#Azrael should be allowed to swear I think

[mantarobin]

post-ar doodles

[simsadventures]

My Mysterious Girl

Summary: You are a hunter on a mission to find Azrael’s blade. You find it in an unlikely place, in the hands of the very Bucky Barnes, the infamous Winter Soldier. When you save him, and then disappear, Bucky does everything in his power to find you and learn about you.

Warnings: SPN x Avengers crossover, swearing, mention of death, mention of supernatural beings, fluff, smidge of angst (you look and it’s gone), more fluff

Pairing: Bucky x hunter!Reader, Dean x platonics!sister!Reader, Sam x platonic!sister!Reader

Word Count: 3422

A/N: So this story was requested my the 🦄 anon, and I know it’s coming a bit late… Sorry for that. I tried to make it better by writing a longer piece. I hope you’ll enjoy the SPN x Avengers crossover. I also combined a little of Lucifer there, the Azrael’s blade and all… I’ve been obsessed for days so I need to have an outlet for that xD

Whole request here: Yay! Alright, so I read a fic somewhere with a Marvel/Supernatural cross over and I love the idea so much. So, I was thinking like reader is a hunter (you can decide if she's a Winchester or not) and she runs into Bucky on a case who's there on a mission. It can be something like she has to retrieve a magical artefact or kill a monster or something, but Bucky's confused about it all and she just mysteriously disappears (because that's what hunters do). So, she disappeared and Bucky tries so hard to find her and like researches (or tries to) everything about the hunting lifestyle because he wants to find her again and like puts himself in harms way. Which of course pisses her off. If you don't want to do it, it's fine as well. I just thought it would be a good idea

Masterlist

“Oh, come on, Dean. I’m a big girl, and I can handle myself. I know what I’m doing, and I’m very capable of going there alone, and you know it!” You said exasperated because your oldest brother still treated you like a little child. You were now 25, far from a kid, but Dean refused to acknowledge that. And you were getting more and more pissed at him for that.

“Why do you have the need to go on a hunt alone? I’m aware that you’re one of the best in the game Y/N, but I’d feel better if you just waited after the vampire hunt that Sammy and I have in our schedules.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed out a breath. Your brother could be so frustrating it was surprising that you or Sam haven’t killed him yet. “It’s just an artefact retrieval, Dean. It’s an easy job for me, c’mon. You and Sam can take on the vampires, I’ll retreat the dagger, and maybe we all can rest for a bit before something new comes up.”

Dean seemed to be thinking, and just this little act gave you hope. Dean was usually the guy to dismiss everything without even a thought, so just the fact that he was willing to give this a little time was making you giddy.

It was not that you didn’t like to hunt with your brothers, you loved them both unconditionally. It was more that you could use some alone time. Spending your whole life on the road with your brothers could be fun, but it was also getting a little tiring. Dean wouldn’t let you drive even if it had to kill him. He also wouldn’t change up the music in the car, despite yours and Sam’s loud protests. And Sammy… he was sweet, and all, but Dean was right in one thing, Sam was gassy as hell.

So yeah, you could use some time just by yourself, listening to the music you liked, and not having to share a room with the two snoring idiots.

Dean sighed, and you came back to reality. You painted a pretty picture in your head, and you just hope your brother wouldn’t destroy it.

“Fine! But if anything happens, you call us, or Jody. If you feel like something else might be going down, if it’s not just simple retrieval, you call us. If some other hunters appear, you call us. If-“

“If I see a falling star, I call you, yeah I got it, Dean. I promise I’ll be fine. I’m just getting the blade, and I’m coming back home. I think I could be home in 5 days if everything goes according to plan. I’ll call you from the road and when I got there and then every time I’m not sure about something, or I just feel like it. I’ll be fine, Dean, I’ve been doing it long enough to be able to get one fucking blade.”

Dean smirked at you and pulled you into a bear hug. “I just don’t want to lose you Y/N, that’s all. Please, be careful.”

You kissed his cheek and patted his shoulder. “I will, I promise. But you two as well, ok? I’m not gonna have the time to pull your sorry asses out of trouble when I’m across the whole country.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but the little smile playing on his lips told you that he wasn’t taking you too seriously.

You separated from him and all but ran to your room to get your bags before Dean changed his mind. You only took the essentials, said a quick bye to Sam, who was happy for you that Dean allowed you to have a solo-mission. You also took your notes, trying to get all the information about Azrael’s blade into you.

You were studying it for months now, it being one of the few weapons being able to hurt all celestial beings. You and your brothers hoped that it included Chuck and were determined to find out. It constituted of three parts, and without you even knowing it, you already had one of them with you. The part which was giving it life, looking like a belt buckle. So now two parts remained to get. The actual sword and the key connecting the two parts. You knew that the last part would be the most difficult to get, but you’d cross the bridge when you come to it.

You found traces of the blade in New York City. Weird murders were reported and looking more into it, you and your brothers realised that it could have been the blade. All you needed to do was not to grab it by your bare hands, and you should be ok. Hopefully.

—-

You checked your phone again, trying to see if you got the address right. It was an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn, a really shady looking place, and you weren’t too eager to enter. But you had no other choice. You had to prove to Dean and yourself that you could do this on your own. That you were strong and independent to go on solo hunts when you needed the space. So you sighed, braced yourself and walked towards the building.

Walking in, you tried to be careful, gun in one hand and a light in the other, trodding through the building. You could hear muffled voices from a room in front of you, and you didn’t waste a second. If there were people in the room, and they found the blade, many people could get in harm’s way. And you wanted to avoid that, if possible.

Kicking in the door, you stared at the unlikely image in front of you. In the dark room, which seemed to have served as some kind of an office before, three Avengers were facing you. Steve Rogers, aka Captain America himself, Sam Wilson, the Falcon, and Bucky Barnes, the famous Winter Soldier. You knew them from the newspaper and the television, never thinking you would actually meet them.

While these men fought the aliens and such creatures, you tried to protect the Earth from its own monsters. You knew that the Avengers encountered a few vampires and werewolves, telling the wide audience about it, which you and your brothers were actually glad they did. Maybe people would be more careful now that it came from the Earth’s mightiest protectors.

You snapped back to reality when a vicious growl left Bucky’s lips. Your eyes found the blade in his hands, gripping it tightly and the bloodlust it called for visible in his blue eyes. You cursed under your breath and made your way toward him. Captain and the Falcon would probably stop you, had they not been occupied by their friend, who was now attacking them.

While they were busy fighting, you sneaked behind Bucky’s back. He was too busy with trying to kill his pals that he didn’t see you coming, and when you jumped on his back and kicked his arm with all your strength, making him drop the blade, he grunted, surprised.

As if a fog was lifted off his brain, Bucky realised where he was and what was going on. Did he really try to kill Steve and Sam just because they made fun of him in the car? They did things far worse than that on a daily basis, and he never lusted for their blood as much as he did a few moments ago. He also realised that there was another person in the room, and the person was currently getting off his back.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way, I’ll handle this devilish little thing, gentlemen.” You said and made your way towards the blade, but a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“Who are you, and what is this thing?” It was Sam, holding you with his brows cocked, a perplexed look painted on his face.

“Right. I’m sorry. My name is Y/N Winchester, and I came here for this sword. It’s called the Azrael’s blade, and when misused, it turns the smallest grudge into a bloodlust. And I’m here to take it to safety.”

The three of them cringed and looked at the blade and then back at you. “A what blade? And how do you know about it? This something they teach at schools now or what?” Bucky’s eyes looked like they would fall out of their sockets.

You chuckled and shook your head, all while you put on the special gloves that Cas made for you before you went. You lifted the blade and looked at it from up close, seeing the beautiful simple handle, imagining the embroiled “belt buckle” that was already sitting in the bunker’s storage.

“I’m a hunter, you see? While you take care of Thanos, and shit, I take care of ghosts, vampires, ghouls, and others. And this little guy is one of the few weapons being able to destroy celestial beings, and we could use that right now.”

The boys obviously didn’t “see”, and they kept asking you question after question, trying to get to the bottom of the thing. It was especially Bucky, getting closer and closer to you, until he stood mere inches from you, still listening intently about what you had to say about your job. He was so intrigued he didn’t even recognise when Steve and Sam left eh building, telling him that they’d wait for him at the compound.

You smiled at him, being mesmerised by his whole being. His tall, broody figure called for something deep inside you, but you knew all too well that with your chosen life, and probably even with Bucky’s it would be almost irresponsible to start something you wouldn’t be able to finish.

But when he asked you to go and get a drink with him, you couldn’t refuse.

“So, tell me. Why would you do something so dangerous willingly?” Bucky asked, nursing a beer in his hand. You laughed at him, and when he gave you a confused look, it made you laugh even harder.

“You’re asking me this? Aren’t you doing the exact same thing, just fighting different monsters? I can’t stay away when I know what things roam this planet. I like it enough to want to stay here for a little longer.”

Bucky nodded and kept watching the beverage in his metal hand. He knew you were right, what he really wanted to ask was why a beautiful girl like you was doing fighting gruesome monsters. But he didn’t want to see too forthcoming. So he kept to himself.

“So, why do you still fight the battles which don’t have to be yours any longer?”

He smiled sadly and scooted a little closer to you so that the two of you could have a private conversation in the crowded bar.

“I guess the same thing as you, Y/N. And besides, I’m not good at anything else but being a soldier.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Bucky. I bet that if you wanted, you could do pretty much anything. But I get it. I’m not sure that even if I wanted to, I would be able to choose a different path in my life. We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be,” you said with a smile and bumped into him with your shoulder.

Bucky looked down at you, with sparkles in his eyes. You were the first woman he’s felt comfortable with ever since he woke up from the nightmare he called his previous life. You had some kind of light in you, something he wasn’t able to ignore as easily as he would like to. And the more he thought about, the less he wanted to ignore the chemistry between the two of you.

He realised there has been silence for a bit too long, but also that he wanted it to last a little longer. He bowed down slightly, to be on your level, and when your eyes glanced at his lips and lingered there, he knew you felt the same thing he did.

He closed the space between you and kissed you with all he had. It took your breath away, and you never wanted it to stop. His lips were so soft and plump and felt like literal heaven, or, at least, what you imagined heaven felt like.

Bucky’s hand found its way to your cheek, caressing it in the process, igniting a little fire wherever his skin touched yours. But like all good things, even this must have ended.

You pulled away, panting heavily, your gaze clouded with burning desire. But you needed to stop your thoughts before you went down the road there was no escaping from. You needed to get away from there before you dug an even deeper hole for yourself and your heart. You excused yourself, telling Bucky that you needed to use the restroom.

You felt horrible for doing it, but you weren’t the one-night type of girl, and you couldn’t let yourself fall in love with this famous soldier. Because from what your heart and brain have been telling you the whole night, it wouldn’t be difficult to catch feelings.

You looked at him from the door to the restroom, seeing the smile on his lips and hating yourself even more. But it needed to be done. For both your sakes. You slid into the room and looked at the window at the top left corner. It would be a narrow fit, but you could do that. Your heart gave a painful squeeze knowing what you were leaving behind.

—-

It’s been three months since you ran away from Bucky. That night, he thought you were kidnapped, or something, but the later it got, the more he realised that you probably just ran away from him. Did he say something? Did he do something? Was the kiss too much? Wasn’t it enough? His mind was whirling and the time spent apart from you was doing nothing in soothing his pain.

He liked you. He really really did. And he had the feeling you reciprocated it all. So why would you suddenly disappear?

While thinking about you, he tried to get to the bottom of your job. A hunter. He’s never even heard of anyone like that, and he’s been travelling the Earth left and right. From what you said, he got that it was an insanely important job, protecting people just like he did. But while he did all that was in his power to stop mostly inhumane forces coming here from outer space, or some human scumbags (*cough cough hydra*), you were struggling with something much more unnatural. Almost, supernatural.

He searched the internet, finding cases which you told him about, and getting more mesmerised by you by the second. He needed to find you. You were one of a kind, and he would not waste such an opportunity. Bucky wanted to be happy, searched for happiness ever since Hydra released its claws from him, but until now, he couldn’t find it. And when he finally did, he wasn’t gonna give it up that easily.

Bucky knew himself and knew that if he was good at something, it was tracing and hunting people down. If he thought of you as his next mission, things would be easier, and he could find you that much faster. Which is precisely what he did.

—-

You were lounging in the library, trying to figure out where the last part of Azrael’s blade could be. Whenever you thought about the damn blade, your mind wandered to one specific person, and every time you tried to shut it down. Even though it’s been almost 4 months, you still couldn’t forget about him. The icy blue eyes were the one thing keeping you from relaxing sleep, always appearing in front of you, relentless in their effort to give you as many restless nights as they could.

You still remembered the feeling of his lips on yours, touching your lips unconsciously as your mind went back to your happy place. Gosh! You met the guy once, and he was your happy place? Ugh, get a grip, Y/N! He’s just another guy!

But the little nagging voice at the back of your head told you that he could have been so much more, have you given him the chance to prove it.

Your brothers could see the slight change in you, being much more fidgety and restless ever since your solo trip to New York. They tried not to comment on it, knowing that your temper could get the better of you and things would be flying. But they were worried, you could see that much in their eyes.

Your eyes were roaming the pages of an ancient book sitting comfortably in your lap when you heard a loud banging from the “front door”. It startled you so much that the book fell to the ground with a loud thud. You cursed the whole universe and your brothers for going on a supply run, while somebody was out there, trying to get inside.

You looked at the cameras that were outside and a breath hitched in your throat. Bucky.

