#I DO know one part. because the step-father told everybody I ‘ went camping ‘ or some shit. so he wouldn’t get caught | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

letannabethchasesayshit · 1 year

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Summary: Ripley Curbello's father always told her how she was born of the night sky. As it turns out, he was telling her the truth. She is the Daughter of Nyx, Greek Goddess of the Night. After Ripley's father is killed, she is sent on the run. She is all alone but not for long. She finds Annabeth Chase, Thalia Grace, and Luke Castellan. All four of them lost their families or were rejected. All four were alone, but they found love and family together. It was the four of them against the world and Ripley thought it always would be. Ripley must grapple with finding a family, losing them, and her fear of herself. All rational people are afraid of the dark, and Ripley is not different.

Fandom: Percy Jackson

Read on AO3 here

Part 14/14

Chapter Fourteen: The Moment That Didn't Change Much at All

Luke was right, I didn’t get to do many of my activities with Annabeth. Some of them would overlap, like sword training or Greek Mythology, but sometimes I was left alone. Even Luke was separated. Because the Hermes cabin was so big, it got divided in quarters to do activities. All the actual children of Hermes were in one group while the rest of us were all divided. That left me alone in a group of people I didn’t know.

I tried to make the best of it. The way I saw it was it was another chance to make friends. I found Annabeth, Luke, and Thalia when I was alone, I thought I’d find someone else when I was alone too. The very first morning I had activities, I made myself so excited. I told myself over and over again that I was about to make a whole camp full of new friends. By the time I stepped out of the cabin, I was so sure I was going to have a million new friends by the end of the day, I couldn’t stop smiling.

That feeling was destroyed by my very first activity. I stepped up to the archery range and nobody would even look at me. When I got to a target, I tried to talk to the Aphrodite girl next to me, but she said nothing as she changed targets. Both targets on either side of me were empty despite the fact that the range was packed.

I was determined not to let that stop me. I tried again at Arts and Crafts, and again during canoeing. I ended up paddling a boat all by myself and capsizing halfway out into the bay. A couple of the unclaimed campers helped pull me into their canoe and got me back to shore. Once I had a towel and was sitting safely on the dock, they went to continue their activities.

“They were nice, at least,” I muttered into my knees, “I don’t get it. Why would they help me like that but nobody wants to be my friend? I’m not scary, am I? You told me I wasn’t scary.”

I leaned up against Thalia’s tree. There was nothing left besides bark and pine needles, but I knew Thalia was in there somewhere. She couldn’t talk to me, she couldn’t hug me like she used to, but I knew she was there. I knew she was there and I knew, if she could, she wouldn’t ignore me like everyone else was.

Everytime someone ignored me, or went out of their way to avoid me, I became more afraid. All my nightmares were warning me of just this. I was dark, cold, and scary just like the darkness my mother embodies. They were scared of me, and they should be. No matter how nice I tried to be, I would always be a part of the darkness. It was simply who I was born to be.

“You-you told me nightmares lie,” I began to cry, “But- but- but then why is everybody avoiding me? Maybe- maybe I really am scary.”

That was the only solution. The whole camp didn’t even hesitate in accepting Annabeth and Luke, but they hesitated when it came to me. I saw them scamper away as soon as I came close. For a moment, I began to wonder if I really was the monster in the closet.

“Ripley, you are supposed to be in Greek Mythology right now.”

I pulled my head out of my knees to see Chiron cantering up the hill. He must have just come from archery, his bow was still slung across his back and his quiver around his horse half. He approached me with a kind face and a gentle smile. I wiped my tears on my jacket sleeve and sniffled, “I’m sorry, Mister Chiron. I-I wanted to come up here and talk to Thalia.”

Chiron glanced at the tree and smiled, “She comforts you even now.”

“Thalia always made me feel better. She was my friend and she loved me.”

“And you love her.”

“Very very much,” I paused, “I miss her.”

Chiron knelt to sit next to me. He placed a hand on my shoulder in an effort to comfort me, “I am certain you are not the only one.”

I was silent for a moment. I wonder if Thalia was still in that tree and if she missed us too. If she could, I knew she did, if Thalia loved anything it was her friends. She would do anything for us, that’s why she was a tree when the rest of us were still breathing.

“Your friend Annabeth is quite worried about you,” Chiron broke the silence, “She came to me saying she didn’t know where you were. I sent her off to class and promised to find you.”

I frowned, “I didn’t want to scare her.”

“I take it you don’t usually go off on your own,” he paused as I shook my head, “Why are you up here, Ripley?”

He already knew. I could feel it, he asked the question but he didn’t really mean it. This whole conversation, he already knew what I felt and what I was going to say. I glanced up at him, “You already know the answer, don’t you?”

“You have the empathy of a child of Nyx, Ripley,” Chiron laughed, “I have taught a few of your brothers and sisters, and they always seemed to know what I was thinking before I did.”

“You taught my brothers and sisters?”

“Oh, yes,” Chiron responded, “Your mother is not one for making demigods. Some of the divine, such as Hermes or Apollo, make demigods all the time, but your mother only made one every several centuries. In my ten thousand year career as a trainer of heroes, I only ever met four children of Nyx.”

“Not including me?”

“Not including you, but they were not much different than you,” Chiron explained, “Nyx is the primordial Goddess of the Night. She and her husband Erebos make up the darkness and the night. The darkness is where people are most often at their most vulnerable. Their emotions are laid bare, and children of Nyx could always sense exactly what others felt.”

I scrunched up my nose, “So, it’s not just empathy like Thalia said it was, I really can feel what other people are feeling?”

“Yes, my dear, it is a sort of extreme empathy.”

“What could my brothers and sisters do?”

“Each child of Nyx is different just as all demigods are. No two demigods will have all the same abilities,” Chiron explained, “Some were able to control the darkness and bend it to their will.”

“I can do that. I can make it attack things,” I said.

“One of your brothers could do that as well. Some could even hide in the darkness, completely cloaking themselves to where they could not be seen nor sensed. All children of Nyx have been able to see in the dark just as well as they might in the day. Some have been able to inflict their choice of emotions on others.”

I tilted my head, “What does that mean?”

“If it is dark, these demigods could make their enemies feel fear or their friends feel comfort. Many friends of the children of Nyx were never afraid of the dark again, but their enemies would never feel safe in the dark again.”

I rubbed my arms, “That sounds scary.”

“It is not always scary, my dear. You could make people feel the most comfortable they have ever felt,” Chiron explained, “Some could even banish the darkness in an area and bring the light back, or vice versa.”

I stared at my shoes, “Is that why everybody is afraid of me?”

I didn’t have to look at Chiron to feel his deep resignation. He didn’t want to answer my question, but he knew he had to. This was not the first time he had to tell a kid something upsetting, and it wouldn’t be the last. I was certain this wasn’t the first time he had this exact conversation with a child of Nyx, but I knew it never got easier. From the heavyweight in his heart to the way his entire body sagged, I knew it never got easier.

“That is yet another similarity between you and your siblings,” Chiron sighed, “It seems that, no matter the era, people will always be afraid of the dark. That is why Prometheus brought fire to the humans from Olympus and faced the punishment that came with it. Humans have always been afraid of the dark, and demigods are no different.”

I tried to hide my tears in my knees, but I knew Chiron saw them. He saw everything and he always did. After living for so long, I think it was impossible for him not to. He had already seen so much, nothing ever surprised him, and nothing ever got past him.

“They will not be afraid forever,” Chiron tried his best to reassure me, “Many children of Nyx found their place and their people. They were able to live comfortably once their peers adjusted to the dark. It just takes time, my dear.”

“Some of them, but not all of them?”

Chiron sighed, “Not all of them, I’m afraid. There were a few who succumbed to the malice. They were alienated long enough that they finally embraced it and took on a whole new outlook.”

“Did they become the bad guys?”

“They did, I’m afraid.”

“I knew it,” I began to openly cry, “All my dreams were right. I am dark and cold and scary just like the darkness.”

I plunged my fists in my eyes as I cried. Chiron patted my shoulder, doing his best to console me, “You mustn’t listen to your nightmares, Ripley. They exist only to scare you.”

“But, you just said they’re right.”

“I simply said they could be right, it is you who must make the decision,” Chiron responded, “It is your fatal flaw.”

“What?”

“A fatal flaw, all demigods, and even the Gods, have one. It is the one thing that we could do to tear ourselves down. For some that is hubris, for others loyalty.”

“What is it for me?”

“The night can be something of great comfort, but it can also be something of great anger and fear,” Chiron responded, “Your fatal flaw, as as children of Nyx, is consumption. It is the consumption of one emotion or the other. If you are not careful, you could fall victim to the hatred and malice that have plagued your past siblings."

"What- what's the other one?"

"There is a such thing as too much of a good thing. If you give too much of yourself, you could lose yourself and be consumed by the needs of others."

I gazed up at him in silence. He smiled, “But you have a choice. You can choose to be neither, Ripley. The battle will be hard but it will not be impossible.”

“You mean- I don’t have to be bad?”

“No, but you must make it happen.”

“I won’t let it happen,” I blurted, “I don’t wanna be the bad guy.”

Chiron smiled, “I am certain you won’t. It will be a battle, but it is one I know you can achieve.”

I looked out over the camp. I saw various campers going towards different activities, all laughing and talking with each other. Every single one seemed right at home.

“Do you think,” I paused, “Do you think I’ll find my place? My home?”

Chiron laid a hand on my shoulder and smiled, “Ripley, my dear, if you look close enough I think you’ll find you already did.”

He directed his attention to the Big House. That was where he lived and where he taught Greek Mythology classes. Annabeth was standing on the porch. Her arms were crossed and her foot was tapping as she did when she was nervous. I couldn’t see from there, but I knew she was biting her hair. She was looking for something and it only just occurred to me that she was looking for me.

“Your future is your choice, Ripley,” Chiron said, “There will always be those afraid of the dark, but there will always be those who see you for who you are as well.”

I stared at Annabeth and smiled. Glancing up at Chiron, I wiped the last tears off my cheeks, “Thank you, Chiron.”

He simply nodded. I stood and quickly turned to give him a hug. He hugged back, laughing the entire way. Giving him one last smile, I began to jog down the hill to meet Annabeth. Right then and there, I made a promise to myself. No matter what was thrown my way, no matter what happened to me, I would always be kind. Even to the most bitter of enemies, I would always be kind. So long as I was kind, I could never be bad. I would make sure my flaw would never become fatal to me or anyone I cared about. If I was anything, I was going to be kind.

#percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #riordanverse #annabeth chase #thalia grace #luke castellan #oc

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anime-alyssa · 4 years

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purple scars. (d ragnvindr x reader)

i posted this on ao3 and forgot to move it here - so you get it super long and not 2 in parts. i’m thinking of continuing this, maybe?

thanks for reading and the support! i’m working on a xiao rn hopefully i can get my shit together

warning: contains some emotional trauma, implied r*pe but nothing is overly graphic. the second half is smut, separated by stars if thats what you want to skip to.

The bitter cold of Dragonspire finally started to fade away as you crossed over the bridge back into Mondstat for the first time in 10 years. You were bundled up to the extreme, having prepared for the cold, your sword on your back and jacket heavy on your shoulders. Your sword and your jacket were all you managed to steal away before you were able to escape your homeland, Inazuma. You were still dressed in the encampment clothes, your ID number splayed across the chest of the shirt and the boots too big for your feet.

You hadn’t wanted to be gone for 10 years - you wanted to only be gone for a few, to get your Electro under control. But when Baal placed borders around the country and started hunting down anyone with a Vision, life had become a living hell. You were placed in a prison camp and locked away from society shortly after, tortured beyond anything imaginable just for being born with a Vision. The only thing that kept you alive was the hope that one day, if you had gotten strong enough, you would be able to escape Inazuma to head back to Diluc, and Mondstat - were you really felt at home.

Diluc Ragnvindr was a mystery to everybody, except for you. You found yourself more often than not sneaking onto Dawn Winery’s premises when his father was not around and exploring each other’s bodies, like the horny teens that you had been. Sometimes you thought you could still feel the ghost of his fingertips on your skin at night - and tried to imagine that it was him when the Bakufu would do unspeakable things to you and the other prisoners. It was painful, and left you scarred - would Diluc even want you?

It had been 10 years - you had last seen him when you were merely 16 and he was entering the Knights of Favonius. The two of you fell in love as teenagers - no one expected it to be anything beyond that, but the two of you were convinced otherwise at the time. For you, it was still the same - you thought of Diluc every single day while you were in Inazuma. You could remember the day like it was yesterday - his heartbroken eyes, the cries you let out as you told him that you would be leaving, the way he held onto you.

“I’ll be back - I promise - I just - I need help that I can’t get here.” you sobbed into his chest. The Pyro users warmth was all around you as he held you in his room at Dawn Winery, his father out for the night, leaving the two of you bare in his bed.

“You better come back, or else I’ll go to Inazuma myself to get you.” his eyes looked down at you and your heart broke at the sight of him - Diluc was never a vulnerable person, but right now he was. One of his thumbs stroked your tears away on your cheeks as his lips peppered kisses up your neck. “I will never forget you. Ever.”

“Neither will I.” you said with a gasp, as Diluc had given you a night to never forget.

You had officially reached the other side of the bridge - the cold gone away and the warmth coming back to you. You thought about taking the jacket off, now way too hot with it on, but you didn’t want people to know where you had come from. You didn’t want their pity. There was a small camp with other adventurers and travelers around, the chef offering you food for free before you went on your way. It didn’t do much for you to quell the aching hunger you had and the shaky legs - you weren’t really the best fed and had been surviving off of fruit from trees. In short, you were in no condition to be traveling, clearly sickly and unwell. But you were not stopping now - you couldn’t. Not after all that you had overcome. You hadn’t forgotten about him.

A series of snarls from the side of you caused you to jump as you saw about four hilichurls coming right for you. You shrugged the jacket off and grabbed your sword, standing your guard as the monsters attacked. You fought them tooth and nail until your vision all but blacked out - you had hit the ground and heard someone calling for you.

“Hello? Wake up - Lumine - she needs help! Hey, wait - that’s an Inazuma camp uniform!” a high-pitched voice said to you. Your vision slowly came back as you saw a floating - fairy? You didn’t know what she was - but she was floating above you looking concerned next to a young blonde teenager. “Are you okay?”

“I - I don’t know. Need food - water - Di -” you managed to weakly say, feeling your world spin around you. The blonde teenager ran to the water source across from you - a lake? - to get you a drink of water as the fairy thing fished out something for you to eat. You felt like you were going to die - you were starving, dehydrated, but Diluc, you needed to get to Diluc.

“Here’s some water! Drink this, please.” she said to you kindly. You took the cup and quickly chugged the water, then taking the offered food. “My name is Lumine, and this is Paimon.” You gave them your name back, as they seemed trustworthy, as they sat down next to you and watched you. Paimon looked at you with sad eyes, seeing your uniform.

“Thank you very much. It’s been…. a while since I ate anything. All I have is this.” you said to them, continuing to eat. You were already feeling better, but by the way they were looking at you, you could tell that you were still quite a sight.

“You’re welcome - did you escape Inazuma? Paimon and Lumine were actually trying to find a way to sneak in.” Paimon had announced to you. You froze on the spot and looked up to them.

“What - no. Don’t go there. It’s dangerous - the camps - ” You felt panic start to bubble in your chest, your heart-rate increasing and breathing becoming staggered at the flashes of memories that flooded your mind. Paimon started calling out to you again, trying to calm you. She and Lumine had started to talk amongst themselves, looking at you trying to calm yourself as they made attempts to as well. You tried to remember Diluc - what you could of him, and slowly you were able to calm down. “I’m sorry - it’s just - it’s awful. I was there for 10 years, I was a prisoner.” You sat in an awkward silence before Paimon spoke up again.

“Hey - Paimon remembers that when you were talking earlier, you almost sounded like you were saying someone’s name.” she said to you.

“I’m - I’m looking for Diluc Ragnvindr of Mondstat - the Knights - or Dawn Winery - I don’t know where he is, actually. When I left, he was joining the Knights.” you said to them with a sudden hope that you hadn’t felt in years. Even in your journey, you hadn’t felt hopeful. There was always the chance of the Bakufu finding you and bringing you back or dying. But suddenly, you felt some hope.

“Oh - Master Diluc! Paimon didn’t know he used to be with the Knights of Favonius - that explains why he dislikes them so much now - but he does run Dawn Winery now!” Paimon said, floating happily. She paused for a moment - then looked like some gears had clicked in her head. “Wait a minute - you’re Master Diluc’s lost love!!”

“His what?” You asked. Lost love? Was that what the rumor was? But wait - if there was even a rumor, that meant there was potential that he still cared about you - still thought of you.

“What Paimon means to say is that Kaeya told us stories about when Diluc was… not like he is now. That he used to be much happier - and it was because of you.” the blonde traveler said to you.

“What - what do you mean? He’s changed?” You wanted to slap yourself - obviously he changed, it’s been years. But they made it seem like he was completely different - and he left the Knights? When Diluc was younger it was all he wanted to do, so he could protect people and help them. What had changed? You assumed you would find out.

“Paimon thinks we should take you to him to find out - Kaeya made it seem like you knew him better than anyone, so you would know more. Let’s go check Dawn Winery to see if he is there!” she said happily. You gave her a nod as you shakily stood up, feeling like you had a little bit more energy and walked with the traveler and her companion.

You learned about her on the way there. She woke up on the beach with no memory, but knew she was not from Tevyat. Her twin brother was missing and she was in search of The Seven to see if maybe that would be a way for her to find him, which explained why she wanted to go to Inazuma despite your warnings. But, she was Vision-less - a fact that shocked you as you could have sworn you vaguely remember her using Anemo during the fight. That little factoid made you feel a little better.

As you approached Dawn Winery, your stomach started twisting into knots. All of your anxieties came flooding back - would Diluc even want you still? Would he be appalled at the state of you? Would he be able to handle the extra baggage you came with now? Your mind reeled at Paimon babbled on about how maybe you would be good for Diluc to be happy, and how she was looking forward to the food the winery always had for them. You felt yourself fidgeting with the jacket, having put it back on to cover your uniform.

You saw his red hair from a mile away and froze in your steps. He had gotten taller, but god he looked the same. He pulled his hair back like he always had, muscles built out over the years. He couldn’t see you yet, talking to someone else across from him at the entrance of the winery. Lumine stayed by your side, the teenager having a big heart and concerned. However, Paimon floated on over to him.

“Master Diluc! Master Diluc! Paimon and Lumine have someone who was looking for you!” she said excitedly. You couldn’t help but admire the creature’s happiness, despite your nerves. You and Lumine walked forward as Diluc turned around - eyes going wide seeing you. Your breath hitched in your throat as you two made eye contact. It felt like all air in your lungs had just disappeared and you were unable to breathe.

Diluc slowly stepped towards you at first, not being able to believe his eyes. You could tell he was taking you in, observing your features and you to make sure that it really was you. You didn’t blame him for taking his time - you were unrecognizable from before. Your features had thinned out due to the years of neglect from the Bakufu, eyes sunken slightly inward and skin paled. You saw a flash of doubt flash in his eyes - or at least that’s what your brain wanted you to think - and you let out a sob. That seemed to do it for him as Diluc ran over to you in a flash, pushing anybody out of his way to wrap his arms around you.

It finally felt like you were home, in Diluc’s arms as he held you. More sobs wrecked your now trembling body, overcome with emotion as tears spilled onto his clothing. His grip on you was snug, but not too tight, treating you like you were glass and frail. He was warm, as he always was, while he held onto you like you’d disappear into thin air if he let go. You felt your knees give out, exhaustion starting to hit you, Diluc picking you up to support you. You tried to say something - to say anything to him, but the shaking and the exhaustion was becoming to much and eventually, you blacked out in his arms.

——

You woke up on a comfortable bed - so comfortable it almost didn’t feel right. You were sunk into one side with the blankets over you, body bare underneath. Had Diluc been the one to take your clothes off - did he see your scars? Your body suddenly felt good - there was no aching, you suddenly felt healthy? If that was the word for it. You shuffled in the bed, making an attempt to sit up, before you were promptly pushed back down.

“Lay down - please.” Diluc spoke to you. You turned your gaze over to him, laying next to you, half asleep and half dressed. You covered yourself underneath the blankets as he threw an arm over you, pulling you close to him despite trying to hide. “Don’t do that. Stop trying to hide from me.”

“Diluc - I’m - I’m not the same.” you stammered out. You felt his fingers dance over your bare skin and you gasped, instinctively jumping back. He retreated his touch upon seeing this, examining you again. “I’m sorry.”

“What did they do to you?” he asked. Panic bubbled inside of you once more as you tried to find the words to speak. You wanted to tell him everything. He deserved to know everything if he was still going to be with you. But for some reason, you couldn’t find the words. “Did the Bafuku do this - give you these?” His fingers grazed over the discolored scars on your body, purple marks from Electro attacks embedded into your skin forever.

“Yes - they would - they punished us when we fought back. All of us - but the females - they would - they’d come at night - ” Diluc let out a low snarl, understanding what you were implying without actually having to say it. “I tried to imagine it was you. Thinking of you is the only thing that kept me alive most days. It was awful - once Baal placed the orders to capture everyone with Visions, they found me in days. The painful part was that I was right at Liyue’s border - I was so close to getting out. That’s when I got this one.” You lifted your left arm, pointing to a series of purple numbers on your wrist.

“I don’t want to hear where they came from. It only makes me angrier that the damn Knights of Favonius didn’t even try to do anything to help.” Diluc said, cautiously wrapping a bare arm around you, testing the waters. You allowed him the contact - knowing that you were safe. You were safe with Diluc. You just needed to convince your brain the same thing, which would take time that he didn’t seem to mind. “It’s the middle of the night, let’s go back to bed. You need rest.” he said to you.

You gave Diluc a quick nod as you found yourself inching closer to his chest, resting your head on him. He was warm, as always, wrapping his arms completely around you and pulling you onto him. He never used to be one who liked someone on top of him, even you, and you had respected that - but now it seems like he wasn’t going to ever let you go again.

You didn’t mind as you attempted to fall into a dreamless sleep - but you were unlucky. Diluc was out in five minutes flat, but every time you tried to close your eyes flashes of the past would come back to haunt you. You weren’t sure if you got a wink of rest at all, until you found Diluc looking down at you, the sun out behind him. Your throat was dry and your face was wet. Had you had a nightmare? You weren’t sure if you had, since you weren’t even sure if you had fallen asleep at all.

“It’s just me - you’re okay. You were having a nightmare, I think.” he said, trying to say it in his calmest voice he could possibly muster. You blinked up at him confused.

“I - I don’t remember.” you said sadly, racking your brain to see if you could remotely remember, but having no such luck. Your brain was telling you that it didn't want you to remember, you think.

“You were screaming in your sleep. Almost shocked me, actually.” he said, throwing a light-hearted chuckle in at the end. You were not amused though, staring at him with wide eyes as you sat up slowly.

“I did? Are you okay?” you asked him. He looked at you like you had ten heads, confusing you until he spoke next.

“What - are you okay?”

“I think that answer is obvious enough.” You replied plainly. Diluc’s hand went to your chin, bringing your gaze to match his. His thumb lovingly and gently ran across your jawline, and you instinctively leaned into his touch. Slowly, you climbed up onto his lap, and he allowed you the comfort. “I think - I think I’ll be okay now, though. It’s just going to take some time.” You nuzzled yourself back into his chest as he hugged you snuggly, a hum leaving his lips.

“I’ll be here with you until it is, I swear it.” Diluc pressed a soft kiss on your forehead and you knew then that he meant it just like he did 10 years before.

*********************************************************************************

Slowly but surely, you started to heal, and it was all thanks to Diluc. The nightmares started to slowly fade away and with time, you were feeling happy again. You lived with him at Dawn Winery and took on some responsibilities to earn your keep (though Diluc always insisted that you didn’t need to do so), like helping the staff keep the place running and making sure that Diluc was on time to everything he needed to be. Which was a challenge, especially once you started to feel like your old self again (or what you could of your old self).

“One of these days, Charles is going to quit and then you’ll be stuck!” you said to him from on top of his desk, his lips on your neck as you let out a sigh. You weren’t quite mentally ready for much more intimacy, and he was okay with that, but you slowly had become re-accustomed to more touches. Diluc was letting you take the reins for what you were ready for and what you weren’t.

“He threatens to quit every day. He never does.” Diluc spoke against your skin, grunting as you finally pushed him away - and just in time, as Charles walked in to look for him. You hopped off and ran to find Adeline to see if she needed any help. Later on that day, you saw Charles again and he said that Diluc had been in a particularly angry mood for the past few hours. With a sigh, you had hunted him down, finding him in your bedroom.

“What’s wrong? Charles is going around saying you’re angry.” you said to him. Your partner let out a scoff as he turned back around to you, your eyes immediately going to his middle. You bit back a laugh.

“Don’t.” he hissed through gritted teeth, face burning as you stepped closer to him.

“It’s like you’re sixteen again.” you said with a small giggle. Before he could protest, you had him backed against the wall and his pants shoved down, solving the problem yourself. Charles saw you before he left for the night and had said Diluc was in a much better mood the rest of the day.

You had found out about Diluc’s night-time hero work as The Darknight Hero a week or two after you had returned. Originally, you fought him tooth and nail against it, for selfish reasons - but once he explained what had happened to him over the past 10 years, you gave it a rest and let him go on. With the death of his father and everything that had happened with the Knights and his brother afterward, you almost couldn’t blame him.

He had put a pause on it when you came back, but people started to talk and worry, and the Abyss Order picked up on it. He had to begin it again, and you worried every single night. Tonight in particular, he had been gone almost all night, and you were starting to worry. It was an hour or two more than what he was usually out, and you were alone in the Winery with your thoughts. To make things worse, it was storming outside so you couldn’t go out to look for him even if you wanted to.

A crack of thunder caused panic to rush through your chest - it sounded too much like Bakufu punishment for your comfort. You were snuggled under blankets, bringing your knees to your chest as you tried to push the memories away - another crack making an involuntary whimper leave your lips as the shakes came on. You hadn’t panicked like this in months - but the conditions of the storm and Diluc being gone for longer than he said brought it on, and you were nearly unable to control it.

The door opened and you jumped, not paying any mind to whoever it was that walked through the door as you fought to keep the memories at bay - flashes of them coming through in segments. You heard a curse and then running as you steadied some of your breathing, a hand coming to your face and forcing you to look at your lover. He wrapped his arm around you and brought you close to him, letting you soak up his warmth.

“You’re okay - you’re okay.” Diluc chanted to you softly. You nodded against his chest as you wrapped yourself around him back, his hand gently rubbing your back. He was right - you were okay. “I tried to get back as soon as I could after the weather rolled in, I’m sorry it took so long.” he apologized from above you.

“It’s okay.” you mumbled into him.

“No it’s not. I know how it gets - I should have known better.” he pressed a kiss to your hair after he spoke, guilt starting to rise up. Diluc had been overly cautious when it came to you since your return - within days he had memorized anything that sent you into a panic and was there to prevent it from happening. Until today, that is, hence the guilt. You let out a sigh as you relaxed into him.

“I know you want to protect me, but you can’t always do it, on top of everything else. I’ll be okay.” you said to him, taking your head out of his chest and bringing your lips to his.

He slowly reciprocated once his mind caught up to his body - realizing that you were initiating, something that hadn’t happened yet since you came back. His arms around you tightened as the kiss became deeper and more passionate, from a tiny little peck to open mouthed pants. Diluc was almost struggling to keep up with you, mind telling him to slow down for you but body betraying him, his need for you coming to the surface.

Diluc almost lost his mind when he had dragged you closer to him and heard a soft moan leave your lips as you landed on top of the tent in his pants. The moan seemed to be the signal that flipped the switch in Diluc’s head, as he flipped the two of you over, placing your back on the mattress as he towered above you.

“Are - are you sure?” Diluc asked, needing your complete consent before he went any further. A selfish part of him was hoping you’d say yes, but if you were to say no, he’d have no problem getting off you right now and going on with his night. It was all about if you were ready.

“Yes. Please Diluc.” you said back quietly. It was his turn to let out a moan at your begging for him as his lips went to your neck, softly leaving pecks up and down both sides.

“You tell me if anything - anything - is too much.” he spoke against your skin, coming back up to make sure that you understood. Diluc felt his cock twitch in his pants seeing your blissed out face, lust clouded over you from him. You let out a weak nod before he went back down with more vigor, sucking marks into your neck for all to see.

Fighting back wasn’t a thought in your mind as your body grew hot, clothes suddenly feeling restricting and your core in need of some friction. You hadn’t needed anybody in years, but right now, you needed him. Everything felt so right as his gloved fingertips pushed your shirt off your body, exposing your chest to him. The cool air made you shiver, but was soon replaced with the warmth of Diluc’s mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to all the skin he could reach.

You managed to get Diluc to shrug his jacket off once you started to push it over his shoulders, pulling at his gloves next and discarding those. His mouth went back to its attack on your chest, finding one of your breasts and gently beginning to tug. A moan left your mouth as you tried to remember that your next mission was to get his shirt off. Your body was giving into him more and more as sparks of pleasure started to zoom through your veins and down to your core, slick starting to pool.

“Diluc…” you moaned out his name lustfully, spurring him on more. He pulled away from your nipple with a pop, panting as he almost ripped the rest of his shirt off his arms before going back down to pay attention to the other nipple. You continued to cry out, twisting underneath him as you filled with more and more need.

You felt his hands moving down your stomach, one resting on your hip while the other tucked under the waistband of your pants. For a moment, your mind started to reel and your heart raced - flashes of the past coming in. You were able to remember that you were with Diluc - you were safe, and you wanted him. Diluc noticed, immediately popping off you and gazing up at you.

“Should I - ”

“Don’t you dare stop.” you said, cutting him off. Throwing your arms around his neck, you brought his lips down to meet yours as he quickly continued what he was doing. Fingers dipped between your folds slowly, toying with your sensitive bud and making you moan against his mouth. With a small grunt back, Diluc slid two of his fingers into you slowly, beginning to pump. You sighed out his name as your hips ground into him, his lips moving back towards your neck as he panted against you.

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby.” he breathed against you, hips rutting against your thigh. You used your free hands to push your pants off, kicking them down your legs and leaving you completely exposed. The purple scars on your body reflected with the lightning outside the window and the candle light on the bedside while your body twitched with desire. Another moan left your lips as his fingers curled up into you, his thumb circling your bud making your walls tremble. “I need you. I need you.” he chanted into your neck, trying to use his freehand to fumble with his pants to push them down.

“Diluc…” you moaned as you started to meet his pumps, fucking yourself on his fingers trying to chase a high that you felt coming.

“I need to be inside you. Let me - I need it.” he stammered, continuing to finger fuck you until you said yes. You let out a cry as you felt yourself nearing the edge, body hot and sweat collecting on your skin. “Please baby - let me - ”

“Diluc, yes - fuck - ” As soon as the words left your mouth, he pulled his fingers out of you and finished pulling his pants down, kicking them off and letting them fall to the floor. You let out a whine at the loss before Diluc leaned down to kiss you again, gently using his knees to spread your legs wider and his hand that was in you to line his cock up with you. Nerves started to kick in ever so slightly, surpassing the need as you spoke out. “Be - slow - please.” you managed to say.

“Of course.” he said back, putting his lips back on yours as Diluc pushed the head of his cock into your hole. He let out a moan into your mouth, checking your face for any signs of discomfort before pushing in more. A whine left your lips at the feeling of being split open - it had been so long since you had someone inside of you that it almost felt like the first time again. Diluc pressed kisses to you, as some form of a distraction, as he continued to seethe himself inside until eventually, he was all the way in. “Okay?” he asked, bringing his gaze back up to yours. Diluc looked like he was absolutely holding back, restraining himself because you had asked. His face was red and he was panting above you already, heart racing with desire.

