shores, the heavy weight of being completely soaked left them restless on the beach. Taking a moment to breathe, y/n gathered their strength before rushing to Tommy’s side.

“Come on, Tommy. You can’t do this to me now.” Y/n laid him completely flat and started to push his chest in rhythmic beats, shoving down as hard as they could to save him. 

He was already incredibly pale from the cold depths of the water, and y/n could only assume he had been in the water for some time before they arrived. 

Every so often they would glance to discern any movement or change but would go back to focusing on reviving their brother entirely. As more time passed and Tommy refused to move, Y/n grew frustrated and speed up their pace harshly, tears clouding their vision despite their resolution. “Please, Tommy. Please. I can’t lose another one of you. Not again.”

With a sudden twitch, Tommy jerked before coughing up water and trembling with the rush of air to his lungs. Y/n looked up to the green horizon and closed their eyes in relief, tears streaming down their cheeks before they reached down to hold the boy close. Gently bring him into their arms and caressing his long wet hair, Tommy continued to draw breaths with his arm hung limply around them. He clutched the fabric on their shoulder, whimpering in a small voice,

“Y/n? Are you really here this time?” Y/n squeezed him tighter.

“It’s really me, Toms. I’m here. And I’m never leaving you again.”

And if we hit on troubled water

I'll be the one to keep you warm and safe

“This is not a trial, Technoblade.” Quackity motioned to the anvil strung above the stage, beaming at the seething piglin through the bars of the cage. “This is an execution. We are going to kill you.” 

Hidden beneath the breath of night while under the effects of the invisible potion, y/n observed from the roof of a nearby house. Although they kept their distance from everyone in their family besides Tommy, y/n couldn’t ignore the apparent ‘Butcher Army’ when they passed through the forest where they were collecting wood, their brother strung behind them as if on a leash. 

Y/n glared at the immaturity of the young boys, despising the belief that more death will create peace in a land built on bloodshed. While their relationship with Technoblade was rough considering their last encounter, they couldn’t deny the fact that he had a right to hold his certain principles and acted out in aggression to the others’ mistreatment; though arguably to an extreme.

Their gaze shifted when the mercenary, Punz, announced his arrival with thrown snowballs and began spreading TNT as an apparent distraction. Deciding to aid in the diversion, y/n pulled arrows out of their quiver and aimed to target the boys when they tried to assault him. 

“Where the hell did that come from?!” Fundy screeched out in revelation after barely managing to dodge an incoming arrow to the leg. Despite all efforts, Quackity realized their intentions and ran to pull the level. As he let out a joyous shout, y/n dropped their bow in fear, eyes trained on the falling anvil before it was meant to strike and scrambled to their feet. To their astonishment and utter relief, a faint, green glow emitted once Technoblade was supposedly killed. The Blood God had escape death. What a surprise.

Y/n watched as Technoblade climbed swiftly out of the cage and followed a green figure mounted on his horse through a tunnel hidden beneath a stone hill. They knew from pass whispers and Tommy’s harsh words that it was the warrior, Dream, having had only seen the daunting smiling face in a blur during the war. They were aware of the torment the man had caused to their family, both in the war and in Tommy’s exile.

Sliding down the tile roof, y/n jumped off the building and maneuvered their way down, ignoring the stare of their imprisoned father on top of the nearby balcony as the potion’s effects started to fade. They noticed Quackity trace the foot steps of Technoblade’s hooves, and stalked behind him as he entered the small hole. Pausing before leaping in themself, y/n looked up to see Dream already staring down at them, arms crossed and in wait. 

He stared at them expectantly, which made y/n’s patience wear thin once hearing Quackity lowly state how he planned to kill Technoblade then and there. Narrowing their eyes in annoyance, y/n gave Dream a final glare and blocked off the entrance once entering. 

They pulled out their axe and treaded quietly down the tunnel before pausing behind the broken wall to an old vault full of chests. 

“—nd I don’t care how long it fucking takes me, or what I have to do to get you, Techno. I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“I just have on question, Quackity.” Technoblade paused as Quackity asked him to continue.