You cautiously went to the door, and when you quickly opened them, you poured holy water on Bucky. When you saw that it didn’t burn him (so, no demon), you threw salt at him, which was also not working (no ghost, then). Just in case, you put a silver spoon against the hand that was now getting rid of the salt on his outfit, and when it didn’t burn him (no shifter or a werewolf), you let all of the things go, just standing there, gaping at him.

“You done or do you want to stab me and see if I bleed red, just in case?” Bucky said with a smirk. Thanks to his research, he knew why you did all of the things. And he even expected them, just no without a hello from you and didn’t expect the holy water to be splashed right into his face.

“‘M, sorry. One can never be too careful. What are you doing here, Bucky? Or better yet, how the hell did you find this place?” You stepped away from the door, letting him in your home.

“I’ve been doing this for so long, doll, I can find anyone. One little hunter and her two huge brothers are an easy job for me. Now, to the more pressing question. Why did you leave that night, without even saying goodbye?”

He looked genuinely sad and disappointed, and it made your heart sank even lower. You never meant to hurt him, but you never realised that by trying to avoid your own heartbreak, people could get hurt.

“That’s what we do, you know? I’m not really good at saying goodbyes, and I’m not sure that if I tried, I wouldn’t want to leave ever again. And so I left while I could. I’m sorry,” you said, looking at the floor, finding it suddenly extremely interesting.

Bucky sighed and reached for your chin, lifting it up till you were looking at him.

“I get it. I really do. But I need you to promise me not to do it again. I know that you’re feeling the things I’m feeling, I can see it in your eyes. Let’s try it together, let’s give this, whatever it is, a shot. I think we both deserve to be happy and for me? I don’t think I could be happy with anyone else.”

You tried to find any sign of lying behind his eyes, try to find that he was just joking and he would leave you, just like everyone except your brothers did. But you couldn’t find any of that. His eyes were honest and full of warmth, and you felt yourself getting lost in them.

It wasn’t until his lips touched yours again that you knew exactly what you needed to do.

You pulled away, and Bucky looked at you, shocked and scared. He probably thought he misread some signs and that this wasn’t what you wanted. But when you gave him the sweetest smile, his worries melted away. And so did yours. For the first time in your life, you felt like you had a real choice, and there was no doubt in your mind that the choice you were making was the right one.

“Let’s do this!”

Bucky Taglist

@this-kitten-is-smitten​ @sebbbystaaan​ @paradisiacalsparks​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @owlyannah​ @lassini​ @s-trawberryv-eins​

Marvel Taglist

@voltage-my2dlove​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @lumar014​ @ptrs-prkrs​

Supernatural Taglist

@voltage-my2dlove​ @defenderrosetyler​

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone​ @sasbb23​ @p8tn0lish​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @waiting4inspiration​ @caswinchester2000​ @mogaruke​ @justthatfangirloverthere​

[darksiders-scenarios]

Hi it's a beautiful day today I hope you days been good I was hoping for a scenario for Strife,Draven and your favourite character about a family member abusing s/o like the one you did for war/death plz maybe

I know this is so so late, I am extremely sorry. I added Fury and Azrael as a continuation from the previous ask. Really sorry. Keep safe

Here’s for War and Death. 

~

Strife

Your abuser's lashing insults morph intochoked splutters when the muzzle of an enormous gun rams into their mouth,breaking their teeth like shards of glass, the impact so abrupt that it sways themoff balance and they land on their haunches.

'Please, don't stop on my account,'came the low, strangely amiable voice.

Recognition dawns in your abuser'seyes when they lock onto its wielder, renewing their attempts to escape. Howdid he get in here?

'You remember me! I'm flattered.'Your abuser's legs pinwheel frantically as Strife slowly rise to his fullheight, Redemption still pinned to the roof of their mouth. 'What'sthat?' Strife asks, mock concern etched on his face and he eases the pressureof his killer grip, allowing your abuser to speak.

'M... Mercy,' they manage to gasp,blood and saliva running down their chin, fingers reaching up to grip Strife'swrists. At the same moment, their body is hurled across the room, slammingagainst the wall and crashing in a heap on the floor.

'Granted!' Strife laughs, whippingout the twin pistol and pointing it at your abuser's prone body.

'Strife,' a tremulous whisper behindhim. 'Please, that's enough.' Strife does not turn to you. 'You think I'm justgoing to stay back and do nothing? This has gone on for far, far toolong. I'm putting a stop to it.'

'You... don't know the full story,'you say after a while.

He whips around. 'I don't care!' hestorms, guilt engulfing him when you flinch away. 'I don't care what you did,what ‘punishments’ you think you deserve, this doesn't justify-' he trails off,eyes wild. He stores his guns away and walks to your abuser's unmoving body,bends down.

'I know you can hear me, scum. A gentlereminder that it is parasites like you that make me understand my sister'sdisdain for humans. You should be grateful to your kindred. While you sat on yourarse, this good-for-nothing-little-shit saved lives and gave hope to brokensouls. A shame, such a shame that you are too stupid to realise that,' Strifeleans closer to whisper in their ear. 'Consider this your final warning, asshole.The next time, Y/N won't be able to protect you.'

Strife sits back and is quiet for along time. Every breath produces a shudder to his limbs. He feels your lighthand on his shoulder. 'Strife?' your voice is small, as though hesitant.

'Do you think I can keep ontolerating this?’ he asks quietly. ‘Your silent suffering from this filth, yourresolve to not show pain. That this has been going on for Creator knows howlong?'

He hears the wet click of your throatas you struggle to contain your emotions. You begin to withdraw your hand butStrife clasps his hand over yours and turns to you. Your cheeks are wet with tears. 'Let me bethere for you,’ he says softly and then carefully hugs you to him, tight in a way tohopefully make you feel secure.

'I’m sorry,' you mumble against hisshoulder. 'I’m sorry Strife.'

'And stop apologising all the damntime. If anything, I should be the one sorry for not noticing before and forshouting at you,' he sighs and places his chin on top of your head, reassuringhimself that you are safe now.  

Draven

Your abuser finally snaps and hurlsthe empty glass at you, along with another barrage of colourful curses. Youreact. You catch it mid-air and without thinking, you throw it back at them andit promptly shatters in their face. The room is filled with the shrill cries oftheir frustrated rage, their face decorated with bloody cuts and budding bruises.Your fist is clenched but you are frozen on the spot, shaking in sheerdisbelief and panic.

'Come on then!' your abuser yells atyou. 'Hit me again, I dare you, you ungrateful bitch!'

'Perhaps I can do the honours,'sounds a calm voice. Before they can react, your abuser's arm is suddenlyyanked harshly behind their back and you hear the disgusting pop signaling adislocated shoulder. You gawp wordlessly at the newcomer. You were obviously toodistracted to notice Draven slipping through the window.

'Draven, please,' you try to warn,knowing the futility of it. ‘

'Get out of my house!' your abusershrieks. 'Let me go or I'll-'

'You'll what?'

They respond by screaming some moreand struggle to free themself. Draven tightens his hold over them and in oneexpert move, he slams them into the table, snapping it in two. You watch,wide-eyed in horror, as your abuser coughs out blood and groans in agony.Draven kneels beside them and they immediately quieten, as though now comprehending their situation.  

'I remember,' Draven begins softly,'For centuries, I wished for nothing more than to be reunited with my people.Back in that prison, I would count the days and nights and wait and wait andwait. Now I see how grossly wrong I am,' his voice lowers and his eyes darken.'I also remember the bitter taste of countless betrayals in a distant time and I swear I will see that my friend never suffers the same betrayal as I have. So Ipromise you this; you will never lay another finger on Y/N. How, you may wonder; for I am takingthem away,’ he stands up, keeping his gaze pinned on your abuser’s sweatingface. ‘With that, I bid you farewell.'

Draven turns to you, and you see thesilent question in his eyes. You give the smallest of nods and hurry upstairsto begin packing.

Fury

'So you're telling me that simplytouching this thing will send me to where human survivors are?'

'That is the very function of the BridgeStone,' Fury smiles at your abuser. 'And you will be pleased to know thatY/N is there too.'  

The spark that lights their eyescould very much be mistaken for hope but Fury knows it for what it is, the eyesof a debased predator. It sickens her to the core. 'They're alive? How do theylook now?'  

'As much as anyone who suffered thepremature war.'

'No, I mea-'

'Isn't the fact that they're aliveand safe enough for you?'

'It is,' they lie hurriedly.

'Besides, why don't you find out foryourself?' Fury says calmly, mustering as much control as she could. She holdsout the Bridge Stone to your abuser. Their fingers close around the relic with several cracks as Fury breaks them in a tight grip. Their screams aremuffled when her hand clamps to their mouth. 'Why?' comes the strangled cry.

Fury leans forwards. 'If you as muchtouch a breadth of hair on my friend...'

'I never tou-'

'...the next thing I'll do is gouge youreyes out and skin your face off all the while slowly pulling your organs out,one by one, as you're crying out and gasping for me stop. But I will only healyou to torture you again.'

She withdraws her hand. Your abuser clutchestheir broken hand. 'You… you have no proof,' they gasp, voiceshaking. 'You honestly believe them, as ‘mighty’ as you are? They are nothingbut a manipulative, lying rotten rat. Even now, after all this, even now,when there's my chance for freedom, they're trying to sabotage me. Rotten pig,I always knew they were a mista-'

Your abuser's diatribe ends in chokedgasps when their neck is being collared by Scorn, hands reaching up,struggling desperately as they're slowly being strangulated. Fury staresimpassively, her grip never faltering.

'Don't struggle. No one can hear youanyway,' Fury whispers in perfect imitation of your abuser.  Their eyes bulge, twitching fingersdesperately clawing at the tight noose around their throat. Their grip slackening, struggles weakening, strength fading...  

Fury lets the unconscious body dropat her feet. Frustration burns in her but she did promise the old Maker to bring them alive. Hopefully, hopefully this will be sufficient to hammer themessage and fear into their skull.

Back at the Tree, you had overheardthe conversation; Ulthane's instructions to Fury about teleporting stray humansback to Haven. You had withdrawn from everyone then and mostly kept toyourself, crafting trinkets with the other Makers and obsessively doing smallerrands around the place. You would always deflect the topic whenever Furytried to talk to you. Ulthane was the one to reveal to her about your abuser.  

'We need 'em alive,' Ulthane hadwarned Fury. 'See if they learn, time will tell. If not, well, I'm sure little Y/Nwon't be too remorseful if they, say, accidentally, drop from the Tree.'

‘You insult me, Maker. You know I amcapable of more than that.’

Fury parts your abuser's lips andgrips their tongue. She taps into her ice hollow magic and freezes the softflesh.

'Y/N will never hear your twistedlies again.'

And crush.

Azrael

Azrael presses his fingers to histemples this time, wincing at the sympathetic stab of pain. No longer can heignore the signs. He closes his eyes and through his mind's eye, he sees thedark grey of your panic, in weak retaliation of the lava-red bursts of yourabuser's rage, mingling with the night-purple of their sense of grandiose. 

Azrael focuses. His connection with the material world fades.

'What the f- where am I?'

'You are safe,' the voice of Azraelreassures your abuser in their mind. 'I am the archangel Azrael, also calledthe angel of death.'

'The... Maybe I should really startcutting down the whiskey.'

'This is indeed a dream of sorts, butone that only I control its direction whereby you are a passing audience. Youare not hallucinating.'

‘So what’s happening?’ 

'I only appear to a rare few in the Third Kingdom. Y/N is one of them. Now I come to you.'

A pause, a hesitation. 'You know therunt?'

'I know your kindred very well. And Ihave been observing you for a while a/n.'

The cold spike of their fear laps atAzrael's conscious. 'Is this... If you're an angel, then am I being blessed?

'I appear in connection with yourcurrent flow of action. I bring you a message. I will show you your potentialfate should you carry on this path.'

'My path, wha-' 

The pulse of lightlances through their essence without warning, piercing their psyche, drowningyour abuser in suffocating darkness. Your abuser wakes to the sounds of brutish snarls and snapping fangs. Below your abuser lay shoals of terrible abominations, nightmarish fiends of insatiable hunger andvampiric bloodlust.

The Well of Souls stares back.

~

All this occurred within fiveheartbeats.

You never feel the blow. You riskglancing up to see your abuser stumbling away from the room, their voicefaltering between stuttering mumbles and strangled weeping.

Before you can process anything, something soft and gentle wafts overyour shoulder, as though the comforting fingers of a friend, there but notthere at once.

'Azrael?' you whisper, eyes brimmingwith unshed tears.

The gentle air envelops you in acomforting cloak, in a protective embrace. And this, this feels real. 

[schtroumpf-a-lunettes]

The Smurfs That Canon Forgot, Ch.9

Read this chapter on: AO3 | FF.net | DeviantART | This post!

Previous Chapters: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8

This chapter’s word count: 2679 (longest chapter so far... way longer than most of the other chapters)

Note: This chapter contains vague references to violent/serious injury.

In the “present”…

Smurfette, Hefty, Painter, Tuffy and Flighty were all out doing some casual smurfberry picking in the forest. After the group had been busying themselves with this for around ten minutes, Flighty motioned the others to come over to him.

“I think I might have heard something, but then aga-“ Hefty clamped his hand over Flighty’s mouth as some figures emerged from nearby, but still at a rather safe distance. They probably wouldn’t have heard Flighty speaking had he been allowed to finish, but it did well to be cautious.

“Eet iz Gargamel,” Painter whispered.

“And is that…?” Smurfette rubbed at her eyes, looking at the figure that walked alongside the mean old wizard, “…Scruple?”

“But he’s so… different!” Hefty chimed in. Scruple was taller now – rather lanky in fact, and less round in the face. He was also sporting a slightly different outfit compared to the one Hefty remembered. He looked to be taller than Gargamel, although Gargamel’s stooped figure greatly helped in that regard.