“Ye - yeah.” you said back to him. He let out a groan before he kissed you again, not moving inside just yet. His lips were warm against yours, swollen from all of the other kisses he had given you so far. Diluc wrapped his arms around you and brought you close to him, pressing your bodies together as you felt your need re-awaken. Your body was on edge, having him inside you but not moving - and you needed him yet again. “Diluc - you can move - please.” you begged.

“Fuck, yes.” he groaned into your mouth as slowly he started to rock his hips into yours, cock sliding in and out of you with ease. When he started moving, everything from before fully woke up again and you felt your muscles start to tense up, gripping onto his shoulders desperately as your moans started to fill the air. He took that as signal to start going faster and eventually, he started thrusting harder, with more purpose. A cry left your lips at the change of pace, feeling your body react by trying to move your hips to meet his.

“Faster Diluc - please faster.” you cried out. Your lover let out a loud moan at your plea, hiking your legs over his shoulders as he fucked into you harder, cock curving up inside you and hitting the spot that had you crying out his name. You started to shake under him, a warmth pooling in you that felt like it was about to bubble over. Diluc took your lips in his again, drinking up your moans as he pounded himself into you, the bed creaking and the sound of his hips meeting yours filling the room. You felt his cock growing harder inside of you with every thrust, your resolve close to breaking. “D - Diluc - Diluc!” you cried, tears streaming down your cheeks as pleasure started to overcome you.

“So good - you’re so good to me - so - perfect - fuck!” he said to you in a haze, a wanton moan leaving his lips as he felt your walls start to flutter around his cock. You let out a cry as you felt yourself nearly there - the pressure was bubbling and you were about to snap as the length of Diluc’s cock hit you right every time, his moans music to your ears and making your insides shutter. “Ah - ah - come for me, baby - come for me!” Diluc begged, now chasing a release by making you get to yours. You let out a whine - feeling yourself getting towards that edge - then a scream, feeling Diluc bring his hand down between your bodies to start rubbing at your clit. “Fuck you’re gonna - come - come!” he moaned.

“Diluc - Diluc - I’m - fuck!” you screamed out his name as white hot pleasure took over your body, feeling your walls finally clench down on him inside of you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your heard as you kept moaning, body arching against his and core still convulsing as Dilic continued to fuck you, now with a pace near brutal that had your orgasm being wrung out, overstimulation nearing. “Di - Diluc - ” you stammered as his fingers rubbed harder on your spent nub.

“Fuck - I’m - I’m gonna cum - so hard - inside - baby - ” Diluc let out one last loud moan as his hips slapped against yours, his cock twitching inside of you as his seed buried itself deep. He let out moans as he bucked his hips up into you, your twitching core milking his cock as he all but collapsed on top of you. “Fuck -” he breathed out into your neck, dragging your hips close again so he could keep pumping his high in your body.

You felt spent - exhausted. Eventually, you felt his cock stop twitching inside of you and Diluc pulled out, collapsing next to you. He brought the blankets over your bodies and pulled you close to him, pressing kisses to your temple.

“Are you okay?” he asked you. You turned to look at him, eyes wide with concern. You gave him a smile and pressed a kiss to his lips. Even after all that, he was still worried about you. You could argue that's what you loved most about him - that under the facade of not caring, he cared a lot - he was an emotional guy.

“More than okay.” you said back to him. He let out a hum as his hand trailed down to your abdomen - the area where you had the most scars from the Bakufu. Suddenly, you got what he was saying.

“I - well - I came inside. Are you sure?” he asked again. You didn’t really think about that in the moment, honestly. You weren’t sure how you felt about that one hundred percent - but you knew that you didn’t entirely mind it. You had gone through hell to get back with him because you wanted to be with him - you wanted to be with him completely.

“Yeah. I’m sure - I want to be with you, Diluc. That means… everything.” you said back. He nodded back down to you as he kissed you again, keeping his hand on you down below. When he stopped, he pressed your forehead to his lovingly.

“To everything.”

#diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x reader

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

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Flirt {Ygritte x Female!Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: @starjane312 Wordcount: 2623 Summary: The new boy at camp brings all sorts of trouble.

The new boy was staring. Ever since Ygritte had returned to the camp, bringing this puppy of a man, no, a boy, back with her, he’d been giving her the heart eyes whenever she wasn’t looking. You couldn’t blame him, Ygritte was the most amazing person that you had ever met, and you thanked the old Gods every day that you had been blessed enough to marry her. Same-gender relationships were extremely rare and frowned upon, even for the Wildlings when there was the pressure to have babies, but your father, Mance, had allowed it. So though that was allowed, this boy staring at your wife was not. You poked at the fire with your stick to push some of the wood further in towards the fire, while glaring at the boy. You retraced the story in your head - he had been found, and unfortunately saved, and then brought here. As if he belonged here. Anyone could see that he most certainly didn’t. Except for Ygritte who treated him kindly - or at least her version of kind.

“Yer barely eating,” Ygritte said, pushing a bit more of the bear meat towards you. “Whats a matter which-ya?

“Guess I’m not hungry,” You muttered, finally going from the boy’s dark eyes to Ygritte’s blue gray which rivaled the color of water. “Don’t you worry about me. You go on and eat it. You’re skin n’ bone.”

“Just cause I ain’t got blubber doesn’t mean I’m a guppy,” Ygritte said, reaching out and put a hand on your sturdy thigh. It was true, you weren’t the skinniest of the bunch, you had some meat on your bones. To the point where many of the men could be seen looking at your stomach and licking their lips when food was scarce. If your father wasn’t who he was, you probably would have been killed already. That was just the way that things sometimes went up here. You did what you had to do to survive.

“If you don’t wanna be a guppy, you better eat up then,” You said, pushing the meat right back to her and got up onto your feet. “I’m gonna go have a word with the crow.”

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Ygritte said, taking the meat in her gloved hand and got up to follow you. You stopped and looked over your shoulder at her, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t ask for an audience,” You said.

“I know tha’,” She crossed her arms, still chewing on what was in her mouth. “Tha’s exactly why I’m comin’. I’m not missin’ out on whatever talk that you’re going to give him. Remember the last person we found and rescued? I think ‘is nose is still broken.”

“He grabbed yer arse, you think I was gonna let him get away with that?”

“This one didn’t,” Ygritte said, nodding at new boy. “Besides, not like he’s got anythin’ in that head of his except for the wall. That Jon Snow, he knows nothin’.”

“So I’m gonna make sure that he knows somethin, and it’s to stop makin those goo-goo eyes at my wife,” You said, stepping closer to where the man was. He noticed you coming and seemed to tense up. Good. You stared at him for a moment, and then gave a little growl. He might have a direwolf - but you were the alpha wolf around these parts. “You gonna scar up his pretty face?” Ygritte asked, nudging you. “Like you did with the others? How many would that be now - five? Ten?”

“I los’ count about a year ago. Guess it’s my own fault then. I just had to go and fall in love with the prettiest lass this side of the Wall,” You grinned. She laughed, but gave your chest a bit of a slap in that way that she did. She was a tough and fearless woman, with a pretty face to boot. Many of the men around here wanted her, and any from outside, like Jon Snow, probably would too. Bastards, all of em.

“Ahh, you big softie, you’re like a gutted pig. All tough on the outside and steamy and warm on the inner,” Ygritte said, which was about as romantic as things tended to get around here. “You gonna go threaten him on my behalf now, wife?”

“Don’t know if I need to now that I’ve already got his attention,” You said, turning your body towards Ygritte. “I’ll just show him what’s what instead of having ta tell him.”

The furs were always something that came between you but with the heavy cold of the everlasting winter, they were something that had to be gotten used to. Still, you brushed up close enough to her to bring her soft, dainty pink lips into a kiss right there, in front of everybody. There were some whoops. Some hollers. Some of the men never got tired of seeing two women kiss, the bloody perverts. You were putting on a bit of a show but it wasn’t for anyone’s amusement. It was a warning.

You had grabby hands, always had, always would, and then went right down to that ass beneath the long fabric of her coat and gave it an audible slap. It was loud enough, sharp enough to sound like a branch breaking. Ygritte never minded when you got a bit rough. Turned her on in fact, something you knew very well. Some might call you a bit possessive, but you considered it your duty to guard the lovely lass who had stolen your heart. Even if she would blacken the eye of anyone else who would dare to call her lovely.

“I love ya,” You said, forgetting about the reason why you were doing this in front of everyone. She had her hands on both of your cheeks, feeling how warm they were, slightly squishing them so that you made a silly face in the way she always found amusing. You laughed, though the inside of your cheeks squished against your teeth.

“And I love ya, y/n Ryder,” She said in return, and pressed another kiss on those puckered lips of yours, right in front of crow-boy and everyone else.

The Battle at Castle Black. The name was fitting, because it was a black night for many who were involved. You had your suspicions about Snow since the beginning, though you had hoped that you were wrong. There was something fishy about this Castle Black, and so you had gone with your wife to spy on it, find out how many people were defending it. It was so strange to you, these wardens of the wall, because your father had been one of them and turned his back on it. They had made him give a pledge not to have relationships. These people - they didn’t want you to be born. To have your life.

“I’m havin’ second thoughts abou’ this,” Ygritte said, turning to you. And you had to agree. You were angry at these people, these wardens, but you also didn’t want any more of your people to have to die. It felt like there was a trap afoot. Everyone was preparing for the attack, you had your swords, and your bow at your back, that sick feeling remaining in your stomach. You thought about going to talk to the others about your instincts, but the warg snapped out of his trance at that very second. The signal had been given. It was time to move in.

It was too late to turn back now, so you ran ahead with your wife, sticking together through this. You absolutely refused to be separated. Where she went, you went. Where you went, she went. You both went towards the gate, and using your bows so you could stay a far distance, started to shoot at them. One of your arrows went right through the eye of a man at the gate. And you couldn’t say that you felt bad. They had signed up for this. They didn’t have a wife and kids that you should feel bad for. They made their bed and now they were going to damn well lay in it.

Your wife got some good shots as well, but there was no time to stop and celebrate her accuracy. The battle kept going, and would keep going until there was a victor. It was time to move in, to close the distance.

And what did you see but that stupid crow fighting alongside of his ‘brethren’ rather than the rightful side of the Wildlings. “I told you that boy could not be trusted,” You growled to Ygritte. She looked angry too. She had been taken in by him, had formed a friendship with him during the travels to the wall. Your ‘I told you so’ didn’t help matters much but you felt like it needed to be said. And now, you were determined to take him down.

“Damn traitor ain’t even worth it,” Ygritte said, spitting onto the ground at what she had seen. She took hold of your hand, gave it a squeeze, then went back to preparing her bow to fire again. You took out your sword, getting ready for blade to blade combat against these so called men. You didn’t believe that they were men at all. Your father, Tormund, your friends among the wildlings, those were men. They did what they had to do to survive.

They went down. So did some of your own people. You noticed that some of the crows in their black jackets were running, trying to hide. That alone was a sign of victory. None of your people were trying to hide. None of your people were cowards. Slash, slash, clash of blades, sparks flying from how fast and how hard they hit each other. Stab, stab, cutting through flesh, entering it, becoming a butcher of fine human meat. Groans from the injured, you put them out of their misery.

And then the moment seemed to fall silent as you turned to see that Ygritte had her bow pointed right at Jon Snow, who stood above Styr’s body. You looked at the corpse on the ground, your heart beating fast, rage flooding through your veins. You would never forgive this. You had your blade out and you pointed it towards Jon as well. But this was more so Ygritte’s revenge. Let her kill the traitor, for it was her that he had blinded. You looked about you, refusing to be distracted by the confrontation beside you. You couldn’t let yourself be blinded as well.

You heard the arrow, and your instincts took over. You pushed Ygritte out of the way and caught the arrow yourself, it lodging into your side. It barely penetrated through the thickness of your skin, you could feel that. It was almost like a bug bite. But for Ygritte, calculating by how she had been standing, it might have been fatal. You turned to the boy who fired it, and you charged, pulling the arrow out of the fur and skin, taking it out in one piece, your blood turning the stone on the end a deep red color. Jon was shouting at you to stop. That Olly was just a boy. But Ygritte silenced him with a shouting of her own.

You took hold of the boy, who seemed startled that you had stopped his attack. You held the arrow that he had shot at your wife to the soft underside of his chin. “May you live this moment forever,” You cursed, then thrust the arrow upwards, right into his skull. At that, Jon roared at you. Something about how he was only a kid.

“A killer is a killer,” You said, marching back towards him. As you did, the war kept going on. The death of one didn’t matter much in this war of thousands. But then a weapon was released - a sort of scythe that started to cut through your people. It sent ice into your heart far more effectively than the cold had. You took Ygritte’s hand and she didn’t fight you. “We must go to the meeting spot,” You told her.

“Yeah,” She said, a little shaken at how near death she had gotten, but then her fearless expression came back onto her pale features. She turned her bow towards Jon, arrow still drawn, her fingers trembling to let it go. “If ye even think of followin’ us, traitor, I’ll kill ye where ye stand. I mean it. You deserve worse than that.”

“He sure does,” You grumbled, but then heard more screams of your people. “We gotta go, now,” You said. And you tugged her along, being quite fast despite the bit of fat that you had on your body which people used to make fun of you for. But you were also quite sturdy, able to push people out of the way to get out of Castle Black and make your return to the woods where your father was waiting for you. The Haunted Forest, where you would meet again with your brethren, your family, and speak of the defenses of the crows.

Your father was burning. Ygritte and some of the others had to hold you back, hand clamped over your mouth as you cursed the names of Baratheon, of Stark, of Davos, of everyone that was involved in your fathers death. You could feel the heat of the flames over your own body as you were told about it. Your father was strong until the end - he did not bow. He would never kneel. For you were free folk. It was a lesson that many people needed reminding of.

It had a huge effect on you, because as Mance’s daughter, you were the one that they looked at for advice now, for guidance. But also as a woman, they didn’t completely respect the advice that you gave. That didn’t matter. They could listen to you, go along with what had been your father’s plan, or they could die here. They could get killed by the white walkers. It didn’t matter much to you anymore. You were more in this for the fight than the results, which Ygritte saw in you right away. You had that inner fire that was needed to survive in the winter wasteland.

“I’m sorry,” Ygritte said as you took a walk to try to work off this angry energy. “It’s all my fault. I shoulda listened to ya. Ya knew right from the start that he couldn’t be trusted. That he could never be one of us.”

“A lot of people trusted him, not just you,” You said, stopping to turn to her. You could see, and feel, the guilt coming off of her in waves. And the anger. That unstoppable rage that came with redheads. You’d been on the other side of it before, so seeing it now pointed towards those who deserved it - you were sure that you were going to get your revenge. Maybe not tonight, nor tomorrow, but one day. You were going to make sure that your father was not forgotten. You were never going to bend the knee. You were going to be the fire that killed the traitor. And with your wife by your side, you knew, you could do anything.

#Ygritte #Ygritte oneshot #Ygritte x reader #Game of Thrones #Game of Thrones oneshot #Ygritte one shot #Game of Thrones one shot #x reader #oneshot #one shot #request

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pengychan · 3 years

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[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 24

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: the problem with Ernesto’s murderous plans is that they tend to only have a 50% success rate. Art is by @lunaescribe and @swanpit

***

“... And you killed how many Villistas?”

“Ah, I lost count. At least thirty.”

“Five, more like!”

“Shut up! Maybe some were just wounded, but I killed no less than twenty of Villa’s bastards, at any rate.”

“Sí, sí, and then you wounded Pancho Villa himself. One would think that with such a warrior among us, getting through the Zapatistas on our way here would have been a child’s play. I didn’t see you hit a single one. Did you forget how to shoot in the meantime?”

“Ah, shut up. They fought better, is all. Everyone knows Zapata and his followers are twice the mad dogs as everybody else, and I did hit one!”

“Your own shoe doesn’t count, pendejo.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“You’re so full of--”

As an argument broke out, Héctor watched Gustavo sigh and fall back a few paces with his horse. His attempts at buttering up the soldiers to get any sort of useful information had amounted to nothing, when they hadn’t straight-up started an argument like that one. The only question he was able to get a real answer to was why Commander Hernández hadn't allowed them to spend the evening and night in Santa Cecilia before setting off.

“Ay, he won’t hear of it,” a soldier had replied. “He heard of a battalion that was decimated like that - they stayed in a village overnight, but turns out it was chock-full of traitors and they called their friends in during the night, and the men were slaughtered before they could grab a gun. So he’s paranoid about that.”

The expression that crossed Gustavo’s face for a moment, that of a man who just sucked on a lemon, had been enough to tell Héctor that was very much something he had hoped to pull off in Santa Cecilia. Unaware of that, the man - “call me Chucho”, he had said - had added: “It’s a myth if you ask me, more likely all of them just got sick of this shit and deserted.”

“Can’t blame them,” someone had muttered only a couple of paces behind Héctor, only to be immediately shushed by no less than ten of his comrades.

“Shut up, idiota!”

“You want the commander to nail you to a telegraph pole or what!”

“He’s off ahead scouting anyway,” the man had muttered, and promptly fallen in a sullen silence. Morale was low, Héctor had quickly realized; he had been aware of the fact the war was not going all that well for the Federal Army, but this was the first time he saw its effects on the troops. All things considered, he got the distinct feeling most of those men didn’t want to be there a hell of a lot more than Ernesto had.

Only that Ernesto had seized his moment to escape, and they were still stuck.

“-- shoot that cigarette off your mouth from a hundred paces, and if you don't believe--”

“Amazing, think you can hit the men attached to the cigarettes every once in a while, too?”

“If what you're asking is a bullet through your brain--!”

“Brain might be a big word there…”

“Shut your mouth, Nachito!”

As the argument continued, Héctor did his best to tune it out and reached into his saddle bag for the water. They had been warned the water rations were scarce and he had been trying not to drink too much, but they had been riding under the sun for hours, he’d been sweating half his body weight, and there seemed to be no moisture left in his mouth. At least the sun was starting to get lower at the horizon, evening not too far away.

Héctor wondered how they’d spend the night. Would they make camp? Just sit around fires, rifle in hand, and try to shut their eyes for a few hours before they kept marching on? Surely someone would stand guard, were the revolutionaries really going to catch up as Gustavo seemed to think they would? Would there be a battle? How many would come? Or would they decided a few men off Santa Cecilia was not a big enough loss to bother--

“Water?”

“Huh?”

Héctor looked up to see a man riding next to him, holding out a flask of water. He seemed about his age, maybe a little younger, an attempt at a mustache on his upper lip and an uniform almost as ill-fitting as his own. He tried to smile, grimaced at the heat, and awkwardly avoided his gaze at the same time.

“You, uh. If you want water.”

“Ah. I’m getting mine, don’t worry. I don’t want to take your ration.”

“... Right,” the young man muttered, and kept riding by his side. Héctor took a couple of sips from his flask, just enough to make his mouth feel a little less like an entire desert had moved in, and glanced back towards the man. He seemed to hesitate, but as Héctor rather expected he finally spoke again. “So you are, uh, a novice?”

“I… I was, I suppose. I suspect leaving the parish to join the Federal Army means that’s going to lapse,” he said, trying to smile like the idea was funny. The man didn’t seem amused, and Héctor cleared his throat. “... My name’s Héctor, by the way.”

A nod. “Alejandro,” the man replied. “Look, me and the others - several of the others, we… I mean, back there, when the commander shot the gringo-- I mean, the priest, I would have never,” he finally blurted out, holding onto the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Ah.

Héctor had barely looked at Father John’s body on the cobblestones, focused as he was on the fact that man had Miguel, but the mental image had still been lingering in the back of his mind ever since they left. The pool of blood, the way it got into every crack, the sticky warmth of it through his robes when his knees hit the ground.

Some men had taken him away to get him help, he knew, and the Federales had allowed it, but Héctor had no idea if any help would even be possible. He was probably dead, for trying to reason with someone utterly unreasonable, for trying to save Miguel.

He found his martyrdom, at last.

Something in Héctor’s chest ached; the gringo was not a simple man to get along with, easy to despise and quick to judge, but he had tried to do the right thing and he did not deserve a bullet for it. Perhaps taking note of his pained expression, the young man fidgeted.

“Maybe God will save him,” he murmured, and swallowed. “I… we wanted to ask… do you think God will curse us for this? For shooting down one of His servants?”

Why ask me, Héctor almost replied, but then again it was the sort of question one would ask to a priest and he was the closest thing to one those men had at hand. Part of him wanted to believe God would indeed curse them, all of them, Huerta’s damn Federales - but as he looked around himself now, those men who’d seemed to terrifying looked so tired, dirty from days of travel, many of them young and probably wearing their uniforms no more willingly than he did.

How many had been taken the way they were in the first place?

“There is no mercy in war,” he remembered Ernesto saying when he was found out and they confronted him. “They die or you do. On and on, day after day, until you forget you’re looking at humans because it gets easier if you get that detail out of your mind.”

“... The Church says that as long as there is regret, all can be forgiven,” he found himself saying instead. Alejandro nodded, but he looked far from reassured and just fell silent as they rode on towards the top of a hill they were never going to get past.

***

“Those bastards were supposed to come through San Luz!”

Arms still aching and palms burning from the friction with the rope, Sofía made it down the belltower and to the churchyard just on time to hear the frustrated shout. Right before the church were maybe twenty men and women on horses, all of them armed, being filled in on what had happened by a few very confused bystanders who likely had no idea what was going on but were relieved that these new visitors were not Federales at least.

As Sofía approached with quick steps, the man turned his horse to face her. “Gustavo--” he began, and trailed off. He blinked. “... You’re not Gustavo.”

Sharp as a knife, this one. Nice to see we’re in good hands.

“Gustavo went with them. He told me to call for you,” she added, pointing up to the belltower, where the bell still swung slowly. “He said I should tell you to follow the trail.”

The man seemed taken aback, then he nodded. “Very well. What direction did they--”

“They took the road west, through the hills.”

Imelda’s voice rang out suddenly, causing several heads to turn. She was riding an aging horse that had belonged to her family for years, but that was not what made Sofía raise an eyebrow.

The robes were gone, replaced by a gown and a blouse, a belt at her waist with ammunition and the pistol they had taken from Ernesto’s room. Her head was uncovered, her jaw set; the man stared at her a few moments before he tilted his head in recognition.

“... Sister. I was hoping to meet you again in better circumstances than this.”

“José. You probably already gathered as much, but the Federales that took our men outnumber you, at least three to one. I assume you could use an extra pair of hands.”

“We could,” one of the women spoke up. She spurred her own horse closer to Imelda, a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her hair was braided back, showing a still healing cut on the side of her head. “How much practice did you get with that pistol?”

Imelda met her gaze. “Not much. I’ll have to hope what practice I could get will be enough.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then I die. Not the first or last.”

The woman smiled. “Very well. We’ll need someone to tell us what men not to shoot, after all, in case Gustavo can’t,” she added, and turned to look back at the man she’d called José. At this point, Sofía suspected she may have been mistaken in her assumption he was the leader there. “They can’t have gone very far, with the supplies and carts they took. We can catch up with them. Gabriel, you and I go ahead to dispatch anyone guarding the back of the column. If we don’t take them by surprise we’re fucked.”

“Well, you heard her, everyone. Let’s get going!”

As they kicked the flanks of their horses to get moving, Imelda looked back, and her gaze met Sofía’s. “... Sister,” she said, “I should mention this marks the end of my novitiate.”

Something gripping her throat - don’t die out there, she wanted to say - Sofía managed a smile. Trying to talk Imelda out of her plan, she knew, would be absolutely fruitless. “About time,” she said instead. “Go take back your stupid fiancé.”

The smile Imelda gave was sharp, telling her clearly that she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not that Sofía had doubted that even for a moment.

“You can be certain I will,” she said, and kicked the flanks of her horse, riding off.

“Ay, a novio,” one of the men muttered as he rode past. “And my heart breaks already.”

We had enough heartbreak as is for the day, Sofía thought, but said nothing. Instead she turned away from the galloping horses and let her gaze wander across the parish grounds. A few men were running off to grab what horses and hunting rifles they had and join the rescue party, but no trace of Ernesto. He’d returned, she knew, but no one had seen him since.

Where in the world is that idiota hiding now?

***

Following the trail left behind by the column of Federales - the imprint of hooves, the wheels of carts, the cigarette butts they left in their wake - was easier than finding gonorrhea in a brothel.

Well, at least Ernesto supposed it was; he wouldn’t really know, as he had never in his life had gonorrhea or needed to resort to a brothel for pleasurable company in the first place. His good looks and charm had served him well enough with men and women alike, as Juan could testify.

Except that Juan was dead, shot like a dog in the middle of the plaza, what little color he had on his face draining away along with the blood; Ernesto had not seen it happen, but he could imagine it all too well each time he closed his eyes against the merciless July sun.

Juan could never testify anything anymore, nor roll his eyes or start a lecture whenever Ernesto said something outrageous. He was far enough from Santa Cecilia that he could barely hear the bell anymore, but its toll was still ringing in his head, in every thudding beat of his heart.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

I want them dead.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and down his cheeks, or so he told himself. Ernesto kicked the donkey’s flanks to make the stupid animal go faster, the reins of the other clutched tight in his hand, and wiped his forehead, teeth clenched hard. He clung to his fury, allowed himself to bare his teeth in something resembling a smile as his gaze fell on the caskets of wine. Holy wine, plus a special ingredient courtesy of the parish’s old rat problem.

He would see them dead. He would see them writhe and suffer, and he’d let them know it was by his hand; Juan would probably disapprove, that stupid stuck-up gringo, but he was no longer there to talk him out of it. He was no longer there to disapprove of him, and someone had to pay for it. How gracious of God’s church to provide the means to make it happen. Perhaps it was his will, after all, and who was he not to help along divine will?

Todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina, Juan had said.

Todo modo. Todo modo. Todo modo.

Ernesto let the words echo in his head until they drowned out all noise from the bell, or perhaps it had stopped ringing, or he simply got too far for its sound to reach him anymore. He pressed on through the dusty path and up yet another hill until finally, finally, he saw it just below: a long column of men who were not long for that world. A few men at the back were looking up towards him, surely there to guard against rear attacks. But they saw no rebels there: only a priest, far more charming than the one they’d shot dead in Santa Cecilia.

Ernesto stared for a few moments, and finally let out a long breath, relaxing his frame. He wiped sweat off his face, opened his eyes, and smiled. A real smile, not a grimace; the easy, charming expression that got him in the good graces of men and women alike oh so quickly.

Who would refuse a blessing in those difficult times? Who’d turn away a friendly face? Who wouldn’t accept some holy wine to wash down the dust and dirt? With some luck, it would be the last thing they’d do before they got to confess their sins to San Pedro himself.

Good luck explaining away the murder of a man of the Church, Ernesto thought, and got the donkeys moving down the hill as quickly as he could. No turning back now, not anymore.

The thought did cross his mind for the briefest moment - what if they see through me, what if they recognize me - but it hardly even registered. At that point he was one deserter among thousands and he’d left his battalion as it headed north, with no plans to go back down towards Oaxaca. Chances any of those men came from his battalion were vanishingly thin, he thought, and to be fair he was almost entirely correct in that assumption. Just almost.

Ernesto de la Cruz kept clambering down the hill on top of his donkey, with the smile of a friendly priest eager to deliver a very special blessing to the heroes of Mexico.

***

He wasn’t there, either. The slippery bastard wasn’t anywhere.

Santiago kicked his horse’s sides again, hands clenching on the reins. He had gone off ahead, ostensibly to scout for any sort of possible ambush, but truth be told it was only an excuse to be alone with his storming thoughts for a time.

He already knew there would be no ambush: the idiots were still waiting for them in San Luz, or had given up waiting and were drinking themselves into a stupor, which was just as likely. A few more miles, and then they could circle back to take them by surprise in the middle of the night.He’d toyed with the idea before, but it was not the current plan: he and his men were expected in Yucatan within days, which left them short on time.

But it was… tempting, nonetheless.

We could get some scum out of the way. And maybe de la Cruz is hiding there, or passed by. Someone might know something. Someone might talk.

Santiago closed his eyes and lifted his head, letting the sun beat down on his face. It had been a scorching hot day when he had found Alberto’s body, too, shot in the back of the head and left to feed carrion birds by the monster who’d greeted them that morning with a smile before they went off on patrol together.

It should have been Santiago out on patrol with Ernesto de la Cruz that day. It was his turn; it should have been him to fall face down in the sand with his brains blown out. But he’d pulled a muscle in his back the previous evening, riding felt like having hot rods pushed into his spine, and Beto had offered to take my place.

Said I owed him a drink. What wouldn’t I give to pay back that debt.

Monster, the gringo had called him. What sort of beast, he had said, but the idiota knew nothing of monsters and beasts that must be put down for everybody’s safety. He, at least, didn’t feign friendliness. He didn’t hide behind a smile. He warned before he shot, stated his terms and delivered on his promises.

If it made him a beast himself, very well; perhaps he was. Perhaps trying to take the child had been a step too far - but he’d sooner be a lion than a snake hiding in the sand.

I cannot turn back anymore. No way to go but forward.

But first, San Luz. If he’s there, I’ll smoke him out.

Santiago Hernández stopped his horse on a rocky outcrop and reached into the saddle bag to pull out his map, so he could work out the best route back for a quick attack. He opened it and studied it under the merciless sun, waiting for his men to catch up

It took him a while to realize it was taking them much too long.

***

“Oye! Come here!”

“There’s a priest!”

“We’re getting blessed, muchachos!”

“And we’re getting wine!”

“... Huh?”

As word travelled fast up the column, causing men to halt their horses and turn, Héctor glanced around in confusion. He looked over at Gustavo, but he seemed about as lost as he was at the notion of a random priest walking into marching Federales to offer blessings and wine. Where did he even--

“He says he’s the parish priest of the hole we just left,” someone added, and Héctor’s blood ran cold, something clenching in his stomach.

No, no, no, no. What is he doing here? They were looking for him. They’ll kill him.

“Padre Ernesto?” Francisco, a young cobbler who’d been taken with him that day, blurted out. Sidling up to Héctor, Gustavo elbowed him in the ribs.

“What’s going on?” he growled under his breath. “Why is he here, and why did you get almost as pale as the gringo just now?”

“I…” Héctor swallowed, unable to force words out. Gustavo didn’t know, and this really was not the time to explain him everything. He needed to get to Ernesto immediately, warn him to get away while he still could, so he ignored Gustavo’s questions and spurred his horse to go back, towards the end of the column. The men there were already starting to gather, dismounting their horses… and passing around caskets of wine.

Héctor braced himself for the moment someone would cry out in recognition and every man present would turn against Ernesto, but there was no such cry; the men were none the wiser as they talked and laughed, took the wine and kept gathering, all semblance of order gone.

Above all, Héctor heard a familiar voice.

“... And once I realized I had entirely missed your arrival, well, I had to catch up with you,” Ernesto was saying, all charm and smiles as he helped unload the caskets of wine. “I couldn’t let my parishioners leave to serve this country without giving them my blessing, you understand. And you, of course, it is the least I could do - careful there, it’s heavy…”

It was like an impromptu party, but it was soon clear not everyone was simply in the mood to celebrate. Héctor did his best to approach, but he got knocked back by several men gathering around Ernesto.

“Padre!”

“Can we have your blessing, Padre?”

“I have not had confession in months--”

“Haven’t heard from my family since March, I don’t know if they are well, pray for them--”

“What happened to that other priest-- the gringo, we did not--”

“Our commander lost his temper, a man of God, I would have never--”

“We would never--”

Ernesto turned to the men, and his smile wavered for only a moment. But then it was back, full of understanding. “... Padre Juan was a man of principle who did not always know when to hold his tongue, but he is with God now,” he said, and Héctor’s stomach sank. So he hadn’t made it. He was dead, and Ernesto showed no sign whatsoever of being affected.