“Do you think you’re enough, to kill me? Even unarmed, with iron armor?” They both ever so slightly gripped their weapons tighter, stance shifted as they prepared to fight.

“You know what? Let’s fucking find out, you son of a bitch!” Their weapons clashed as they dodged the blow from one another. Quackity delivered each blow with blind determination while Technoblade played defense with each graceful side step. Eventually, Technoblade knocked his pickaxe into his face, Quackity yelping in pain and holding a hand to cover the wound. 

When turning his back to move further down the tunnel, Technoblade risked leaving himself vulnerable to the crazed butcher. Quackity stood despite his injury and tried to attack him from behind.

Y/n took the opportunity to run towards him, axe prepared to strike. Before Quackity could turn to defend himself, y/n swung the axe into his neck. Blood instantly pooled at the cut as he struggled to breathe, and y/n ripped their blade from his flesh. He fell to his knees while grasping helplessly at his wound, choking on his blood before falling to the side. 

While they had a distaste for violence, unlike their brother, y/n couldn’t excuse the attempted murder of their family by any means. 

Technoblade stared in reverence, eyes darting between Quackity’s slump figure and his sibling covered in an excessive amount of blood from the attack. Y/n stepped forward and grabbed a lead from their belt, having previously found it abandoned in the snow. No words were exchanged as they silently pulled Carl through the sewer system, blood casually staining the water as they walked through. Technoblade only spoke once they reach the surface.

“Pog.”

And we'll be carrying each other

Until we say goodbye on our dying day

“Are you alright, y/n?”

Broken sobs become shuddered breathes as y/n hears the voice of their late brother. They lifted their eyes from beneath their arms that held their legs together while pushed against the very corner of the room, their current position reminding Ghostbur how small anyone could look when upset. Ghostbur slightly frowned at their lack of response, floating closer to them to observe their tears, lighting the space slightly with a soft glow. 

“What’s wrong?” Despite the innocence behind his echoed voice, y/n couldn’t help the pain from hearing his concern. “Nothing that matters, Ghostbur. Nothing that anyone could fix anyway.”

Ghostbur didn’t like that response, refusing to believe that sadness could exist without a solution to bring an end to despair. He reached into his pocket, hands carefully holding some dye out towards y/n.

Y/n tilted their head in confusion, tears having stopped running but still present. “What is it?”

“It’s blue! Here, here, take some.” Ghostbur placed the colored substance into their cupped palms, explaining its significance with a gentle smile. “See, when someone is very angry or sad, the blue sucks away all your sadness and turns blue! And what you can do, is you can throw the blue away, and that’s all your sadness gone.”

Although strange and futile, y/n couldn’t help the smile form on their face from Ghostbur’s clarification. Ghostbur gasped excessively, causing y/n to chuckle lightly. “It worked! Do you feel better now, y/n? I have more blue if you need as well!” Pulling an incredible amount that began to pile on the floor in front of them, y/n giggled at the sight.

Y/n wiped their eyes with the back of their hand, breathing in and out to recollect themself. “Thank you, Ghostbur. Never change your wonderful self.” The ghost grinned brightly at that.

“Of course, Y/n! Never change your caring self either!”

Oh brother, we'll go deeper than the ink

Beneath the skin of our tattoos

“I have to ask, Y/n. Why choose them?” Y/n stood before Dream in their kitchen, the man having had shown up unannounced at their front door and began asking vague questions. 

“What do you mean?” Y/n was unnerved by his demeanor, never having held a conversation, let alone utter a word, with him before despite small, yet silent encounters. They refused to show discomfort, though they didn’t have a mask to cover every waver in their voice or their jaw visibly tighten.

“Oh, you know.”  He turned to walk around the small living space, hand skimming over a chest surface before continuing to speak ominously. “Time and time again, I’ve seen you run and fall to your knees for your so-called family. Yet as time continues on, I’ve seen them give you nothing in return.” He paused and faced them again. “What’s the point of saving something that does nothing but hold you down?”