“Ah, but of course! Scru-pel should be a teenager by now, no?” Painter pointed out.

“Late teens” Flighty confirmed with a mutter, “Now come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Ah, come on Flighty, they’re plenty far away, plenty far!” Tuffy insisted, rapidly picking more smurfberries from the bush they were hiding by, “I just wanna fill up these baskets a little more, or we probably won’t hear the end of it from Greedy.” The village had needed to go back to stocking a lot more food now that the others were back – especially Greedy.

“But Tuffy-“

“Give me two minutes tops, you keep an eye on them and tell me if they get too close.”

They all knew arguing with Tuffy would be more trouble than it was worth if he was going to be so quick, and the last thing they wanted was for Tuffy to get flustered and inadvertently raise his voice, alerting Gargamel to their presence. At least Azrael could clearly be seen trailing along behind Gargamel and Scruple, so there was no risk of the cat sneaking up on them without warning. A few moments of silence passed, Tuffy rapidly picking away at the berries as the other four trained their eyes on Gargamel, Scruple and Azrael.

Gargamel adjusted the direction he was walking in, although thankfully he was still not walking towards where the smurfs were hiding. The change in position allowed them to get a good view of his other side.

Smurfette gasped softly, and Hefty and Painter’s eyes widened. Gargamel’s hand and part of his forearm were missing, as well as most of his ear.

“Whaat, what is it?” Tuffy demanded. He looked up at where the old wizard was along with Scruple and Azrael, now gradually moving further away from them. “Well, what is it?” Tuffy asked again irritably.

“Gargamel – his arm” Painter said simply.

“…And ear” Smurfette added.

Flighty immediately turned away with a shudder at their words. The memories of just how it happened, deeply branded into his mind as they were, were flashing back to the fore.

There’d been so much blood.

“Couldn’t you see it?” Smurfette asked Tuffy as Flighty hugged himself unhappily.

“Uh… Oh-Ohhh, yeah, of course. That.” Tuffy was suddenly looking mighty uncomfortable.

“Let’s get back to the village.” Flighty’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Before they come back.”

Tuffy and Flighty promptly picked up the baskets of smurfberries and set off back to the village, with Smurfette, Hefty and Painter quickly hurrying after them.

“Hey, wait a – wait!” Hefty pulled Tuffy and Flighty to a stop. “You two want to tell me what that was all about?” There was a slight touch of concern to his voice, as Flighty was looking rather pale.

Tuffy let out a short, nervous laugh. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Like smurf there isn’t. You two know something about what happened to Gargamel, don’t you?”

After a pause, Hefty was going to soften the situation with an added ‘we don’t want to pry too much, but…’, yet all he managed to say was “We don’t want to-“ before Tuffy’s response came tumbling out hurriedly.

“It was- It was an accident, I swear!”

Painter, Hefty and Smurfette gaped at Tuffy. “What?”

“I didn’t – we didn’t even do anything, really, it wasn’t our…!” Tuffy cut himself off, collecting himself.

“Tuffy, what are you talking about?” Smurfette implored worriedly.

Tuffy shook his head, “Ah, it’s…” his voice gained more bluster as he continued on, his tough persona flowing back. “It happened a long time ago anyway, so there’s no use talking about it already!” He turned away, signalling the end of the discussion.

Painter frowned. “You cannot just…!” he began, but Hefty was already well in control of the situation.

Hefty spoke firmly and with confidence “Oh, no you don’t.” They all began marching back to the village. “I think you have some explaining to do. Papa Smurf needs to hear about this.”

***

There were many things in life that Clumsy Smurf didn’t understand. This was one fact about life that he understood very clearly. Clumsy didn’t mind; he’d gotten through life just fine as it was. He was content, as long as he had his friends and his rock collection.

But he couldn’t help feeling that lately, there had been even more things he didn’t understand than usual. Life, and the world that he thought he knew well enough, had changed in a myriad of subtle ways.

He could see Dreamy, standing a little bit apart from the smurflings. He looked pensive, almost… sad? That was just one of the many things that Clumsy didn’t understand. Why would Dreamy be unhappy? Hadn’t everything smurfed out fine in the end? The whole situation was beyond him.

Clumsy began making his way over, almost tripping on the way there.

Dreamy looked up and smiled weakly. “Ah, hi Clumsy.”

“Hey Clumsy, we’ve got some good news!” Snappy informed him emphatically.

Clumsy grinned widely. “Oh gosh, really?”

“Yeah!” Sassette beamed, “We want you and every other smurf to know that we smurflings, we’re not gonna let any time differences or separate houses keep us apart! Ya better believe that we’re gonna have plenty of sleepovers, too!”

“I sure am happy to hear that…!” Clumsy’s voice was light and carefree. Everything smurfs out fine in the end.

As Clumsy watched the smurflings all talk amongst each other, it did seem like they were managing to work together cohesively as a group again. He hadn’t understood why they’d seemed to have had some difficulties, but it looked as if they had done a good job of dealing with them.

Clumsy turned to Dreamy. “There seems to be somethin’ on your mind, Dreamy.”

“Oh… me? Yeah. I was just thinking about some things. But… I’ll be fine.” He was looking at the ground rather wistfully as he said this, but then he raised his head to meet Clumsy’s eye. “I’m so glad you’re back, Clumsy. You and everyone else.” Maybe he couldn’t just make certain memories he didn’t like disappear at will. But it was okay. (Or… it would be okay). What mattered was that all of the smurfs were back together again, so he could move on from the past and try to enjoy the present.

“Papa Smurf!”

Clumsy and Dreamy turned around. It was Hefty – he had Flighty and Tuffy with him, who both looked uneasy. Smurfette and Painter trailed behind them.

Greedy spotted the recently arrived smurfs and brightened up immensely, going over to them. “Ooh, goody! You’ve got the smurfberries, now I can-“

“Sorry Greedy, but where’s Papa Smurf?” Hefty asked him.

“Uhh, I think he’s just in his lab…” Greedy watched the group go off in the direction of the lab, startled.

***

“Papa Smurf!”

“Hello – is there something wrong, Hefty?” Papa Smurf turned around as Hefty, Tracker, Flighty, Smurfette and Painter filed into the room.

Hefty quickly relayed what they’d seen in the forest, and how it seemed that Tracker and Flighty knew what happened to Gargamel and may possibly be somewhat responsible.

Papa looked at Tuffy and Flighty, who both looked like they just wanted to shrink away. “Great smurfs! Is this true?”

The two of them both started talking over each other rapidly, the others only able to pick up some snatches of what they were saying.

“The village-“

“I wasn’t even-“

“You should ask-“

“Not just-“

“Alright, alright” Papa Smurf motioned them to calm down, “so the rest of the village knew about this?”

Tuffy and Flighty nodded.

“In that case, I think it’s best to call a village meeting to talk this over. I’ll get Harmony to make the announcement.”

***

The smurfs were all gathered in the meeting hall. Everyone was present, apart from Baby Smurf and the smurflings, as well as Grouchy. Seeing as the topic of the meeting didn’t concern them, Grouchy had been chosen to be excused from the meeting in order to watch over them as they played, and also to look after Baby.

Papa Smurf sat at the front to run the meeting. All smurfs who had not been caught in time travel, but had instead remained at the village, sat in a large group facing Papa, while all of the smurfs present who had gone time travelling sat separately, off to the side but also facing Papa Smurf.

Once Papa Smurf signalled that he was ready to begin, they all quietened down.

“This meeting is now in session, thank you everysmurf for coming. This is how today’s meeting will work: if you wish to speak, please raise your hand and wait to be called upon. I will also be choosing smurfs at random to call upon to respond to questions, and I also ask that you please stand to speak so that you can be more easily heard by all. With that out of the way, let’s begin…” he cleared his throat. “Miner Smurf?”

Miner Smurf stood, awaiting Papa Smurf’s question.

“I’ve heard that Gargamel has had part of his ear and forearm amputated – removed. Can you confirm this?”

A startled ripple went through the room. Miner Smurf appeared to be very caught off-guard by the question. “Uh, yes Papa, I can. It’s true.”

“And can you tell me whether this has any connection to we smurfs?”

Miner took a moment. “…Yes.”

Some of the smurfs from off to the side of the room stirred.

“Miner Smurf, are you able to elaborate on that connection for me?”

“Uhh… May another smurf be called upon, Papa?”

“Very well. Miner Smurf, you may be seated. Timber Smurf?”

Timber stood up rather nervously.

“Do you agree with Miner’s assessment?” Papa asked.

“Yes, Papa Smurf.”

“Can you please tell us all more about the connection between Gargamel’s amputations and the smurfs?”

“Well… They occurred on separate occasions. It’s – it’s nothing too – it wasn’t exactly –“ Timber shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “Well, the ear. Gargamel had captured most of us and, he had this machine to use on us. For… yeah, his usual sorts of intentions. We were all desperately trying to save ourselves, we, including smurfs who weren’t captured who’d come to help, managed to turn the situation around, it was uh, kind of an us or him situation, I guess?” he grimaced. “And it didn’t seem the machine was functioning too well either, making it even more dangerous…”

If it hadn’t have been for Scruple… Well, it would have been a lot worse. For Gargamel.

Timber didn’t mention the part where some of them may have further caused Gargamel to be directly in harm’s way that day. It had been a “him or us” situation. And it had given them all the opportunity that they needed to escape safely, one they probably would not have had otherwise.

“I see…” Papa Smurf replied. “And… his arm?” But Timber was clearly finished, so Papa Smurf allowed him to sit back down again before calling on someone else. “…Reporter Smurf?”

Reporter stood.

“Reporter, if you could tell us about Gargamel’s arm…?”

“Right. Yes. Erm. First, you have to understand… We had to do everything we could to protect ourselves and the village. We built up village defences. They worked well enough, but… They made Gargamel even more determined, if you can believe it. Kind of turned into a bit of an… escalating war…?” he trailed off awkwardly, uncertainly. “Especially after the whole ear thing… Gargamel was relentless. Then…” he closed his eyes. “he lost his hand, thanks to our village defences.”

“Village defences…” Papa murmured. “Reporter, you’re mentioning these “village defences” quite a lot. So you are claiming that Gargamel’s hand was sliced off in “self defence”…? I’m afraid we may have different definitions of the term.”

Reporter straightened, absorbed the comment. “We had to. We had no choice. It’s not like we wanted it to happen. But we were helpless and terrified. He was at the village, closing in on us all. It was actually kind of an accident - one of our defences wasn’t working properly, but we realised at that moment it could be used to… you know. And that’s how we managed to stop him.”

“…Thank you for your responses, Reporter. You may now be seated.”

Once Reporter took a seat, Papa surveyed the room, his expression unreadable. “It sounds like they were not so much village defences as they were weapons… Not so much focused on protecting as opposed to attacking.” Disapproval had slipped into his voice.

Woolly raised his hand; Papa allowed him to stand. He found it very difficult to look up, to look at Papa. “You don’t know what it was like, Papa Smurf. We couldn’t risk losing any more smurfs. We couldn’t.” His words hung in the air.

“…So this was the kind of approach taken to any threats towards the village,” said Papa at length. He wasn’t quite sure he knew what else to say. “None of this has been mentioned when discussing how the village fared in my, Grandpa’s and everyone else’s absence.”

Tailor fielded this question, eyes downcast. “I think I can say that we just wanted to move forward, and not draw attention to what’s already done. We don’t want to focus on-“ he stopped and looked as Farmer abruptly interrupted what he was saying.

“If any smurf’s to blame, it’s-“

But Papa Smurf swiftly cut Farmer off. “No, you are all responsible. You all share responsibility for this village and how it was run. Farmer, I don’t believe you raised your hand to be called upon. In any case, I hope you all understand that there were probably better ways for these kinds of bad situations to be dealt with. As we all heard Reporter state earlier, Gargamel only became more determined in response to aggressive behaviour. Escalating the situation only tends to make things worse.”

Tracker’s hand shot up, and Papa gestured for him to speak.

“Well actually, Papa Smurf… After the incident with Gargamel’s arm, our encounters with him dropped off quite dramatically.” There was the ghost of a smile on his face. “He seemed to be much more hesitant to attack us all. We still had to deal with him occasionally, but…” he gave a shrug. “Word happened to spread about what happened to him too, and that it was our fault. Suddenly, a lot of our other enemies, so to speak, started leaving us alone more too.”

Everyone who wished them harm had all thought that Papa Smurf being gone was the perfect opportunity. They’d swiftly learned otherwise.

The smurfs had come to be more formidable in the eyes of their enemies than they ever had been in the presence of Papa Smurf’s guidance and protection.

Papa Smurf smoothed over his expression, made it blank. “It seems there’s much more for all of us to catch up on than I could have even imagined… I think we can continue to discuss this later. I would like to thank all of you once again for coming.” And then the village meeting was over.

[yourplayersaidwhat]

Don't sass the Angel of Death

The characters in this are Azrael the Angel of Death (played by Y) and Dareios who is possessed by a snake demon/deity that calls itself Leviathan (played by me). Dareios is immortal thanks to Leviathan, and Azrael doesn’t like immortal humans, so Y and I are trying to figure out how they would interact.

Y: Okay but Azrael’s blades usually conceal themselves as scissors imagine a typical teenager in a hoodie (Azrael’s human appearance) threathening Dareios with scissors. I wouldn’t be sure whether to laugh or call the cops.

Me: “Well as long as they don’t run with them” - Dareios

Y: I think that’s gonna be the least of your concerns somehow buddy

Y: Honestly tho I know for fact that the first thing Azrael says to Dareios is “the fuck are you”.