“His soul is safe, and I know he would want me to take care of yours,” Ernesto was going on, and he lifted his hand to impart a blessing, speaking loudly to be heard by all. He spoke in near-perfect Latin John Johnson would have been proud of, giving everyone present absolution before crossing himself. Many of the men mirrored the gesture, relief plain on their faces. Alejandro was among them, looking close to tears.

The blessing done, absolution given, Ernesto smiled and spread out his arms. “Now, let us all drink the blood of Christ and--”

“Padre!” Héctor finally cried out, pushing his way to the front, and Ernesto’s gaze turned on him. His smile grew even wider.

“My child!” he cried out, and pulled him into an embrace. “Ah, what a relief, having reached you on time to absolve your sins and give you the Lord’s blessing!”

Face smashed against Ernesto’s shoulder, Héctor barely managed to whisper. “What are you doing--” he began, only for Ernesto to turn his head and almost snarl into his ear, his voice so full of seething fury it made Héctor’s heart skip a beat in his chest.

“Saving your scrawny ass so I can kick it myself. Don’t drink the wine, none of you. Tell the others.”

“Wha-- Ernesto, wait, they’re--”

“Not a drop,” Ernesto hissed, and pushed him off before anyone realized they had spoken to one another, patting his shoulder with a laugh. “Go to the others, tell them they have my blessing and that the parish will look after their families,” he added, and before he could add another word Héctor was almost ejected from the small crowd, reeling.

What does it mean? What has he done to the wine?

He looked around to see Alejandro taking one of the opened caskets, saw the wine flowing and men drinking. Héctor wanted to stop him, tell him not to - he was not a bad person, he could tell; many of them were not bad people - but he knew he couldn’t do so without alerting them all, and in the end he had to back away.

Guilt twisted in his gut, but he knew he had to ignore it and move quickly. The wine was being passed around so fast, and he had to warn Gustavo and the others not to drink it before it got to them. Regardless how tempting it was not to tell Gustavo, of course.

No one has recognized him. Maybe it will be all right. Maybe whatever plan he has is going to work. Maybe it will make them pass out, no one needs to die, Héctor thought, and with one last glance towards Ernesto - he was positively holding court now, men around him laughing at something he said or crossing themselves and asking for a prayer - he ran back to where he left the others from Santa Cecilia, trying to reach them before the wine could.

Whatever Ernesto had done with it, he knew none of them wanted to find out the hard way.

***

What got Santiago to lift his gaze from the map and realize his men really should have caught up by now was a very distant sound, one he did not recognize at first. He put away the map with a frown, focusing, and for a moment he thought what he heard were distant screams. It made his blood run cold and his hands clench on the reins.

Had his men been attacked? Could it be? Was there an ambush - had he walked right past the enemy without realizing as much? Heart hammering in his throat, Santiago spurred his horse to trot back, straining to listen… and finally he realized what he was hearing were not screams.

Well, they kind of were, but those were no cries of distress; there was a rhythm to it, all voices rising up together and then falling, then rising again, like… singing? Was that bunch of idiots singing at the top of their lungs?

Have they all gone mad?

Stunned and furious at the same time, Santiago kicked his horse’s flanks to spur it into a gallop back the way he had come. He knew those men’s discipline was almost non-existent, but that was ridiculous. He would see them punished for it, he’d make them march through the night, he--!

Insortaron a Cortez Por toditito el estado: "Vivo o muerto que se aprehenda Porque a varios ha matado!"

Soon he was close enough to hear the words and, after turning a bend, he could see that the sorry excuses of soldiers he’d been leading were off their horses and standing around or sitting in the dirt, drinking and singing like they were off duty in a damn cantina.

He opened his mouth to shout at them, demand to know what was going on in their empty heads, but another voice rose up loud and clear and Santiago’s own voice died in his throat.

Decía Gregorio Cortez Con su pistola en la mano: "No siento haberlo matado Al que siento es a mi hermano..."

He knew that voice; he heard it before in the barracks, at campfires, whenever a comrade picked up a guitar. He never missed a chance to sing, turning each break in a performance.

Alberto had found it endearing; he’d found it annoying. Now it made him feel as though the sweat on his skin had turned into frost.

Still atop his horse Santiago turned slowly, very slowly, towards the source of that voice. He had not expected the priestly robes, and he’d had a beard when he’d last seen him, but he would recognize that despicable face anywhere; he’d dreamed of it almost every night, grinning down at him as he kneeled over Beto’s body.

And now he was there.

How or why he had come to be there, let alone in a cassock and singing along with his men as they guzzled down wine, Santiago had no idea nor he cared to know. All that he knew, all that mattered, was that he was there within his grasp, and that he would never escape again.

Santiago Hernández bared his teeth, and reached for the pistol at his hip.

***

BANG.

The gunshot was distant, reverberating through the hills, impossible to mistake for anything else. It made Imelda’s blood run cold, but she didn’t slow down; her horse was in full gallop, right at the heels of José’s own - which, come to think of it, looked an awful lot like Ernesto’s own missing horse - and she spurred it to go a bit faster, just enough to sidle with him.

“Was that one of yours? Did you prepare an ambush?” she yelled to be heard through the rushing wind and beating hooves, knowing full well what the answer was but still hoping against hope to get at least some explanation for the gunshot.

José shook his head, his expression grim. “No such thing. There may be insubordination among them.”

“Does it happen often?”

“All the time. But we’ll only know when we catch up,” he added, and spurred his horse again. Imelda could only follow, and hope for the best.

If he gets himself killed, she thought, I’ll have to kill him again.

***

The gunshot was deafeningly loud, and close enough to make Héctor cry out - him, and several other men - and the singing to stop abruptly. There were confused cries, men jumping on their feet and dropping their cups of wine to reach for their own guns, turning around wildly to find out who’d shot.

They didn’t have to look far.

“Ernesto de la Cruz.”

Still on top of his horse, pistol raised in the air, Commander Hernández stared at Ernesto with enough hatred to make Héctor tremble. He was vaguely aware of Gustavo and another couple of men from Santa Cecilia talking to him under their breath, asking what the hell was going on, but Héctor was unable to speak, dread gripping his throat.

He found him. It’s over.

He wanted to cry out for Ernesto to run, to do something, but there was nothing for him to do and he could only stand there, staring in horror. Ernesto had stilled, realization beginning to dawn on him that he’d been recognized, and that he was trapped.

The soldiers around him were not quite as quick to grasp the situation. “What--”

“Commander, we, uh, can explain--”

“Shut up, all of you, and seize that traitor!”

“... Sir, that is Padre--”

“That’s no more a priest than I am, idiots! It’s the deserter we’ve been looking for!” the man screamed, and leaped off his horse, pistol still in his hand. “ SEIZE HIM, I SAID!”

“Qué?” Gustavo blurted out somewhere on Héctor’s right, and it seemed that sentiment was prevalent among the Federales as well, most of whom kept staring at their commander as though he’d suddenly started speaking Portuguese.

Then Ernesto tried to run, and all hell broke loose.

Héctor had gone hare hunting once, out of sheer curiosity, watching from the sidelines and not really doing much. The pack of dogs, all of them friendly mutts, had seemed comically clumsy, wagging their tails and snuffling about, seemingly more interested in playing than hunting… until a hare had burst out of its hiding spot to run away, and suddenly the entire pack had pounced. The chase had been brief, the screams unbearably loud, the outcome bloody, and Héctor had felt queasy as the owner of the dogs lifted the prey, grinning from ear to ear while his dogs went back to goofing off.

“This,” he had said, “is why you never try running before even the dumbest dog pack.”

Now Héctor watched Ernesto make the same mistake, and again the dogs pounced as one. The hare had no chance of escape that day, and neither did he now.

“STOP HIM!”

“Got him, I got him!”

“Get your hands of me, hijos de--”

“Agh! He bit me!”

“Get him over here!”

If any of the soldiers had doubted Commander Hernández’s words and still believed him a priest, Ernesto thrashing and screaming insults to their entire lineage - through the flea-ridden Spaniards who’d forced their way between their great-great-great-great grandmothers’ thighs and all the way down to the Garden of Eden - probably took care of it.

As Héctor stared, petrified and not knowing what to do, he was dragged in front of the commander and forced on his knees, arms behind his back. Hernández put the pistol back in its holster, walked up to Ernesto, and grabbed a fistful of his hair to force his head back.

He gave a cold, too-wide smile that still did not reach his eyes and said something Héctor could not hear. Ernesto’s scowl turned to shock for a moment, and then his features twisted in fury. He screamed and tried to rise up to throw himself at Hernández, almost made it, but too many men were holding him down and he was pushed back in the dirt. Orders were barked and they began dragging Ernesto away from the rest of the still confused soldiers, off the path and towards a small grove of trees and shrubs. One of the men carried a long rope.

They'll see me hang, Ernesto had told them after being unmasked, and God, he'd been right. “No, wait!” Héctor cried out and tried to run, but something gripped his arm, pulled him back.

“Stay here, idiota,” Gustavo hissed, his grasp on Héctor’s wrist tight enough to cut off the blood flow. He glared. “Won’t let you become a martyr on my watch, you’re insufferable enough as is. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it. Did you know about him?”

“I can’t let them kill--”

“Did you know!” Gustavo barked, and Héctor fell silent, his expression probably speaking volumes. Gustavo groaned, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “A Federale right under my nose and I never knew. Por Dios, José is never going to let me hear the end of it...”

“Gustavo, let me go, we have to help him--”

“Help is coming, idiota. Stay here.”

“But--”

“Help is coming,” Gustavo repeated in the forceful way of a man trying to will something into reality. “At least that damn liar delayed their march. Any moment now--” he trailed off when a sudden noise reached their ears amidst the confusion and exclamations, harsh and unmistakable - retching. Soon followed by another such sound, and another. And another.

One by one, the men around them began looking very, very sick.

***

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastards--!”

Ernesto’s insults got him precisely nowhere, and his attempt at fighting off the men dragging him away was about as useless. Too many of them, too strong, his wrists already tied behind his back before they shoved him on his knees in the dirt before the cabrón who had somehow recognized his face.

When said cabrón stepped forward and grabbed his hair to yank his head back, Ernesto clenched his teeth to hold back a cry and glared up at him. Who was he? Dimly he knew he must know him, he looked vaguely familiar - something about the mustache, the unusually thin bridge of his nose - but he still could not put a name to the face the way that bastard had somehow put a name to his.

Unaware of his thoughts, the man sneered. “Ernesto de la Cruz - so the rat comes out in the open at last. What’s the reason for this masquerade? Did you think these robes would save you? They will not. I shot down a true priest today. Or was the gringo an impostor, too?”

Our commander lost his temper, one of them had said.

That beast pulled out his pistol and… and… ay, I told you, he knows no God. To shoot a man of god like an animal!

YOU TOOK HIM AWAY!

With a wordless scream, Ernesto strained against the men holding him down, against his bounds, wanting nothing more than putting his hands around the man’s neck and choke the life out of him. He almost managed to stand, but the weight of several men was too much and he was thrown back down in the dirt.

“You, take him and follow me. Rojas, get enough rope to hang this bastard. Quick.”

“Yes sir.”

No no no no no!

Ernesto struggled, but to no avail. Bound and overpowered, he was easily dragged away from the path by the small group of men - towards shrubs and trees, where they could hang him by the neck and leave him to feed carrion birds. They would not give him a clean death, he knew. No fall, no broken neck. They’d string him up and… and…

“Let me go!”

“Oh, as you wish.”

The men threw him down on the ground, and with his hands tied there was nothing sparing his face a painful impact. Ernesto ground his teeth to stifle a cry, only for that cry to be forced out of him when a kick in his side threw him onto his back. A knee pressed on his chest and the man leaned down, all his weight on Ernesto’s sternum.

When is the damn poison going to work?

Maybe the parish got scammed and that wasn’t poison at all. Wouldn’t that be a laugh, a fake priest dead thanks to fake poison.

As he struggled to breathe, Ernesto blinked a few times to clear his vision and looked up. Seen up close there was something startling in the sheer hatred in the man’s gaze, and it caused Ernesto to still a moment. The soldier, John’s murderer, sneered once again.

“Tell me, traitor,” he all but snarled. “Do you even know who I am?”

Don’t make him mad, part of Ernesto’s brain said, but the rest clung to the hope the poison would start working soon. Make him waste time.

“Should I?” he spat. A fist connected with his face as soon as the words were out, causing his vision to swim. Blood ran down his face from a split lip, went down his throat. Somewhere above him he saw the rope being thrown up over a branch, one end already tied in a noose.

And then, before his eyes, the blade of a knife caught the sunlight.

***

He didn’t even recognize him.

Of all the ways Ernesto de la Cruz had wronged him, that somehow was the final straw, the worst possible slap to the face. He’d murdered his best friend since childhood and ran off, leaving him to obsess over revenge for months on end - unable to sleep without seeing his face or Beto’s body in the sand, or both - and now he dared say he didn’t even know who he was.

Ah, but he’d know. Before he died, when he allowed him to die, he would know.

“I know who you are well enough,” Santiago snarled, and pulled out his hunting knife. “A coward, a traitor, and a murderer. You’re a Judas, and you’ll die as Judas did - and everyone will know why!”

De la Cruz tried to squirm beneath him, still dazed by the blow but all too aware of the blade of his knife. Santiago sneered, held the knife to his throat, and watched him grow still. There was terror in his eyes, unmistakable, and he savored it like a sip from a bottle of fine wine.

“Ay, you’ll wish I made it this easy for you.” The blade slipped beneath his collar and ripped down through the cassock, baring his chest.

De la Cruz tried to squirm again, this time with more urgency, eyes wide. “Stop!” he rasped.

Santiago smiled. “Why? Have you recalled my name?”

“I have done nothing to you. I--”

“Liar. I should take an eye for that,” he snapped, and brought the tip of the knife’s blade to rest right beneath a widened eye, drawing the tiniest drop of blood from his skin. “Think again, you Judas. Think of the day you deserted. Someone was with you.”

“What…” Ernesto de la Cruz paused and finally, finally, Santiago saw his expression change - from terror and confusion to realization. Of course, that must have jogged his memory: the two of them had barely shared a few words, but he must remember Alberto. And wherever Alberto went, Santiago followed.

Until, of course, de la Cruz had sent Beto someplace where Santiago could not follow.

You took him away.

Something ached in his chest, and all of a sudden Santiago felt ridiculously close to tears. But he had him now. He would see him die, Alberto would be avenged, and he would finally feel better. He had to feel better. He could not contemplate feeling the way he did forever.

“Thiago,” de la Cruz choked out, and he scoffed. Of course, even now, the self-absorbed bastard couldn’t be bothered to remember anyone’s name.

“Santiago,” he snapped, and leaned in so close their faces almost touched, pressing the blade a little harder on Ernesto’s skin and causing another pinprick of blood to well up. “But it matters not. You know whose name I want you to remember, sí? That of the man you killed.”

De la Cruz swallowed. “Alberto,” he managed. “I-- I didn’t want to kill him. I swear. I only wanted to get away, I couldn’t stand it anymore, I... he would have stopped me, he--”

“And so you shot him like a dog!” Santiago screamed, causing that disgusting coward to wince. He pulled back, knees still pressed against his sternum, keeping him pinned down. The grip on the handle of his knife was so tight it ached. And he even had the galls, this bastard, to lecture him for shooting a gringo!

“You left him dead to feed scavengers, and you really thought I would let it stand! You really thought I wouldn’t hunt you down like the beast you are! Tell me, did you kiss him the way Judas kissed Christ when he betrayed him?”

A shudder beneath him that may have been a sob. “P-por favor--”

“Oh, you’re begging now?” Santiago gave a loud, ugly laugh, and pressed the blade against Ernesto de la Cruz’s chest. “Very well, traitor. Go on and beg,” he said, and began to cut.

He did beg, but only for a few moments. For a good while, all he could do was scream.

***

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #coco #fake priest au

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tahitianmangoes · 4 years

Text

Absolution - Chapter 2

Pairing: Micah x Arthur Summary: Micah often felt like he and Arthur were two sides of the same coin. Whether or not Artur shared that sentiment Micah didn’t know but ever since an encounter out west, inexplicably they keep finding themselves pulled back to one and other. NSF W | Not canon compliant Also on AO3 Chapter One

Chapter Two - You Scratch My Back, I’ll Scratch Yours

The new camp was called Horseshoe Overlook, Hosea said he’d been this way before a while ago. It was further east than Dutch had ever wanted to go but right now, it didn’t matter what direction they were going as long as it was the opposite of any Pinkertons still on their tail.

It was a nice camp, away from prying eyes in the Heartlands. Micah himself hadn’t been too far this way before, maybe a couple of years ago with some people he used to run with but he hadn't seen them in a long time… Last time he heard, they were stuck in Sisika penitentiary.

However, the Heartlands it seemed, was infested with O’Driscolls; spilling out of the local saloon, camping out in the fields between where they were and right to the border with Lemoyne. Not ideal but nothing they couldn’t handle, the O’Driscolls were small fry in comparison to what had happened on that boat in Blackwater.

Arthur hadn't said a word since the cabin. Micah didn't know what to say either. Arthur had curled up by the fireplace and slept after their encounter. Micah spent all night staring into the flames until his eyes smarted and the sun rose.

Micah had left Arthur asleep and ridden back to Colter with the supplies he’d found. When asked about Arthur he shrugged. Dutch seemed concerned but he also seemed to recognise that he shouldn’t question the matter.

Since moving to Horseshoe Overlook, there hadn’t been much time to talk to anyone, let alone Arthur. Maybe Arthur was right, they were even now and that was the end of the matter… So why did Micah keep thinking about it, playing it in his mind over and over like one of those flickery, moving pictures that people went to see?

If anything, that night in the cabin had made it worse. He could kid himself that at Gaptooth Ridge, it had been a one off, maybe they’d both just been frustrated - god knows it’s hard enough to get five minutes privacy to take care of yourself when you’re in a gang of twenty other people who always want something from you… But the way Arthur had pushed him flush to the wall and looked at him with intent in that cabin, like there was more to it than just having Micah suck his cock… But Micah didn’t know what and almost didn’t dare ask.

***

"Mr Morgan!" Susan Grimshaw's voice was piercing as she called Arthur from across the camp. Micah looked up from the table where he sat by Pearson's wagon playing solitaire. "One of the girls said she saw your friend Miss Gillis around Valentine..." "Mary?!" Arthur repeated.

Micah’s hat hid his face so they couldn’t see him looking up from his card game. Arthur had been busy since they got to the new camp, everyone had been really, all working to make back the money they lost in Blackwater. But it was rare for Arthur to be in camp during the day. If Micah had meant more to Arthur, he might have thought that the younger man was avoiding him. But he knew that wasn’t the case.

He absentmindedly touched his neck where he now wore a neckerchief to hide the bruises Arthur had left from that night in the cabin, biting and sucking at his skin.

Micah could see Arthur quite clearly from where he sat; he’d changed out of his winter clothes now and wore a sky blue button down shirt that matched his eyes and dark denim pants that fit him well.

Never had Micah heard Arthur's voice so excited, seen his eyes light up so as he said Mary’s name.

"Yes…" Miss Grimshaw said and her tone didn't go unnoticed by Micah, disapproving, which wasn't exactly unusual for Miss Grimshaw - a more sour faced dragon if Micah had met one. "Never did like that girl. Anyway, there's a letter for you by your tent from her." Arthur was about to turn and go to his tent when Miss Grimshaw lay an uncharacteristically gentle hand on his chest, "be careful with her, Arthur. That girl's nothing but trouble."

Arthur didn't humour her with a response. Micah watched him go to his tent and tear open the letter like a present on Christmas morning. He read it eagerly. Soon afterwards he left the camp.

Micah felt his chest tighten and didn't understand why.

A little while later, Micah found Dutch. Dutch was unlike any man Micah had ever met before. He was intriguing, magnetic and left Micah in awe. Despite being only five or six years Micah’s senior, he saw Dutch as an almost fatherly figure.

Micah’s father had not possessed any of the skills or qualities of Dutch Van Der Linde, instead he had been what Micah had soon learned to be a bottomless evil. Nothing Micah, his brother or mother did could change that. He resented his brother, Amos, for leaving when he did but only because he had wanted to go, too… He had just been too afraid.

Micah vowed, when he left his father, that he would never be afraid of a person ever again. People would only ever fear him.

He wasn’t afraid of Dutch, more afraid that maybe he would lose favour with him now because of this ferry business. Sure, no one could have predicted what was going to happen but this was Dutch and Micah’s job and Micah had let him down, in a way. People got hurt and that sort of thing didn’t sit well with Dutch.

Dutch was around the side of his tent reading. Molly O’Shea was inside the tent, she looked annoyed to see Micah come around but truth be told, she looked annoyed whenever anyone took Dutch’s attention off of her, which Micah noticed seemed to be more often than not these days.

They had robbed a train out by Granite Pass before coming down from the mountains. He had seemed pleased with the take but it wasn’t enough. He spent a lot of is time brooding and looking anxious around the camp now.

“Dutch, can I talk to you a minute?” Micah asked. He tried to talk softly to Dutch. He wasn’t afraid of him but… One wrong word could send Dutch into a fury, he’d seen it before when Davey has spoken out of line - it was startling to see Dutch’s face turn dark, eyes completely black, drawing himself up to his full and impressive height, Micah’s never noticed how tall he was until that time, how he was muscular, too. Dutch had bellowed so loudly that his voice echoed. He never lost his cool like that, not in the six months that Micah had been with the gang and Micah didn’t fancy having that same fate.

Dutch looked up from his book, amber eyes narrowed at Micah, “what is it?” He sounded a little annoyed. “Listen… I think… I want to go back to Blackwater and get the money.” “Out of the question,” Dutch said bluntly and turned his gaze back to his book but Micah saw that his eyes didn’t move, he wasn’t reading.

Negotiating with Dutch was almost like a dance - you just have to know the steps.

“Maybe I ain’t makin’ myself clear…” Micah said carefully, “I ain’t tryin’ to rob you. You know me better than that.” Dutch closed his book now with a sigh. “Just what are you trying to do, Micah?” He asked, still sounding impatient.

The topic of the Blackwater money was a sensitive one; while everyone else had scrambled to get out of there, Dutch and Hosea had hidden the money. They had thought that it was too risky to try to get out of Blackwater with it. Micah thought that sounded a little off but who was he to argue with Dutch? Only Dutch and Hosea knew where that money was stashed, Micah didn’t even think Arthur knew - Arthur trusted Dutch wholeheartedly and would never question it. Micah trusted Dutch too, in as much as Micah could trust anyone… But it seemed a little unfair how everyone’s money was hidden and only Dutch and Hosea knew where.

“I’m tryin’ to save you. Save everybody. I’ll go to Blackwater and get the money then meet you all some place… And we’ll be home free! That’s it.”

Dutch’s brow furrowed. Micah watched him intently. He was a well dressed man, and despite being down on their luck, that hadn’t changed about him. His crimson silk vest contrasted with his crisp white shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled to the elbow. The ribbon of his hat mated the vest. Dutch removed the hat to run a hand through the dark tresses of his hair while he thought over what Micah had said.

“Just… Just think about it, boss. That’s all I’m sayin’. The way I see it, we gotta try.” Micah knew full well that Dutch probably didn’t give two shits the way Micah saw it. But it was all part of the dance.

“I…” Dutch started, turning his gaze back up to Micah. He seemed a little at a loss for words momentarily. “I’ll think about it.” he said finally.

Micah let a smile break out on his face, “thank you.” He said, not forgetting that he was still beneath Dutch in all senses of the word and he was definitely not adverse to grovelling if that’s what it took for Dutch to see sense, to let him help and who knows, take over from where Hosea so obviously wanted to leave…

****

Later that night, when everyone else had gone to sleep, Micah sat by the campfire sharpening his knife. From where he sat, he had a perfect view of Arthur’s tent which was, as usual, empty.

Micah let his thoughts wander back to that morning. He wondered who this Mary woman was and how had he never heard of her until now? Was she an old flame? As long as he had known Arthur Morgan, Arthur had never had a romantic relationship, not even an unromantic one - he turned down whores in the saloons, ignored women who complimented him or gave him discount in stores on account of how handsome he was and continued with his sullen cowboy act. Micah had begun to doubt whether it was an act at all…

Just then he heard hooves approaching. Micah couldn't see who it was but he heard Bill who was on guard duty ask: “who goes there?” “Arthur, you dumbass.” Came the reply.

Micah couldn’t help feel his chest tighten again, his heart ripple. Why was he like this?

When Arthur came into view, he had a bottle of whiskey in one hand that he must have taken from the box by Hosea’s tent. As he approached the fire, he smelled like he had already been drinking. Micah didn’t look up but he could see Arthur out of the corner of his eye, hovering around the fire, watching Micah continue to sharpen his knife as if he hadn’t noticed the younger outlaw arrive. Micah didn’t look up or speak because he had no idea what to say to Arthur. Part of him thought that maybe Arthur had been right up in the cabin, maybe there was nothing to talk about.

To Micah’s surprise, Arthur sat down beside him at the fireside. Micah could see that there was something in Arthur’s other hand. A piece of paper. The letter from that morning.

Arthur was the first to speak. “You’re up late.” Micah shrugged, “so are you.”

“I… I was with someone in town… Someone I… Uh…” Arthur trailed off. It looked like it pained him to think about it, let alone say it. “Someone I was courtin’ a long time ago.” Micah let himself smirk. “What happened? She kick you out for the night once you were done?” “No.” Arthur replied, almost hotly, “It ain’t like that. She ain’t like that.”

Arthur’s voice wavered slightly. Micah had never heard him speak so earnestly or even speak this long, he usually spoke to Micah in short grunts like some farmyard animal.

Arthur continued, “she… Well, she was never really right for me. Too good for me. I proposed a long time ago. She turned me down o’ course. We was just kids really.”

Micah didn't say anything, he got the feeling that Arthur didn’t really want his input but rather just needed someone to listen to him.

“Anyway, her daddy didn’t like me.” Micah scoffed, “what do daddies know?” Arthur smiled weakly and drank from his whiskey bottle before continuing. “Maybe he was right. She weren’t made for this life. Sometimes I wonder if anyone really is…”

Arthur stared into the fire. Micah stared at Arthur.

“Anyway. She left a letter for me and o’ course, I went rushin’ over to her like the prize idiot I am… Knew she’s married now but, well, he’s gone. Pneumonia or somethin’; bad business. So she’s a widow now. Some stupid part o’ me thought maybe this was her givin’ me another chance now we’re both older.”

He stared into the fire sadly and took another swig from the bottle.

“Turns out she just wanted an errand boy, someone to do her dirty work for her… She knew I was fool enough to do whatever she wants. Maybe ‘cause part of me thinks we still got a chance even though I know she ain’t about this life and I ain’t exactly the type to buy a ranch and live honestly… Sometimes I wonder if… If I’m the sorta person that can… Be loved…” Arthur let himself trail off. They sat in silence for a few minutes save the crackling of the fire.

Micah had never heard Arthur talk this way, not to anyone. Part of Micah had assumed that Arthur just didn’t have that in him. A big, brawny brute who was emotionally stunted. But now Micah saw the pain on Arthur’s handsome features and he hurt too, in a way.

“You can't go forcin’ somethin’ if it ain’t right.” Micah said, his voice taking on an alien, gentle quality. It took Arthur by surprise, he looked up at him now. The fire reflected in his eyes. Micah had thought he was more drunk than he looked but the way he looked at Micah told him different.

Micah watched the fire dance in those great blue orbs. Neither of them said anything but Micah knew. Micah knew what was going to happen and he was fully prepared to let it despite the fact that they were in the middle of the camp, despite the fact that if Dutch were to come out of his tent, if Javier who was sleeping just a few feet away was to wake, they’d be seen. But Micah let it happen anyway. He was powerless.

Arthur moved his head closer and they kissed. Arthur let the letter tumble from his fingers into the mud as he reached for Micah, one hand on his face the other he lay almost hesitantly on his chest. Micah reciprocated. He let his eyes close, let his lips move on their own, let Arthur’s tongue slip into his mouth and rub gently against his own so he could taste the whiskey he had just drunk. Micah felt his head spinning, like he was drunk too. All he could hear was the fire crackling, feel the warmth of Arthur’s hands on him and smell the musk from the swell of the younger man’s chest. Consuming. Intoxicating. He brought his hands up, running them through Arthur’s soft, fawn hair and Arthur made a sound, a sigh, a moan that Micah echoed back to him.

And before he knew it, Arthur had pulled away but his hands were still on Micah. Still, neither of them spoke. Micah let Arthur stand and guide him away from the main camp, behind Arthur’s own tent and into the treeline.

Micah was eager to kiss again and Arthur allowed him to once they were a suitable distance from the camp. Micah let Arthur grope him through his clothes, let Arthur’s fingers work at the buttons on his pants and slip his hands inside, palming his already semi hard cock. Micah let out a shaky gasp into Arthur’s mouth, the stubble from his beard scratching his skin, the smell of tobacco on his shirt filled up his lungs.

Micah’s fingers were quick to unbutton Arthur’s pants, too and take his cock in hand. He was hard and Micah could feel it pulse beneath his fingertips, the tip leaked with precum and Micah tugged on it making Arthur growl into his mouth. A growl that sent a pang of excitement throughout his body. Arthur reciprocated and the pair jerked each other, kissing hard, Micah pressing his hips against Arthur’s who rocked his back in response, drawing breathy moans from Micah.

Micah wasn't sure if it was the lust or the liquor or maybe both but he wasn’t going to question it. He also wasn’t going to admit that he had wanted this again, so so badly.

Arthur shifted, spitting on his palm before resting his weight on a tree behind him so he could take both of their erections in his hand and stroke them together.

Micah couldn’t stop himself letting out a guttural moan. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. The soft skin of Arthur’s cock against his own, hot and throbbing paired with Arthur’s slicked hand was an unprecedented type of bliss.

Micah’s legs shook and he could barely stand, Arthur let him lean forwards, able to support them both as Micah clung to him, hips fucking into Arthur’s palm as he stifled his moans and swore under his breath each time Arthur’s hand ran the length of his shaft, rough thumb swiped over his slit or reached down to gently tug on his balls.

Arthur kissed him to silence him and soon, Micah found himself rutting erratically, panting into Arthur’s open mouth, unable to concentrate on anything other than chasing his release.

He came in ropes, shuddering against Arthur. Micah’s release served as lubrication as Arthur continued to stroke, his hand in a vice-like grip around both of their lengths, Micah now trembling and whimpering pathetically through overstimulation. Arthur let out a low rumble in his chest as he came too, Micah could feel his cock pulsating against his own as Arthur leant back against the tree, eyes closed, wrapped in euphoria, hips thrusting more shallow now until he stilled.

Arthur let Micah stay leaning against him while they caught their breath. It was definitely the liquor that led Arthur to kissing Micah again, this time almost chastely before he moved away, buttoned his pants up and retired to his cot.

Micah sat on the edge of camp, he could see Arthur curled up asleep on his cot. After the buzz from his orgasm died down, he felt hollow. As much as he had wanted it, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times..?

****

Arthur slept in the next day but Micah had already left by the time he woke. Dutch had approached him after he had eaten breakfast.

“Micah, I know you’re eager to get our money back and I commend you for it, son but it ain’t gonna be that easy.” He said. Micah half shrugged, half nodded. He was exhausted. Dutch didn’t seem to notice, he continued. “I just think… It’s better to chase new opportunities - always more money to be made, this is America after all… I know you got your heart set on the Blackwater money - I did too. But… I just don’t want no one else to get hurt or worse. Y’understand?” “Yes, boss.” Came Micah’s swift reply. “Good,” Dutch said with a hint of a smile. “In that case, I want you to go out scoutin’ west a bit but not too close to Blackwater. See what opportunities you can find. Take young Lenny with you.” “Lenny?” Micah repeated.