Though we don't share the same blood

Y/n crossed their arms in defiance, finally understanding his intentions and glowered at his objective.

“You wouldn’t understand, Dream. Even if you tried.” He looked confused at their response, tilting his head slighting while his masked continued the same haunting smile. Y/n smirked.

“Your seen weakness gives me strength. I fight for everything because of them. Your lack of attachment leaves you nothing to gain.” Dream bent forward in mocking interest, though y/n knew better than to give in. “Is that so?”

“You tell me. Who will come running to your aid when your lies eventually catch up, and everyone realizes the things you’ve planned behind their backs?”

“I have my ways. Ways that insure I’ll have people on my side when I need.”

Y/n scowled before stepping forwards, leaning into his face. “Say whatever you need to say to comfort the idea of your downfall. I don’t care about you or your motives, leave my family alone or I will personally see to it you meet your expected end before its fated to happen.” Dream let out an amused breath in response. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise."

You're my brother and I love you that's the truth

[totiredtowrite]

Nonononono hear me out right? Imagine Oikawa, one of the most powerful demons around, snags a reader who wants to be a hero and just kind of says 'aight this ones mine now'

Powerless

Warnings - Mentions of killing, the word blade, a religious joke here or there, cursing, referenced nsfw, the req was short but I managed to make this long af, sorry if the ending is trash :(, might do a part 2

Note: I have one mood and this is it

Male Reader - Fem Readers DNI, Respect The Boundaries of the Writers. ✨This isn't about you✨

Demon King Oikawa Tooru.

Infamous for a...multitude of things. For one, his power. Two, the astounding number of people who lust after him. Cults and chapels have been erected in his favour, solely because of his attraction. Nobodies even sure if he's a demon of lust at this point, or if he's just naturally handsome.

And lastly, of course, his ego. His power gives him a big head, though that isn't undeserved. He's just as cocky as he's allowed to be. While it may seem like overkill to some people, they'll quickly find that all of his self conceit is well earned.

Of course, that makes him a big target. Any heroes career would be made if they could kill the demon king. Hell, some get publicity just by returning alive. Young, naive, aspiring heroes want to get his head on a platter more than anything.

And, of course, you were no exception.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ 🃑 ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"I just don't think you're cut out for this, son."

At first you'd scoffed. Chalked it up to your mentor being crazy. After all, he was the one who trained you for this!

Nearing the end of the dead forest though, you were starting to wish that you'd listened to him. The energy, the atmosphere, felt like it was wrapping around your neck. You could almost see the dark tendrils around your throat.

The whispers of the forest- prominent, though unintelligible- faded the farther you got from the tree line. Anyone with eyes, ears, or even a nose could tell how corrupt the land was here. Dead birds, ravens to be exact, littered the grounds. Every few yards, you had to step over or around a carcass.

Your torch, near burnt out, clattered to the ground.

There wasn't any need for it anymore, the dim sunset illuminating the deathly area. A small shudder tore through your body. It's like you could feel eyes on you, even in the obviously vacated expanse.

The castle wasn't any better.

Cracked and broken cobblestone lined the pathway up to the doors, travelling up a rather steep hill. From where you stood, you could see the different layers. True to it's unholy resident, the castle was make of dark brick and stone. Sharp, jagged pillars jutted up at the tips of towers, pyres in small heaps littering the area. Some looked as if they were already burnt.

Your hand drifted to your side. There your sword hung, sheathed tightly in a leather casing. The sword was all you really needed, though a couple extra daggers and limited magic items were helpful. After all, it was the demon king. Just a sword wasn't going to kill him off.

You smiled at the thought of your sword being framed when you became a well-known hero, famous for being the blade to deliver the finishing blow.

Those thoughts were quickly disrupted as a bird fell to the ground at your feet.

You grimaced, gently kicking the corpse out of the way and continuing on the rocky cobblestone path. There hasn't been any sign of people for the last two miles. You knew that there was an immensely powerful demon king not even twenty minutes away from you, but it felt like there was nobody for miles on end.

Obviously though, no sane person would get as close to this place as you were.