Y: (I have this idea that Azrael is the only angel who swears)

(here’s where we switched to actually being IC or OOC)

Dareios: “I could ask you the same question, but I already know the answer: rude.”

Y: OH SNAP

Me: I love it when Dareios goes all sassy.

Azrael: “Politeness gets you nowhere, certainly not when facing death.”

Y: But seriously Azrael looks like a moody teenager so I doubt that would be taken seriously

Dareios: “Assuming I will answer your question…”

Dareios/Leviathan (talking at the same time): “…Which of us did you ask?”

Azrael: “Cursed be the English language. The ‘you’ was plural.”

Y: 'Cursed be the English language’? Who says that???

Me: Azrael, clearly

Dareios: “That is a very old-fashioned phrase for a kid like you”

Azrael: “Now who’s the rude one. Show your elders some respect.”

Leviathan: “Excuse you!?” (pretending to be insulted)

Azrael: (snickers) “You clearly haven’t seen me before. Understandable, since you’re immortal, you don’t know what Death looks like.”

Dareios: “I know what Death looks like, but it never holds me long enough for me to register its true appearance.”

Azrael: “Well now you do. And now I have to correct the natural order.” (takes out scissors)

Dareios: “Going to cut my thread of life, or whatever it’s called?”

Azrael: “Oh no. I take offense to immortal humans, I’m going to get up close and personal with this.” (separates the blades of the scissors and turns them into a dagger and a sword)

Dareios: “Well, you definitely shouldn’t run with those.” (makes magic sword appear out of thin air)

Azrael: “I’ve been doing this since the dawn of life. You should be worried about yourself.”

Y: Dawn of life, is that even a thing??

Me: I guess it is

Dareios: "I’d like to see you try. Maybe I will stay dead this time. I doubt it, though.“

Azrael: (suddenly holding the dagger to Dareios’ throat) "Don’t patronize me, WORM.”

Leviathan: “I take offense to that.”

Azrael: (steps back) “And I take offense to you. We’re even now, huh?”

Leviathan: “Guess so.”

Y: Okay but (her other two characters) standing on the sideline watching these two duke it out

Leviathan: “Question. Can an Angel of Death die?”

Azrael: “Are you an idiot? Of course I can’t. If I died, no one else would. The natural order would be a mess.”

Leviathan: “Another question. Do you think you’d be able to kill a god?”

Azrael: “I’ve done it before. The real question is; is it your time to go? I know the human passed his long ago. That must be corrected.”

Leviathan: “My dear host will not pass his time until I allow him to.”

Azrael: “Unfortunately for you, you’re not in charge of either fate or destiny. All I have to do is wrench control from you for just a second. Then he’s gone.”

Leviathan: “Gone for how long?”

Azrael: “Forever. He’ll be dead.”

Leviathan: “Will he? He has died thousands of times before, and I brought him back every time.”

Azrael: “This time is different. You haven’t dealt with me in person before. When I close the gates, they won’t open for anyone.”

Leviathan: “I’d like to see that happening.”

Azrael: “I told you, didn’t I? You’re not the one in charge. I am.” (reveals wings)

Leviathan: “Oh, really? Who is stronger, an Angel or a God? Time to find out~”

Azrael: “Such arrogance. I was here before you, and I will be here after you. Those words, I’ve heard them before. Yet I am here, and they are not.”

Leviathan: “Were you here before me? Well, I suppose you were in this exact location before I was, but that’s not the point.”

Me: Leviathan no. Stop sassing the angel of death.

Azrael: “The moment life was invented, I was there, ready to claim it. Such is the natural law of things.”

Leviathan: “Would that make you the first or the second creature alive?”

Azrael: “Second after God. I was a force of nature at first. Then I chose to serve Him.”

Leviathan: “That makes sense. Now, I guess we have talked enough…”

Azrael: “You are a fine conversation partner, I must say. Not many people ask me things other than 'why me?’.”

Leviathan: “I know the answer to that already, so I don’t need to ask. Now, are you going to kill me or not?”

Azrael: “Yes.” (runs him through with the sword)

Me: Well that escalated quickly.

[renaramblesaboutcomics]

Wednesday Roundup 13.9.2017

Well, it’s obviously Sunday and not Wednesday but I finally got the Roundup out. My apologies if anyone was anxiously awaiting my Roundup this week but due to both the huge number of comics I had to go through and the fact that I had a lot going on this past week in my personal life, including two seven hour car drives, this was a bit difficult to fit into the schedule.

But I managed and late is still better than never so let’s get into how the second week of September’s comic yield treated us!

Marvel’s All-New Wolverine, Marvel’s Defenders, DC’s Detective Comics, Marvel’s Elektra Vol. 1, DC’s Harley Quinn and Batman, Marvel’s Immortal Iron Fists, Marvel’s Runaways, DC’s Titans, IDW’s Transformers: Lost Light, DC’s Wonder Woman

DC’s All-New Wolverine (2015-present) #24 Tom Taylor, Leonard Kirk, Michael Garland, Erick Arciniega

I love this comic so much that I’m certain that me even talking about another issue in one of these Roundups probably sounds hilariously repetitive at this point, but I just so love this book, and even my disinterest in comic space operas didn’t take away from the amazingness of this book because Taylor understands how to make a comic compelling.

Story: We come to the end of the contagion/space opera storyline with the emphasis that this book works best with, which is the unendingly positive relationship between Laura and Gabby. Laura’s attachment to Gabby and their belief in each other is unlike anything we’ve ever seen for Laura’s character before and it just never stops amazing me. They are the defining part of this book and, more importantly, they are the defining part of each other’s overarching character arcs -- Gabby teaching Laura to take care of herself (literally and metaphorically), Laura giving Gabby the encouragement and support she never had herself. There was no other way this book could have ended but with these two proving to beat the odds again, and that makes the resolution feel deserved, as well as how the healing factor they both share has been a driving part of this storyline to begin with. 

Art: Kirk does solid work throughout this issue, particularly with the expressionism you see in Laura’s face throughout, and I really liked the alien designs. But that all being said there was some off model panels and the such which is just to be expected from working on a monthly comic. It still is very good art and the colors helped make each change of scenery. 

Characters & Dialogue: Of course I covered our titular Wolverines, but it needs to be said that I actually really appreciate Jonathan unexpectedly beginning to speak English? Because that’s hysterical but it also fits, and I love that he still spoke with perspective of a Wolverine. I also thought Taylor did a good job with the voices of the Guardians, too, 

Marvel’s Defenders (2017-present) #5 Brian Michael Bendis, David Marquez, Justin Ponsor

*long heralding breath* So just one week after my epic Bendis rant, I.. reveal that I’m also following his run on the current Defenders. Which... I mean in my defense, if I want to keep up with just about anything going on at Marvel that isn’t the crapshow that is Secret Empire, I have to concede to the fact that Bendis is still the writer on half of those books too. Which... I mean if you’re like me and you have that super complicated relationship I have with BMB then you understand why this is both a necessity and a blow to your standards. I know, I know. I’m disappointed in myself, too.

Story: As much as I really could have done without the cliffhanger on this issue, this continues to be one of the comics that Bendis really manages to perform at his best on, and arguably that’s because he’s invested so much time and work over his career into developing most of these characters -- particularly Jessica, Luke, and Daredevil. 

The pacing has remained on top, Frank Castle’s actually respected as a character but also portrayed as incredibly dangerous to everyone involved, and the humor has been true to the characters and situation. All of which is very commendable... if not .... a bit annoying and repetitive at times. Like yes, Marvel stupidly retconned that Matt had a public identity because they can’t commit to anything that disrupts the status quo. It doesn’t make it less annoying that half the dialogue involving him is lampshading everyone not knowing his identity. 

There’s also the patented Bendis rhetorical advice where you have two or more panels of the exact same panel for ~dramatic pauses~ which I think only long time Bendis readers have burned into their alert systems. But overall, when Bendis is good he nails it. 

Art: Marquez and Ponsor are honestly some of the best talent in the industry right now and I like that they don’t just sit back on their laurels but adapt their styles just enough to match the tone of every book. It gives the Marvel universe a consistency without sacrificing the individuality of books. And it really makes a difference on this title, I feel. 

Characters & Dialogue: There’s the punchy dialogue you expect from Bendis writing but like I said, you can definitely tell where his investment for character lies. Which... makes it conspicuous when his writing for Luke always tends to be a bit worthy of criticism. But this villain Diamondback? gahhhhhhhhhh I legitimately cringe at some points. like nooooo let’s not. 

DC’s Detective Comics (2016-present) #964 James Tynion IV, Christopher Sebela, Carmen Camero, Ulises Arrelo

I have such a love-hate relationship with this comic, I swear. There’s probably not a single comic I cheer on more and want to be at its very best but there’s also no other comic that receives my critical ire the way ‘Tec does. Is it all fair? Eh. Arguable. Is it all with love? Also arguable. We’ll see where that takes us for this particular issue.

Story: Look, it’s as obvious as can be at this point that no one’s as critical and just simply not on board for a Clayface redemption storyline than I am. I don’t want it at all. I was never on board with it. Never will be. And... in that way it felt like Detective Comics was actually addressing me and readers like me through this issue. The entire plot with Clayface is ... questionable at best to begin with, but to have one of his victims fully lay it out for him and us just how there’s so little he could ever do to undo the clock for himself or others. And he proves that even more by how poorly he reacts to this news and blows his second chance over it just... feels deserved after SO LONG of them just ignoring it. 

And then they had it tie into Cass’ character arc in the end by her deciding that she and Basil are the same. And they’re not!!! They’re just not. It’s amazing that it can feel like such a slap in the face. Especially when this is such.... a B-story and yet it got the cover? Sure. Whatever.

In any case, the main story is Steph, Leslie, and Harper all apparently drinking the kool-aid that Anarky is giving them. And then Bruce coming and subtly pushing Steph out of her moments of happiness, even if it’s for the right reason and I’m just here wondering “uh. Tim’s back next issue why is this not resolved yet?” These issues would have worked so much better if Steph’s story was not taken away from by constantly giving Clayface’s story panel time that should have just been kept on Steph. She deserved more development before Tim got back, and her arc should be more satisfying by now. 

Also. When is Detective Comics going to bother to actually have, you know, detective stories? Mysteries? Ever? no? great.

Art: The art rotation on this book is always great, even when it’s not my favorite artists it’s still just beyond fantastic and some of the best getting published at DC right now. Which makes you wonder how they manage it with a bimonthly title like ‘Tec. It’s good, and even its splash pages are easy to read and follow which is such a relief these days. 

Characters & Dialogue: I feel like the characterizations and development was the weakest it’s been in ‘Tec for a while, especially since it’s usually the high point of the comic. This time around, though, there’s just too much that feels unresolved and unsatisfying. Like.... why didn’t Bruce go after Steph and make sure she knew that Tim was alive? At the very least. 

And again I feel like this comes down to the fact that Steph’s time was split on the page with Clayface’s even though their storylines didn’t intersect thematically or literally! And it’s ridiculous considering we just came off of several issues where Azrael’s arc got center stage and even though there was a B story (CONCERNING CLAYFACE AGAIN) there was a majority of time spent with Jean Paul and his perspective. 

Marvel’s Elektra: Always Bet On Red (2017)�� Matt Owens, Juann Cabal, Antonio Fabela

If there are two characters at Marvel who I have a more complicated relationship with than Arcade and Elektra... Well, honestly, it’s just probably because I haven’t read enough of the characters that would meet that criteria for me. Elektra, on paper, is the type of female antiheroine/villain that really truly love, with plenty of pathos but also a lack of only being an antiheroine through redemption or changing her methods. A Bad Woman who is allowed to be a Bad Woman. Arcade is a character whose general MO and abilities are a cross of three of my favorite villains in general -- the Riddler, Toyman, and Calculator -- and has been the villain for a few stories I greatly love. But I don’t love them because...  Well, it feels like most of the time writers don’t know what to do with Elektra because they only know how to make female villains likable by either giving them a redemption arc or by making them a love interest -- things that either would not stick for her established character or would make her tied to Daredevil inseperably. ANd Arcade has been given Joker-levels of mass murdering -- especially of children in the Marvel Universe -- to the point that it’s hard for me to really enjoy his presence on its face anymore.

So. That leaves the question of how this story works for me as a whole with quite a steep slope to get up on its own.

Story: For being about two characters who I have, at the very least, very high apprehensions about, this story managed to be fascinating, compelling, and altogether rather satisfying in the use of both Elektra and Arcade for what they can contribute to a narrative. The stakes were high throughout, especially once Elektra was trapped within the Murder World, but it all benefited from her unique perspective and the general unpredictability that Arcade brings to any story as a villain. 

The back drop of Las Vegas for the adventure, too, was a stroke of some brilliance because the characters both fit there and clashed for the parts of the “mythology” of the city, as it were, that they represented. 

Still it was far from perfect, and while I’m obviously no huge defender of Arcade or a fan by any means, the weak point here was actually the side characters, especially on the “first level” of the game that Elektra encountered or how disposable the majority of her opponents and teammates were. The stakes were high for Elektra to survive, certainly, but it clashed with her new code of ethics -- of taking life to save life -- to have her not even familiarize herself enough with the people on her own team to take their deaths to heart. Which is why the “next” level where she had to race the clock and save her newfound friend more engaging than the Saw-like devastation we saw on display when she had a larger group who were all taken out one by one. Mostly without reaction from Elektra herself.

And if this team were mostly not fighters and not compelling, then what attracted Arcade to them enough to put them in Murder World? Did he think that feeling responsible for them would weigh Elektra down enough to make the competition more even? Obviously not since he went through the trouble of kidnapping the only person in the city that Elektra had remotely bothered to make a human relationship with. So the entire “first level” was just very confused in my book. I would have either had Elektra working with a small group who all died immediately, or have been the only one in the initial level to make it seem like Arcade took her as a serious enough threat and thus sicked an entire group against her. Either of those would have made the story more compelling. 