Micah didn’t not like Lenny Summers, he was indifferent at best. Lenny was the youngest member of the gang at just nineteen years of age - just a boy. Micah could almost smell the breast milk on the kid’s breath; he was young and inexperienced. They just didn’t suit each other.

But Micah knew it was best not to argue with Dutch Van Der Linde and so found himself riding out back west way again with young Lenny in tow. Lenny chattered and Micah barely listened, too busy thinking of the night before and Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.

They came across a small place called Strawberry, a dry town with not much going on - a lead that there was a man at the post office willing to pay them to sabotage stagecoaches but it was small fry. They needed to make up for all that money lost in Blackwater, all $150,000 of it. A stagecoach wasn’t going to give them that.

Later that day they found a saloon outside of Strawberry and as with all saloons, they also found trouble. Micah recognised someone there, a man he knew as ‘Skinny’. Skinny had screwed him out of money a while back, just after he lost his other crew to Sisika. Micah was the sort of person to hold grudges and so went to ‘talk’ to Skinny.

Lenny warned him against it, which Micah had shaken off - ”you worry too much, kid.”

But maybe this time, the kid was right. Micah had drank far too much whiskey already in a bid to numb some of the confusion he’d been feeling all day in regards to Arthur and whatever the hell it was they kept doing together…

Had he been sober, there may not have been a fight. Had he been sober, he might have been quick enough to escape the law. Had he been sober, he might not have been arrested and thrown in the Strawberry jail.

****

Micah woke up feeling like he'd been mown down by one of those stagecoaches he thought he was too good to hold up. His head hurt and he didn't remember how, when or why he got there.

Micah had been in jails worse than this before - always managed to get himself out somehow. They hadn’t gotten his name and didn’t know he was part of Dutch’s gang so he was sure he’d be let out sooner or later… There was an O’Driscoll in the cell with him who was as drunk as a skunk and blathered on about a banking stage him and his boys were planning on hitting. Micah ignored him for the most part. He was hung over and he could feel that he had a black eye but he wasn’t sure from where.

He found himself slipping into an uneasy sleep.

He was standing outside of the barn again, staring at the peeling red paint. He knew what would be inside if he went through the doors. He didn’t want to go through the doors. He didn’t want to see it again. There was the voice. It was always here. Always screeching at him. “Prove it! Prove it to me, ya yella bellied son of a bitch! He walked slowly to the barn door, laid his hand on the wood, it was warm from the summer sun. He remembered the heat. Remembered how it made the blood smell…

“Do it now! Prove to me you ain’t a pussy like that no-good brother o’ yours!”

He jolted awake forgetting where he was. The O'Driscoll snored on the cold floor of the cell beside him. Micah took a breath. He hoped that Lenny had enough brains to go and get help.

And help came, eventually, in the form of Arthur Morgan.

Micah had been sitting at the window of the jail, leaning his face against the bars which cooled his swollen eye when he spotted Arthur sauntering over to him. He looked like he’d had a haircut and a shave, maybe even a bath. His hair was trimmed now, off of his neck where before it had been longer, his beard also gone. He’d replaced his blue shirt with a black one. He looked good and Micah cursed himself for thinking so.

You can do a lot of thinking in jail and Micah had thought of nothing but their encounter at the camp - what had it meant? Why had Arthur allowed it again if he had said it was nothing before? Micah knew the trail was lonely, men would lay with other men, hell even cattle if that was the only thing available.. But Micah wasn’t the only thing available. Not thirty minutes north was Valentine full of working girls if Arthur wanted to relieve himself. Why did they keep coming back to each other?

“Hello old friend, have a good time, did you?” Arthur asked, smirking as he sidled up to the side of the building. “You gonna get me outta here, Morgan?” Micah asked, a hint of desperation about his tone. Arthur paused before answering, taking the time to put a cigarette between his plump lips, strike a match then light the smoke. “I ain’t decided yet.” “Real funny.” Micah replied, rolling his eyes. “Oh, I ain’t joking, cowpoke.” Arthur replied as he exhaled smoke. “I’ve heard so much bluster outta your mouth the last six months and now I got an opportunity to watch you be silenced.”

Micah’s eyes widened. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought that Arthur was joking. It seemed like such a juxtaposition to the man he had been kissing just a couple of days ago who had sounded so vulnerable and sorrowful.... “You- you gotta do something!” Micah replied. Would Arthur really leave him to languish here? That wasn’t the Arthur Morgan Micah knew at all. “Why?” Arthur asked, his voice low and rumbling. Micah’s pale eyes met Arthur’s. “I… I thought…” He stammered uncharacteristically and shot a glance back at the O’Driscoll who was still asleep. “I thought, well, y’know..?”

Micah looked at Arthur pointedly. Surely, he hadn’t forgotten the other night. Arthur shook his head quickly. “I told ya, I ain’t gonna talk ‘bout that ever again. Y’understand? It was a mistake.” “A mistake that happened three times? Sure, cowpoke.” Micah found himself saying hotly. “You shut your mouth or I will leave you here to rot, Micah, so help me I will.” Arthur looked away from Micah in the jail cell before saying, “don’t be mistaken, I’m only here because Dutch asked me. Nothin’ else.” Micah didn’t say anything. He glared at Arthur. Hated that he was drawn to him when he was such a self righteous prick almost all of the time.

Arthur used dynamite to blast the wall of the jail away. It was a loud and brash technique that suited Arthur. The lawmen up in the jailhouse were alerted immediately and Arthur handed Micah a revolver to protect himself from what was about to come. Micah didn’t know whether it was because of what Arthur had said, acting like nothing had happened but he suddenly saw red as lawmen descended upon them. Micah found himself shooting up the town as if his life depended on it. Arthur followed him, shouting after him, “what the hell are you doing?! Let’s just get out of here!” But Micah felt rage boiling over inside of him, rage because he had let Arthur do as he pleased and he felt used, he felt stupid. And now Arthur was being sent to save him, smirking at him like he was some little bitch. Micah would have preferred anyone coming to his rescue, anyone other than Arthur. “Have you lost your goddamn mind, Micah?!” Arthur was calling after him as Micah made his way through Strawberry firing on anything or anyone who resembled a lawman. “Calm yourself woman,” Micah spat at Arthur, “we’ll be fine.” “You have really lost it this time!” Micah felt a rush of adrenaline in a gunfight. He didn’t know if others did but there was little else that got him excited or made him feel as alive as bullets whistling past him. He got a thrill out of dodging and weaving, out of hunkering down then waiting for an opening to make that perfect headshot. Maybe it was something he’d learned from his daddy - the only times his daddy’d been proud of him was when he was unloading a chamber of bullets into someone’s chest. Together, Arthur and Micah were a force to be reckoned with - both excellent shots and efficient. They made short work of the lawmen and were able to make their escape. There was a lull eventually, Micah stood in the middle of the small town, chest heaving covered in sweat and blood - some his and some not. Arthur stared at him incredulously. “Come on,” Arthur growled at him, marching over to him as he unhitched his horse, a Missouri Foxtrotter like Baylock only Arthur’s was dapple grey. “Get on,” Arthur ordered, “before I shoot you, too.” Micah let himself chuckle. This almost felt normal. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Micah wasn’t worried about Baylock, he was a clever horse who would have returned to camp once Micah didn’t come for him. Arthur mounted up and reached down to pull Micah up too. Micah ignored the sparks he felt at Arthur’s touch.

Arthur spurred the horse onwards and they tore out of Strawberry. There were already reinforcements on their tail; with one hand, Micah held onto Arthur’s waist and with the other he shot at the lawmen. He pushed down all the thoughts he had about holding onto Arthur and being this close to him, close enough to smell him, close enough to press his lips to the nape of Arthur’s neck just to hear him sigh and watch him shiver. “Goddamn maniac,” Arthur snapped at him as they rode past Rigg’s Station, “I shoulda left you to hang.” Micah smirked. That was the Arthur he knew, not the sad drunk at the campfire. “Wouldn’t you get bored without me?” He asked playfully. Arthur grunted but didn’t reply. “That was some good shootin’ back there - gotta hand it to ya, Morgan.” “What was that you pulled back there?!” Arthur called back to him, not letting up on the speed though it seemed like the law was gone now. “Got a bit wild, that’s for sure.” Micah mused, not wanting to have to explain himself. “Wild!?” Arthur repeated, sounding dumbfounded.

Micah didn’t say anything else. He didn’t know what exactly had come over him and he wasn’t about to spill his guts and feelings to Arthur Morgan. Not now, anyway. Maybe if things had been different... If Arthur hadn’t acted like nothing had happened... “You owe Lenny,” Arthur told him sternly, “if he hadn’t found us in time… Well…” “You’ll all be thanked profusely. I promise.” Micah retorted. “You’re lucky Dutch has got your back for some unknown reason.” Arthur said coldly. Arthur slowed his horse down now. Micah still rested his hand on Arthur’s waist, the anger subsided giving way to something else but he didn’t understand it. He felt his chest tighten but different this time. It was dull, it throbbed and ached like he wanted to howl in pain. “Take me back to my camp.” Micah said to Arthur, “it’s at Monto’s Rest.” “You ain’t comin’ back to Horseshoe Overlook?” Arthur asked, surprised. He turned his head to look at Micah over his shoulder. Micah didn’t want to meet his eye. “No. I’ve been a bad boy, Morgan. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy with me. I’ll let him cool off or bring him a peace offering.”

Arthur rode to Monto’s Rest - Micah had set up camp there with Lenny before they went to the saloon. Baylock was waiting for him. Micah slipped off of Arthur’s horse and went to Baylock. There wasn’t much he cared about in life but his horse was one of them. “Hey,” he greeted the Foxtrotter gently and patted him on the muzzle, “what a clever boy you are.”

Arthur hovered awkwardly, not getting off of his horse but not leaving immediately either. He watched as Micah spoke softly to Baylock and fed him some hay: “you must be hungry, boy. Micah looked back to Arthur, puzzled. He’d half expected Arthur to make him walk back to his camp after that performance in Strawberry and he certainly hadn’t expected Arthur to hang around.

Why was Micah’s heart beating so hard in his chest?

“I…” Arthur started and Micah looked up at him, head to one side, “I’m glad Lenny got to us in time.”

Micah saw the flush play across Arthur’s cheeks and his blue-green eyes looked bright, just like they had done before. What was this? Not half an hour ago, he had said he’d leave Micah in that cell, he’d berated him for shooting his way out of town and now… Now he was saying he was happy that Micah was ok?

“Why…. why don’t you stay?” Micah found himself asking and he hated himself for it. Micah also hated how he had to crane his neck to look up at Arthur on his horse.

The night had drawn in now and Arthur’s features were shrouded by darkness but his eyes shimmered as they settled on Micah’s. Micah thought for a moment that he could see Arthur considering his proposition of staying. Whether it was just for a drink or for the night, Micah wasn't sure if he cared, he just wasn't ready for Arthur to leave just yet. Didn't want to be on his own again.

He hated how he became needy around Arthur. He’d been so angry at him but now he couldn’t be.

“I…” Arthur started, hesitating. “I should get back.” He said, looking away as he spoke.

It was all Micah could do but to bite his lip to stop him calling after Arthur as he turned his horse around to leave; it took all his will to stop him begging Arthur to stay with him.

He already felt his neck flushing with embarrassment. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t him! Simpering after Morgan out of everyone..!

He hated himself more and more and more.

So he rode into Valentine a short while afterwards, drank too much whiskey and fucked the first whore who spoke to him.

The whore wasn’t the best lay in his life but she wasn't bad either. She wasn't Arthur though.

****

Micah woke up in the rented room above the Valentine bar the next morning. Light streamed in through the window and the whore was long gone.

Micah groaned and rolled over. He was naked, still had blood on him from the jailbreak the day before. He didn’t want to think about that or think about Arthur. He cleaned himself up and dressed, going downstairs to the bar. He needed food - he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten anything.

He ordered eggs, flapjacks and coffee. He sat at a table away from the main doors trying to let his pounding head subside. If he closed his eyes he saw Arthur, saw the blood from the lawmen in Strawberry, saw the peeling paint of the barn door…

“Micah Bell..? I never thought I’d see you again, let alone in Valentine of all places..!”

Micah’s head jerked up and his eyes were greeted with the sight of a well dressed man around the same age as him, tall and slender with a shock of red hair and vibrant green eyes that sparkled mischievously with a boyish charm as they met Micah’s.

“Clinton Jones?”

“The very same! How the hell are you!” Clinton asked, pulling up a chair and sitting at the table beside Micah. Micah found himself uncharacteristically lost for words as he stared into those dazzling emerald eyes. Clinton seemed nonplussed at his old friend’s silence. “Let me buy you a drink! It’s been how many years..?” “Too many,” Micah replied rather bluntly. He was taken aback. Hadn’t seen Clinton since he was a boy. Back then, they had been very close but since Micah took off on his own, Micah had pushed those memories down.

“How’s Emily?” Clinton asked Micah. “Amy.” Micah corrected him, a sudden jolt carved through him like a knife. “She… She passed away.” “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Clinton said, though he didn’t sound it at all.

Micah found himself speechless at being presented with his past so suddenly and unexpectedly. A working girl set Micah’s food down before him and he began to eat, a distraction from having to make small talk with a childhood friend.

“What are you doing out this way?” Clinton asked Micah, watching him attentively. Micah shrugged casually, “jus’ this and that. You know how it is, Clint.” Clinton laughed softly, “been years since anyone called me that. It’s Clinton these days… Or Agent Jones.”

Micah didn’t show that a jolt of panic ran through him. He had known Clinton had been interested in joining the law when they were younger - not wanting to follow a life of crime and urging Micah to do the same. But Micah couldn’t, his daddy’d never let him. And then after what happened out in Ohio there was no going back, Clinton knew that.

“I work with the Pinkertons now, Micah.” Clinton said, almost gently as if he wanted to soften the blow. “It’s what you wanted.” Micah replied, not meeting Clinton’s eye now. Clinton moved a little closer to Micah now, dropping his voice as he spoke, “even me just sittin’ here with you is a risk, especially after what happened with your daddy.” Micah’s eyes darted up to Clinton’s. “I never told no one about you, Micah. I swear.”

Micah stopped eating. Had he not been Micah Bell III, his hands might have shook as he held the cutlery and he might have been worried about just how convenient it was that Agent Clinton Jones of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, former close friend of Micah Bell, just happened to have tracked him down to Valentine, especially after all that chaos he had caused in Strawberry.

Perhaps Micah had not been as anonymous as he had thought back in that small, Strawberry jail.

“Thanks.” Micah said. “That’s what friends are for - helpin’ each other.” Clinton said with a smile, “maybe you could help me, Micah..? ‘Parently, there’s a bunch of people out this way - outlaws - just robbed a ferry in Blackwater and then a train owned by Mister Leviticus Cornwall. Maybe you heard about it?”

“Can't say I have.” Micah replied smoothly, picking his knife and fork up again and resuming his breakfast, “you know me, Clint… I ain’t really one for reading the newspaper.”

That wasn’t the answer Clinton had wanted as he moved his head further still, his smile diminished but still playing on his lips like someone who knew they had a royal flush in poker. “Listen, Micah. I don’t wanna be coy. Dutch Van Der Linde is a wanted man and I want to help put him behind bars.” Micah shrugged, slurping at his coffee in a purposefully obnoxious way. “I think think I’ve heard o’ him but… I’m afraid I can’t help you old friend.”

Micah went to stand now and Clinton followed suit. “Micah!” He followed Micah to the doors of the saloon rather desperately now, “Micah, I know you know somethin’. You was seen with Van Der Linde out west. Now I came to you without tellin’ no one because I still… Well… We was close once.”

Micah hesitated as he walked to the hitching post. “We was.” Micah conceded, not looking at Clinton now. “Long time ago now, Clint. Long time ago.” “Don’t mean that it didn’t happen or that it didn’t mean anything.”

Micah let his hat hide the expression on his face. He hadn’t thought about Clinton Jones for twenty years. Many people had come and gone since then.

“Clint…We was kids.” “I don’t wanna have to resort to blackmail. I thought, maybe you’d still have some sort of fondness left… Thought you’d want to help an old friend out - you scratch my back, I scratch yours?” Micah turned back to Clinton now. He searched his face not knowing if he could trust him. When could you ever trust a Pinkerton?

“They’d still be interested in you after what happened in Ohio, you know. They got your daddy but as far as I know, that bounty’s still out on your head.” “Clint-” Micah started, shaking his head. “I won’t tell ‘em a thing, I swear… If you help me, Micah. I can guarantee your freedom. And money, too - Dutch has a pretty price on his head.” Micah’s face stayed stony. Clinton reached into his inside jacket pocket and held out a sheet of paper to Micah. It was Dutch’s bounty poster. Micah took it without looking at it.

“Just think about it, Micah. I’ll be in touch.”

#morbell #rdr2 #micah bell #arthur morgan #red dead redemption #writing

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fedeipox · 4 years

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The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 3 (1/2)

I don’t think you actually care about it, but I’ve chosen to write my Bachelor’s Degree Thesis about “Anglo-American Travel and Travel Writing in Italy”. Anglo-American folks, do you see? This is how much I love you guys!

Previously on TWoT: The thaw finally gives the VdL gang the possibility to move from Colter. Emily jumps on a wagon and enjoys the ride southward. In the meantime she gets the chance to know some of the members better. She finds more about their past, about their personalities, she is more and more interested in Arthur, the grumpy cowboy with the fairytale name, and she starts to appreciate them despite the fact that they are criminals. Now it is time to understand how things in their camp work.

Chapter 3 (1/2) - On the road

Words: 3k

On the road to Valentine, Emily found more than her love for the country, she found out she had new friends, some new kind of family, an uncommon family, a crazy family, a family of outlaws. She didn’t see it in these terms, of course, but we all know how it works with the Van der Linde gang: once you start getting attached, you’ll never let them go.

Anyway, at that moment, she couldn’t believe her own feelings. She had alway despised criminals: she believed laws were made for a reason, which is being followed, she hated thieves because she thought they took away the product of honest people’s work, not to mention murderers, who were nothing more than the worst kind of thieves, because they stole our most precious thing, our life.

So, how could she feel that way? She felt pity for them, for their stories, she felt emotionally attached to Hosea, who talked to her like a father, even better than her real father actually, she had to admit shamefully, because she had never had that kind of talk with him and he had never made her feel that way. In her house, her mother was the backbone of the family.

And then there was that Mr. Arthur, with his sarcasm and “tough and rough”way to do things, and handsome, again she had to admit that too. And Mary-Beth, she looked like the perfect friend, when she would open up a little - she probably was a little shy. And little Jack, she liked that kid too.

So, on the road to Valentine, Emily found more than her love for the country, she found out that people are people, no matter what they’ve done in their life, and that good and evil sometimes overlap.

“What’s this place called again?” asked Arthur.

“Horseshoe Overlook” answered Hosea.

“It’s a good place to lie low?”

“It’ll do for now. And how long do you think Dutch is going to lie low?”

“W-wait, I though you said we were going to Valentine” Emily stepped in.

“It’s a place near Valentine, yes” replied Hosea.

“But… we won’t stay in the city?”

“How do you think we can make twenty people stay in the city?” asked Mr. Morgan.

“And we have to hide, the law is still looking for us, we can’t risk to catch too much attention” added Hosea.

“I don’t understand, why are they looking for you?” she asked.

“On the left here, Arthur. Up the hill” Hosea said pointing at the left path at the crossroad. Then, he sighed and made a little pause before he explained her their situation.

We all know about the ferry job in Blackwater, how it all went to hell and how Dutch killed an innocent girl “in a bad way”, how Javier tells it. And we know how they had to flee from Blackwater because of the Pinkertons, and how some of them didn’t make it.

Emily remained silent after Hosea told her all this. She was thinking not about the fact that they had stolen a lot of money from that ferry, but about the amount of people who died for that theft. That girl on the ferry, that Davey and that Jenny in the mountains, not to mention all the people they had to shoot to get out of Blackwater. And from the way Hosea was talking about it, she could tell he wasn’t proud of how things had gone.

“Why you do that? Why are you criminals? Can’t you just… change your life?” she asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to do. Make enough money so we can buy some land out in the West and start a new life” answered Hosea.

“But why you have to steal it, can’t you take a loan from the bank or something like that?”

Hosea and Arthur chuckled.

“You’ll soon learn Dutch isn’t fond of the American government, and the bankers, and the industrialists, and everybody else who has just a little power on this land.”

Emily couldn’t understand what Hosea was telling her, she couldn’t understand what Dutch really wanted. He wanted a new life? He wanted to be a criminal? He wanted to fight the government? He reminded her of Robin Hood, but instead of taking from the rich to give to the poor, he took from everybody to give to his family.

After the climb up the hill, they found themselves in a plain ground where the path was surrounded by trees, and the more they followed it the thicker the trees became, until Arthur pulled the reins and made the wagon stop.

“There you are brother.”

Emily raised her head and looked at the man who had spoken, the one with the parted mustache and bowler hat, laying his back on a big rock at the edge of the road.

“Head in there and follow the track for a bit” he said pointing to a little side path among the trees.

Then, he reached the back of the wagon and hopped in.

“Okay, let’s go” he said with a gesture of his hand.

Emily looked at him and smiled. From close up, she could perfectly tell he came from some place in the South, like Colombia, or Mexico, or maybe Brazil. He also had a strange accent when he spoke, so she was pretty sure he wasn’t from there.

“Where do you come from, Mr…?”

“Javier, Escuella. Mexico.”

“Oh, I would’ve said something like Cuba. Do you like in here?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s a good country.”

“Are you gonna ask everybody about their lives?” said Mr. Morgan with annoyance.

Again, Emily couldn’t understand why he had to be so grumpy. She was just trying to have a conversation, know better the people she was gonna spent some time with.

“Why do you care, Mr. Morgan?” she laughed.

“I’m just afraid you’ll start make me insistent and annoying questions” he replied.

“Don’t worry, from now on I’ll avoid you like the plague” she joked.

Both him and Hosea chuckled.

“So, any trouble getting in here, Javier?” asked the latter.

“No, it went well. This is a good spot” he replied.

“Excellent. I think this will work for us, for now anyway.”

“Were are we going to sleep?” asked Emily as the thought of another night on the ground was starting to worry her.

“We got tents. It’s not like sleeping in the best hotel in town, I know, but it’s not the worst, either. You’ll get used to it” answered Hosea.

“Tents like… like camping?”

In that moment she understood what Dutch meant by “camp” when they had rescued her the day before. And yes, her fear had just been confirmed: she had to sleep on the ground, again.

“See for yourself. Here we are, home sweet home” Hosea said and at the same time the path into the woods ended and a clearing opened at their sight.

Mr. Arthur made the wagon stop again and Emily took a deep breath before standing up.

Javier was waiting for her, with his hand ready to be taken to help her getting down. It was the most courteous thing anybody had ever done for her and she looked at him with surprise for a moment before taking it.

“You weren’t wrong, Hosea. This place is perfect!” she heard the loud and thundering voice of Dutch saying.

“I hope so” replied Hosea.

“Hey, were have you been?”

She had just jumped down the wagon and she turned around to meet Mary-Beth’s eyes: she had removed the heavy coat and headscarf and she was wearing a pink shirt on a mauve long skirt.

Actually, the weather there was way better, the temperature warmer, and Emily didn’t felt anymore in need to wear that bottle-green woolen coat.

“I stayed behind with Hosea. You’ve already settled the camp” she stated looking at the tents around her.

“There’s still a lot to do. Come, I’ll show you around” said Mary-Beth taking one of the crates from the wagon and leading the way.

...

They walked through the tents, passing right in front of Abigail, who was bringing another carpet inside of hers.

“Hi Abigail!” Emily exclaimed.

Abigail answered with a smile before entering her tent, where she opened and left the carpet among the others on the ground next to John, sleeping on the cot thanks to the reverend’s morphine.

“We’ll sleep here” said Mary-Beth showing her their place, with the four bedrolls on the two big carpets.

“What, here?” she heard Emily ask as she left the crate under the tent.

“Yes.”

“We don’t have a tent?”

Mary-Beth looked at her and then pointed at the large piece of cloth above their heads.

“This is our tent.”

“I mean a real tent. Like that one” Emily said pointing at John’s tent.

“Only Dutch and John have those.”

“Why?”

“Because they are… they are…”

Emily and Mary-Beth looked at each other in the eye, exchanging a meaningful look. They both knew it wasn’t exactly right to leave the women sleep on the ground and out in the open air while they had all the privacy and comfortable cots they wished, but there were rules.

“So there is some kind of hierarchy here, like… they are on the top and all of us down here?”

“No, Dutch is the leader, and then Hosea, Arthur and John, then the men, then Miss Grimshaw and then us.”

“So it’s a patriarchal totalitarianism?”

Mary-Beth frowned, not understanding what she wanted to say with those big words.

“Never mind. There is a place I can wash?” Emily asked taking off the coat she had given her.

“If you want to have a bath, we have to go to town, or if you aren’t squeamish you can wash in the stream, but you won’t have much privacy there.”

Emily opened her mouth in astonishment and Mary-Beth was pretty sure she was about to say something outraged, but right at that moment Dutch called them all.

“Come it’s time for the speech” she said to the new girl.

“The speech?”

“I know that things have been tough, but we are safe now and we are far too poor” was saying Dutch as they both reached his tent quickly, where the rest of the group had gathered.

The speech was the same as always: we all need to work, no more passengers, bring some food, share what you got with the gang, be careful, don’t catch too much attention.

They had almost finished with the usual bunch of encouraging words when Mary-Beth felt the sleeve of her shirt pulled and turning her head she saw Emily looking at her with an expression she couldn’t make out.

As the speech ended and the people scattered, going back to their works, trying to make that place livable, she turned to face the new girl.

“What?” she asked.

“I have to pee.”

...

She hadn’t drunk a single drop of water, and the extreme cold of the mountain had forced her body to keep all on the inside, but when she removed that coat it was like every single muscle relaxed and it came altogether. She needed a bathroom.

That speech was nothing more that a series of rules they apparently had to follow: go around, make some money - even though she had no idea how to do that - put some in the box, bring some food…

What the heck did “bring some food” mean? Couldn’t they go to the market and just buy things like all normal people do? It was 1899, so she supposed markets and stores already existed.

She couldn’t restrain herself anymore, so as soon as they finished with that dictatorial shit, Emily pulled Mary-Beth’s sleeve.

“What?”

“I have to pee.”

“Well then, go in the woods.”

Emily widened her eyes and for a moment she was about to laugh, but then she understood Mary-Beth wasn’t joking.

“But…what about a toilet? Don’t you…” but she stopped halfway of her sentence.

How were toilets in 1899? Did they have them?

“If you have to go, go in the woods” repeated Mary-Beth.

“What about toilet paper?”

Mary-Beth raised her eyebrows and nodded.

“Yes, come” she said and leaded her back to her tent, their tent, how she had to call it from now on.

She went to the back of the wagon right behind the place they were going to sleep and opened a box from which she took a roll of paper very similar to the one they used in 2020, just a little different in color and consistency.

“Here, don’t use too much, this thing is expensive” said Mary-Beth as Emily took a couple of sheets.

“Are you sure you have no toilets?” she asked still full of hope.

“I have no idea what that means.”

Emily looked at her freckled face trying to find another word to make her understand, when it suddenly came to her mind.

“Restrooms” she exclaimed with a snap of her fingers.

“Restrooms?” asked a voice from behind her.

She turned around and met Karen’s bewildered expression.

“Where men go to make their things?”

“And women don’t?” asked Emily.

“I’m afraid not. Only men can use them” Mary-Beth informed her.

“And we don’t have one, you can find it…”

“In town. Yes, I got it” Emily said with a puff.

There was one reason why she never went camping with her friends: lack of bathrooms.

Sleeping on the ground for a couple of days, she could endure that. Cooking things on a campfire, that could be fun. Bugs and wild animals, unless it was something extremely disgusting like cockroaches, it was fine. But bathrooms… No place to wash properly, no private space to do her things, she couldn’t stand that, and yet there she was.

“I can’t believe I just did that” she murmured to herself walking out of the woods.

As the shadow casted by the trees ended and she stepped in the sunlight, Emily looked at the camp in front of her standing against the endless background of the Heartlands. She had heard of that place, one of the most beautiful of all the States, but she didn’t expect it to be like that, and the tents they had settled fitted perfectly with the general view. The rurality and simplicity of that sight made her feel like she was in some kind of movie, and made her curious to see how those people lived their everyday life.

She started wandering around: she exchanged a smile with Javier Escuella, asked to Mary-Beth what she was reading, peeked inside Dutch’s tent, the most articulate and comfortable of all the tents, which sight made her a little angry, then she stopped for a while to watch Charles Smith chopping the wood for the campfire, and in the end she approached a table, where Uncle and the big man with the long brown beard were seated.

“Hello” she said sitting next to them on one of the upside-down barrels, and noticing they both had a bottle of what seemed to be beer in their hands, she thought it was a little too early for drinking.

“Hello, dear. Oh! I got something for you” chuckled Uncle standing up and leaving.

“W-what…” she stuttered moving her eyes from Uncle’s back stumbling away to the other man, who shrugged.

“Isn’t it a little too early for that?” she asked pointing at his bottle.

“Mind your business!”

He had a growling angry voice that made her jump on her seat when he snapped in that way.

“Hey, I was just saying. Sorry if I offended you.”

“Your the one who says you come from the future, right?”

Emily sighed and looked away.

“Yes” she murmured.

“So you know how things will go? Like, what will become of the West?”

Emily fixed her eyes on the man’s face, asking herself what were his intentions, if he was just playing with her, or if the beer he was drinking had already gone way up to his head.

“I mean” he whispered leaning forward on the table and as a reflex Emily did the same so that now their faces were really close and she could smell the alcohol in his breath.

“Will it stay untamed?”

Emily considered what she had to reply to him: the truth, the hard truth, or a lie?

“We’ll we have the chance to live free?”

He looked like he was truly believing in the fact that she came from the future.

“For the first question: no, the West will be tamed in the end. For the second, I don’t know what to tell you, I’m not a fortune teller.”

The man withdrew from her, looking at her with wary eyes and the same did she, still not sure if he was drunk or anything else.

“Here, my dear.”

Emily turned to Uncle as he sat down again.

“You forgot these on the wagon this morning” he said giving her the oatcakes tin box. “What was Mr. Williamson here telling you?”

“I’m not sure” she replied narrowing her eyes to look at the big man, while he took a sip from his bottle.

“Anyway, thank you for these, Uncle” she said standing up.

“No big deal, no big deal at all.”

Emily headed to what she supposed to be the camp kitchen since Mr. Pearson the cook was there with a big pot on a table putting things inside it. She smiled as he noticed her, but she didn’t stop to talk and opened the tin box to take an oatcake from it.

Chewing happily for the recover of her source of nourishment she kept walking around the kitchen until she found something that took her smile away. There was a man, someone who she had never seen before, tied to a tree like he was some kind of prisoner. She walked closer, pushed both by the curiosity and the pity for that figure.

“Please, please, water” he whispered without looking at her and she immediately turned around looking left and right and asking herself where could she find water.

Then, she stopped, thinking about the reason why that man was tied, why he was a prisoner. Maybe he was a bad man, a dangerous man, and the fact that she was in a camp of criminals could only make her wonder how dangerous he had to be, if they were so scared by him that they had to tie him up. Emily decided that she didn’t want to find out and taking another bite from her oatcake she walked away as fast as she could.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female oc #hosea matthews #Charles Smith #javier escuella #dutch van der linde #mary-beth gaskill #abigail roberts #karen jones #bill williamson

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fairymadnessyeah · 4 years

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A Poisoned Heart

Shigadabi week day 6

AO3 Link

Summary: Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, lived a young, kind prince and a young, powerful mage. This is their story...