With one final, (and tentative) step, you arrived at the front door. It felt like any and all sound was swallowed by the walls, all of your senses instantly on edge. Nothing felt right here. It almost made you want to turn around, but you've already made it this far. It would make no sense.

Drawing in another shaky breath, your hand made its way to the door handle. Not much skin touched it through your gloves, yet you could just sense how wrong it felt.

You could only hope that the next time you see these doors, you'd still have your head.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ 🃑 ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Nobody told Oikawa that being the demon king would be so...boring.

As opposed to what everyone thinks, it's actually rather monotonous. Wake up, go seduce some townspeople, maybe burn a village or two, kill some heroes who come by, and repeat. Nothing happened that he didn't expect anymore.

Hell, it's gotten to the point where he just smites heroes before they even finish their little speech!

In his defense though, their speeches were starting to sound the same. All the "you are an ungodly creature of darkness"s and "I must avenge my family"s just felt the exact same. They only wanted to kill him for the publicity, the bounty, or some stupid thing about their families legacy. He's so bored.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted, (thank god), by the sound of footsteps pounding on the floor. All at once the door to the throne room swung open, a sweating and panting Kuroo standing there. His black hair was wind tousled, sweat glinting on his forehead.

"Wow," Oikawa scoffed. "Somethings got you running."

Kuroo stood up straight, shrugging and attempting to appear collected. "What do you mean?"

Oikawa raised his brows.

"Right, there's a hero in the castle." Kuroo chuckled awkwardly. "Want us to take care of him?"

Oikawa perked up. Another hero? Really? He wasn't looking forward to doing the same dance again, though maybe this time it would be slightly different. "Let him in," he grinned. "Maybe this one will have something for me." He was never one to turn down opportunity.

Kuroo, plagued by a bit of disbelief, nodded and left the throne room. Presumably it was to tell the fox twins.

Another wicked smile split the Demon King's face, brown hair shifting as he tilted his head to the side. Somehow, he got the feeling that this time, something interesting would happen.

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You figured that the castle would be partly deserted, but this was just weird.

No sign of any living beings. Demons, animals, humans, nothing. Was it an ambush? Quite possibly. Still though, you continued on through the halls.

The inside, just like the outside, was made of dark stone and brick. The floors were marbled and grey, veins of gold running through it. It was actually relatively pretty. You thought that there would be skulls and bones everywhere, bodies even. The castle was well taken care of.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. Seriously, there was no one. You thought that the all powerful Demon King would at least have some guards stationed around. You were grateful for it though, the lack of protection making it easier for you to get into the castle.

In truth you weren't exactly sure where you were headed. You believed the demon king to be in his throne room, though where exactly that was remained a mystery.

Using your limited knowledge of how castles are built, you slowly tried to make your way to the center of the castle. The back center, specifically. You hoped that you'd find the throne room there, plus you were following the remnants of magic.

Even not being a magic user yourself, it would be hard not to feel the weird fluctuations of energy in these halls. Demons always left some kind of trail behind. Which, of course, made this weirder. Nobody was stopping you, but it was clear that there were being in the castle aside from the king himself.

A thought struck you as you reached two huge double doors. (They no doubt led to the throne room). Was it possible that the demons were letting you get this close? Of course, there had to be some kind of second meaning behind it, right?

Drawing in a breath, you flung the doors open.

The throne room was different than the rest of the castle, if only slightly. Grey marble and gold veins staying the same of course, the walls slightly lighter than before. If you had the time to look closely, you'd notice the oxidized bloodstains on the walls.

"Well well, look who's finally showed up!"

Your breath hitched in your throat, barely registering the door creaking closed behind you the moment you stepped forward. He was just as...no, more terrifying up close. The horns jutting out from the sides of his head, twisted upward, held a muted purple colour that shined in the equally muted light. His tone of voice was teasing, almost whiny.

You couldn't tell if his eyes were brown or red, but either way they glowed dangerously. "Well, boy?" He tilted his head, soft brown hair bouncing slightly. "You are here to kill me...aren't you?" His tone shifted. Deeper, more serious.