Art: The art is amazingly beautiful and consistent throughout the trade. This really does prove the point that I and so many other comic readers and reviewers have been making a while now with a consistent art team truly enhances the visual and narrative cohesion of a story and can make a much tighter and easier to follow along with. And here it not only works but it provides for some truly beautifully done and well controlled action sequences that remind me of straight back to the Dylan Horrocks run of Batgirl (2000-2006)

I also want to shout out to the shear inventiveness that was allowed for by the environment of Murder World. Like in the panels I posted here for example, the meging of this house comic style with retro gaming honestly worked so much in the favor of this comic it’s unreal. I really enjoyed it

Characters & Dialogue: While Arcade is... well, what I expect from Arcade these days, xnd honestly that’s more than I can ask for at this point because.. Agin, literal mass murderer. But Elektra really does come off the bst here (as she should in her own title). Still very much the antiheroine, Elektra for once is given a lot of motivation that centers -- albeit subtly -- on the ideas and pressures of unity in womanhood and the protectiveness she can grow toward other women. It’s the deaths of a shipment of entrapped, trafficked women that set Elektra off on this quest of self discovery, and it’s the protection and comforting of a woman she befriends in Las Vegas that prompts her motivations within this particular story. And honestly? It really works for me. She has always been a character most defined by the loyalties she holds, and they have never been many. But it’s nice to see her even reluctantly discovering herself through these non-romantic relationships with other women for once. It was really enjoyable and, like I said, subtle. 

DC’s Harley Quinn and Batman (2017) #3 Ty Templeton, Luciano Vecchio

Hm. I won’t be going into this subject in the bulk of the main review due to how I section things out and because I’m not going to completely judge this story before it’s completed, but I feel like here’s as good of a place as any to discuss the issues of queerbaiting. I have very complicated feelings about Ivy and Harley as a couple. I enjoy their dynamic, I enjoy the ship, and I want it to be canon and receive plenty of focus more than almost anything else to do with the two characters. But I can’t be joyful when it’s dangled in front of me -- especially in scenes like the one above, because it is such a queerbaiting classic to use these two or to, at the very least, have the question the creative teams behind them because a good percentage of the time it’s fetishizing a flf relationship for the sexual gratification of men without ever committing to actually canonizing a sapphic relationship. And I’m one lesbian who’s pretty damn tired about it honestly. And that’s what this issue felt like to me -- queerbait by hinting and innuend os for the relationship between Harley and Ivy when being blatant in allowing Harley to hit on Nightwing and Catwoman to hit on Batman in the scene right before this. 

And now I have to be even more on guard for this comic to follow the plot of the animated movie and be worried that this all is just setup for a pointless and literally out of nowhere sex scene between Harley and Dick. Great.

Story: Much the same here, though I have to admit that the turn of pace right at the end by having Harley realize her status as seen among the rest of Gotham’s crime community is that of “Queen Hench” and thus declaring that she was going to take charge and no longer play second banana was a great moment. Especially since Ivy is strangely cold and dismissive of Harley in this story, compared to usual at least. It must have something to do with our weird mystery man. Or the writers just deciding that we’re now going to write Harley and Ivy’s relationship with the exact same tones and beats that they did for the Joker and Harley despite FINALLY canonically having Harley call his abuse of her what it was. And the scenes with Bruce and Dick I’m... just of two minds about, I don’t love or hate them. They seem to be there for comedic relief B story to Harley’s main story which is... hilarious in a meta sense but, hey, it gets me more puns. 

Just don’t let it all be setup for whoopee with Dick and Harley. For the love of god PLEASE.

Art: Wow holy crap. Every complaint I made about the previous issues is addressed and fixed. The lineart’s crisp, the coloring is bright and variable, the characters don’t go off model nearly as much, and it’s still very much that identifiable DCAU style but also has that mark of belonging to its artist. Who is not Rick Burchett anymore. Maybe every couple of issues we’re going to get a trade off, but I have to say, for my personal tastes this was a stunningly crisp evolution of the art for the story and I appreciated it almost immediately. 

Characters & Dialogue: Harley is great as always, and I liked Selina’s characterization and the details put forward about how she’s actually on parole and whatnot. but I’m still not sold on Ivy’s characterization here. After all she’s the one who went to Harley and saved her, not the other way around. So why is she suddenly being so weird and mysterious. 

The only other major characters are Bruce and Dick and... it’s just weird. There’s this disconnect with their personalities where I feel like this would make a lot more sense if Dick was in the Robin suit. I mean, why not? He was older and more mature in the Robin years of the DCAU anyway, he had this same rapport with Bruce. He didn’t have this kind of relationship with Bruce in his Nightwing years of the DCAU. So I’m just confused all over. I’m sure it’s just because the movie did it this way which probably means sex which probably means you’re going to be getting a lot of screaming and angry keyboard smashing from me in the future *le sigh*

Marvel’s Immortal Iron Fists (2017) #4 (of 6) Kaare Andrews, Afu Chan, Shelly Chen

Will I ever stop enjoying this comic to the utmost extreme in spite of all my Danny Rand reservations and general apprehension with the whole Iron Fist concept? It’s still questionable, but not in this issue at least because I still love the heck out of Pei, Danny, and general ridiculous adventures of middle school and Kung Fu. 

Story: Pei’s still trying to find her spot among cliques and within the realm itself, with Danny in her life, and with her destiny as the future Iron Fist. And she also won the dance queen because she beat up the people that were going to cheat for her nemesis. And I love it. I love all of it. But I most of all love that Pei’s perspective is not admonished or treated as childish by the narrative, even when she’s not being the most reasonable. Danny and the scroll storyline also got more concentration mostly because we’re narrowing in on the Big Bad and only have two issues left. So it was all pretty positive. Especially since the end brought both storylines together at long last.

Art: It’s precious still and fits with Pei’s story perfectly. But there were plenty of panels where this same style’s take on Danny was... gruesomely ugly and terrifying. I can’t tell if that’s a a bug or a feature. 

Characters & Dialogue: Pei and Danny are as great as always, but I really want to thank this comic for having a children’s, all-ages story which prominently features an undeniable queer romance featuring kids. It’s so refreshing and lovingly done that it genuinely warmed my heart. Much like the short film “In a Heartbeat” we need more unsexualized queer romances for younger children to attach to. I’m glad to see it here. 

Marvel’s Runaways (2017-present) #1 Rainbow Rowell, Kris Anka, Matthew Wilson

This is incredibly exciting, because I actually never read Runaways while it was being published in any of the previous iterations, but thanks to the recommendations of close friends, I started and finished reading the previous volumes in time to get excited for the comic’s return here under a promising new team and fantastic, beautiful art. 

Story: Being the first issue, this is a lot of set up, especially with Nico’s circumstances since the previous series and the team’s apparent breakup. I love that the scars are deep but the comic goes out of its way to be inviting to old and new readers alike in introducing Nico, her powers, their limitations, and the Gert and Chase and their relationship as well as their relevance to the team. I’m very curious about all the set up -- especially how the current storyline seems to be setting up that Nico’s running out of spells with the Staff of One and it’s a legitimate problem that will be needing address. Hopefully the story won’t drop it where it is. 

Art: Wow I was really wowed with just how beautiful the art was in this comic. Kris Anka hadn’t been on my radar before this but they definitely are now. The character models were great, the apartment felt lived in and fully thought out, and everyone in general just seems to have properly aged and their current iterations are exactly how you would imagine they would be from the previous volumes.

Characters & Dialogue: We haven’t rejoined the entire cast of the Runaways just yet, but the work with Nico who was central to this issue was phenomenal set up and really appreciated. Chase is as obsessed with saving Gert as ever, and the love between him and Gert seems to have been where the previous left off. I liked the ingenuity that was on display from all the characters and the genuine love and concern they obviously had for each other. Just great all around. 

DC’s Titans (2016-present) #15 Dan Abnett, Brett Booth, Norm Rapmund, Andrew Dalhouse

Everyone else learns that Dick was the traitor and Titans manages to actually subvert everyone’s expectations. In all honesty, I’ve been blown away by how surprisingly good this comic has continued to be despite everything that should have been working against it. 

Story: Like I mentioned above, Dick being the traitor was completely subverted by having Roy immediately discover it and the rest of the team ready to take him on as a result, only for Dick to prove that he was thinking ahead and using his position to undermine the HIVE, unlike in previous New Titans stories where Dick was under the control of Brother Blood or others. And I like that as tested as the relationships feel like they are at the moment, there is a real sense that the team’s built on something stronger and more durable. And I like that Mal and Gnarrk’s storyline is getting more prominent in the story as well. And I would say that this is going to prove that they’re stretching the current storyline out just a bit too much... except for that ending. The idea of Wally actually having a heart attack has completely changed the story for me because this feels like an actual game changer. 

Art: Once again I’m in the position of not knowing really what to say about Brett Booth’s art for the comic that I haven’t already. He’s surprised me with his character art lately, but I still get extremely annoyed with the over use of slanted and action-styled panel layouts that really don’t match what’s going on in the story or the art. Dynamic panels just don’t fit pages of dialogue in between action set pieces and that’s all I have really to add. It’s good! The layouts could be better, but the art itself is just fine.

Characters & Dialogue: The relationships and characterizations are so closely tied to the narrative of Titans -- like my favorite team books usually are -- that going over the story beats tends to cover the characters and dialogue. That being said, because there are so many characters and so much change going on that it’s hard to say who has the most impact on this particular issue, and I’d argue that it’s going to prove that Titans is a book that might be better read arc to arc rather than issue to issue so that the overall feel of whose story this is would be more apparent. 

IDW’s Transformers: Lost Light (2016-present) #9 James Roberts, Priscilla Tramontano, Joana Lafuente

It’s strange only be subscribed to one Transformers comic at a time right now, but as much as I miss TAAO even now, I’m greatly excited by how much Lost Light seems to be JRo and the team getting back to that amazing stride they had prior to Season 2 of MTMTE, and of course by that I mean that this single issue managed to bring me so much emotion and end me on both a positive note, fridge horror, and complete heartbreak all at once. 

Story: There was a small part of me that wanted to see the return of Skids, but I honestly feel like Lost Light maintained a good and consistent idea by not bringing him back and instead focusing on the relationships of the cast that are still available. This really was a two-issue storyline and it utilized every moment of it as well as every unique opportunity afforded by being about Transformers to begin with -- revival after death is possible, removing someone’s memories or emotions is possible, altering the factitious part of what someone is is a horrifyingly real possibility as easy as deleting a computer file -- an entire friendship, an entire love, gone in a moment. And of course there was so much emotion to gt through for our conclusion -- love, grief, friendship, betrayal, selfishness, selflessness, humor, and ultimately a supremely foreboding sense of what’s to come from the Lost Light’s adventures to come given that ominous conclusion. 

Art: Priscilla Tramontano is just... genuinely one of the best artists to work with Transformers and I’m so grateful to have her on Lost Light right now because it definitely helped ease some of that disappointment I’ve had with TAAO ending. Her art is gorgeous, her coloring is fantastic, and the expressions that are under her control are just fantastic start to finish. I liked how diferent everyone’s build looked even without color corrodination. Though, I will say, the brighter and shinier art did have some odds with Roberts’ patented darker elements in the storylinethat I think a change in coloring style may have helped at different points

Characters & Dialogue: I would argue that when it comes to characterization and when it comes to dialogue in the medium, there’s probably no one in comics more clever and ore fascinating than James Roberts. Every bit of dialogue is important, every change in tone is purposeful, and so much is fit into every issue it’s hard to not be starstruck. If there are readers who are not as invested in Nautica, Velocity, Anode, and Lug, I could see how these two issues may have been disappointing, but for me personally I liked narrowing down on our already lessened cast to get more ideas about their personalities and personal arcs. 

DC’s Wonder Woman (2016-present) #30 Shea Fontana, David Messina, Romulo Fajardo Jr.

I am honestly kind of in shock that.... DC is ending Shea Fontana’s run after only three months. Like, finding out about her being replaced by James Robinson of all people... and that he is starting off the bat with an arc centered around Diana’s new brother has almost eclipsed what should be my summation of this Wonder Woman run. So I’ll give a shout out to Fontana now. 

She had a nearly impossible task of taking over for Greg Rucka hot off of one of his best received and most acclaimed comic runs in years and she managed to rise to the occasion with an emphasis on Diana’s character, her relationships with the modern world, and her love for people but also her defiance of allowing her abilities to be misused by the wrong people, so she’s powerful and she’s in control of her autonomy. I greatly enjoyed her storyline and really appreciated her voice being added to Diana’s history. 

Story: We come to the end of “Heart of an Amazon”. It felt like a very quick wrap up of her storyline and I hope she wasn’t cut short on a run she thought would be longer, but the inspiration and the seriousness of Diana’s impact on the world around her was at the forefront with a healthy amount of good points for Steve and Etta in the climax. I wish we had more time to fully understand what parts of the government were a part of this plot against her, but it seems like that’s a line that will be dropped now, unfortunately. 

Art: The art has been somewhat inconsistent with Fontana’s run, but Messina is probably my favorite of the rotation. He has powerful anatomy for almost all the characters but especially with Diana, and her height was always emphasized. The colors were also really great for contrast and much appreciated. 

Characters & Dialogue: I went over this for the most part, but the best part of this storyline was Fontana really understanding the difficulties of Diana’s relationships with her loved ones in the modern world -- her protectiveness, but also the loneliness she feels being alone, and fears being left by others’ mortality. And I felt this had a decent resolution to that point that I really appreciated by letting Diana not necessarily be saved by Steve and Etta but her being reminded of how much they are there to take care of her, too. I really loved that emphasis and it made the ending feel that much better as a result. 