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Deadly / Magic / Distance

"This way, guys!" Midoriya guided them through the dense swamp.

If Shouto was honest, he hated this place. He preferred forests or open fields than the humid and smelly swamps. But his friends were in danger, and he would do anything for his friends.

A few months ago, their group and Bakugou's had separated. Shouto along with Uraraka, Midoriya, Iida and Tsukuyomi headed north while Bakugou, Kirishima, Sero, Kaminari and Ashido went west. The two groups had different objectives and so their paths separated. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence though, and it wasn't like they had no way to contact each other, which had lead them here.

Two days ago, Sero contacted them and told them Kirishima had gotten hurt by hunters. They were in the middle of nowhere, but they had luckily found a mage who agreed to heal him. Not ones who turn their back on their friends, the group forgot about their quest and went to their friend's aid. If somebody had told him that he, Prince Shouto of the Fire kingdom, second heir to the throne, would find himself travelling to a swamp, he would have thought they were unhinged. But here he was, doing, exactly, that. Accompanied by a young blade master, a witch apprentice, a knight in training and his personal mage on a journey to make sure his dragon friend wasn't in danger. Who would have guessed that the quest to help his brother would leave him to here?

"I see something!" Uraraka yells, pointing towards a line of smoke in the air ahead of them.

They followed it, cutting through trees and greens and stepping on slippery muddy terrain. They knew they were in the right path when the party heard the loud screams of a barbarian they knew. The arriving group soon came to a clearing where a small cottage was situated and outside of it, Bakugou and his companions were there. Once they saw him, they all ran to greet them in their loud and excitable nature. Kirishima didn't though, the bandages over his abdomen stopping him, and neither did Bakugou, the Barbarian King deciding to stay by his dragon's side.

"I can't believe you guy came all the way over here!" Kirishima says as they all gather around him.

"Kirishima! You are one of our friends, of course we would come to your aid!" Iida tells him, moving his arms in a chopping manner and making a clanking sound with his armour.

"So, who did you find to help you?" Midoriya asks, and they hear footsteps and movement in the cottage. The door opens, revealing a skinny man with platinum hair in a dirty hooded robe.

Suddenly, a blade is drawn as mismatch eyes widen in surprise. Before it can strike though, it's path is blocked by another sword. Todoroki and Bakugou faced-off against each other, blade against blade, as the rest of the group stared in surprise at the scene. Todoroki was not someone who attacked without a reason or provocation. Maybe the Barbarian would, but not the prince. The roles had been reversed, and nobody knew what to do.

"What the Fuck, Icy-Hot!? What do you think your doing!?" Bakugou demands an answer.

"Step aside Bakugou," is the only thing he gets. "You can't trust this man," he glares at the man who the blonde was protecting.

"Is nice to you see you too, Shouto..." the mage with crimson eyes says. His voice soft and rough, barely a whisper.

"Do not call me that! To you, it's Your Highness," the royal says making his companions gasp softly. Never before had they heard their friend demand someone referred to him by his title.

The two warriors are slowly separated, but none of the drops their stand. Ready to pounce at any minute, Todoroki's eye don't leave the hermit mage. Bakugou steps between them as a warning. He knows he should be siding with his friend the bastard, but he can't. Not only is it out of character, but also the swamp mage saved Kirishima's life. He owes him enough to protect him from the weird-acting prince.

"Todoroki, this isn't like you," the greenette tells him, trying to make him lower his sword. "He hasn't done anything,"

"But he has," Todoroki says. "It's because of him that my brother is only a shell of the person he used to be,"

"I see," the mage says, the small light that his eyes held gone. "I can give you an antidote for him, but you need to know the consequences it might cause,"

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Everybody had the ability to practice magic. Some more than others. But the only way for one to practice the art legally, you needed to acquire a certificate seal. And the only way to get one was by being taught by a certificated master.

Shimura Tenko, after an accident with his magic, got accepted into The Draiocht, one of the most famous institutes of magic. He aced all of his classes, and once he graduated, he was given the most prestigious of positions a mage his age could achieve. The Personal Mage of a Crown Prince. And not any prince but the heir to the throne of the Fire Kindom, Todoroki Touya.

Kings and Queen, as well as any other royal or council member who mattered, had a personal mage by their side. They acted as bodyguards, advisors and magic experts. He was thrilled to be in such a position. He had become a powerful mage, with the ability to tame the dark arts, and he even had a new name to prove it. From rags to riches, Shigaraki Tomura went from the son of a simple merchant to one of the wizards in the palace of Caith Capital in the wealthiest kingdom. And then he met the prince.

Now, he didn't have anything against royals, but he knew what to expect with most of them, boring lessons, boring high-class parties, boring meetings. He had the plan of practising his magic more and even mastering the subjects his alma matter deemed forbidden when he was a student. But the Todoroki brat he was given to, however, didn't care for any of that. The elder prince spent his days and night avoiding his lessons his father tried to force him into. He would hide in the gardens or the castle's secret tunnels, waste his time in the stables or map-room and fool around with his siblings. Tomura, for the most part, didn't care if the bratty royal wanted to be an irresponsible heir. What bothered him was that as his personal mage, he was dragged to all the problems the prince got into.

"Why are we here again?" the mage asked one day as he was, once again, taken to the map-room of the royal library by the prince.

"I just need to find something before the trip tomorrow," the redhead says as he rummages through cabinets and shelves.

"Can't you be a normal prince for once?" he moans as he watches the royal take out a rolled map. "You are supposed to go on this trip to learn about the old kings of history! Don't you want to be a good king?" he crosses his arms.

"And you think that's the way to learn how to be a king?" Touya rolls his eyes and takes one of the cylindrical cases. "They only teach about dead guys in boring books or documents. That's not what a king is supposed to be," he places the map he took in the case and opens a trap door. "A king should be a servant to his people, and I doubt the guys they tell me about, knew anything about their people,"

That interaction was the beginning of all. The day he learned there was more to the prince than a careless and bratty attitude. The next day, as planned, King Enji took his son to learn about the old kings of the kingdom. They were accompanied by a knight of the palace, his squire and the mages of each royal. On the second day of the trip, the prince tried to slip away from the camp. Tomura was woken by a rustling sound inside his tent, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the prince was packing a bag.

"Where are you going?" he interrupts the guy, tapping his foot annoyed.

"Hunting for food... ?" Tomura sighs frustrated.

"You can't just leave in the middle of the night," he whispers loudly not to wake anybody else. "They're going to think you were killed, or kidnapped, and they are going blame me for it! I'm the one keeping an eye on you-"

"Listen," he interrupts him. "If you want to stay here, fine, but I'm not going to spend another day with my old man. Besides, I'm going to see you all in that 'grand library place'. I'm just going through a more... fun route," the teen says and continues packing.

Tomura, meanwhile, wants to rip out his hair in frustration. He opts instead to scream into his pillow. Once he is done with that, he starts packing too. The teen stares at him for a few seconds before Tomura speaks again. "My job is to keep an eye on you, which means I need to stay close to you, unfortunately," his answer makes the prince smile though, and the two leave camp undetected.

They ended going through a breach in between two mountains that was full of exotic birds. Tomura, when he saw the path the prince showed, though he wanted to hunt some of the fascinating animals and keep them as trophies. But he didn't. The heir to the throne quietly watched amazed and didn't bother the beast or their nest. He took a few feathers, but only those he found on the floor. The two somehow made it to the town before the king and his party, and once there they had fun. They visited the market, played in the woods and spent their night on a local tavern. It was the most fun Tomura had had in a long time.

The king wasn't happy, of course. But the mage believed he would let it go. The prince lived for getting into trouble, and his father's rage seemed to be rewarding enough. He learnt how wrong he was when Touya revealed the truth to him. Ever since he started working for the palace, Tomura healed the fire prince of multiples wounds. None of them were fatal, but he did get hurt on a daily basis. He always believed it was due to his recklessness, but one night as he applied a healing salve on the princes' bruises, Touya started talking. The mix had a dizzying effect on people, so he doubted he would have said anything if it wasn't for its side effect.

"When I become king, things are going to change... My mom is going to be happier... and my brother and my sister and my brother... we are all finally going to be free of him... he won't hurt us anymore..."

That trip had been eye-opening for him.

He understood that the prince was nothing more than a bird in a golden cage. He longed for freedom and happiness. And if he wanted to, he could get it. If he decided to, he could escape the castle walls and run free. Yet, he didn't. For he knew that if he got away, he would be the only one to do so. His mother and his sibling would have to stay behind with his father. Touya tried to make the hell they were living in bearable. He goofed around with his sibling, he pasted a smile on his face for everyone to see, but longed for something he couldn't have. Something, he would have to sacrifice his family to achieve.

Instead he waited, he remained in the dark and took the hard hits for his family. So that when he becomes king, his family could finally live in peace.

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As the years went by, Tomura stayed by Touya's side.

After their first successful trip on their own, King Enji allowed Touya to quest. He would be sent on the kingdom's behalf and only to those the king approved. And as his mage, he accompanied the prince in all of his adventures. The two had become friends over time. Touya still drove him up the wall with his messes, and he had had to save his behind more times than he could count. Touya took him to see the world and treated him like a person. All of the people he met in his life always expected something of him. His biological father expected a perfect son, his professors and mentors expected greatness and power and the king expected loyalty and servitude. And as a poor bastard looking for approval, he tried to meet those expectations. But with Touya, all of that was gone. He didn't have to be Shigaraki Tomura, the royal mage or the best alumni. He only needed to be himself. That was more than enough for the redhead.

"Is everything okay?" he asked as they set up camp near the road. The two were coming back from a successful quest and were in no hurry to return to the palace. "You've been really quiet lately," Touya hums.

"Have you noticed that lately we have only been sent to places with royal and noblewoman of marriageable age?" he says, looking at nothing.

He had. They were always offered a room to stay in by the people in charge of the places they went. They didn't accept all of them, but whenever they found themselves in one, Touya would be doted on by the female heirs of the family. It probably didn't help that the redhead was naturally charming and loved to flirt. Tomura ignored the way his chest tugged in pain whenever he caught him.

"My birthday is coming, and father is going to throw a ball to celebrate it," he says after a while.

"But he does so every year. It doesn't mean he is looking to betroth you," Tomura tries to look at the positive side as the pain in his chest festers.

"I saw the guest list," Touya says defeated. "All bachelorettes of the region will receive an invitation," he sighs and leaves to hunt something for them to eat. When he returns, they don't talk about it, and Tomura suggests they take a longer route back to the castle.

When Touya's birthday comes, just like the eldest prince predicted, princesses in uncomfortable and flashy ballgowns infest the ballroom. The royal family greets and welcomes the guest, and then Touya is presented once everybody arrives. Beside him, as he always had been, is Tomura. The presentation is over quickly, and once they join the guest, Touya is introduced to all the females interested in him. Tomura can see how much the prince wants to run to the nearest exit. He eyes them as a dried man searches for a drop of water.

The ball is boring. Tomura would rather lock himself in his quarters before attending. But as part of the royal court, he has to. He usually spends the night talking to the other mages who show up (which aren't a lot), eating the delicious food made for the occasion or taking care of the youngest prince. The prince Todoroki Shouto was still mageless at his young age, and Tomura liked him enough to keep an eye on him during the more formal events while Touya played Proud Heir. He was with the youngest prince when King Enji called him.

"Have you seen my son, mage?" he demands, belittling him like he always did. "The dance is about to begin, and he has suitors to please,"

'No wonder he left...' Tomura thinks, repressing the urge to roll his eyes.

"I believe he is freshening up, your Majesty. Should I fetch him?" he actually hadn't seen him for a while, but he knew him enough to guess where he was.

"You seem close to my son," the older man grumbles and glares at him.

"I spend a lot of time with him. It's my job, sir," he doesn't understand where the inquiry is coming from.

"Good. Remember that. You are only a mage, and Touya is a prince. Nothing more. Now bring him here." he bows and leaves. He had learned long ago not to talk back to the king.

Just as he expected, he found Touya hiding in the castle gardens. There was a small area hidden between the green bushes and trees. The rest of the family often spent time together there, without Enji breathing down their backs. With a giant tree they could climb on, a swing set, a fountain and flowers, it was the perfect place to get away from your problems. The prince was sitting in one of the swings when he got there.

"I figured you'd be here," he says and sits in the swing next to him. "It's a lovely night, don't you think? As lovely as the women making a line to meet you..."

"Psshh, you don't mean that," the guy grumbles. "Have you ever been in love, Tomura?" he asks after a pause.

"Wha- what?"

"Have you ever fallen in love with somebody?" he askes again, something in his eyes glimmering through the sadness.

"I- I guess not," he looks aways as his cheek turn hot. "I think I would notice if I did,"

"My mother told me she once loved my father," Touya tells him. "That they met in a ball like this and a year later they were getting married. Do you think it's weird that, even if I know it didn't work out for them, I still want to marry for love?"

"Do you love someone?" Tomura doesn't know why, but that hurts.

"I think I do, but I have to dance with everybody and not them," Touya admits.

"I thought you liked dancing," he knew he did. He saw him smiling with his sister and mother whenever they practised.

"Being forced to kind of sucks the joy out of it," he grumbles, and an idea struck his head. "Would you dance with me?" he turns to him, his spirits lifted.

"Huh!?"

"I know it sounds stupid, but..." he gets up from the swing and offers him a hand. "I want to enjoy some part of tonight," Tomura stares between his pleading eyes and the extended hand and, before he can think about it, he accepts.

Touya pulls him to his feet, and he suddenly founds himself in the prince's arm. Their formal wear is tight and uncomfortable, and he feels like he is in a costume when he wears it. As if he is pretending to be someone he is not. But while he is in Touya's embrace, body against body and an arm holding on to his waist, he feel alive. He feels like he belongs there, that he fits. He feels his heart jumping in his chest, beating against his skin, trying to get out. The two sway with the silence. Their music composed of crickets, the flowing water, their silents steps on the grass. Touya stares into his eyes as he rises over him. He gets lost in those blue eyes, shining like sapphires and penetrating his soul. He feels cold shivers run up his back and he knows his cheeks are turning pink.

He is overwhelmed. His pounding heart is deafening him, his head is spinning, and his palms are sweaty under his gloves. He feels as if he is about to pass out or throw up or both. Swallowing down his nerves, he tries to centre himself. He is a powerful mage. He can't get nervous over some moonlight silent slow dance.

Suddenly, the hood over his head falls down.

"You should wear your hood down more often," Touya whispers as he caresses his face gently.

"TOUYA!" a scream cuts through the moment, like a cold blade.

"That's- That's Natsuo," Touya says as they slowly separate. "We- we better get going," Cold filtering through Tomura's bones as he puts his hood back up.

The night goes on as planned by the king. Once Touya is back, he dances with all the ladies that Enji has deemed worth his time, he chats with the monarchs from far away places and Tomura watches as he tries to calm his heart. The royals gush over the prince, complimenting his manners and praising Enji for raising such a great heir. The princesses gossip and fawn over his charm. And soon enough the guests leave and the ballroom is cleaned by the servants.

But as he lays in his bed awake at night, Tomura is shaken. He keeps going back to that moment. With Touya under the moonlight, dancing and being safe in his arms. He had never felt so held, so cared for, so... loved.

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Everything went to hell a few months later.

Touya and Tomura went on another quest to a neighbouring city. It was supposed to be an easy one, just deal with some pest who was eating some of the crops. They expected to be back by nighttime with how simple it was, which ended happening, but not for the reasons they anticipated.

The pests, which were described as small lizards by the townspeople, were actually wyvern hatchlings. And when the prince and his mage started attacking the baby wyverns, the mother retaliated. Even if at the end they defeated her, they had not been ready for a fight like this. Touya had ended badly injured and Tomura, who was fighting against falling unconscious, brought him over to the palace in a rush. Natsuo and Shouto had been waiting for them luckily. The moment Tomura saw them, that he realized his the prince would be okay, he fell down.

When he woke up, Uwabami and Kido, Fuyumi and Natsuo's mages, were at his side healing him. It took him a few minutes to get over the drowsy feeling the restorative salves gave. But once his mind was capable of coherent thoughts, the first thing his head conjured was Touya. It wasn't unusual that the heir haunted his brain, but the last time he saw him, the man was at the brink of death.

He tried to get out of bed quickly. But his fellow mages stopped him, Trying to prevent him further hurting himself and explaining what happened since he arrived. He wasn't paying much attention to them, as he was too busy trying to get out of there, but he got enough pieces. Touya was out of danger but still unconscious, and he was being treated by the king's mage, Ending. It helped calm him a little knowing that he would make it, but he still tried to go with him. His fellow mages had to tie him to the bed to stop him from moving so that he could heal properly. Though, it was kind of pointless to do that since he could do undo the binding with his magic.

He knew they were right. He knew he had to rest so that the magic could heal him. But Touya needed him. He needed him, and he wasn't there. He had to be there. He should be the one in pain, no Touya. They fought like that for a few minutes until the king's mage arrived. Ending told him he could see him, if he stayed one more day resting. If not, he would be quarantined in his room until the king decided he could go back to Touya. Tomura didn't let anybody boss him around or give him ultimatums. But with the threat of Touya in the line, he obeyed.

The next morning, before even the servants entered his room, Tomura was by Touya's side. He didn't leave until his the prince woke up. He missed all meals and only talked with the ones who also came to visit the heir. Queen Rei and Princess Fuyumi were the ones who stopped by the most, along with their mages. The two brought him food and assured him this hadn't been his fault. Prince Natsuo came a few times, when he found the time between his lessons. Prince Shouto stopped by once. King Enji had begun his training, and the kid could hardly move without his father barking out orders. The king neglected the whole matter and not once dropped by.

After a week of sitting by his bed, watching and changing bandages, the redhead woke up. He first heard some painful moaning, and then those two blue eyes that tormented his dreams opened up. And the first thing the heir to the throne told his mage when he woke up after almost dying was a small and weak: "Hey..."

"You, IDIOT!" Tomura did not take that response too kindly. He had been reeling in his emotions for the last couple of days. "Why don't you ever listen to me!? I told you to run! I told you to escape! That it was too much for us! And yet you ignore me and head straight into danger! You could have gotten yourself killed! Do you understand that!?" the mage snaps at the man.

"Calm down. Everything worked out-"

"Doesn't it register in your thick skull that you could've died!? That you almost did!? Don't you understand you can't die, you dumbass!?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm the heir and all that-"

"I could've lost you, Touya!" Tomura yells and the dam breaks. Tears fall freely out of his eyes, wetting his cheeks, as he hiccups and sobs uglily. "I a- a- almost lost- st- lost you! You ca- can- can't die! W- wha- what wi- will I d- do without you!"

Touya doesn't answer. He only pulls him closer and leans him his shoulder to cry. Tomura holds on to him tightly, as if he would disappear if he let go. Touya strokes his back lovingly with one hand and with the other grasps his silver hair as he wails out his worry. They stay there for what feels like hours, but it was only a few minutes. It wasn't enough for him, though. He could spend a lifetime in Touya's arms, and it still wouldn't be enough. When his sobs start to decrease, Touya takes his face with his hands and places their foreheads together.

"I'm not going anywhere, alright?" Touya reassures him.

He doesn't know who leans in first or who made the first move. But as they hold each other, their lips meet in a gentle kiss. It's everything Tomura could have hoped for and even better than he imagined. It's perfect. It's the best moment of his life. But the beautiful moment is shattered when Touya separates from him and grasps his chest in pain.

A second later, the prince is twisting in pain as black veins grow out of his heart and start to cover his body. Tomura is panicking, trying to heal him with his magic and not understanding what's wrong.

"I- I don't understand, why can't I heal you?" Tomura cries in hysteric as he sees his loved one suffer.

"Because you are the one causing the pain," a voice answers him as the door slams shut.

"What do you mean? What did you do to him?" He asks as King Enji glares at him from the doorway and slowly makes his way to the other side of the bed.

"I told you to remember your place, mage. You are nothing compared to us, just filthy scum we use for protection. Your love is poison, and it will slowly kill him as long as you stay close to him," the king tells him.

"No... no..." he starts backing away in shock and notices the black veins stop growing. "Why- why are you doing this?" he asks the older man.

"My lineage will be remembered as the greatest and most powerful there was. My kingdom will remain a symbol of strength for generations. And I will not let you or anybody get in between my plans," the royal glares. "Now leave, mage. Leave and never return, unless you rather watch your beloved prince die,"

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After his story, Shouto apologized, dropping his sword to the ground, and explained that his father told him the mage had cursed his brother and then ran. "Is the poison what changed him?" Shouto asks him. His brother, a man who once enjoyed his life and smiled, became an emotionless ghost when the mage left. His father had always said he saved Touya from the mage when he was attacking him, but the family didn't believe him. The only thing they were sure about was that whatever had happened, changed his elder brother.

He got married to Princess Moe Kamiji of the Volcano Islands, and a few months later he ascended to the throne. His crowning should have been a good thing for them, but it quickly turned sour. In his dead-like state, Touya was more susceptible to suggestions, and their father was controlling him like a puppet. He made Touya fund his campaign to gain more territory and accept a rotating co-ruling system. On winter, his father would dictate as king while Touya continued the attacks on the rest of the land. On summer, they changed again. He didn't have many memories of his brother from before he traded mages, he was really young when it happened. But in the little ones he had, he remembered his brother was happy. They would pull pranks on the squires, steal pastries from the kitchen and play in the secluded part of the garden. He remembers how his brother would tell him about his adventures with Shigaraki or the time he taught him about the secret passages of the castles.

"No, that's not what changed him," Shigaraki says. "Your brother wouldn't have let the poison stop him. He would have come looking for me and would have gotten hurt in the process. I- I couldn't let him get hurt... because of me..." the mage explains, his voice breaking down. Shouto, now that he had a clear head could see how crushed the mage looked. He had heavy bags under his eyes that had no hope or sparkle left, and his actions seemed to lack motive. He was wholly and utterly defeated and was just as broken inside as his brother. "Before I left, I made a potion for him to forgot all about me..."

"And that included his feelings," Shouto concludes. "But there has to be a way to help him. He is nothing more than a puppet for my father to use now," he pleads with the mage. The skinny hooded man sighs and goes back to his hut. He then comes out with a flask with purple content.

"This will restore his memory," he gives him the concoction. "but you have to promise me you'll stop him from coming near me. He will die if he does," the broken mage warns him.

"I promise,"

It took him a week to reach the castle. His friends had been thankfully alright with taking the small detour on their journey. Shouto had been very lucky to have founds friends like them. Friends that would lend a helping hand for when it mattered the most. His mother was the one who welcomed them since it was spring. On winter and autumn, she stays in her birth kingdom, where now Natsuo resides. Shouto can't blame her for leaving, since he did the same, the moment his father wasn't looking. The only one who stayed the entire year on the castle was Fuyumi, her husband and Queen Moe.

As his mother takes his friends to their quarters where they can stay, Shouto begins his plans. He takes two goblets from the kitchen and fills one with wine and the other with the concoction the mage gave him. His father is away right now, fighting against some small kingdom and spending all the gold they own. However, he is a problem for later.

The obstacle he has to get rid off first is Touya's mage, Hawks. As prince and heir, Touya couldn't be left mageless. Shigaraki's replacement was a graduate from the Hverv Magical School, born from the fire kingdom. (He did come with an apprentice though, Tsukuyomi, who later became Shouto's mage.) He was a good mage, but his loyalty laid with Enji. He wasn't a bad man, far from it actually. But if it didn't work, then he would tell their father, and they needed to keep him in the dark for a bit to take the old king away from the power he still possessed.

"I'll distract Hawks while you do it," Tsukuyomi tells him.

"Thank you, Tsukuyomi," he watches the bird-man walk away with his raven on his shoulder.

Shouto puts the two cups on a tray and heads to his brother's study. When he arrives, the man is signing documents. He doesn't even acknowledge he is there until Shouto slams the door close. "Hello brother, how was your journey?" the young king asks in a monotonous voice.

"Good, we came across something interesting in the swamps of sikker død," he tells him, placing the tray with the two cups on the desk. "A mage, a powerful one, he gifted my companions and I some wine," he offers the cup with the concoction to the full redhead. "Care for some?" Touya grabs the cup without taking his eyes off the document he is going through and gulps it down in one go. He then leaves it on the wood again and return to what he was doing. "Are you feeling okay?" Shouto asks. Shouldn't his brother start to feel something? Was the potion not working.

"No, I ... I guess I took it too fast..." his brother slurs as he starts clutching his head. "What... did you... give me?" he tries to stand up but stumbles, holding to the desk to keep steady. Shouto rushes to his side. His brother let out one scream of pain before he gasps and tears form in his eyes. He suddenly looks at him, his eyes clearer than ever. "You said- you said he was in the sikker død swamp?" he asks, his tone not emotionless anymore, but desperate and on the verge of breaking.

"I can't let you go there. I promised I'll keep you away from him, that'll keep you from dying," Shouto tells him.

"Then I'm sorry about this, Shou," and before the young prince can react, his brother grasps his arms tightly and pushes him with all his force against the table. The young king runs, slamming the wood doors behind him. The noisy struggle catches the attention of the mages close by and when he catches sight of bright red wings. "Hawks! I need you to take me to the sikker død swamps! Now!" he orders the mage, and dragging him down the hallways and disappearing through a room.

Shouto, along with his mage, is hot on his heels behind him. When the two reach the bedroom the two entered, the redhead and his mage are already in the air. They can see them flying on the back of Hawks falcon, Keigo. Tsukuyomi calls forward Dark Shadow and the small raven grows in size. They get on the now giant bird and keep on their pursue, leaving the castle behind. They don't catch up with the two older men until nightfall, and by then, Touya reached the small cottage.

The redhead doesn't even wait for the bird to land. He jumps to the muddy ground and sprints towards the door, calling for his love. Shouto follows him, but he is only by the doorway when he hears the heart-wreaking scream of brother.

"TOMURA!" he sees his brother is kneeling by the bed, next to the unmoving body of the mage. "Please, open your eyes, Tomura! Don't do this to me! Please!" his brother begs as he holds the body of the mage, trying to wake him. "I love you! I don't know what to do without you! Please! Don't leave me!" he kisses the mage's forehead before hiding his face on his neck and loudly sobbing and crying.

Shouto suddenly notices a small bottle with a label and a letter next to it on the table. The bottle is empty, and it says 'white laurels extract' . The message is addressed to Touya. Shouto takes it and moves closer to his brother. His brother is still crying on the mage's body, weeping his heart out over his lost love. He slowly touches his shoulder to catch his attention and offers him the letter. Tears stream down his elder brother's face as he turns to look at him. With a shaking hand, he grabs the piece of paper and starts reading. When he is done, the flow of his eyes doubles and his sobs harden. He places a tear-filled kiss on Tomura's hand and continues crying, grieving the death of his dear mage.

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To my prince,

I knew your brother wouldn't be able to stop you. Nobody could ever hold you back from getting what you wanted, not even me. It drove me insane sometimes. Your persistence knew no limit, and many times it got us into so much trouble. Yet it was one of the many things that made me fall for you.

I love you, Touya. You are my world, my everything. It pains me not being able to hold you or be by your side. But it will kill you. And I can't let that happen.

The people need you. You are their king. You need to guide them to a brighter future and be light for them to follow. I know you can do it. You will be one of the greatest Kings your kingdom will ever have, even if I'm not beside you.

Goodbye, Touya. I love you.

With all my heart,

Tomura

#shigadabiweek2020 #shigadabi #dabishiga #shigaraki x dabi #shigaraki tomura #Dabi #todoroki touya #todoroki family #fantasy au #bnha #mha

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witchesofmysticfalls · 4 years

Text

The Vampire Diaries

Re-write Season 1

MASTERLIST

Pilot

PART ONE

*this is a first person book*

The alarm clock is what wakes me up in the morning. It's excessive beeping is enough to wake everybody. I quickly slam the snooze button and get up out of bed.

Matt pops his head in, he's already dressed for school. "Sleepyhead hurry up, we're gonna be late" I yawned and waved him off with a hand.

"I'm going" I grumbled as I get up and head to my closet.

My name is Ariel, Ariel Donovan. I live with Matt and Vicky. There the only family I have left.

My mother died on a camping trip. I was there but I don't remember it. The doctors say it was because of the trauma, that my brain shut that memory out.

I don't know if not remembering is a blessing or a curse. The authorities say it was a wild animal attack, apparently I called 911 but I don't remember.

I never met my father, he was never around, abandoned me when I was just a baby.

When my mom died, I was forced to live with her sister, my aunt. And she was forced to take me in. If it wasn't for the law she would have sent me off to an orphanage.

Of course she's never around like she's supposed to be. So I take care of Matt and Vicki. Matt does what he can, and Vicky well... I have tried several times to get her to quit smoking and drugs but to no avail.

I settle on a pair of jeans and a green shirt. I have my fathers hair, and my grandmothers brown eyes.

How do I know that my father has blond hair? That's because my mother didn't have blond hair.

Brown eyes mostly run in the family, well except Matt, he has these blue eyes, he gets that from his dad. Who is god knows where. I have my mother's features though.

And if I look in a mirror, I can try to picture what my father looked like.

When my mom was alive, she never talked about him. I always assumed that it was because of the fact he left her.

But even when she died, I couldn't find my dad's name on my birth certificate, or any other scrap of paper. And whenever I asked Kelly about it, she would never answer.

I quickly pack my bags and hurry out the front door where Matt's waiting in his car.

I have my own car yes, but it was being worked on, after Vicki crashed it. She was drunk.

And the car was brand new, I got it as a birthday gift. So I were pretty upset when she ruined it.

I get in the front seat. "So are you excited" I ask him, my feet shaking with excitement. He only grins, one corner of his mouth lifting higher than the other.

"A bit" The back door slams making me jump in my seat. I shift in my seat to face Vicky, who was staring intently at her phone.

"Hey Vicky"

"Hey" She response back in a dull tone. Knowing she wasn't going to speak anymore than a few syllables, I turn back in my seat.

"Drive"

♤◇♤

"Caroline!" I call out to my blonde best friend. She turns at the sound of her name and smiles when she sees it's me. She excuses herself from the person she was speaking to and made her way over to me.

"Hey Ariel" She said with a smile, embracing me in a hug. "Hey care" I said hugging her back. Caroline is one of my best friends. She's been with me through so much. Ex- my mother's death.

"Have you seen Elena or Bonnie?" I asked parting from her to take a look around the yard. She shook her head, her hair bobbing with her movements.

"No I haven't, but I'm sure they're inside"

"Let's go then" I said, she grabbed my hand and dragged me inside the halls of our high-school. Mystic Falls Timberwolfs.

We spot them both at the lockers and before I can even make a move to hug Elena or say hello Caroline beats me to it.

"Elena. Oh my god" she said, rushing up to her and drowning her in one of her hugs.

"How are you?" She asked. "It's so good to see you. How is she? Is she good?" Caroline asked Bonnie like if Elena wasn't standing right in front of her.

"Caroline, I'm right here. And I'm fine. Thank you" I crossed my arms and sent Elena a secret glare.

"Really?"

"Yes much better" Elena reassured her. "Oh you poor thing" Caroline said, hugging her once more.

"Okay, Caroline" I said grabbing her by the shoulder and pried her off of Elena. "Okay, I'll see you guys later"

"Okay, bye" Elena said as Caroline walked off.

"Hey Elena can I speak to you?" I asked her and motioned to the other side of the hallway. She nodded and I dragged her off to the side.

"Are you okay?" I asked already knowing what she was doing. "Yes Ariel, I'm fine" I shook my head.

"Your not, Elena I used that facade when I was younger and I was never okay" Elena recently lost her parents.

Car accident. And while she might act like she's fine I know she's not. Elena and I have grown closer as friends, because I know what she's going through and it doesn't get easier. Take it from someone who knows.