Your hand quickly made its way to your sword, eyes darting from his horns to his eyes.

He laughed. "Why do you keep looking at my horns like that? You are here for my head, are you not?" You wanted to nod, though he spoke before you could get an answer out.

"Wait a minute. You're here for something more...carnal, aren't you?"

Your eyes widened. "What- no! I'm here for your head!" Your grip on the swords hilt tightened. The rumors about his looks were true, (maybe even understating them), however that is not what you're here to do.

The teasing smirk dropped off of his face. "Oh. Lame."

Your brows knitted together. "Lame?" What was that supposed to mean?

"Oh nothing," he rolled his eyes. "So if you're going to deliver a speech, best do it now. Before I, you know, kill you real bad."

You only looked more confused.

Oikawa scoffed at your lack of response. "Jeez, come on, you know what a soliloquy is right?"

"Well yes but I don't think that really applies here-"

"Tomato whatever, get on with it!" He'd turned around, hands firmly gripping your shoulders.

Your breath stopped short for a second.

"Oh come one," his face moved closer. "Is a little proximity all it takes for you to freeze up? Maybe you aren't cut out to be a hero, boy," he snickered. His nose was brushing yours, breath minty and cold.

Without thinking, your sword was at his side in a flash of silver. Maybe it was just out of reflex, the need to defend yourself. The blank, shocked look on your face morphing into one of confusion. Why wasn't your sword moving further? "Was that the best you could do?" The king whispered.

Looking down, you realize just why he was so revered. He'd caught the blade in his hand, a trickle of black blood visible on his palm. No grimace, no noise of pain, nothing. "Hey, eyes up here sweetheart," one of his clawed hands was on your chin now. The wound, one that would cut almost anyone's hand off, didn't seem to throw him off his rhythm at all.

Horror and realization befell you as your eyes met his. You weren't ready. You didn't know what to do, except relax and let instinct take over. So that's what you did.

You let the sword fall out of your hand, causing him to have to catch it at an awkward angle. Using his moment of distraction, you reached into a bag at your hip. Sand. Sure, he was a demon, though it's not like his eyes were impervious to sand.

The dust hit him in the eyes, a startled, strangled noise leaving him. You turned, darting to the only open window as fast as possible. Jumping was not a good idea by any means, though maybe you could use the little magic you knew to your own advantage. You hesitated. You didn't mean to, but really it was just in your nature to be a little cautious.

Oikawa's eyes cleared just in time to see you fall out the window, hands darting back and forth and lips moving. Magic. "You clever little thing," he snarled, at the window in only a few seconds flat. He almost jumped out after you, but then he stopped. Sure he could follow you, but what would be the point? It makes more sense to simply leave you to come back on your own.

"Hey!"

You didn't look back at the sound of his voice, though you did catch the next words to fall from his mouth. "The names Tooru, by the way!"

You didn't say a word, focused on the cold burn of your heart pounding and your legs moving. You'd failed far faster than you thought you would, but you'd be back. You didn't even bother to step around the birds, only focused on getting out. After all, he'd let you leave. There wasn't any way you were taking that for granted.

Back at the castle, Oikawa's hands were still gripping the window's edge. He'd watched your form run until he could hardly see you, still gazing off in that direction. The twins were hovering behind him, wondering when the right time would be to speak. The bloodied sword on the ground, (and the grains of sand), were clear signs that you'd done something.

After elbowing one another for a minute, Osamu spoke up. "Would you like us to take care of it, Lord?" He pushed Atsumu back in an attempt to seem more dignified.

They got silence for a second before he responded. "No. That one is mine. Leave him be." The twins nodded in unison, leaving the room like they were never there.

You didn't do much. There were other heroes who'd done far more to him then you had, though still, something stuck with him. Maybe it was the utterly useless conversation you'd shared before anything actually happened. Maybe it was the vague potential he saw.

In any case, he was going to see you once more. Somewhere you'd least expect him.

Oikawa never was fond of leaving unfinished business.