There were a lot of fantastic comics in this Roundup, but it’s hard to understate what an absolute home run, straight over the fences, that Runaways ended up being this week. It’s a shockingly great start to a series I’m now enthusiastically looking forward to. There is a lot of love that’s obviously there for the original Vaughn run and what it managed to do, but this comic also showed no fear in confronting many of the aspects of the series before it that could be more criticized and could use greater address. I have a lot of high expectations after this issue and I hope it can maintain its momentum. 

I am in a bit of a financial crunch for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which being the medical bills I’m paying for my dog, Eve, who experienced a catastrophic dog fight and underwent surgery recently.

As such, I really would appreciate if you enjoy my content or are interested in helping me out, please check out either my Patreon or PayPal. Every bit helps and I couldn’t thank you enough for enjoying and supporting my content.

You could also support me by going to my main blog, @renaroo, where I’ll soon be listing prices and more for art and writing commissions.

RenaRoo Ko-Fi

RenaRoo Patreon

RenaRoo PayPal

[imagine-darksiders]

I'm guessing since the Horsemen are as independent as they are they show few people their homes without necessity, but what would it be like for their s/o to actually visit the Horsemen's home for the first time? What are all their homes like and can we get a quicl tour scenario? What would it take for them to actually open their homes to the person they care about most? I'd hope such a display of trust wouldnt be lost on their s/o! How do they feel about it... etc. etc. Hope your day is great!

FINALLY SHE GETS TO SOME OF THE OLDER ASKS!!! (O0O) xx

Death: He had actually asked you! 

There was something in the looks the horseman had been sending you that day that probably should have clued you into the fact that he was thinking. Deeply. ‘But,’ you reason with yourself, ‘When is Death not thinking?’ 

Death’s thoughts had been circling around in his head for more than just a single day, however. He found himself contemplating how trustworthy you’d proven yourself to be. Time and again, your loyalty had moved, humbled and even enthralled the horseman. ‘If not Y/n,’ he speculates silently, ‘Then who?’ And at last, he’d asked. 

“Y/n?” The sound of your name makes your ear twitch and you spin around with an earnest smile, meeting Death’s extraordinary eyes with your own. He notes how his mood rises significantly whenever you look at him without fear, hate or indifference. But complete, and total admiration. Even, dare he hope, adoration. Focusing on the utterly obvious soft spot he has for you, Death continues… 

“I’d like to show you something…..” 

All you can think of when he finally allows you to accompany him home is, ‘Wow, someone’s a minimalist.’ 

And it’s true. The eldest horseman’s home is modestly furnished, having only the bare essentials in way of comfort. There’s a four poster bed, built from old, dead wood. The same goes for the odd chair like structure in what you can only  assume is the sitting room. The walls of the house are a very odd, dark grey, resembling stone, but the surface is far colder than the stuff you’re used to. 

At least you can’t complain about the footing though. Throughout Death’s home, you discover that everything you walk upon feels as though you’re treading on the finest carpet in existence. Raising an eyebrow at the horseman, he shoots you a vaguely quizzical look before you ask him, “What is this?” Indicating the floor, Death follows your gaze and hums thoughtfully. 

“Fur,” he states simply. 

You blanch a little, “What?….All of it?” you demand incredulously, sweeping your eyes over the entire expanse of the ‘carpet’ that easily extends to the entirety of Death’s home. The horseman’s responding shrug does little to satiate your curiosity. 

Letting him get away with his incessant need to be cryptic, you place your hands on your hips and appraise the home around you. 

“It’s certainly….cozy,” you tease, earning a soft hum of laughter from Death as he catches your sarcasm. 

“What can I say,” he quips, “I’ll only adorn my home with the things I need.” 

You flash him a wide, devilish smirk. “Is that why you finally brought me here?” However, this time the horseman’s response makes you wipe the smirk off your face. 

“Perhaps,” he murmurs quietly, turning to stalk through the house into the arsenal, leaving you staring at him in wonder. 

War: Eventually, curiosity had overridden your overall uncertainty on the topic.

“War?” you call to the enormous horseman as he strides along behind you, “Where abouts are you from, anyway?” The casualness of the question takes him by surprise and you can almost feel the ground shake when he missteps. With a grunt, he responds, “I thought you knew? The Nephilim did not have a world of our own. So we-” 

“No, that’s not what I meant…” you interrupt, “I meant, where are you living? Now. Specifically. Like, if you were to say ‘my home is…’ where would that be exactly?” The horseman matches your stride so that he can properly give you a look dripping with suspicion. You, in turn, match his glare with a perfectly innocent one of your own. You know how mistrustful War can be. Even more so after the events that led to his false imprisonment. But slowly, you’ve begun to feel that he’s offering you more and more of himself the more you give him good reason to. Even though you’d helped him out exponentially after he came to Earth 100 years after it’s demise, he was still slow to trust.  

After a long moment, he seems to come to the conclusion that you’re worthy of such a trust, so he nods in understanding. 

“You wish to see the place that I call home?” he guesses correctly. Your eyes shine excitedly when he voices the question you’d been longing to ask him. 

“Oh yes! Yes please, War!” you clasp your hands as endearingly as possible and it doesn’t fail to drag a huffy laugh from his chest. 

It’s damn hard for the Red Rider to refuse you when he’d only just admitted to himself, albeit begrudgingly, that you are possibly the greatest friend he has. When you see his home for the first time, you’re struck by just how military it is. 

‘Well duh,’ you muse, ‘His name is War.’

The home itself boasts a grand entrance hall, trophy room, an entire floor upstairs for the bedroom, an armoury (of course) and an absolutely monstrous training room. You find that he’s laid down rugs of sorts, one in almost every room. They all belonged to both familiar demonic beasts and some you’d never seen before. His trophy room is full of heads, horns and even full sized, magically petrified creatures that War, at some point, had fought and slain. 

You take in the strong stone floors and high, sturdy walls with ardor whilst War watches. At last, you peer up at him with a wide smile on your face. “War, this place is amazing! I can’t believe I’m only just seeing it, did you build it yourself?” The horseman scowls, snorting at the assumption that he might have had help, so you throw him an apologetic look. He eyes you for a moment, his next question giving you pause.

“Do you…really like it?” He sounds so unsure of himself, like he really values your opinion on this matter. It’s enough to floor you. Grinning brightly and reassuringly, you nod enthusiastically. 

“Of course I do, War,” you promise. 

“Good,” he states, losing any trace of doubt that lingered in his voice moments before, “This is your home now as well.” 

Strife: He wouldn’t describe himself as a ‘home bird.’ The horseman would probably most attribute himself to the nomads of Earth. Those who wander and rarely settle, if ever. Yet…

“Surely you have somewhere to go when you’re not on Council business?” you  ask him, head leaning against his shoulder thoughtfully as he sits beside you on your sofa. Strife kicks his legs up and crosses them over one another on the coffee table, earning himself a glare from you. 

“Eh, I got a place,” he states nonchalantly.

Immediately, you perk up. “You do!? Where? Can you take me?” The horseman casts you a sidelong glance with a confused eyebrow raising at your sudden excitability. 

“Sure, I guess?” he says carefully, “Dunno why you wanna go though. Not much to see. I don’t spend a lot of time there-” 

“C’mon c’mon c’mon!” you squeak, ecstatic that he was so willing to show you his home. You leap up from the sofa and grab his hand, struggling to pull him up as he laughs and heaves himself off the cushions. 

You step through a portal and arrive at a place that…..honestly isn’t that overwhelming. 

“W-woah?” you stammer uncertainly, taking in the lush green landscape and half-built house that’s shadowed by thousand foot trees. If you didn’t know him better, you’d swear Strife was building on the Maker’s home world. The horseman shrugs at your reaction, undeterred. 

“I told you it wasn’t anything special.” He scuffed a steel toe at the stone scaffolding that holds up a particularly eye-catching pillar of marble. You’re 48% sure it’s marble. Strife watches you with a bored expression as you step forward and raise a hand to lay it flat against the smooth surface of the pillar. Your head swivels from side to side as you survey the interior of his home. Although only half finished, the foundations are strong, the walls are bright and eye-catching and there’s a very distinctive Strife flare. Perhaps in the way the whole thing’s direction is still so unclear, so unfinished and unwilling to be completed. Not even the house knows what it could be. 

Sadly, you turn to face the horseman and quirk a smile in his direction. His eyes roll but he doesn’t comment on your soft look. “I could help,” you ask timidly after a minute of quiet. Strife scoffs. 

“Oh yeah? Why?” His abrasive response causes you to frown slightly, but you remain otherwise steadfast in your own reply. 

You offer him a casual shrug. “Because I want to? Even you deserve a place to call home Strife,” you finish. The horseman’s eyes flash brightly in surprise for a moment before he chuckles deeply. Slinging an arm across your shoulders, he stands with you and stares up at the husk of a house. 

“Don’t need a place to call home when I’ve got you,” he flirts, making you grin widely and look away with a hot blush creeping up your cheeks. 

Fury: Like her eldest brother, Fury had been the one to ask if you wanted to see her home. Although, unlike Death, she hadn’t turned the decision over in her mind for days on end. Instead, one day she simply said to you ‘Oh! I’ve yet to show you where I live, Y/n.’ Not five minutes after she’d offered, you were strolling up to her front door. 

Of course her home is the most intricate place you’ve ever seen. You really oughtn’t have been so surprised at the sheer magnificence of it. Letting out a low whistle, “This place rivals the White City!” you nod decisively,  recalling the times when Azrael had kindly indulged you in your love of exploration. He’d been more than happy to give you a tour of his own home. 

The horseman claps you amiably on the back with a light laugh. “I should hope so,” she smiles, “I am glad you like it, Y/n.” She watches you with an all too fond grin as you skip through the enormous pearl coloured archway that leads directly into a lobby, framed by the most intricate Imperial staircase you’ve ever seen. She graciously shows you her home on a room to room basis. You see something akin to a kitchen, with a large open fireplace and ebony surfaces that decorate the back wall. She shows you her personal library, making you nearly faint in response. It almost makes up for half of her house, books lining each wall and stretching up to the ceiling high above you. Next, she shows you upstairs, where, curiously, you notice she’s installed devices that closely resemble those that might be found in a human bathroom.  

Quickly, Fury ushers you on, ignoring the questioning look you throw her way. 

“And this,” she declares, sweeping a wide arc with her hand at the final chamber, “will be our bedroom.” Fury turns to you and smiles down kindly, “What do you think?” 

Instead of answering straight away, you venture further into the room and marvel at the interior. There’s a wondrous, silken sheeted, queen sized bed laden with deep, wine red pillows. Velvety, purple curtains billow gently in the breeze, let in through a curved archway that leads out onto a wide balcony. Candles flicker, even now on every surface, creating a pleasant, warm light that makes you feel indescribably peaceful. 

“Your home is beautiful, Fury..” you breathe, finally turning to face her. The horseman’s face twists wryly when she realises you didn’t catch her earlier hint. With a flamboyant wave of her hand, she gestures around the room. 

“Our home, Y/n,” the horseman corrects you gently, revelling in the way your eyes light up in realisation and elation. Suddenly, the bathroom makes sense.

[kp-reading-blog]

Best Served Cold: A Short Story by Jasmine Silvera

Best Served Cold is a short story by Jasmine Silvera from her KP world of Death's Dancer. It fills in some backstory about the world and serves as a great introduction for new readers to try it out!

About Best Served Cold

Best Served Cold takes place after Death’s Dancer and features Azrael’s enforcer Gregor Schwarz writing wrongs and settling scores with a new ally. 

A Note from Jasmine Silvera

It always delights me that people responded so well to Gregor, Azrael’s enforcer, from Death’s Dancer. He was one of my favorite characters to write. This story was initially intended to be the prologue to his book, but the timeline doesn’t work so I had to cut it. I hope readers will enjoy this “slice of life” from Gregor’s day. Or night, as it were. 

Best Served Cold

The ancient pug, wheezing as he inspected each cobblestone in the sidewalk, snuffled in alarm and raised his head. His ears twitched upward. When the dog splayed its legs and urinated in place, the stooped woman quit patting her pockets for a match and crowed with delight.

“Dobře, dobře, Ferda.” She praised the dog, the hand rolled cigarette bobbing on her lower lip. 

Accustomed to more meandering searches for the perfect spot, she thanked her luck, pocketed the unlit cigarette, and turned for home. Her thoughts raced ahead to her bed, warming under the electric blanket, and the novel waiting beside it. She looked back. The dog stood rooted in place, staring fixed into the vast darkness across the street.

Under the new moon, the dense bushes and trees cast Riegrovy Sady - the expansive city park straddling two of Prague's oldest neighborhoods – in velvet shadow. The silent street lined with parked cars formed a no-man’s land between the lit sidewalk bordering apartment buildings and the sweeping mystery of night.

“Ferda!”

He began to bark. Through rheumy eyes, the woman watched his hackles rise. He circled once and raced to the edge of the sidewalk, growling. 

“Co tam máš?” she asked the dog, not waiting for clarification before attempting to calm him. “Nic to není.”

When the bushes on the park border stirred, he fell silent. His nose twitched. His vocalization became a high-pitched whine. He backed slowly between his owner's feet, and lay down. 

“V klidu,” she murmured, voice trembling. Was she reassuring herself or the dog?

The long nights of her childhood returned to her in a rush, evenings spent at the hearth of her grandmother, listening to fairy tales from the old days. She rubbed her neck absently, thinking this was the kind of night Likho might choose to roam. Had the dog's early urination been the unexpected boon which would lure the goblin?