"Your right. I just don't wanna be the girl who lost her parents you know? I wanna start fresh but that's not gonna happen if I keep being the same old Elena" I nod slightly and hug her.

"Just promise me that you'll come to me when something's bothering you. Okay. I'm here for you" She nods and stares up at me with her chocolate eyes.

"Thanks Ariel" She says with a smile.

"No problem". We go join Bonnie and the three of us walk through the halls, Bonnie in the center and me and Elena at her sides.

We were talking about our summer when Bonnie grabs us both by our arms and makes us jerk to a stop in front of the schools office.

"Hold up, who's this?" She says looking in. Theirs a guy standing there, his back turned to us. He's wearing a dark leather jacket, he's tall.

"All I see is back" I said.

"A hot back" Bonnie adds with a smirk. Elena simply chuckles at us both.

"I'm sensing Seattle, and he plays guitar" Bonnie says, staring at his back like if she can see to his soul.

"You're really going to run this psychic thing into the ground, huh?" Elena asks looking at her best friend.

"Pretty Much" People in the hall make some commotion and Elena turns to see Jeremy (her little brother) go inside the bathroom.

"I'll be right back" She says and goes off to follow him. "Please be hot" Bonnie begs no one making me laugh.

◇

I drone on in class. I'm sitting behind Elena only a few seats away from Matt who stares at her. They used to date and he wants her back, I can tell by the longing stare.

She turns her head slightly to the side to look at the new guy. He's cute, I'll tell you that. He was brown hair and these forest green eyes.

Elena turns her head back when she sees him look back at her. I almost smile. I pull my phone out and text her.

Ariel:

Hawt-e.

Staring @ u.

I see her pull her own phone out and look at it. I can tell she's smiling by the way she sits up.

♤◇♤

"Good Afternoon Ariel" Zach says as he opens the door to his home.

"Hey Zach" I said with a smile as I stepped inside. Zach has a huge living space. It's called the Salvatore mansion. He lives alone.

Zach or Zachariah Salvatore is like a father to me. My mother and him were friends, so I always visit him and help him around this huge house.

When my mom died, he became one of my legal guardians.

My aunt Kelly almost filed a law suit to make sure she was the sole guardian.

the only reason she never did that was because Zach wasn't gonna go down easily, plus her lawyer told her that with all the money Zach earns and his living space they might as well give him full custody.

So they treated it like a divorced parents case, I have my own room and everything.

I stayed with him on the weekends, Kelly on weekdays. I haven't stayed over since Kelly started taking off though.

"How was school?" He asks closing the door behind me.

"It was great" I said setting my bag down at the door. "Well I'm glad. Do you want something to drink?" I nod and he rushes off to the kitchen.

I walk deeper inside and see books clattered around the sitting area. With a sigh I pick them up and place them neatly on the table.

"Here you go" Zach says from behind, he holds two cups in his hands. I take one and sip. Tea. Not my favorite but it'll do.

I stay at his place for a while longer, talked about how my day went, the new kid and how his day went. I was there till it was almost noon, then I went to go meet up with Caroline and Bonnie at the grill.

◇

"His name is Stefan Salvatore. He lives with his uncle at the old Salvatore boarding house.

He hasn't lived here since he was a kid. Military family, so they move around a lot. He's a Gemini, and his favorite color is blue"

Caroline declares, spinning circles with her straw in her drink.

"You got all of that in one day?" Bonnie asks in disbelief.

"Salvatore? Huh. Zach didn't tell me he had family visiting" I say confused, moving to sit down at the table.

"Oh please. I got all of that between third and fourth period. We're planning a June wedding" I snicker.

Shocker Caroline's got dibs on the new guy. Stefan Salvatore.

I also wonder why Zach didn't tell me. You'd think that would come up in our conversation from earlier.

"Oh Ariel sweetie, by the way. I have my nephew living with me now."

I frown, wait hold up.

I was at Zach's house last night, how the hell did I miss a 5' or 6' foot person? I store that mental note for later.

Matt takes a seat with me and Bonnie. "How's Elena doing?" He asks.

"Her mom and dad died. How do you think?" I said pursing my lips.

"She's putting on a good face"

"Has she said anything about me?" He wonders.

"Uh no. So not getting in the middle, you pick up the phone and call her"

"I feel weird calling her. She broke up with me"

"Give her time Matt" Bonnie says with a reassuring smile. My eyes trail over to the door where Elena walks in with Stefan right behind her.

I am clearly not the only one who notices cause Caroline and Tyler are staring.

Tyler was one of my friends, he was Matts best bud, when I was younger, I almost always saw him around so we became friends.

He has this tough guy thing going. To me, he's another annoying brother. And for him, I'm like the annoying sister he never had.

Matt gets up and I want to follow but I also kinda wanna see how this plays out.

He goes over to them and introduces himself to Stefan before giving Elena an awkward hello.

Stefan and Elena join all of us at the table but Matt doesn't.

"So you lived in mystic falls?" Caroline asks.

"Mm-hmm. And I moved when I was still young"

"Parents?" Bonnie asks.

"My parents passed away"

"I'm sorry. Any siblings?" Elena asks. Stefan shook his head all while staring at her.

"None that I talk to. I live with my uncle"

"Zachariah" I spoke up making him look at me.

"Yeah. How did you-"

"Zach is kinda like my father. I go over a lot. He didn't mention you to me" Before he can respond Caroline speaks up.

"So Stefan. If your new then you don't know about the party tomorrow. It's a back to school thing at the falls" Stefan looks over at Elena.

"Are you going?"

"Of course she is" Bonnie comments making Elena purse her lips. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and looks up at Stefan. "I will"

So what do you guys think? Is it good so far? Fingers crossed!🤞

Kisses

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snarkwrites · 4 years

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FFT: treat you as good as my leather ; juice ortiz

Notes:

So this one is the one in which Hazel is the one in trouble. In Rough Rider, another part of their story, it was Juice and Hazel patches him up. My bad, oops. This is why I should’ve stopped when I got tired last night. Anyway, here it is.

FYI - Alex belongs to @rampagewriting in her don’t fear the reaper fic; that’s her OC that’s with Chibs there. No, these two stories aren’t connected ( hers is.... so much better than anything I could possibly ever write) but.. she was nice enough to allow me to connect them for this when the muse struck.

Summary:

Hazel only feels safe with one person. It’s just too bad that she feels like the one person probably hates her. When she turns up at Juices apartment post home invasion, things take a surprising turn.

Pairing:

Juice Ortiz x OFC, Hazel

Warnings:

mentions of a home invasion, violence & fluffy shit.

It was really the only place she felt safe and that thought had her in a state of internal uproar; that she felt safest around a man who couldn’t hate her more if he tried. At least he’s tolerant lately was the only comforting thought Hazel had as she raised her hand to knock on the apartment door belonging to Juice Ortiz.

“Juice!”

Juice eyed the door of his apartment in both amusement and confusion as soon as Hazel Teller started to pound on it. He stopped what he was doing and sat down the spatula in his hand, making his way over to the door. “This some kinda joke, Haze? It’s almost 1 am.”

“ No, no joke. I need you to open the door, please? The cops just left my apartment and I just… I couldn’t stay there alone tonight. Please open the door.” Hazel was beginning to question why exactly she didn’t just go to Alex’s place or over to Jax and Tara’s. But then she remembered that Tara would insist on sticking her nose in and Jax… Jax would have prospects camped out wherever she went and Hazel simply refused to live like that. She was trying to build a life for herself that didn’t revolve totally around the MC.

Besides, Hazel winced as she caught sight of her reflection in the screen of her phone, Jax and her mom had more than enough on their plate lately. And going to Clay with what was going on was totally out of the question. She still blatantly refused to acknowledge the slim odds that Clay might actually be her real father. The two hadn’t ever gotten along and she’d seen the scary lengths he’d go to to protect someone.

She didn’t want someone’s blood on her hands.

Juice eyed the door cautiously. Her tone held strong notes of panic and it wasn’t often he actually heard Hazel Teller really and truly afraid. It compelled him to open his apartment door, leaning in the frame. Almost the instant his eyes settled on her face and neck and arms, he was pulling her into the apartment quickly and locking all three deadbolts on his door behind him. “Haze, what the fuck happened?”

“Home invasion. I.. was showering and some assholes broke in. I caught ‘em, tried to fight ‘em off.” Hazel’s adrenaline was still coursing, she sank down onto the couch, putting her head in her hands.

If she told him a Mayan was responsible, he’d go and he’d tell everybody at the MC. Which to be fair, they did need to know. But on the other hand, the Mayan wasn’t just a rival MC club member, the Mayan was a person who resorted to desperate measures because he needed quick cash. She only knew he belonged to the Mayans because while she’d been struggling against him in their fight, she’d seen his cutte.

Or that’s what Hazel was kind of hoping, anyway. She didn’t want to make an already bad situation infinitely worse. Everyone was still on ultra-high alert because of what the Aryans had done to her mother and Alex not so long ago. To tell them that a Mayan just happened to pick her apartment for a random break-in? Probably not a good idea.

“Did you get a look at the guy?” Juice got this distinct feeling that there was so much more to the story than she was telling, but right now, he was freaking out and it literally felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. “Does Jax know? I’m gonna go ca-” he went to go and grab his cell phone but Hazel grabbed hold of his wrist, stopping him. “I don’t want him to know tonight, either. Look.. I just need you to trust me, okay? Please, can you do that?”

He took a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his head, staring her down intently as he nodded towards her visible bruises. “Okay, so how the hell are you plannin on hidin all that?”

“I’m not. I’m going to tell Jax and my mother tomorrow I just.. Do not feel like dealing with a thousand questions tonight, okay? Look.. It’s late, I’m still freaking out…”

“And you came here.” Juice couldn’t help the puzzled look he gave her as he asked the question. “Why? I mean, last time I checked, baby girl.. You n’ me don’t exactly get along the best. You kinda hate me.”

Hazel swallowed hard. And then, upon gazing down so she didn’t have to meet his intent questioning gaze she realized that she hadn’t let go of his wrist. And that she was actually standing a lot closer than she thought. Her breath caught in her throat and she debated heavily on whether she needed to let go of his hand or not. She really didn’t want to. It felt… better somehow.

So, she didn’t let go. And maybe she stepped just a little closer, their bodies just barely grazing against each other. She sighed quietly and her shoulders slumped. “I don’t hate you.”

Juice gaped a few seconds and then he thought about it. Deep down, whether he chose to own up to it or not, he definitely had some very strong feelings about her. Despite their fighting and everything, he’d always find himself getting angry and territorial real quick if he even thought someone was about to try to hurt her somehow. “You don’t, hm?”

“No, actually… It’s more towards the opposite end of the spectrum. I just… If I don’t fight what I feel, I know things are gonna go badly. They always do for me. Always.” Hazel placed heavy emphasis on the last word, gazing up at him as she took a deep breath. She needed to just get it off her chest and out of her system.

“I came here, Juice, because I feel better around you. But if you want me to go…” she started to step away and Juice reached out, grabbing her and pulling her close again, away from the door. “No, no. You don’t have to go, baby girl. I don’t want you leavin, especially like that.” he leaned down a little, his other hand raising to her cheek. “C’mon, let’s get ya cleaned up and get some ice on your eye. I hope you didn’t hit ‘em like you hit me that one time. Barely felt it.” Juice snickered as she lightly popped at his bicep.

“Not funny. And no, I didn’t. I actually have a hell of a swing with a wooden bat.”

Juice chuckled and pulled out a chair, guiding her down into it, taking the chair beside it and pulling it so that he sat in front of her. After grabbing a faded dish towel and putting ice into it, he sat down, leaning in and pressing the towel to her face. She cringed and bit her lip and he muttered quietly, “I know it probably hurts. But I’m gonna be as gentle as I can with ya, okay? I’m gonna treat you as good as my leather, baby girl.”

Hazel could see from the look in his eyes that he wasn’t just applying the words to her current situation. She swallowed hard, locking eyes with him and nodding. “And I’ll do the same for you… I.. I mean it, okay?”

#juice ortiz fanfiction #juice ortiz fanfic #juice ortiz fic #juice ortiz oneshot #juice ortize imagine #// fluff #// home invasion tw #// mention of violence tw

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dailyaudiobible · 5 years

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01/16/2020 DAB Transcript

Genesis 32:13-34:31, Matthew 11:7-30, Psalms 14:1-7, Proverbs 3:19-20

Today is the 16th day of January, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I’m Brian it is wonderful to be here with you today as we continue the voyages that we have begun just days ago. So, we have set sail and we are moving our way into and through the Bible this year. We’re working our way through the book of Genesis in the Old Testament, in book of Matthew in the New. We’re reading from the Christian Standard Bible this week. Today Genesis chapter 32 verse 13 through 34 verse 31. And we’re talking about Jacob right now. We have met Abraham. We have met Isaac. And now we are encountering the life of Isaac's son Jacob who had to flee away from his brother Esau because of his conniving. Now he is on his way home and he has experienced the other side of his conniver-y with his…his uncle Laban. So, where we pick up the story, Jacob has left Laban and is returning to his family. It's been two decades. Laban found out about it and chased him down and there was a confrontation and a treaty was made. Now Jacob is continuing south toward his family and he sent some servants out in front of them to make contact with his brother Esau. And Esau is now on his way to meet Jacob with 400 mercenaries. So..so, Jacob has split his camp into two hoping that if one gets attacked the other might have a chance of survival. And that's where we are. Genesis chapter 32 verse 13 through 34 verse 31.

Commentary:

Okay. There's a few things that we need to talk about in order to keep our place in the story and in order to keep the Bible speaking…speaking into our stories. So, in the book of Genesis, we’ve been working…working our way through the story of Jacob. Jacob’s on his way back toward where his family has been dwelling to the south and Esau finds out he's on his way and before they all meet up there's this really interesting story where Jacob wrestles with somebody and that somebody has been a point of theological conjecture for a long, long, long…centuries, where some biblical scholars would say he's…he's actually wrestling with God, like actually wrestling with…with an embodied version of God on the earth. And other people would say, “no. He's wrestling with his brother Esau who found him and them they kind of fought it out because later on Jacob’s like, “seeing you is like seeing the face of God.” And…and, you know, we could try to really dig deep there, but what happened there is what is so important to where the story is headed because Jacob who is the grandson of Abraham, right? So, Abraham has Isaac his son, who then has Jacob his son. Jacob does this wrestling match and then in the process is given a new name and that new name is important. That new name is Israel and that shift actually bestowed identity upon his children as well because…well…from this point forward, we will begin to start seeing them as one people, the children of Israel.

Okay. Then in Matthew we have to look underneath the surface and see how people are responding to Jesus teachings and what people are thinking about Him Because we can read it from a couple of thousand years into the future and just, you know, try to pull out Jesus good moral teachings, and, you know, people today can read Jesus and be like, “who…who doesn't agree with all this?” But the people during Jesus time, they did not agree with all that he was saying, in part because Jesus was describing the plot behind the story. Like He’s describing how things really are and nobody comprehends it. He’s revealing a kingdom that nobody can see and yet He's talking as they would have expected the Messiah to talk. So, we know that John announced the way and even baptized Jesus and we know that John was arrested, and he was imprisoned. And at the end of our reading yesterday he had sent some of his disciples to Jesus with an important question, “are you the one or should we be looking for somebody else”, which is a fascinating question when you were the prophet that announced the arrival of the Savior. So, now John's in prison going, “is He the One?” Like…and that gives us a lot of clues about what people were expecting, including John. The idea of a restoration of the people to God, where they could come under their own governing rule and be their own sovereign people set apart to God once again, that was an old story. It hadn't been that way for these people for a very, very long time. So, this…this person, this miracle worker, wisdom teacher, prophet figure named Jesus shows up on the scene. We know who He is so I’m not saying only a wisdom teacher or whatever, but they didn't…like…He shows up on the scene and He sets their hearts on fire, but they don't fully comprehend. And even John is like, “hang on. Are you the one, because we were, you know, like, I want…I need somebody to bust me outta here in time for the revolution?” And Jesus says, “look. Go back and tell John what you’ve seen. Go tell Him what I'm doing, that the…the eyes of the blind are being opened and the ears of the deaf are being able to hear and the dead are being raised and good news is being told to the poor and disenfranchised people. Go…go tell him that.” So, Jesus is saying, "what do you mean am I the one? I'm revealing the kingdom. Everywhere I go the kingdom is revealed. The kingdom is touching people's eyes. The kingdom is touching people's ears. The kingdom is touching people's lives.” Right? So, we get this clear understanding that what the people were expecting in a Messiah was different than what God was revealing to them and the kingdom that they were hoping would come was already among and within them and they couldn't see it. And Jesus is trying to show it to them, to reveal it to them, to open their eyes to it, which is the kind of things He says all the time. In other words, that their consciousness will become aware of something greater than they were already perceiving, that they would become intimately aware of something greater than themselves right there as opposed to the God that they had put in the box called a temple. So, as we begin in Matthew today Jesus is still talking about John. His disciples have left to go give John the message but He’s talking to the people. “Why did you go…why did you go out into the wilderness to see John? What was…what was…what were you looking for? Looking for a read swaying in the wind? Then what we looking for? Were you looking for somebody in nice clothes? Then you went to the wrong place. You need to go to the royal palace to find place…people like that. Why did you go see John? Did you go to see a prophet?” There you go. He is a prophet. And then he says something really, really interesting. “Among those born of women no one greater than John the Baptist has appeared, but the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he, for from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has been suffering violence and the violent been seizing it by force.” Okay, is a super popular passage of Scripture, but it feels confusing until you understand what's going on here. Jesus is talking about the kingdom of heaven and He's not talking about it as a future thing. He’s revealing the kingdom and inviting those with ears to hear and eyes to see to step into it and the first step is to become aware of it. And, so, He’s saying like, “there's no one greater than John the prophet in the world except those who have stepped into the kingdom.” But this will remain confusing throughout Jesus ministry because it remains confusing now. Jesus is revealing a kingdom that exists now and the journey to it is inward and all they were looking for was external. And, so, here Jesus words, “let anyone who has ears listen.” He says it all the time. And then he keeps commenting. He's basically saying, “it's been sitting here in front of you in a number of ways, and you can't see it.” So, He’s like, “what should I compare this generation to? This generation's like kids sitting in the marketplace and they call out to other kids. We played the flute for you, but you didn't dance. We sang a lament, but you didn't mourn.” In other words, “we gave you the song and you ignored it.” Jesus said, “John came and neither eating nor drinking and everybody said he has a demon. And, so, then I come and I eat and I drink and you’re like you're a glutton and a drunkard and you're a friend of sinners and tax collectors.” So, what we’re watching here is pure truth, pure wholeness be completely misunderstood and mis-judged by people living backward to the way they were designed. And Jesus is like, “it's right here calling to you and your labeling it the wrong things. Your labeling John as a person who has a demon. You’re labeling me as a son of Beelzebul. You're claiming I'm a glutton because I eat and drink. You’re claiming I'm a drunkard and a friend of sinners because I hang out with people who need help.” So, what is it underneath all this that Jesus can see? What is it he can see that nobody else can see? What is he trying to get them to understand? We touched on this earlier. Jesus is walking the path of wisdom and revealing it with anyone with eyes to see and ears to hear. In fact, He’s, like, “you say John is a demon because he doesn't eat or drink. You say I’m a glutton because I do, yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.” In other words, Jesus is saying to the people the same things He said to John's disciples, “look at what I'm doing.” In fact, Jesus goes on to pray to the Father. “I praise You Father, Lord of heaven and earth because you have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent.” In other words, those who think they know. “And have revealed them to infants.” In other words, children. And He goes on to pray, “this is the good pleasure of the Father” and that “all things have been entrusted to Jesus by the Father" and…and “nobody knows the Son except the Father” and “no one knows the Father except the Son” and “anyone to whom the son desires to reveal Him.” And then He has does reveal Him. “Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me because I’m lowly and humble in heart, and you'll find rest for your souls. My yoke is easy, my burden is light.” Again, super, super famous quotable stuff there. We’ll recite it like a mantra when were in the chaos of life, “His yoke is easy, His burden is light. He’ll give me rest for my soul.” We don’t understand this is a whole conversation that Jesus is having, one in which He's telling His friends essentially, people aren’t gonna get you and that can get really nasty at times, even to the point where you get hauled into court and not know what to say, but if you will trust God He'll tell you what to say. But they're not going to get you. You’re the light of the world and the darkness doesn't like the light. It exposes what's in the dark and nobody wants that. Everybody's claiming they just want the truth but what they want is just a better way to curate their lives and keep hidden what's hidden and what's exposed exposed. But Jesus is saying like the truth will set you free. I'm here for all light everywhere, nothing hidden. Everything that's hidden will be revealed. And that is going to infuriate many people along the way because they won't necessarily see it as an invitation to their freedom. The same kind of principles apply in recovery programs, right? Like you need to reach the end of yourself. You need to reach your rock bottom. In other words, all your shenanigans and all your games and all the things you're trying to make life look as if it's working, that all has to come crumbling down until you’re at the very very bottom and then you can begin. Jesus is fundamentally saying, all the constructs that you have made about yourself and all of the darkness that you've hidden in those places, that all has to come down and then you can begin. And if you realize that most of your life is built in pride and fear and constructs around that, and contrast that with Jesus who is lowly, humble in heart, we can see the plot that Jesus is telling is to a different story than the one we're living. We’re so often seduced by our culture. It's got to be bigger, it's got to be better, it's got a stronger, it's gotta be faster, it's got to be more individual, it’s gotta be more noticeable, it's gotta throw us up the charts, it's gotta put the spotlight on us, it's got to reveal to the world what one single person can do. We gotta keep clawing, we gotta keep scratching, we gotta keep not taking no for an answer, we gotta out do those around us, we’ve gotta be superior to them, we’ve gotta be above them. It's says, if that's the goal we gotta put…put ourselves in a position where we have no vulnerabilities. And we remember that you can't be known without vulnerability. And remember that Jesus said, there’ll be people who prophesied my name and I'll say I never knew you.” And, so, what we’re seeing is Jesus saying, “there's a different way to be human in this world. Your Father knows what you need and if you are only looking around you at everybody else. If you are only looking at what you can experience with your five physical senses, you will only ever experience lack because that's not all there is. You have a heart made for God and you can let the mind of Christ open in you, or you can chase the chaos and keep trying to make your own self in your own image. It's up to you.

Prayer:

Father, we invite You into that. These…these themes, they’re…they’re so constant in the Scriptures that we invite Your Holy Spirit to continue to bring them up in us because they will change us. Like, we will either come to the place where we close the Bible and set it down and walk away and say, “that is not where I want to go” or will say, “this is...this…this is what I’ve been looking for my whole life and I embrace it fully.” But this half and half out that we continually try to live, it doesn't work. It won't. And, so, we invite Your Holy Spirit to come and show us what “all in” looks like with You. And we have what we need to see because we are seeing You go “all in” on our behalf as we read the Gospels. So, come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

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imtaesbitch-blog · 5 years

Text

Where the trees sing

This is inspired by my favorite book by Laura Gallego, Donde los árboles cantan. Thank her for this.

Fantasy AU

NatureGod!Taehyung x Princess!reader

Y/N, the only daughter of Greystone duke, is engaged to Kim Seokjin since they were kids. They both love each other and will get married when spring comes. But, during the anual winter solstice party, the kingdom is threatend by barbarians and sadly, both Seokjin and the Duke must leave to protect their land. Due to some circumstances, Y/N is sent to the Great Forest, where she must learn how to fight and maybe, just maybe, enter the deepest part of the forest, where trees sing along strange creatures who live there…

Warnings: Murders (not graphic), Smut, Y/n is a strong independent woman who fights and is not submissive so if you are not into that you can leave, violence in general since people fight with swords and bows

Chapter 1

Like every year, nobles all over the kingdom came together to celebrate the Winter Solstice Party. It had always been this way. Every king in Nortia had been crowned during the winter, even if their predecessor died seasons ago.

Jousts were held during the day, and dinner parties at night. All the nobles who were invited stayed over at the Normont castle for a few days until the celebration was over.

That’s how it had always been.

Your dad, the Duke of Greystone, and you, had never missed it. Not even the year your mother passed away. But it was a long time ago, so all bad memories had been left behind.

Particularly this year, you were incredibly excited to be in the celebration, because that’s where you would get married in spring.

You had been engaged since you were a kid, to none other than your childhood friend, Kim Seokjin. You had grown up together, your parents were old friends so whenever they met up, you would not leave each other’s sides. You were in love since you were kids.

Seokjin was a handsome and charismatic prince, and held a prestigious title, he was a noble from Castemar, one of the most powerful royal families in Nortia. Your parents were waiting until you turned 18, so that they could split some land and share castles with each other’s families. It was a very convienent marriage.

You were seated at the dinner party with the hundreds of nobles that had come. You were wearing a colourful and fancy looking dress that had been sewed by your servants, and your hair was carefully tied up in braids. Seokjin and you couldn’t stop staring and smiling at each other from the sides of the long tables that separated you, which caused all your acquaintances to make fun of you. You couldn’t care less though, because you couldn’t wait to be officially together.

Suddenly, a funny looking man entered the room. He was wearing old and dirty clothes and a hat full of bells that sounded loudly every step he took. He stopped in front of the king and bowed clumsily.

“I greet you, Majesty, monarch of the North.”

No one made fun of him though, instead they applauded him. You also applauded excitedly. Everybody knew Oki the jouglar, he was greatly respected because he knew more songs and stories than anyone. He visited the king’s land every winter solstice, to tell a story.

“Ladies” - He said-. “And nobles. Today i’ve come to tell you a story about the Great Forest.”

Everyone murmured in fear. Gosebumps ran down your back.

The Great Forest was the biggest forest in the Kingdom. It was so big that nobody that had ventured in, had come out. Legend said, that it was home to a number of mysterious creatures that kept the forest alive. It was the most feared place in all the Kingdom, and no one had tried to visit it for decades.

The king lifted his hand.

“ Quiet everyone. What do you have for us this year Oki?”

“ Majesty, i’m afraid this year I haven’t come to talk about a love story or about adventures. I’ve come to talk about a legend.

>> Stories say that, there was once a man who entered the Great Forest. After hours of walking, he found a small river and decided to camp there for the night. He almost fell asleep, when, suddenly, he saw a figure approaching him. Evidently, he reached for his sword and prepared to kill the creature. But to his disappointment, it was only an old man. A very dirty and ugly one. He asked for food and water, and altough the man wanted nothing but to be left alone, he felt compassion and let him stay with him for the night. When the young man woke up, the old man had disappeared, but when he went to the river to clean himself up, he saw the reflection of a young handsome boy.

My name is Taehyung and i’m the ruler of this forest. I was testing you last night. And you, my friend, deserve a price for your kindness. enter the deepest part of the forest and you’ll find me. I’ll give you the power of eternity.

After that, the reflection fade away. Apparently the man followed Taehyung’s indications and entered the deep forest. And then he disappeared forever. He never came back.”

“So this man, Taehyung, lied to him?” A noble asked, he seemed angry at how the story had ended.

“I don’t know that. Apparently, Taehyung has the form of a human, but he is like a God. The god of nature. He makes sure the forest runs correctly. At least, that’s what the stories say.” Oki answered honestly.

You had heard of him before. The god of nature. You used to read fantasy books as a kid, and he appeared in a lot of them. You thought he was just an invented character, but something about the way Oki told the story made you think twice. Did he really exist? You had never thought about it deeply, you just assumed he was a made up fantasy character. Anyway, you thought, it doesn’t really matter. You have no intention of entering the Great Forest.

“Thank you Oki, for your story. You can stay and eat with the rest of the nobles. You’ve earned it.” That’s what the king told him every year, and like every year, he refused.

“Thank you for your kindness, your Majesty, but i’ll eat with the servants.” Oki bowed and walked throught the big door to leave the room.

Just as he left, another figure emerged from the door and ran hurriedly to the king. Everyone turned to him. You recognized the man, his name was Yoongi. He was a noble, but you didn’t recall seeing him many times. He was a few yeard older than you, but he was already Duke of his castle, since his parents had died. You knew that even though he knew your father and the other nobles, he was an introverted man who would rather stay at his castle than come to the winter solstice. That’s why you were wondering what he was doing here.

He stopped in front of the king. He didn’t even bow before he started talking.

“Your Majesty. There’s no time for celebrations. I come from far away and have very bad news. The barbarians are coming to conquer the North.”

Everyone present in the room started freaking out at that moment. Everyone knew who they were. The North and them had been at war for the longest time, but had been at peace for the last few decades.

The barbarians hadn’t attacked the Kingdom in a long time. In order to do that, they had to cross the White Mountains, and unless they were extraodinarily strong, they could never arrive to the North.

“Yoongi. How dare you interrupt my dinner party to say such things? They will never be able to cross the mountains. They are not coming. Leave now before you make me mad.” The King was getting angrier at every word. You thought that if the king said it wasn’t true, then it could never be true. He was supposed to know everything.

“You’ll regret this, your Highness, they are coming. They have crossed the mountains and want to kill you. They want your throne. If we don’t start preparing to fight back, we’ll be dead in a few weeks.” Yoongi seemed desperate. “Please, Your Majesty, don’t ignore this.”

The king looked at his soldiers, and they proceeded to hold Yoongi and walk him out of the room.

“You’ll regret this…You’ll regret this!” He shouted as he was being kicked out of the room.

You were in shock. How could someone speak to the king like that?

Although you were confused, you couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. What if what he just said was true? what if they came and both your father and Seokjin had to leave to fight them? you were suppsed to get married in a few months, but if the barbarians came, you wouldn’t be able to get married. Seokjin looked at you from his seat and reassured you with a small smile. He knows you are overthinking. They aren’t here now, and that’s all that matters. You thought it would be better to forget about them. Yoongi was probably crazy, and you trusted your King.

Not even two weeks later thought, the barbarians came. Your father and Seokjin left to fight them, which left you completley wrecked. Your whole life had been destroyed in less than a month. The worst part was that, weeks passed, and you still didn’t hear anything from them.

You weren’t allowed to leave the castle either, it was too dangerous.

After a month, you heard the barbarians were winning. They had already conquered many castles and lands, and killed hundreds and hundres of men.

Spring came, and your anxiety increased everyday. Luckily, the barbarians hadn’t come to your castle yet.

Until one day, they did.

(sorry i know tae is not really in the chapter, i swear he will be in the next ones. I just wanted some context for the story.)

(also, seokjin x y/n are not a thing, i just needed a temporary prince)

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averagemarvelbitch · 6 years

Text

Pride and Joy

Summary: AU where Tony Stark has a daughter, but then shit happens.

(Future Stony/ mentions of child abuse)

Chapter Four

March, 2005

Washington, DC, USA.

The table was covered in pictures. Men and women, of all ages and races, staring back at him with dead, unseeing eyes. Strangled, poisoned, shot, stabbed, drowned. A particular man, probably in his mid thirties, stood out. His skull had been crushed; brain, bone and blood covered the cold floor. Even after years on the job, Clint Barton still felt sick every time he had to look at scenes like that. He was no stranger to human cruelty. He had known, from a very early age, what people were capable of when given the right incentive. Still, seeing things like this, it always upset his stomach.

He took the file once again, re-reading the information SHIELD had managed to acquire on the infamous Black Widow. Truth be told, there wasn’t much. They knew she was a woman. They knew she’d been trained by the Red Room, some sort of academy for assassins and spies, as discovered by Director Peggy Carter years ago. And that was it. That was all the information they had. They didn’t know what she looked like. They couldn’t even confirm if all the kills credited to her had actually been her work. The Black Widow was a ghost and it was Clint’s mission to put an end to her.