Old stories, she chastised herself, to scare children and amuse fools. Still, her heart hammered at speeds unhealthy for her age. She squinted into the shadows, calling out a threat to notify the police, as she clutched her walking stick tighter in one hand. The bushes rustled again, as something moved - something bigger than a dog and lower than a man. The next morning she would swear she hadn’t seen a long nose, a set of yellow eyes, and a black-plumed tail. 

Tonight was not a night for self-deception. “Vlkodlak,” she breathed.

Ferda chose that moment to break and run. Tiny claws scrambled on the squared off stones, before stubby legs propelled him toward their flat.  

She hurried after, waving her stick, and muttering about big, feral dogs. When she looked over her shoulder, the bushes were still again, and the park silent.

***

The wolf moved between the trees of the city park, leaving the fear-drenched scents of woman and dog behind. He was larger than a wild wolf would have been, a uniform black from nose to tail, except for his startling eyes. He kept to the shadows, like a manifestation of their depths, moving with purpose and awareness beyond the lupine mind, as he alternately stalked and raced along the underbrush.

 Behind him, a man from another century kept pace as an ordinary human could not have. Dressed in black from head to toe, a long coat flared behind Gregor like a cloak as he ran. Between his shoulders, a vague suggestion of steel coalesced at his back.

That was our street. He paused as they veered away from the curb and the distantly keening dog. 

The wolf bared his canines, his mental voice human. I'm not giving an old lady a heart attack, so you can take a shortcut.

Eyes the color of a winter sky flashed with humor. Have it your way, Markus.

Come now, isn't this nice? The wolf's tongue lolled from his mouth, lips pulling back to show teeth in an uncannily human expression. Night air, no moon. 

Gregor could think of half a dozen ways he'd rather spend the shortest night of the year, but this opportunity was too good to miss. It would have been much nicer in the car. Faster, too.

The wolf sat back on his haunches and scratched absently at one ear with a hind paw. Nice enough to justify the hair on your seats?

Not that nice. 

The wolf watched the man take the lead before he rose to follow. 

Gregor glanced over his shoulder once and tried not to imagine canines at the back of his neck. The long way, it is.

They emerged on the other end of the park, slowing to a brisk walk on the uneven streets. The wolf fell in to a perfect heel at his left knee. To the casual eye, they bore a fleeting resemblance to a businessman taking his very large dog out for a final walk of the night. But casual eyes weren't the only ones about in the city this late. And no one who recognized him would have dared to pass on the same side of the street.  

Still, there was his quarry to consider. It would not do well to spook her and ruin the whole evening. And fate only knew when he'd get another perfect chance to settle a score. Two birds, one stone.

Without looking up, the wolf asked, Going to tell me who we're hunting?

You'll see soon enough. Gregor checked his watch. Look, I know these joint patrols were Azrael's idea.  

The wolf paused to sniff at the wheel of a Jaguar. He lifted his leg, before moving on. Gregor's mouth twitched irrepressibly. 

The wolf glanced at him. What?

Appreciating your choice in targets.

The wolf sniffed. They continued on. Look, Greg, you and I aren't on the best terms.

Gregor's jaw clenched. The wolf snuck a look, and his ribcage expanded as he issued a lupine chuckle. It was disconcerting.

You should know that I asked for you, specifically, Gregor said.

That silenced his companion. A member of the Allegiance of Necromancers that controlled the world divided into in eight territories, Azrael had chosen Prague as his seat. How business was conducted in his capitol city set the standard in his region, and Azrael knew it.

Azrael's patrols were a regular duty among the warriors who made up his aegis - the elite corps of warriors given immortality to fight at his side. They worked the city at night making sure any non-humans behaved according to the strict code the allegiance had impressed on them to keep them from disrupting the human population. 

The addition of the only three werewolves in Prague, as well as the gift of telepathy which allowed them to communicate, was new. The wolves were intimidating enough with their preternatural size and speed. But their resistance to magical influence and intelligence made them true allies. Inclusion had also been a gesture of good faith to the pack. Giving them more visibility among the supernatural denizens of the city enabled them to better protect the coven they served. 

Most of the aegis had taken to shared patrols, appreciating the advantage a massive set of teeth could provide to any trouble they encountered. Known on the streets as the Black Blade of Azrael, Gregor preferred to work alone. Azrael had been surprised when he asked for this assignment, and the pack's alpha as a companion. 

Gregor might have asked for the youngest wolf tonight, but he was guarding his mate as she neared her time. Even Gregor would not interfere during that sacred event. Plus, he suspected the eldest and the middle brothers of being the ringleaders in the mischief with the cake. The youngest's wedding had simply provided opportunity. 

Now, it was Gregor's turn. And opportunity was everything. 

As they closed in on their destination, Gregor commented idly, Did you know, unlike German and English, the word for werewolf in Czech translates to ‘wolf and coat’? Since I can't have my pelage, I thought I ought to at least have a companion who matched my attire.

You have some balls. Markus bared his teeth, and the hair on his spine flared into high relief. The ‘coat’ in Vlkodlak refers to fur, not clothes, anyway.

When Gregor stared, Markus’s bared teeth relaxed into that odd lupine smile again. 

Everyone assumes Toby’s the smart one. The wolf cocked his head. But I know a few things, Old Man.

I assume nothing. Gregor said cheerily at the confirmation that he had picked the right brother after all. And yes, I am old enough to be your great-great, one more I think yes – grandfather. Now, we've arrived.

Gregor assessed the storefront at the base of a neoclassical building well past its prime. The windows glowed an invitation with gold light. The yeast and sugar aroma thickened the air outside the door. 

The wolf's nose twitched. He rocked back on his haunches in surprise. A bakery?

The man smoothed his coat, and the sword blinked out of visibility at his back. Indeed.

The door resisted slightly under his hand, but a muttered word and the locks slid away. He walked in, as the bell above the door tinkled brightly, holding the door for his companion. The wolf paced the shop, lifting his nose to scent the four small cafe tables and the counter. He circled back, as a small woman in her sixties came bustling from the kitchen, her arms and apron dusted with flour.

“We are closed,” she said in a flurry of Czech, before coming to a stop. “And no dogs!”

Her eyes widened with recognition. 

What are we doing here? The wolf’s head lowered.

Having a cookie. Now, be a good doggie and be quiet.

“Promiňte nám paní.” He beamed smoothly, continuing in Czech. “When I heard how special the bread was, I could not wait until morning. Permit me?”

The woman trembled approached the glass display case. “Mr. Schwarz, these are from yesterday. Too old. If you tell me what you like, I will send an order to the castle directly. Freshly baked.”

Gregor watched her carefully, assessing the offerings. He was certain her age was an illusion. It was no wonder she had gone undetected for so long. He shook his head, surveying the case with hands clasped behind his back. “I am not a patient man.”

He made his selection seem random enough, all the while watching her face. She was good, but not even half his age, and still too close to her human birth to have shed the details of body language which revealed exactly what he was looking for. He paused before a dark loaf, flecked with something resembling pistachios.

“I'll have that one,” he said, indicating with a look.

“But, sir,” she said. “We are known for our rosemary bread. This is just a rustic loaf I make for the old timers.”

“I do so love authentic cuisine,” he said with savage cheer, straightening from his examination so swiftly she jumped backward. “I will take it.”

She lowered her eyes. “Of course, sir. A moment, please.”

He waited as she withdrew the loaf, carefully wrapping it in paper, and slipping it into a paper bag. She set the package on the counter. He reached into his pocket and chased the jingle of coins.

“How much?”

“No, sir,” she said. “It is my honor to bake for the necromancer's man.”

Gregor bared his teeth in the mockery of a smile. “I insist.” 

He slid a few Czech crowns across the counter, the silhouettes of the Charles Bridge glittering silver as they caught the light. Snatching the bag, he ripped into the paper. Crumbs scattered over the clean floor as he tore the bread in half. He glanced at the wolf. “Sit.”

Markus flattened his ears and showed enough teeth to make the woman behind the counter recoil.

Gregor laughed. “Good dog.” 

The woman sucked in a breath. Gregor flung the chunk at the wolf. Massive jaws snapped twice, and the bread disappeared.

Delicious. She's good. You have a perverse sense of –

The wolf's voice cut off. His eyes darted up to the man, before narrowing at the woman. A low, uncertain growl reverberated through his chest. He sat back on his haunches and his tongue spilled helplessly from his jaws. Whining, he sank to the floor. The change began before Gregor’s eyes.

Gregor was moving before the wolf's strangled cry became a human voice. He hurdled the counter, reaching for the semi-automatic holstered under his coat with one hand and the necromancer’s throat in the other. He pinned her to the wall and the air left her chest in a rush.

“Adelaide Haase, you are under arrest for violation of your license,” he snarled.

“I only make it as a defense for the elders,” she choked, glaring at the gun’s muzzle. “So they are not taken in confidence by those duplicitous creatures.”

“You know who I am?” It was a question offered with surprise, rather than boast. 

As Azrael's Head of Security, his face was synonymous with the necromancer's rule. The position afforded respect, but he had earned the fear which accompanied the recognition on his own. 

She nodded, and he felt her swallow against his palm.

“Yet, you lie to me,” he said, glancing at the now-incapacitated wolf on the floor. 

Markus was stuck between his forms. His body was human, but his hands were still mostly paws, and his feet haired with wolf pelt. His head maintained most of its lupine features, even in human shape. 

Gregor turned his attention back to the young necromancer. “A licensed necromancer not practicing in favor of owning a bakery was strange enough to attract attention. But the loaf worked fast, so you're clearly not out of practice. That kind of spell work takes more than a few pastries to support.”

She met his eyes. “I don't know what you're insinuating,”

He pitched her across the room into the tables and chairs, sending them clattering to the floor. “Where are the others?”

“There are no others!” She managed to get to her knees and elbows much faster than a woman her apparent age should have.

His expression turned thoughtful. “Your buyer seemed to think you sold in bulk.” 

The necromancer’s eyes darted around the room, betraying her.

“She's casting,” Markus growled in warning.

Gregor lunged and grabbed her by the ankle, flinging her into the wall. She slid down, unconscious. 

“Not anymore,” he announced, snatching a cloth off one of the remaining tables and tossing it in the general direction of the man’s haunches. “Keep an eye on her?”

He gave Markus credit for remaining functional. The man levered himself to the fallen necromancer's side, glancing around for a weapon. Gregor handed off the gun on his way behind the counter. 

“Try not to kill her,” Gregor said as an afterthought. “Azrael would like to have a word.”

Markus managed a decent grip with his more hand-like paw and grunted assent.

Gregor passed through the swinging door to the kitchen. In the silent space, he appraised mounds of unfinished bread and bowls of half-mixed fillings, which had collapsed when Adelaide was rendered unconscious. Apparently, the necromancer was also using her power to do the bulk of the baking. There was work here for four people, but she was the only one in the shop.

Except, she wasn't. 

His eyes swept the room. It was a tidy kitchen, but no matter how clean, a bakery always accumulated a fine layer of flour dust in the oddest of places. 

Though not a creature of magic by nature being bound to a necromancer had its advantages. Centuries of service had taught Gregor a few things about sensing power. If a little bit of Azrael's had rubbed off on him over time, he used it to his advantage. 

He followed his instinct to the blank wall. However, now that he was looking for it, the break in the flour where the wall met the floor seemed obvious. As well as the slight semi-circle of white dust left by the opening and closing of a door where there should be none.

The sword at his back became solid only when he reached for it. A symbol of his vow to Azrael and a gift of power, the blade coalesced like black smoke as he drew. He touched the still translucent tip to the wall. It went solid instantly at contact with power other than itself. He murmured the words of the same unlocking geas he'd used on the door outside. The wall gave up its hidden door with the sound of reluctant lock tumblers sliding into line. He sheathed the blade, grabbed the newly visible handle, and pulled. 

The hard light of the kitchen spilled into the hidden room beyond. He made out half a dozen bodies, after overcoming the pungent reek of fear and animal. The mix of skin and feathers and fur was tangled and matted with captivity. Six pairs of eyes stared up at him, some from human faces, some from the faces of the animals they had been. Mostly birds, a few mice, and even a tabby cat. All lured with crumbs, and captured to be traded or sold. 

Gregor crouched low, and the captives shrank away from him. He exposed his palms and spoke in slow, formal Czech. “You're free now, by command of the Necromancer Azrael. Your captor will be punished for her crimes. Our people will be here soon to offer you succor, should you require it.”

He watched their expressions, fear and hopelessness falling away as his words registered. He repeated himself in German, English, and Dutch, suspecting one of the leggier birds was a heron common in the Netherlands.

He heard the front door open, and Rory's voice at the counter. “What the hell happened to you, Mark?”

Markus' reply was too low for Gregor to catch. Rory had to duck to enter the kitchen, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Is this about the bloody cake, mate?”

Gregor shrugged. “He’ll live.”

“The Consort is going to lose her mind.” Rory sighed. 

“I'll see her in the sparring ring, at her convenience.” Gregor said pleasantly.

“She’s going to gut you.” Rory eyed him with the patience of familiarity. 

“She may try.” Gregor showed teeth.

Rory’s brow rose. “Azrael will be happy to do it for her. I hope it's worth it.”

“Always.” Gregor snugged his coat and changed the subject. “You secured Haase for transport?”

Rory looked insulted. Gregor apologized with a shrug.

“I've called for a recovery team to pick them up.” Rory took in the little room and its huddled occupants with a frown. “Terrible business, this.”

“And Markus?”

“In the Rover, pissed as hell.” Rory chuckled, shaking his head. “Go. I'll stay until they’re sorted. Try not to rub his nose in it too much.”

“That's no fun.”

Gregor strode out of the bakery, brushing a bit of flour from his lapels. Aelfir, Azrael's Nordic bruiser, prodded the revived necromancer toward the transport vehicle. Gregor paused to check she was bound and warded to keep her from attempting escape. It was a cursory check. She knew she was done. Her head hung low in defeat. Azrael's punishment would be severe, and every supernatural in his territory would know of it. Gregor did not waste pity on her.  

Next, he walked to Rory's Range Rover and opened the back door. Markus was curled up on the seat in a blanket. With a shudder, his body tried to transition to wolf and failed. He groaned and shivered wildly. The bread forced the transformation, but arresting midway it was a nice trick.

“Don't worry,” Gregor purred at the shape-shifter. “It will wear off in a day or so. Perhaps Mommy has something which can speed it up “

“You're a real dick, Old Man, you know that, right?” Markus managed a snarl, his eyes stuck between wolf muddy yellow and a more human shade of hazel. “I should have let her turn you into a toad.”

“I am grateful for the warning she was trying to cast,” Gregor said. “There are six shifters free to return to their lives, thanks to you. Consider us even.”

“Even?” 

Gregor's smile widened. “For the Schwarzhirsch.”

Gregor and the wolves had a rocky start, but the pack had made a peace offering in the only way they knew how—a practical joke. The joke, a cake in the shape of the stag in Gregor's family crest, was made from red velvet. Markus had taken particular pleasure in hacking the thing bloody and handing out forks.

Gregor decided revenge was best served cold, and slightly stale. Markus glared up at him, but he couldn't keep the corner of his lips from twitching upward. 

“This is just the beginning, Old Man,” Markus promised. “Welcome to the family.”

Gregor closed the door on his laughter and strode away.  

A flat black Audi roadster vibrated slightly at his approach and the headlights winked on. Finally, the replacement for his beloved automobile had arrived. He hoped he wouldn’t regret acquiescing to Azrael’s insistence on electric. The engineers had assured him he wouldn’t suffer a loss of performance. An undead boy leapt out of the driver's seat, holding the door as the car chimed a familiar, pleasant greeting.

“Up past our bedtime, aren't we, Dr. Sato?” Gregor asked, wondering what the Consort's attaché was doing delivering his car.

“Lord Azrael thought it a good idea I start participating in patrols,” Tyler said. He corrected himself at Gregor's scowl. “Taking on additional responsibilities.”

Gregor wondered how much of Tyler's being here was Azrael's idea, and how much Tyler’s own. The boy seemed determined to rise from his position as attaché to something more substantial. 

“I take it he's keeping the Consort out of trouble all by himself.” Gregor smirked, sliding into the car.

Tyler flushed. “The Academy, sir. It's the Summer Showcase. Issy's friend is performing.”

“The martial artist,” Gregor pondered.

“Trinh,” Tyler said, a little too sharply. 

The dancer had made a point of cornering both men. In their brief interaction, she'd announced it did not matter how old either was, she would cut them into too many pieces to be recovered, if they harmed Isela Vogel. 

The idea that Gregor would, or could, harm the Consort was laughable at best. His life was hers now, as it was Azrael's. He didn't have to like it, but he would obey it with every fiber of his being. Such was his vow, not just the one he'd taken to Azrael. Still, he'd been too charmed by the fearless eye contact be offended by the threat. Apparently he hadn’t been the only one.

“She's too much woman for you, little one,” Gregor said, eyebrow raised. “Perhaps I'll catch the second half. If I hurry, I may make the end of intermission.” 

He slammed the car door in the younger man’s face. He slipped the car in gear and swung away from the curb. On the way, he woke up his favorite florist with a call, arranging for a delivery of roses to meet him at the theater. 

The florist spoke around a yawn. “The card, Sir?”

“To new beginnings.” 

Death's Dancer

Check out Death's Dancer, the world where Best Served Cold comes from!

Summer Solstice

Death's Dancer short story is also featured in the Kindle Press Anthology Summer Solstice. You can get it from Instafreebie for free!

[imagine-darksiders]

Could you maybe do a scenario with all our beloved Horsemen and their not yet s/o right before they leave they're human companion to confront a particularly dangerous boss? Like before War leaves to fight Straga while his s/o remains with Azrael and they throw their arms around him and tell him to comeback alive, because they can't stand to lose him too but with all the Horsemen? Pretty please and thanks a bunch for being you! Wishing you a great day, plenty of inspiration!

Thanks for the sweet message, I need all the inspiration i can get Im so tireddd xxxx

Nothing lasts forever,Forever is a lie. All we have is what’s betweenA Hello and Goodbye….

Death: “This is it, isn’t it?” You whisper tiredly up at the even tireder looking horseman beside you. 

“….Yes,” he sighs down, “I believe it is.” 

The pair of you are standing at the base of the Tree of Life’s trunk. The fight with Absolom, the fight that you knew was coming but never thought would actually arrive is finally upon you. 

You move forward to enter the dark tunnel, but you’re stopped by Death suddenly grabbing the back of your jumper. You twist your head around to look up at him with a questioning gaze.

“You’re staying here,” he states sternly, “with the Crowfather.” 

Of course. 

On your way to the tree, Death had made you swear that you wouldn’t try to interfere with his fight against Absolom, and although you’re far from happy about it, you know you’ve really little choice in the matter. There’s no way the horseman is letting you through that door. 

Grimacing, you give him a reluctant nod and he releases your garment, striding past you towards the large, stone doorway. But this time, he is stopped by you grabbing his hand and snaking your fingers through his own. 

The horseman pauses, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets out a soft sigh as he turns fully to look down at you. Suddenly under the scrutiny of your best friend, you tighten your grip on his hand but cast your eyes down at his boots. 

“Can- can you…” you let out a shaky breath, desperately trying to force the tears back into your eyes, “Can you do me a favour?” You look up to find that he’s nodding for you to continue. 

“I hate asking for you to do something else for me, you’ve already done so much. But….” You choke suddenly, your throat going tight and throbbing, “Promise me. Promise me you’ll be okay?” 

Death sighs yet again, this one much longer and much sadder than before. 

“I’m afraid I don’t deal in promises, little one.” He says in a quiet, gentle voice. 

“Well then…Tell me,” you demand, “Tell me you’ll be okay.” The words come out sounding like a pained whine and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop the tears that now drip down your chin like water falling off tree leaves. 

Death regards you with maddeningly kind eyes. You almost want to hit him, to tell him to stop being so damned understanding all the time. But you’re so tired, tired of all of this. “You know what happens after all of this?” He asks, knowing full well that its all you’ve been thinking about for days. 

With a solemn nod, you answer miserably, “I know. I just want…” you give an exasperated sigh before continuing, “I want to be able to say goodbye.” 

Death’s eyes glint with the remnants of remorse. “There may not be time.” 

“Then MAKE time!” Suddenly, you snap up at him, almost immediately regretting saying that so harshly. But you’re scared for him. 

Instead of looking hurt or shocked, Death nods to you, “Of course.” He whispers, raising a hand to straighten out the sleeve of your crumpled jumper. He’s playing for time, you realise. He wants me to say something now. 

Without a second thought, you throw yourself forward and wrap your arms tightly around the horseman’s waist, burying your face into the cold skin of his chest. Death doesn’t make a sound and doesn’t miss a beat as one of his hands rests against the back of your head, pressing you deeper into him and the other lingers delicately in the small of your back, sharp fingernails lightly grasping the fabric of your top.

“Please be alright, I love you,” you mumble into him, “I think I might really love you. You’re gonna be fine.” Whether you’re reassuring yourself or him is up for debate, but right now, he simply allows himself to revel in this final, caring contact you’re giving him. There’s a dull ache in his chest where a heart might be found when you tell him you love him. ‘It’s a good ache’, he thinks.

War: War strolls forward to stand before Azrael, glaring up at the angel as he demands that he open the way to the last of the Chosen.. Azrael nods with an air of finality, raising his hands towards the floor, but with a flicker of his eyes, he notices you standing behind War, looking as though you’re fighting to keep yourself from falling apart. 

“Hmm….War,” the angel begins, lowering his hands, “I believe there’s someone who wants to wish you ‘good luck’ first…” War follows Azrael’s gaze to rest on your tiny, sad form. You’re shaking and biting your lip painfully hard as you scrub some dried blood off your face. The horseman pulls his lips back into a sympathetic grimace, closing the gap between you and pushing a large, metal finger underneath your chin. He gently forces it into the air and your watery eyes finally meet his soft blue ones. 

You swallow whilst he waits, gazing into your eyes with a fierce brightness that almost makes you look away again. But instead, you hold his eyes with your own and whisper, sadly, “Don’t go…” 

War furrows his brow, “I must, Y/n. Straga-” 

“I don’t want you to go, I don't want to lose someone else that I love.” You whimper, finally letting the tears spill over your lower eyelids to roll steadily down your face. The horseman’s look softens significantly. He hesitantly looks to Azrael, as though needing guidance from the angel in what he should do next. Whilst he’s looking away, he suddenly feels small hands stretch their way around his stomach, nearly touching at his back but not quite being able to reach all the way around his girth. War looks down, seeing you with your face pressed to the armour just below his breastplate. Fingers twitching uncertainty, War ends up stroking a thumb over your hair and softly patting you on the shoulder with his other hand in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture.

War clenches his teeth at the thought of leaving you, temporarily or otherwise, so turning to Azrael, he mutters, “If anything happens to Y/n whilst I’m dealing with Straga….” 

“I can assure you,” Azrael bows his head towards you, “no harm shall come to the child under my watch.” 

War returns the nod, before slowly backing up, forcing you to relinquish your tight grip. As he turns and begins to head down the steps, you call out to him,”Please come back, War!” He pauses and looks over his shoulder at you. Blinking back tears, you offer him a wobbly smile, “I’m running quite low on friends nowadays….” 

Strife: You all but throw yourself at Strife when he turns to bid you a temporary farewell. He lets out a startled grunt as you collide into him and your arms grip his neck that would likely be painful to anyone else. But to Strife, it provides the utmost comfort. He sighs and wraps his own arms around your back, suspending you in the air while he leans backwards to make your face meet his. Your forehead comes close to his and he presses his forward to bump into it affectionately. 

“Hey, what gives, small fry?” He teases, looking playfully into your eyes as they brim with unshed tears. “Why the waterworks?” 

You shake your head dismally as he gently lowers you to the ground again. You raise a hand to flick a stray tear away from your face as you look up at him with a stern expression on your face.

“Do you promise me you’ll come back?” You ask, hands clasped before you in a pleading gesture. Strife’s eyes widen briefly and you watch a smirk flit onto his face. 

“What’re you talkin’ about, huh? Course I’m comin’ back.” He reaches up to rustle your hair and knuckle your chin. You pout up at him but can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. He’s always been an expert at cheering you up, making you feel like everything would be alright in the end. 

Still, this is going to be one of the toughest fights he’d face, he wouldn’t even let you in the vicinity, opting to make you stay back and wait for him somewhere safe. 

“How come you’re so worried about me anyway?” He raises a brow to emphasise the question, one which you can answer without missing a beat. “Because I love you, Strife. You’re probably the best friend I’ve had in a long time and I’m not too keen on losing yet another person I care about.” 

Strife grins with a cocksure look about him. “Shucks, Y/n. Now you’ve gone and made me feel guilty about havin’ a death wish.” He chuckles, but you’re still sombre. 

“Strife,” you murmur, catching his lively eyes that crinkle at the corners reassuringly, “just….Just make sure you do. Come back, I mean.” Looking up at him shyly, you try your best to keep the tangible worry from your voice. But Strife simply lowers his head, peering at you through half lidded eyes. There’s a beat of silence before he says something and it’s so out of character for him, you almost blanch.  

“I’m not leaving you alone here, promise. I’m gonna come back, cause I gotta, for you.” The sincerity in his tone is as moving as it is unnerving and you can’t help the stunned expression that envelops your features. 

With a wink, Strife whirls about and lopes off towards his quarry, leaving you standing in the dying light of the sun, praying for his safe return. 

Fury: It had been a very tense argument about why you weren’t allowed to go with her to fight this particular demon. You were both adamant that you wanted to protect the other, you by helping her kill her target, and she by keeping you as far from it as possible. 

The stalemate lasted for hours until finally, you caved. She looked so tired and worried that you told her you’d stay behind. But you were livid about having to do so. 

“I know.” She whispered, brushing the back of her fingers across your cheek, “But this is not a creature that I can protect you from, not like I can with those we’ve faced together so far.” 

Her brief explanation did very little to console you, so Fury placed both of her hands behind your head at the base of your neck and pulled your head forwards until her soft, plump lips met your brow.

“You are so brave, Y/n. So very brave...” She trails off when you rest your hands on her forearms and rub your thumbs along her exposed skin there. You let out a miserable sound as she pulls away, your hands sliding down her arms to grasp both of the horseman’s hands tightly. Fury laughs, suddenly you can’t stop thinking that this could be the last time you ever heard it. 

Fury begins to back away, slowly letting her arms stretch out in front of her, finally letting go with one and turning away from you slightly. Your remaining hand still laced with her own starts to slip slowly from her grasp, your fingers and hers are outstretched until only the very tips are touching…. Then she lets go completely, turning fully from you now she summons her horse and mounts up.

With cold, cruel tears pouring from your eyes, you reach towards her, “Fury!” She turns briefly to glance back down into your face, her brows creasing sadly at your own anguish. “I love you..” you whisper, so quietly you cant be sure she actually heard you. But judging by the way her golden eyes flash brightly and her lips stretch wide into a joyous grin, you feel your doubt slide away, leaving only enough room for hope. 

“And I love you, dear one.”