He had forty-eight hours before the mission. SHIELD had planted the information that Andrei Mikhailovsky was in Germany and currently negotiating with an American agent, trading Russian secrets for asylum. The plan was to let the man wander through the city and go to a specific location while Clint kept an eye on him from afar. It was a risky plan, but it was their only chance to finally neutralize the Black Widow.

“Already familiar with all the details, I hope, Barton”, said a voice from the door. Clint didn’t turn nor did he acknowledge the new comer in any way, continuing to stare at the pictures on the table as if the other man wasn’t even there.

The man rolled his eyes and shook his head as he carefully approached the archer. As he got closer, Clint seemed to finally notice his presence, turning to look at him. The archer smiled and quickly turned on his hearing aids.

“Hey, Phil. Just getting acquainted with our little spider over here.”

“A very deadly little spider, try not to forget that part”, the older man answered, pressing his hands on the table and pushing his upper-body forward to take a better look at the pictures. He took one (the man with the broken skull) on his hands, examining it with a frown. “Very, very deadly spider”.

“I’ve face worse, you know that”.

“She’s killed half the agents we sent after her, Clint. And the other half just disappeared. Excuse me for worrying”, he said, throwing the picture back on the table.

“Hey”, Clint said softly, standing up and taking Coulson’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. “It’ll be fine. I’m pretty damn good at this job, boss”.

“This is highly unprofessional”, he answered, but did not move his hand.

“Oh boy, if you think this was unprofessional, you’re really not gonna like what I’m gonna do next”.

Clint did not give Coulson time to answer, pulling the older man to a deep kiss. He felt strong hands on his hips, pulling him even closer, as he circled Coulson’s neck with his own. God, he thought to himself, tongue caressing every inch of his partner’s mouth, I could kiss this man forever.

Too soon, they broke the kiss, foreheads touching as they tried to catch their breaths. They stayed like that for a moment, just breathing and admiring each other’s faces. Coulson touched Clin’ts red lips softly with his thumb, all his blood immediately going south when the younger man bit on it with a smirk. He took a step back, adjusting his suit and returning to his usual, very professional self.

“You have a plan to catch. Don’t die out there.”

“Oh, don’t worry, boss, I have plans this weekend that I really can’t miss”, Clint replied with a wink.

Coulson had his back turned to him as he left the room so Clint couldn’t see his face, but he’s willing to bet his bow and arrow that his partner was fighting a smile.

Clint couldn’t stop thinking about the Black Widow. He read and re-read the file a thousand times on his way to Germany. Peggy Carter’s neat handwriting was oddly soothing even though the words written brought Clint no peace of mind.

“According to the information acquired, the place is known as the Red Room, an academy for the training of assassins and spies in the Soviet Union. The place was discovered during a mission, in 1984, in which the Howling Commandos, SSR agent Jack Thompson and I infiltrated a facility believed to be a Leviathan base camp in Belarus.

Upon investigation, we discovered the facility had a structure similar to that of a school, with many rooms posing as classrooms, including a video room we believe was used to dispense subliminal messages through movies.

A young girl, around 10 years of age, was found in the facility. She stabbed Timothy “Dum Dum” Dugan, managed to steal his weapon and shot Jonathan “Junior” Juniper, who died instantly.

We believe the Red Room trained young girls to become elite assassins and undercover operatives through a process of indoctrination and desensitizing, teaching them hand-to-hand combat and other tactical skills. We also believe other facilities similar to the one found exist throughout the Soviet Union.”

It was hard to believe something like this existed. Where did they even get the “young girls”?, he thought as he looked out the window, staring at the clouds. The pictures kept showing again and again on his mind. The brutality, the complete lack of empathy, it astonished. The worst part was he didn’t even know why he was so shocked with what he had read and seen. He had faced worse people in his life, both as a SHIELD agent and as a dumb teenager, but this one woman, knowing what she had probably gone through and what she had done, it made him sick to his stomach.

Maybe Phil was right. Maybe he really was projecting his own emotions on this target. He had had a very complicated childhood, followed by a crappy adolescence. Clint had gone through things no child should have to go through, and he knew in his heart that, if Phil Coulson hadn’t given him a chance that day, he’d probably be the one being target by SHIELD today. He owned his life to Phil and SHIELD. They had given him a chance to be someone else, something more than just the dishonest, murdering piece of shit that others had made of him. What if someone gave this woman the chance I was given?, he couldn’t help but wonder, would she choose the right side if someone gave her the chance?

February, 1983

Waverly, Iowa.

Barney was late. Again.

He really has no self-preservation skills, Clint thought as he slowly dragged a huge bag of garbage outside. Barney was supposed to be helping Clint clean the shop, but, as usual, he’d left early in the morning and had yet to return. God, Clint could already hear his father’s booming voice inside his head. You were supposed to help your brother, Barney, he would scream, you need to pull your weight if you want to live under my roof, you useless fucking cunt. Then Barney would scream back, because of course he would, he did every single time, the utter moron, and their father would get angrier and angrier and just smack both of them a good few times before passing out drunk in the living room. Sometimes having a brother fucking sucks, he thought to himself, throwing the bag into the garbage bin, trying so very hard not to rip it because, really, the last thing he needed right now was to be covered in rotten meat and bones.

He went back to the shop, wrinkling his noise at the stench of old, dead animal, running straight to the sink to try and wash it off.

“Hey, shrimp”, he heard from behind him, turning around to see Barney, who was entering the shop with a big smile on his face. Clint was immediately suspicious.

“Where the hell were you? I had to take all the trash out by myself, asshole”.

“Hey, chill. I was helping Mr. Connor out with some boxes”.

“You’re supposed to be helping ME”.

“Yeah, well, that fat ass Harold doesn’t pay me”, he replied with a smile, putting his hand inside his pocket and taking two little pieces of chocolate out, “but Mr. Connor does. Here, take them, I already ate two!”

Clint didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly patted his hands on his worn out, dirty pants, trying to get them dry as fast as possible, before lunging himself at Barney, taking both pieces of chocolate. He put one in his mouth and almost moaned.

“Oh, man, that’s one of the good ones”.

“Yeah, none of that shit that tastes like cardboard! He gave me the expensive ones!”

“Awesome!”, the younger brother replied, already chewing the other piece with a satisfied sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s pretty good, now get your ass upstairs, I’ll finish up here”.

“Okay. Only thing left is mopping the front”.

“Yeah, I’ll do it. Take a shower, you stink”.

Sometimes having a brother can be pretty cool.

March, 2005.

Nuremberg, Germany.

It was cold. Too fucking cold. God, how he hated snow. He was wearing the new suit SHIELD had given him. It was warmer than the last one because science. The girl ― was it Fitz? Or Simmons? He always got confused with those two ― had explained to him every single new feature of his suit and Clint pretended to listen with interest while debating inside his own head what would be the best way to ask the girl if he could take one of the donuts on the nearby table. Still, even with all the thingamabobs they had put in his suit, it was fucking cold. Too fucking cold.

He was at the top of a building, bow and arrow on his back, watching Andrei intently and trying to find anything suspicious or out of place. Missions like this during winter were the worse. Everybody wore big coats with scarves covering their faces. Stupid winter.

“Hey, Andrei, you doing good, man”, Clint said on his comms, “you’re almost at the creepy ass house, just a little longer”.

“Do you see her?”, the Russian asked in a whisper, sounding terrified.

“Not yet, but don’t worry, I got you covered”.

“Why do I have to carry briefcase? Waste of time, makes it hard to run”.

“Come on, man, you were a spy. You know this shit. She sees the briefcase, she’s gonna think you’ve got something important there. That way she’ll only try to kill you in a place where she has easy access to it”.

Andrei huffed. “If you think that would stop Black Widow, you are more fool than I thought”. Clint decided to ignore the reply completely and just kept following him.

He knew the ex-KGB was scared. Damn, if it was him at Andrei’s place, he’d be scared shitless too. The man was a sitting duck, a literal walking target, and he was being hunted by one of the best assassins in the business. He had a damn good reason to be terrified. Clint couldn’t blame him for that.

It was a hard mission. Clint knew that. Andrei knew that. So many things could go wrong. The cold and the snow were problematic, he had no idea what the Black Widow looked like or even if they had really sent her in the first place. He had no idea what to expect from this. It’s true that was Clint’s specialty, going into the unknown with nothing but his courage, bow and arrow and devilish good looks. But this, this was another level entirely. Protecting a mobile target from an unknown threat was always hard. Protecting a mobile target from someone who once killed a man in the middle of a party with 400 people without being detected was, well, let’s just say it again, Andrei had a very real reason to be terrified.

Soon enough, Andrei reached the final destination of his little tour. And that’s when Clint saw her. She wore a black overcoat and had a blue scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, her red hair falling down like a fire waterfall. He barely had time to draw an arrow before she took out running. She was fast, even with the snow. Suddenly, a knife was flying through the air, aimed straight at Andrei’s head. She was fast and skilled. Well, I’m fast and skilled too, lady.

The arrow hit the knife with incredible precision. Clint smiled, proud of his own work and looked at where the supposed Black Widow was. She looked up, most likely trying to find him.

“Andrei, you might wanna run, man”, Clint said over the comms. It was pointless, really, because Andrei was no fool. He had already taken off, running as fast as he could inside the house.

The Black Widow soon followed. Clint aimed an arrow at her leg. He missed. Goddamn it, he thought, already drawing another arrow and trying to hit his target through the windows. Missed again.

“God fucking damn it”, he exclaimed, taking a “rope arrow” and aiming just above the window on the second floor. Using his bow, he quickly descended through the rope, slamming his body at the widow, glass going everywhere. He heard a gunshot. Shit shit shit.

Ok, so Clint was man enough to admit, the woman was terrifying. She stared at him like she was ready to cut him mouth to anus, open him up like a Christmas ham and feast on his insides. So, yeah, terrifying.

They fought. She was good. She was better than good. The Black Widow fought like she had been born for it. She fought like someone who had been fighting since preschool and had no problem in using every means necessary to win a fight. Clint knew his orders. Coulson’s voice suddenly appeared in his head as she broke his nose.

No one is going to cry too much over Andrei. Your priority is to eliminate the target. If it comes between saving his life and eliminating the Black Widow, you eliminate the target. Do you understand, agent?

He reached behind his back, trying desperately not to choke on his own blood as she pressed his own bow harder at his throat. Finally, he managed to grab one of the sedative arrows. He quickly covered his mouth and nose as pink smoke came out of his quiver. The Black Widow let go. Clint fell to the ground, covering his face and trying not to breath. He heard the sound of a body hitting the wooden floor and turned back. The Black Widow was down.

The smoke dissipated. Clint turned around, still sitting on the floor, and looked at her. He had a gun. He could make it fast, easy. She was heavily sedated, she wouldn’t even feel it. It would be mercy, really.

There’s no point in interrogating her. She won’t talk. Torture doesn’t work and she has no weak spots. Eliminate her on sight.

But shit. She looked young. Barely an adult. God, she was probably the same age he was when he… Damn. I had a second chance. Doesn’t she deserve one too? He knew it was different, but… Was it really? Were she and him really that different? She’d had a shitty childhood, much shittier than Clint’s, that’s for sure. Harold had been an abusive dick, but he was no Red Room. They had taken everything from her. Just like they had taken everything from Clint. Maybe, maybe she was more like him than he thought. Maybe all she needed was a chance to be good.

He turned his head, looking straight at Andrei’s body, blood covering the floor. Shit, he thought, getting up and walking towards the woman, Coulson is going to make me sleep on the couch for a year.

September, 1985.

Waverly, Iowa.

It was a good night. And Clint was aware how rare good nights were in his house, so he was determined to enjoy it. His mother was making steaks. Steaks! He couldn’t remember the last time he ate steaks. He started salivating just thinking about it. His father only ever let them have the crappy meats, the ones no one would buy. But today he had been in a good mood. According to Barney, some fancy guy had bought a shitload of meat from the shop and Harold was smiling from ear to ear. And when Harold was happy ― which was VERY rare ― so was the rest of the family.

Clint was sitting at the table, drawing in a piece of paper. He sometimes raised his head and watched his mother for a few minutes, cooking and humming a song he didn’t recognize. She looked happy. She deserved to be happy. He smiled. Barney was cutting potatoes, sometimes glancing longingly at the steaks. The whole kitchen smelled great. It was a great night. So, of course, Harold had to ruin it.

He came into the kitchen so fast Clint didn’t even notice him before he grabbed his hair and pulled him from his chair. He cried out in pain, trying to escape his father’s death grip.

“WHERE IS THE MONEY, YOU FUCKING CUNT”, he screamed, eyes wide and face as red as a tomato. He stank of alcohol. This is not good, was all Clint could think of.

“Let him go, Harold!”

“HE STOLE THE MONEY, EDITH, HE CLEANED OUT THE REGISTER, I KNOW IT WAS YOU BOY, WHERE IS IT”.

“He didn’t steal nothing, you fucking drunk, put him down”, Barney exclaimed, and when the man didn’t listen, he took the knife he was using before and waved it around menacingly, “PUT HIM DOWN”.

That finally got his father’s attention. He let go of Clint like he was a dirty sack of potatoes and stepped closer to his older son.

“Oh, is that how it is. You’re a big man now, aren’t you, you useless piece of shit? I bet it was you, wasn’t it. You’ve always been a greedy little bastard”.

“No one took your money, Harold, for the love of God”, Edith begged, putting herself between her son and her husband, “please, stop this!”

But Harold was having none of it. He took his wife’s arm and twisted it, pulling her closer. “You want to protect these little fuckers? FINE”.

He started dragging her out of the kitchen. “Stay with your brother”, Edith said when Barney tried to go after her, “stay with him, okay, dear?”

She was obviously trying not to cry, but both children could see the solitary tear streaming down her face. Harold slammed the kitchen door closed. Barney went straight for Clint, hugging his younger brother. “It’s gonna be okay”, he whispered as the boy covered his ears with both hands and cried, “it’s gonna be alright”.

This could have been a good night.

March, 2005.

Nuremberg, Germany.

She was still out, which was good, because Clint had no clue what he was going to say to her. Shooting people with a bow and arrow? Easy. Infiltrating the heavily guarded mansion of the boss of one of the most dangerous cartels in the world? Ugh, at least give him a challenge. Now, social interactions of any kind? Yeah, that was a big no-no.

So here he was, sitting on the floor, eating some cup noodles while he stared at the red headed woman in front of him, thinking what the hell he was going to say to her and how the hell he was going to convince her to join SHIELD. They were inside an old police station used by the agency as a safe house. There was no one there but Clint and the Black Widow. He had bound both her arms and legs and put her in one of the cells, locking the door and hiding the key. Not that any of this would actually stop her, he thought, wincing as he touched his broken nose. But it was the best he could do right now and that would just have to do.

He had called Coulson. Informed him that Andrei was dead, that they needed a cleanup crew to take care of the scene and that he had taken a very much alive Black Widow to a SHIELD safe house, surprise! Needless to say, his partner was not happy. He maintained a professional stance, like he always did, the perfect bastard, but Clint knew his Phil enough to notice the strain in his voice, the worry in his words. There were so many ways this could go wrong. So many. She could manage to run away and inform her employers that SHIELD was on to them. She could kill Clint in the process, leaving Phil to bury a disfigured body (if there even was a body in the end). She could accept Clint’s offer, betray him, steal a shitload of SHIELD’s secrets and return to Russia a hero. So many damn things could go wrong. But Clint knew that, if he didn’t do this, if he didn’t try, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Phil had been very honest with him. You’re projecting, agent Barton, he had said over the phone, she’s not you. She’s nothing like you. She doesn’t have what you have. And Clint knew what he meant. She didn’t have a Barney. She didn’t have a burning regret that destroyed her very being and reminded her everyday of how easy it was to succumb to a life of hatred and revenge. But maybe she had something else. Something that would make leaving this life of torture and complete lack of autonomy an easy choice, a smart choice. He could only hope that was the case. He was too young and handsome to die a horrible death on the hands of the world’s best assassin.

The woman stirred slightly. She moaned in a soft tone, moving her head slowly to the side, her eyes blinking as she woke up. The sedative was a strong one. She wouldn’t be able to actually move her body for at least three more hours, so that gave Clint plenty of time to talk to her. I hope. He continued to eat his noodles and stare at her. She stared right back at him, her face giving away nothing. She can put Coulson’s Neutral Face of Displeasure right out of business.

“Hi. I’m Clint”.

Oh for the love of fuck, did I just say “Hi, I’m Clint” to the world’s greatest assassin? What the ever loving fuck is wrong with me?

She said nothing, just kept on staring at him with dead eyes.

“So… I’d offer you some noodles, but I’m pretty sure you’d just get sick and throw up all over the floor, which would be gross. And, I’m gonna be very honest here with you, I’m also scared that if I get any closer you’re gonna bite my ear off and use it as a weapon”.

Still, she said nothing, but he could see the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“So, yeah. To summon up, I’m Clint. I work for SHIELD and they sent me here to kill you. So… Yeah, nice to meet you”.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry?”

She cocked her head slightly to the side, assessing him. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Oh, right. Yeah, no, I made a different call. I thought we could, you know, chat a bit, talk about the weather, our favorite TV shows, that sort of thing. You watch Friends?”

“You want information, then. You’re wasting your time”.

“No, no”, he replied, stuffing his mouth with more noodle, which made a bit hard to properly talk, “I mean, I’m not a complete sucker, you feel like giving me some information, I’m not gonna say no. But no, that’s not the reason you’re still alive. I mean, I read your file. SHIELD knows there is nothing we could do to you to make you talk, so yeah, that would’ve been a complete waste of time”.

“You talk too much”. Her voice was still a bit sluggish, but Clint could still hear the heavy Russian accent.

“So I’ve been told. So… Uh, are you by any chance looking for a new job? ‘Cause we could definitely use you at SHIELD. Plus we’ve got medical, dental, and the pay isn’t bad either”.

“You... Are you trying to hire me?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t it obvious?”

She raised an eyebrow, looking a bit confused. “I’d say this is the most bizarre job interview I’ve ever had, but then I’d be lying”.

“Good, Honesty is good. Honesty is the main foundation of any relationship. So, you’re interested?”

“If I say yes, will you let me go?” When Clint hesitated to answer, she smiled, “That’s what I thought”.

“Hey, come on, we just met. We need time to bond, to trust each other”.

“My employers trust me. You and your SHIELD could never. I’d be watched all the time, every step, every move. It doesn’t sound like a very fun work environment”.

“Do they? Your employers”, he clarified when she cocked her head in question, “Do they trust you? Or do they think you’re a pretty robot who can’t think for herself and just does as she’s told without ever questioning orders?”

She smiled. “So you think I’m pretty”.

“I’ve met someone else from the Red Room. Her name was Dorothy Underwood. SHIELD has some footage of her questioning. I noticed a few things, you know. Like the fact that she didn’t develop a personality, probably because the Red Room keeps their assets a blank slate to make it easier to control them and to mold them into whatever character they need to become to achieve their goals. Three people interrogated her. She mimicked them, like a mirror, the way they talked, the way they moved. Then, another person would come in, and she would change completely. You’re not like that, though. I can see it. Which means that you’re not a mindless puppet. Am I wrong?”

The Black Widow did not move. She did not take her eyes from him. Her face was as blank as it was when she first woke up. She said nothing.

“I don’t think I’m wrong. In fact, I’ll go as far as to say that maybe you’ve thought about leaving. You’ve thought about what it would be like to make your own decisions, to be your own person. To be more than just the Black Widow, to be… What’s your name again?”

“Natalia”, she replied in a whisper, “Natalia Romanova”.

Clint wasn’t expecting that. Maybe she was lying, just saying whatever name popped in her head, but… She looked sincere. She was looking down, pensive. Like she herself couldn’t believe she had just said that. If it was true, if that was really her real name, then maybe this would work. Maybe Clint was getting somewhere with all his crazy talk.

“Is that your real name? Or is that the name they gave you?”

“My real one. My parents gave me this name”.

“What happened to them?”

“Too poor. Hungry. Cold. They were offered money. They needed money. They could always make another child”.

The words. They sounded rehearsed, like the woman had been made to repeat them again and again and again until she knew them but heart. Until they became her truth.

“Is that what they told you?” Clint asked. She did not look at him, nor did she answer. “Where are your parents now?”

“I don’t know”.

“Wouldn’t you like to know them? Wouldn’t you like to know if that’s the truth?”

“What does it matter?” She answered, looking up at him. Her eyes hid some much pain Clint could almost feel it. “The past cannot be changed. The truth will change nothing”.

“You’re right. You can’t change your past. But you can change your future.”

“What future is there for me? You say you read my file. You know what I have done. What future is there for someone like me?”

“If I can have a future, so can you”.

This time, she laughed a humorless laugh. “I have stolen, and killed, and tortured in the name of my country”.

“I know. I’ve done that for SHIELD too. And…” He stopped, looking down at his now cold noodles with a sad smile. “I’ve done that before SHIELD too”.

The Black Widow was silent. Then, “Tell me your story”, she whispered.

Clint looked at her, surprised. “Okay. My father was an abusive drunk. He would hit us and shout at us. My mother took the heat when she could. They died when my brother and I were young. Car accident. He was drunk.”

Natalia nodded. “And then?”

“Foster homes. Hundreds of them. Well, not really, I’m clearly exaggerating, but yeah, a lot. Last one was the Millers. Nice couple, took Barney and me to the Circus one time. Three days later, Mr. Miller punched my brother so hard he had a concussion. We got the hell out of there after that. One abusive asshole had been enough to last a lifetime, thank you very much”.

“Where did you go?”

“The Circus. We hid on the back of one of their trucks. Trick-Shot, one of the carnies, found us. Gave us a lecture about hitching a ride without asking permission and told us he would call social services to take us home. We told him what had happened. He said ”fuck the system” and let us stay. Barney and I, we worked hard. I learned this…”, he said, patting the bow and arrow beside him on the ground, “… And I was good. Well, you saw it”.

“I did. It was quite impressive. For a man in a purple unitart”, she replied, with mirth.

“Yeah, well, I was the best. And I liked it there. But Barney wanted to leave. He wanted to join the army, so he got out. And I stayed. And I trusted the wrong people. His name was Jacques, the Swordsman. I caught him stealing money from the Circus. He beat me up to a bloody pulp, worse than even Harold ― my asshole of a father”, he explained when the red head shot him a confused look, “worse than he had ever done. He would’ve killed me if Trick-Shot hadn’t found us. He drove the asshole away and helped me get better. Then he told me about this business of his, easy money, easy job. We stole from some people, killed some other on the way. I figured, he saved me, you know. Least I can do is help him out. So I did. Then, one day he told me he had a big job, a game changer”.

“What was the mission?”

“Steal from Marko, the guy who loaned money to Jacques.”

He has a lot of security, so we need a sniper. You kill all the guards with that bow and arrow of yours while I get inside and take the money.

“What happened?”, Natalia asked in a whisper.

Clint huffed, shaking his head. “Turns out, my brother had done real great in the army. He became a CIA agent. His first job was to cover Marko’s ass. Protect him at all costs. I didn’t know it was him. Put an arrow through his heart”. Clint? Is that you? “He recognized me. He was coughing blood, could barely talk. Trick-Shot knew the whole time. He didn’t tell me”. No, no, please, Barney, no! “He died in my arms. I got pissed. Tried to kill Trick-Shot, but he was better than me. He took one of my own arrows, impaled me to a tree with it and left. Told me he would come back to kill me properly some day. SHIELD showed up”.

“And offered you a job?”

“Hell no!”, he laughed, “Arrested me. I told them all I knew, didn’t care either way. Than Co… This agent showed up. He tried to convince me that I was worth a damn, that I could do some good. It took him months to actually get through my thick skull, but hey, I had just killed my brother and been betrayed, again, by someone I considered family. It was hard to trust anybody else at that moment, especially a guy in a fancy suit”.

“How did he convince you?”

“He offered me something I desperately wanted but didn’t think I could have”.

“What was that?”

“A good life”.

Natalia was silent. She looked away from Clint, a thoughtful expression on her face. Clint waited.

“I will do it. I will be loyal to your SHIELD. I will do everything they tell me to do. But there is one condition”.

“Name it. I’ll see what I can do”.

“There is a girl. In the Red Room. I trained her. I want her”.

“To be an agent?”

“To be a person”, Natalia replied immediately, looking at Clint with determination, “she never submitted to the handlers, not the way others have. She follows the rules, she pretends to be compliant, but I know her. She will slip, make a mistake soon, and she’ll be killed for her actions. I can’t let that happen”.

“Ok. That sounds reasonable. I’ll talk to SHIELD, we’ll track her down. We won’t stop until we find her”.

“Then I’m yours”.

And in that moment, looking into Natalia’s eyes, he finally realized. As it turned out, they did have something in common. They both had someone they wanted to protect, someone they failed, someone they desperately needed to have safe and sound even if it cost them everything. In Clint’s case, it was already too late. Barney was dead, he was never coming back. But Natalia still had a chance. Natalia could still safe her Barney.

“What’s the girl’s name?”

“Anastasia”, she replied with longing in her voice, “her name is Anastasia”.

#pride and joy #chapter four #natasha romanoff #stony #tony stark #clint barton #black widow #hawkeye #Iron Man #captain america #steve rogers

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panda-noosh · 6 years

Text

Hiraeth {part two} {demigod!Lance x reader}

Words: 7k

Summary: Your life changed forever that day in the forest. The day the voices got too much. The day that single word brought you to what felt like the very brink of death - that was until Lance McClain, son of Poseidon, arrived to take you home.

Genre: percyjackson!au - angst

Notes: part 1 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7 - part 8 - part 9 - epilogue -yeehaw, the drama has started.

-----

Hiraeth - (n) a homesickness for a place you can’t return to, or that never was.

Chapter 2

Lance stayed by your side when the two of you were finally called for dinner by a most uncertain sounding camper. The girl – Lance later informed you that she was a child of Apollo – had been ordered to merely poke her head inside of the Hades cabin and tell you and Lance that dinner was ready; she had done so, but not before giving you a look that told you she was about to burst into tears simply by stepping foot inside of the cabin.

Lance's jokes died down. He didn't try and make light of the situation, didn't try and take away any of the shock you were feeling as you walked beside him towards the feasting area of the camp. Your hands were trembling, and you plunged them into the pockets of your coat in any attempt to hide them from prying eyes; what would people around you think if they saw how terrified you were right now?

Because that was truly the only word you could think of to describe the feelings coursing through you right now, the only logical explanation for the feeling of pure weakness slamming into you. You had lived your life on the streets, had almost been kidnapped on multiple occasions, had been forced to sleep on the cold brambles of a forest almost everyday for the past few years – but this was by far the most mortified you had ever been.

Lance led you over to the Hades table once the two of you finally reached the feasting hall. Twelve other tables were lined up, filled with chattering people, all of whom paused their conversations to look at you and Lance when you entered.

Lance placed a hand on the small of your back, pushed you through the gawking crowd a little quicker. “Just ignore them. They do this every time I walk in.”

You nodded slowly and allowed Lance to lead you over to an empty table on the far side of the hall. It was a direct contrast to the other tables which were spread out before you; they were packed full, some people even being forced to drag extra chairs over just to fight for a space upon the bench. The table you sat down at, though, held no such privilege, as it was completely empty.

Lance winced as he sat down next to you. “I really shouldn't be sitting here, you know. My table is over there.” He nodded towards another empty table set beside your own.

“You can go and sit over there if you want,” you mumbled. “I don't mind.”

“No. No, it's alright. I like the company.” He nudged your arm gently, but you paid him no attention. “Besides, it gets a little lonely. I'm sure Chiron won't mind if I give our newcomer a bit of a run-down on how meal times work.”

“I'm not really all that hungry.”

Lance frowned. You could feel his worried gaze pouring into the side of your face, could tell he wanted nothing more than to tell you to suck it up, because every single person in this camp had been through the exact same experience you had just been through; being told the deadbeat parents they always believed they would never figure out the identity to was actually an Olympic god.

And it still felt so surreal, even though you had pinched yourself a thousand times just to confirm it wasn't a dream – a nightmare.

Lance didn't say much after that. He simply stood up, went over to the buffet and stacked two plates full of food. He placed one in front of you, sat down, and started eating from his own.

“I scraped a little bit into the sacrifice fire for you,” he told you through a mouthful of rice. “That might entice Hades to come forward a little sooner.”

You raised a brow, head shooting over to look at him. He didn't seem to realise what he had just said, as he continued to stuff rice into his mouth, curiously glancing around at the campers.

“Come forward?” you repeated. “What are you talking about?”

“The claiming,” said Lance, as if it was obvious. He glanced over at you, noticed your confused expression and sighed, setting his fork down and turning his full attention to you now. “A claiming is basically whenever a god finally – well, claims their child. It's a big deal around here, and it's not usually very subtle.”

“Have you had yours?”

He nodded, but seemed to almost wince at the memory. “Mine was awful. Dad must have thought he was being a prankster or something – trying to keep up with the kids, you know? He ended up doing it whenever I was doing my introduction speech to the camp. Nobody knew who I belonged to – I was just the five year old who walked in with bruises, not knowing where he was. Chiron ended up making me introduce myself to everyone, and it was then that good old Poseidon decided to inform him of my parentage – it was traumatic.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What happened?”

“This massive trident thing started glowing above my head,” he explained. “Obviously, everybody else knew what it was but me, and they all started freaking out. 'A child of one of the Big Three!' You could have sworn I'd just spontaneously combusted in front of them all with how panicked they got.”

He scoffed and shook his head, diving back into the rice he was eating with a casual aura glaring off of him – you continued to stare at him, hand trembling. How had he gotten over such a thing? How could he sit beside you now and talk about such a moment with little care in his voice at all? You were certain that if something like that were to happen to you, you would be traumatised forever.

You swallowed thickly and turned back to the plate in front of you – there would be no point in dwelling on it now. No point at all. What was done was done, and you couldn't help who your father was. You would just have to try and push through, just like Lance had been doing all these years.

Dinner continued. Conversation from the other tables was loud and boisterous, but you and Lance were fairly quiet. Every now and then Lance would nudge your elbow and point out something he believed to be humourous, and you would put on a fake little laugh just to make him happy – in reality, all you wanted to do was curl up and sleep, forget this day had even happened. Maybe you would wake up back in the brambles, a headache still splitting through your skull. Maybe this was a dream, and you were just struggling to get out of it.

As dinner drew to a close and the sun slowly started to descend behind the mountains, Chiron stood up from the table that was placed at the front of the hall. You hadn't even noticed him sitting up there until now, though now that he had made himself known, you were unsure how you could have missed him at all. Sitting next to him was a shorter man in a Hawaiian shirt, a greying beard and curly dark hair – he seemed to be scowling up at the centaur before him, taking frequent sips out of the wooden mug he had.

“Half-Bloods!” Chiron suddenly cried, making you jump. The camp immediately went quiet and directed their attention to the centaur. “I hope you all ate plenty, for training will continue tomorrow and you will need all of your energy for next weeks game of Capture the Flag.”

Howls erupted from the Ares table, a boy standing up on the chair and yelling, “We're gonna destroy you!” to nobody in particular.

Lance leaned in and whispered, “The Ares kids get a little bit excited about Capture the Flag.”

You dumbly nodded.

Chiron continued. “Alright Sebastian, settle down, settle down. Although Capture the Flag is a big topic of conversation lately, there is something else I know you are all extremely curious about – our newest camper.”

You clenched your jaw as heads span around to look at you. A few people even went as far as to stand up on their seats in an attempt to get a better look at you.

“This is Y/N L/N, an unclaimed Half-Blood who came upon us today thanks to Lance McClain, son of Poseidon.” Lance grinned, waved as if he was waving to a crowd of fans. “You will all treat her with the utmost respect and I hope you can all find it in your hearts to welcome her with open arms – we all know what it feels like to join Camp Half-Blood for the first time, and it is nothing short of a scary experience.”

“How can you expect us to welcome a child of Hades?” a voice yelled out over the crowd. Immediately a bursting symphony of agreement fled over the hall, enticing an entire conversation that blocked out Chiron's speech.

You wanted to disappear.

You huddled your arms into your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible as the protests continued. Lance placed a gentle hand on your arm before ruining the gentle moment by swinging his head over his shoulder and yelling at a Hephaestus kid to mind his own business.

“Everyone! Everyone!” Chiron barked, slamming his hoof against the wooden ledge he was seated upon. “Y/N is unclaimed as of right now, meaning none of us have a right to claim her to be the child of the Underworld ruler – but if that is the case-” He knew full rightly that was the case. “-then we will continue to treat her with just as much respect as we would treat anybody else. This is not up for debate! You all know better than to judge a person based off of their parents actions!”

“She can raise the dead, Chiron!” someone yelled. “I don't mess with that kind of black magic!”

Your eyes widened. You weren't sure where the panic stemmed from, but it burst within you at a moments notice and there was no catching it. Lance's hand tightened on your arm as the exclamation settled – he had clearly meant to tell you that little nugget of information later on.

You span around on the bench to face him with wide eyes as Chiron continued trying to settle the crowd down.

“Raise the dead?” you hissed.

Lance winced, tried to cover it by awkwardly smiling at you. “Surprise?”

You tugged your arm out of his grip. You felt like water was rising above you, slowly dragging you under, slowly clawing away at your oxygen supply until there was nothing left. You stood up from the bench before you could stop yourself, before you could realise that you were currently standing amongst a group of demigods who could so easily put you down with a simple flick of their wrist.

“Y/N, please-” Lance started, reaching up to grab you.

You stumbled away from him, and the crowd grew quiet, turned to see what you were doing. You didn't care. You looked up at Chiron just the once, dared him to say anything, before you were spinning on your heel and marching away from the dinner hall.

You got as far as the Athena table before your head started to hurt.

It might very well have been the worst pain you had ever felt in your life. Blinding, white hot, as if somebody was continuously splashing flames against your forehead. You cried out, gripped your temples tightly in any attempt to ease the pain that was coursing through you, but it was no use. It continued to fight against your grip, forcing you to your knees. Despite the camps previous protestations against you, you were surprised to find a few of them rushing to your aid, calling out for somebody to get a medic.

“Let the Apollo kids through! Let them through!”

But it was Lance who crumbled to your side. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugged you into him and started whispering soothing words in your ear; you could hear him. You could hear him, you realised, because there were no voices. It was just pain. Just pure, unfiltered pain and you had no idea where it had come from.

An Apollo kid kneeled down on your other side and gently took your head in her hands. She ran her fingers along your forehead, concentrating, tongue peaking out of her mouth. You had an urge to pull away, to tell her to leave you alone, but you had to admit that the touch she currently wielded upon your skin was bringing you some form of relief.

But then her blue eyes widened, and her hands were falling from your face. She stumbled back, very nearly trampling over the shoes of the people circling you. Even Lance's grip seemed to falter across your shoulders, but he made no attempt to pull away from you.

“Oh gods,” the Apollo girl whispered.

“What? What's wrong?” you asked, before another strike of pain darted through your forehead, causing you to keel over. Lance tried to hold you up, but his grip was weaker now and it was clear he was feeling the same sense of shock as everybody else surrounding you. “What is it?” you cried. “What is happening?”

Lance's hands zoomed up from your shoulders and to your jaw; he tilted your head upwards, forcing you to look at the blinding light above you – it wasn't the sun. It had definitely not been there before.

Through the prickle of tears, you could just barely make out the symbol glowing, big and bright, above your head – a skull and crossbones.

Chiron stepped down from the dais. Everybody fell silent, but you could still hear the pantings of scared campers.

“You have been claimed,” the centaur said, a slight hint of disappointment evident in his voice. “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, daughter of Hades – god of the Underworld.”

---

You didn't sleep well that night.

All alone, curled up in the Hades cabin with the covers draped over your head. You were trying to block out the noise of the draft wafting in from the under the door, the sharp scream of the wind outside; Lance had told you that the weather was controlled entirely by Chiron, and you had half a mind to get out of bed and tell Chiron to stop making it so drafty.

But you didn't, because you felt as if you could barely move.

Your stomach was made of lead, it seemed like. Your legs were still weak from the pain that had coursed through you only a few hours prior, and, quite honestly, you just didn't want to leave the confines of the cabin. That meant facing people – people who very clearly didn't want to see you.

The next morning, you didn't leave your cabin until a few hours after you had awoken. You could hear the other campers filing out of their cabins, making their way to the breakfast buffet which you had hastily decided to skip – you would get something later on, whenever the dining hall was less packed full of people who thought you were going to kill them.

It was only whenever the darkness of the cabin started to gnaw at you did you finally get out of bed, get dressed into the orange shirt and trousers that had been left for you, and head outside.

The camp was in full spirits. People were sword fighting to your left, people were messing with the elements to your right. Chiron was wading between people, grinning and giving them pointers on how to hold a gods damned spear.

You nearly guffawed, very nearly stumbled over your own feet at such a bizarre sight – these people couldn't have been older than eighteen, and yet they were marching around with weaponry in their hands, slicing at the air as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Shocking, huh?”

You span around, nearly slamming into Lance. How he had snuck up behind you without making a noise was beyond you, but you decided not to question it. Instead, you folded your arms over your chest and ran your eyes down his figure.

He was dressed in an orange shirt that matched yours, his blue jacket draped over his shoulders. He was eating a churro, and holding a still fully-intact churro in his other hand.

He noticed you staring at it and quickly thrust it in your direction. “I noticed you didn't come down for breakfast this morning.”

You gratefully took the churro from him and nibbled on it as you watched the campers fighting in the fenced off area in the middle of the camp.

“You're gonna have to start doing that eventually, you know,” Lance said.

You scoffed. “I'm okay, thanks. I don't think I'd work well with a sword in my hand.”

“Well, it doesn't have to be a sword,” he said. “You could have a dagger, or a spear, or a trident, or a -”

“Or a pitchfork. Those are most commonly seen as symbols of death.”

Lance pursed his lips, immediately making you feel guilty for bringing the mood down; you shouldn't be speaking to him in this way, with so much hostility. He was one of the only people in this camp who were truly still supporting you, who didn't shiver every time you looked in their direction.

You sighed and nudged him gently, similar to the way he always nudged you. “Sorry. I'm still a bit . . . Shook up over what happened yesterday.”

“At dinner?”

You nodded. “I just don't understand why it had to happen there. Surely Hades – my – my dad – has a bit more kindness towards his kids than that.”

“My dad did the same thing. They're very strong gods, Y/N, meaning they make very strong children.”

“I must have got more of my mothers genes-”

Lance suddenly grabbed your elbow, forcing you to look at him. His face had morphed into a stern expression, his sharp jaw clenched and the veins in his neck protruding from the tanned skin. “Don't say that. I know this is weird for you, but this is your life now – this is who you are. There's a reason people are so scared of the children of the Big Three. We're powerful. Once we lodge ourselves into our powers properly-”

You shrugged your arm out of his grip. “I don't want to lodge into my powers. From what I've heard, I have the ability to raise the dead, and that doesn't sound like something I'm particularly excited to do.”

“They were being dramatic whenever they said you could raise the dead,” Lance mumbled, sheepishly taking another bite of his churro. “You can control the dead – you're not making them come back to life or anything. It's skeletons who are under your control.”

Your mouth ran dry. You fought off the urge to laugh at him, because you knew he was telling the truth. That was all he had been doing since the day he met you – just because it sounded unbelievable, didn't make it a lie.

“The sooner you start training, the better,” continued Lance. “How about me and you go down to the lake after lunch today and see what you can do?”

“I can't do anything,” you replied. “I didn't even know I had powers until yesterday.”

“Well then we'll start you off.” He smiled down at you, as if the idea of your life changing forever was something that amused him. “I'm a good teacher, I promise.” ---

The lake glistened. At the moment, it was the only comfort you were being given as you nervously waited for Lance to make his appearance.

You had agreed. Foolishly agreed to let him train you in the art of godly powers. Lunch had just ended, and you had spent the time pacing the camp nervously, not having the confidence to show your face amongst the other campers just yet – you weren't sure if you ever would.

They had every reason to be terrified of you, of course. You knew that. Apparently you held a power that they could only dream of, and because of your parentage, they were terrified of you. Again, you couldn't blame them. If you were in their position, you would be scared as well.

You folded your arms and stood over the edge of the lake, half tempted to slip your shoes off and dip your toes in. You could see the tiny little fish swimming around, darting to the surface every now and then before splashing back amongst the soft waves with a splash.

You smiled. It was peaceful. There was nobody here to disturb you, nobody who was terrified of you. It was just the fish, and the moon, and the soft sway of the-

Your thoughts were cut off as the lake suddenly exploded.

You cried out, stumbling back so hastily that you ended up tripping over your own feet and crashing onto your backside in the dirt. The water exploded up around you, rained down on your head until – for the second time in two days – your hair was draped over your eyes in soaked sheets.

After the water had splashed back into the lake, you could make out the sound of Lance's hysterical laughter behind you.

“I had to!” he exclaimed. You scrambled back onto your feet, turned to face him with a glare. He was doubled over, one arm looped around his middle, one hand pressed against his knee. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay? I just – The opportunity was too perfect to miss!”

You grumbled under your breath, slamming your hands into his shoulders. He chuckled at the action, slowly straightening himself back up and giving you an apologetic smile that you merely scowled at in response.

“Alright, alright. Let's get started,” he said, a hint of humour still evident with every word. “We should probably start by doing nice stretches.”

You raised a brow. “Stretches?”

He paused, looking at you curiously. “I don't really know what powers you were granted when you came out of the womb, meaning we have to be prepared for anything. You could very well injure yourself if we're not careful. Now, this is a stretch I like to call the Cockroach-”

“Can we not just – I don't know – mess around with some tactics and see which one works?”

Lance frowned, pausing in the odd pose he had taken up. Upon seeing that you hadn't been following his instructions, he quickly scrambled up and ran his hands down his blue jacket, coughing awkwardly. “Right. Yeah. That sounds like the best option.”

“Show me how you work your powers,” you said, stepping away from the lake and allowing Lance to take centre stage. He shot you a wary glance before stepping forward, and you could make out the soft hue of pink that was slowly crawling up his neck.

You hid your amused smile behind your hand, watching him closely.

You had to admit that Lance was powerful. He worked the water so well, as if it was made for him, as if he had formed every lake in the universe and knew exactly how each of them worked. He had closed his eyes, took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders back – and then he started.

It was like watching a water show at the zoo or something. It oddly brought you back to childhood, and you realised that it wasn't entirely down to the water that was currently forming shapes around you – it was Lance as well. It was the energy he gave off, the pure and raw joy he seemed to radiate at all times, but now more than ever. He was always smiling, always telling little jokes to make people laugh, but you had never seen the man look so. . . at home.

He moved his hands fluidly in front of him, and the water rose up into the air. It was in sheets at first, before he crossed his hands over his chest and the droplets crashed together, forming the shape of a dolphin leaping out of the water. The figure wiggled in the air for a moment before Lance put his hands back to his side and it delved back into the lake, disappearing for good.

And then he was creating more shapes – wolves grazing through mountains, a kitten playing with a ball of yarn, a centaur that looked suspiciously like Chiron – that one made you laugh, a real laugh that you hadn't heard from yourself in a very, very long time.

But Lance kept his eyes closed, and you were too in awe to stop him. Your fingers were itching to do the same, to work the water even though you knew you couldn't – whilst Lance had the beautiful abilities of manipulating the water into gorgeous shapes, you would soon find yourself doing the complete opposite.

Your powers were ugly, and his glistened.

It took a few minutes for Lance to finally come back to earth. His eyes popped open and he let his hands fall to his sides, the water dropping from the air and landing with a splash back into the lake. He turned to look at you, nervously scratched the back of his neck and gave you a sheepish smile that told you he very rarely showed off his powers to people – you had no doubt in your mind that nobody ever really asked.

You started clapping, slow and truthfully. Lance flushed a deep red colour, waved his hand in front of his face as if telling you it wasn't a big deal, but you couldn't stop the smile from arising on your cheeks.

“That was incredible,” you said. “You're incredible.”

Lance grunted. “It was nothing. That's not gonna help me if I'm under attack.” He turned back to the water, clicked his fingers, and immediately the water started swirling around at a speed you could barely comprehend. It blew your hair out of your face, sent tiny droplets of water spraying across your skin. You could taste the salt water, crinkled your nose up but continued to watch with curiosity nonetheless.

“A whirlpool,” Lance explained. “I know you have those in the mortal world, and they're very dangerous.” He clicked his fingers again and the whirlpool froze. “I don't do that often. Chiron warned me it wasn't the best for my reputation to start showing people the height of my strengths.”

“He isn't exactly wrong.” You stepped forward, craned your neck to get a better look at the water. “I think it was beautiful, though.”

Lance was silent for a moment. You continued to look down into the water, curiosity getting the better of you. It was funny how you could change mood so quickly, how you had once been dreading the idea of working your own powers, but now that you had seen Lance do it so well, you suddenly craved to feel the same way.

Lance coughed, breaking the silence in his usual, awkward way. “Alright then. Let's get started with you, shall we? Stand in front of me and don't break eye contact. Whatever you do, keep your eyes on me.”

You nodded, unsure as to what he was doing but refusing to question it. You stood in front of him, let your eyes burn into his blue ones. He narrowed his own, raised a brow, tilted his head – testing you to make sure you never once broke the eye contact.

You giggled as he quickly zoomed to the left. Your eyes followed him and he grinned.

“Good. Now, what I want you to do is conjure up an image that makes you angry – any image at all. A memory, a person's face – think of Keith, for example. Keith Kogane. The guy with the ugly hair and the red jacket.”

“I don't know who that is.”

“Lucky you,” mumbled Lance, before shaking his head and getting back to business. “I need you to think of something that just infuriates you. Strong emotions are key for bringing up somebody's powers.”

There was plenty that made you angry, you realised. You thought long and hard, the different experiences you had been through in life flashing through your mind, reminding you of all the times you could have very easily slammed your fist into a wall.

But there was one memory that was immediately brought to the forefront, a memory that immediately made true anger swell in your very being.

It was the one memory you had left of your mother – the memory of her drinking as your young self stood in the doorway, begging for her to make dinner. She had acted like she hadn't even heard you, continued to take a swig of her drink, before she had turned to you and spat, “You aren't my daughter. I didn't give birth to a mutant.”

Lance must have noticed the flash in your eyes. He nodded slowly to himself, placing his hands on your shoulders as he continued to give instructions. “Now I need you to channel that anger all throughout your body. It might sound confusing, but I know you can do it. You'll feel it – all of us Half-Bloods do. It's strong, unlike any human emotion. Do you understand?”

You nodded. You understood perfectly. The memory you had chosen was dancing on the brink of your brain, and you understood, even though it was nothing you had ever experienced before. You clenched your fists, felt the anger spearing through you, trickling through your very system like the water Lance had just manipulated.

Mutant. Mutant. Mutant.

Your stomach clenched. You gritted your teeth. You had never let your anger go on for so long, so harshly. You were usually so adamant to stop it, never wanting trouble that was unnecessary.

But now it was being let free, and you thought about your mother and the shit she had put you through purely because of your father.

It was her fault you had been alone your entire life. It was her fault you had never known who you were, where you came from, where you belonged. Because as you stood on the edge of this lake now, with anger spearing through you and Lance nodding enthusiastically in front of you, you realised that this very place was where you should have been the entire time. With people like you. Proving to them that you could be an equal, even though your father was a god who provoked such fear in people.

And then something popped.

You heard it dimly in the back of your head, and it immediately startled you back to reality. Your fingertips tingled, every bone in your body vibrating beneath your flesh.

You backed out of Lance's grip, suddenly afraid of hurting him somehow, even though you were completely oblivious to what you had done. Lance was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes twinkling.

You continued to back up, back up, back up, until your heel crashed against something and you fell backwards with a yell.

You crumbled to the floor, eyes immediately darting to the thing you had fallen over – and what you saw made your heart fall to your stomach.

It was a single bone, sticking up out of the mud. It looked to be the bone of a finger, as if a skeleton had tried crawling out of the ground but had gotten stuck just as they reached the surface.

“No,” you croaked out. “No, no, no. I didn't do that, did I? That was here when we got here, wasn't it?” Your eyes snapped up to Lance, who was looking at you in shock, as if he had fully expected you to love the idea of yourself causing skeletons to crawl up out of the floor. “Lance, please tell me-”

“I told you it was dark magic!”

Your eyes snapped up to the path that led out of the lake. Standing there was a tall man with long, white hair tied up in a ponytail. He wore a purple jacket and the same orange shirt underneath, a fairly well-beaded necklace strung around his neck.

He was looking at the bone at your feet, half in horror and half in amusement.

Lance was immediately standing in front of you, kicking the bone back into the mud and covering it with soil. You watched him do it, feeling horrible – was that truly the hand of a dead person? Lance had just kicked it back into the dirt as if had been nothing.

“Get back up to camp, Lotor,” Lance growled. “There's nothing to see here.”

“Well clearly that's a lie,” 'Lotor' sneered. “She's just tried bringing the dead back up! When Mr D finds out about this, he's going to be-”

“Mr D knows that Y/N needs to train. He isn't going to do anything.” Lance smiled then. “He already thinks you at the Ares cabin are pretty wimpy anyway. Wouldn't want to throw your siblings under the bus any more than they already are, would you?”

Lotor's lips curled into a snarl as he kept his eyes firm on Lance – Lance knew he was stronger, and Lotor knew that too. Although he had yet to back down, he had yet to make a move, either.

Finally, Lotor scoffed and swung his head back, the stray strand of white hair being pushed back by the movement. “You should watch who you spend your time with, Lance. This might very easily come back to bite you in the ass, and we both know your father isn't too keen on protecting his off-spring.”

With one final glare in Lance's direction, Lotor turned on his heel and headed back up the path.

You leaned forward and pressed your head in your hands. “They all think I'm doing dark magic.”

Lance sighed. You heard him kneel down beside you, felt his skinny arm once again wrapping around your shoulders. “Don't listen to Lotor. He's just angry because his dad isn't one of the Big Three and he doesn't feel special – Ares sleeps around with mortal women all the time, which means Lotor is one amongst many. He's just angry that Chiron doesn't pay him as much attention as he does to us.”

You nodded slowly, trying to understand what Lance was saying but failing to do so. Lotor didn't seem like the type of man who was just pushed off to the side – he had a sense of authority radiating off of him that had almost stunned you when he first appeared, very nearly made you feel as if you were about to be told off by a superior.

“You did a good job today, though,” said Lance softly. You looked up and gave him a grateful smile, despite the horror you still felt at the idea of you unearthing a dead, decomposed body. “Not many demigods are able to grab onto their powers so early. You must have been really angry.”

He chuckled nervously. You gave him the benefit of the doubt and laughed along with him, even though you didn't feel humourous or joyful in the slightest.

“I think we should wait until later on until we do anything else,” you said. “At least until the other campers have gone to sleep.”

“You don't really care about what they think, do you?” Lance asked, helping you up as he did so. “Y/N, you have every right to train with your powers – just as they do. They can't stop you.”

“I know that. I know.” You ran a hand through your hair. “I just don't want the campers to be any more afraid of me. Whilst I have a right to train, they also have a right to not live in fear, you know? I've only been here a day – I'm trying to make a decent first impression.”

Lance pursed his lips and continued to stare at the back of your head as the two of you descended from the lake.

---

Lance all but forced you to join him for dinner the previous day.

You had been avoiding his training sessions all day, instead busying yourself with trying to rack up a few more clothes from the other cabins – the campers had been too afraid of you to say no, and had given you everything you needed upon you asking for it.

But now, you sat beside Lance at the Poseidon table, trying your hardest to avoid the glares being sent to the back of your head by Lotor and his friends over at the Ares table, which was always the loudest at dinner.

Lance chewed on a piece of steak, letting out soft 'mm's' of appreciation. You picked away at your own meal, finding it too difficult to eat anything that you had to chew – you felt as if your throat had closed up completely.

Lance stuck his fork in your face, a piece of steak pierced through the tongs. “Want a bite?”

You pushed his arm away. “I'm good.”

“You have to eat something.” Lance groaned, set his own fork down and picked up yours. You watched on in amusement as he pierced a piece of asparagus and brought it to your lips – you couldn't hold back your giggle, giving Lance the perfect opportunity to slip the asparagus into your mouth.

You chewed on it, shaking your head. “I'm not a baby.”

“Until you start acting like an adult, that's how I'm gonna treat you.” He roughly bit at his steak again, gravy spewing down his chin. “I did not travel for four days straight to find you, just for you to arrive at Camp Half-Blood and starve to death. It's not happening.”

“You must feel real good knowing you've basically saved my life.”

Lance shot a glare in your direction, mouth still full of steak. “I don't appreciate the sarcasm.”

You giggled, but continued to eat your dinner – he was right. At the end of the day, eating was the best thing you could do. Years of malnutrition should have had you mauling the food in front of you – you had a chance to repair your damaged body, and you needed to take it.

Dinner went on. You and Lance continued to joke around, him finishing his meal and immediately beginning to complain about how he would have had more if he wasn't forced to scrape half of his meal into the sacrifice fire up at the front.

You listened to his complaining until they were drowned out by the screaming.

Your head snapped up, fear slamming through you instinctively. It seemed as if the rest of the camp didn't have those natural moments of debate, as almost immediately, Lance and the rest of the campers were jumping out of their seats and barrelling down the hill towards the noise.

You swallowed thickly before following close behind them; they were all heading down to the lake.

“What's going on?”

“Is anyone hurt?”

“Let the Apollo cabin go first, just in case!”

You lagged behind, standing on your tippy-toes at the back of the crowd in your attempts to see what all the hassle was about.

The gasps confirmed something for you – this was not a false alarm.

A girl in a green jacket suddenly threw herself forward into a man in yellows arms, gasping for air. Tears were streaming down her face, and as soon as the man in yellow wrapped his arms around her, she broke down. She buried her face in his shoulder and started wailing, too overwhelmed to describe what she had just witnessed.

You risked stepping forward, and immediately regretted it.

Because laying by the edge of the river was a dead body.

Dead in a way you had never seen before, and you had seen plenty of dead bodies in your time. Living on the streets made it difficult to avoid seeing dead bodies, hidden behind alleyways, bodies of your friends who had gone one day too long without food. But this was unlike anything you had ever seen.

It was the body of a man with ginger hair and a ginger, curled moustache. He was sprawled out in the dirt, and there were black veins crawling up his body, attacking his arms and his neck until his face almost looked inhuman. His mouth was open as if he had been screaming, his eyes wide and the glasses on the edge of his nose shattered.

Chiron pushed forward. “Coran.”

“What happened to him?” Pidge, the girl in green, wailed. “I was just – I was walking down here to go and feed the serpents, and he was just there!”

“Who is responsible for this?” Chiron bellowed, as if he genuinely expected an answer. “This was not an accidental death! The gods will have seen the culprit-”

“We don't need the gods help.”

All eyes snapped over to Lotor, who took a big and bold step forward into the spotlight. Lance reached out and grabbed your hand – you hadn't even realised he had come to your side.

Lotor turned and faced the crowd. “This was the work of dark magic – we all know there's only one person here who has the ability to kill, whose father prides himself on death – this was the work of Y/N L/N, daughter of Hades.”

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Lance suddenly yelled, and for the first time, it was you who had to tangle your hands with his own, tugging him back before he could throw himself towards Lotor. “Chiron, you don't believe a word he says, do you? That douchebag has had it out for the kids of the Big Three since he stepped foot inside of this gods damned camp!”

“Stop yelling, Mr McClain.”

“Not until he admits he's just being a jealous little prick!”

“Lance!” you exclaimed, tugging him back roughly. Lance stumbled into your chest, his breathing heavy. He never once took his angered glare off of Lotor, who was simply shaking his head in faux disappointment.

“You see, Chiron?” he said. The centaur had his head bowed, looking down at the dead body at his hooves. “The children of the Big Three are as we always suspected – uncontrollable, dangerous. Lance loses his temper and starts yelling to the heavens almost as soon as somebody disagrees with him. Is it really that big of a stretch to think that the daughter of Hades has the same temper, that perhaps she took things a little too far?”

“She hasn't even known she's a Half-Blood for more than two days,” Hunk, the man in yellow, spoke up. “I find it hard to believe she's already capable of killing a man.”

Lotor grinned now. “Funny you say that, Hunk. I happen to have bore witness to her unearthing a skeleton only yesterday afternoon – she's a lot more powerful than we've given her credit for.”

Chiron's head snapped up. Your body froze, horror flooding through you – oh gods he was right.

“Is this true, Miss L/N?” Chiron asked, voice wavering.

You swallowed the golf ball sized lump in your throat, head snapping left and right, as if begging the other campers to step in and help you – you didn't know what to say. Did you confess and make yourself seem powerful, or did you lie and make yourself seem guilty?

It was Lance who eventually answered for you. “Pointing your fingers at the new girl purely because she's powerful is a bullys move. You know that, Chiron. You're better than that.”

Chiron whinnied. “I don't know what to think right now, Lance.”

“You need to start looking into the real evidence!” Lance barked. “Hunk was right – Y/N hasn't even known she's a demigod for that long. She had a strike of luck yesterday with her powers, but even then she was only able to unearth a finger from a skeleton – she's most definitely not at the level to kill someone!” “This coming from another child of a Big Three god,” Lotor sneered. “You protect each other because you're both outsiders. It's obvious to see.”

“If you don't shut your gods damned mouth, Lotor-”

“Enough!” Chiron barked, holding up a hand to silence the arguing demigods. “I will look into this. Until I can rule out the suspects, Y/N is at the top of my list.”

“Chiron-” Lance wailed, but you stopped him by placing a hand on his chest. He inhaled deeply, stepped back and bit down into his bottom lip, clearly trying to hold back his temper.

Chiron shot you an apologetic glance, the last piece of hope he was going to give you that he didn't truly believe Lotor's claims – but you couldn't blame him for keeping you under close eye. You were the new arrival, had the power to kill if you so wanted to. Even though you had yet to learn such a skill, would never want to learn such a skill, it made sense why Chiron would think of you as the lead suspect.

“Everyone back to their cabins for the night. Training is cancelled until tomorrow morning,” said Chiron. “Somebody help me move this body.”

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popculturespiritwow · 6 years

Text

THE WICKED + THE DIVINE #27: OB-SESSION

After many months, I’m back! Sorry for the long silence. Life=Crazy=Sorry.

I’m planning over the next couple weeks to post summaries of the rest of Imperial Phase I & II and then hopefully I’ll catch up soon after that. It’s hard to believe there’s only a few more issues left. (Nooooooooooo.)

I’ve actually held off reading the most recent couples issues until I’ve gotten back onto this, so if as we go you’re wondering how it is I don’t already know this or that, that is how. I think the last issue I read had all kinds of crazy reveals about Baal. Speaking of which...

BAALER (I Hate Myself for this Title But There You Are)

The big reveal of issue 27 is that Baal has some kind of magic super secret voodoo he can use to stop the Great Darkness. It builds on last issue, where we learned he’d not only been previously briefed on the GD by Ananke but seen his father murdered by it. It’s also the beginning of another shoe dropping, except we don’t really know what gets squished beneath it for another eight issues and two specials and like a year of reading time so it doesn’t seem like a shoe so much as a hmm, that’s mysterious, I’m sure it’s fine, shall we rave then?

I love the visual structure of this page, the way it uses repetition to express the passage of time and also distance to simultaneously demonstrate our own distance as readers from whatever horrible nightmare things are going on and to minimize those events. (It’s so small; whatever it is, it couldn’t be that bad, could it?)

(Baal, what have you done...)

I also like how Baal’s “reassurance” to Mini repeats his mother’s words from last issue--“It is what it is,” but then adds on in a way that sounds like the sort of ‘steel yourself for nightmares’ mantra learned from everyone’s favorite grandmonster. Even as it gives Baal an adult-sounding stoicism, it also makes him sound like a little boy.

And speaking of Baal’s complicated relationships with children: Had we been told before now that Mini ascended just a month after him? It strikes me as a brilliant move on Ananke’s part. Right from the start she’s set up her replacement self as a little sister for Baal to protect.

Two issues in a row we’ve got Mini as the seeming target of the Great Darkness bug fiesta. Is that because it knows who she really is/will be? Is the GD somehow in league with Ananke, and the attacks on Mini are just another way of keeping everyone thinking of her as Everybody’s Favorite Divine Lil Sis? Or does this, too, have something to do with Baal? Could it be that it’s actually Baal and not Laura that is well and truly cursed?

TOPOGRAPHICAL FLUIDITY

The heart of issue 27 is the five double-page spreads in which the standard left to right, up to down of Western comic storytelling slowly breaks down. On the first splash we’ve got a Laura/Sakhmet story riding the top, then the lower three quarters of each page telling their own stories (though really it’s the continuation of Baal’s story from page one to two). The second spread flips the structural arrangement, but now the left and the runner are continuing a story while on the right page we’re with Laura and Baph and Laura’s sister and ow oh God that hurts to read.

The pages continue to shift and change from there, with one section always following Laura, at least one following Dio/Cass at the rave, and the other one or two checking in on what other characters are up to.

The thing I love about the approach is how it speaks to the disintegration within the group that Laura ordained with her choice of “Anarchy” last issue. We’re not in complete collapse by any means, we can definitely follow the narratives, but the idea that these characters are starting to go in different directions is literally demonstrated in the structure of the page.

And also in the way the pages alter the visual language of Dio’s earlier rave (from issue 8). We’ve got the same 16 block grid structure, but it’s twice as dense; now every block contains an actual story panel, as compared to half for most of 8, with the other half used for the ongoing rave 1-2-3-4 countdowns.

Whereas issue 8′s dance pages had a sort of expansiveness, a sense of the rave as the overriding context that the story panels are just a part of, in 27 we’ve lost all that. In fact the rave is only one small part of what’s going on, even as its grid and color frames remain. (It’s interesting to see the rave visual style used as well for what precedes and follows it; it’s like the energy of the rave is starting to bleed out beyond the confines in which it makes sense.)

It’s also worth noting the rave in issue 8 ends with different members of the Pantheon one after another finishing Dionysius’ sentence, as though all one person. Another great contrast with the never-united narratives of issue 27.

But you know, even seeing how issue 27 offers an intensifying deterioration of the rave joy feel of issue 8, I still easily get lost in the visual dance of its two page spreads. I think it’s those bright frames; they just read to me as “fun”. (Apparently I’d be all good living in a prison camp as long it was decorated with Christmas lights.)

One moment does really snap me out of it, though:

No matter how bad things have gotten, Drunk Child Star Mini feels very unexpected. Plus who is she talking to? The camera team? Herself? Ananke Within?

(Actually, going back to issue 8 I realize we get a similar moment where out of the blue the story cuts to Minerva, talking directly to the camera with that same combination of ‘Don’t mind me.” and “Life sucks.”

So she’s almost certainly talking to their documentary squad.)

Mini drinking is not the worst thing we see in these pages by any means.

Ow. Ow. Oh God, Oh God it hurts.

But somehow that Mini moment (that mini Mini?) (#sorrynotsorry) is the moment I find most off key.

ONE MORE ONE MORE TIME

Hmm. That comparison between the two Mini moments has got me thinking...

You know, give me a second...

*time passes*

So hey, I’m back. I just went back through the rave in issue 8. Here are some of its major beats:

Dio tries to help Laura let go.

Laura becomes a part of everything going on.

Laura talks about her family and sketches them in light.

Cassandra cannot connect.

Sakhmet and Laura look each over and then start dancing together.

Woden watches.

Mini is left out.

The Morrigan warns Laura about getting too into Baphomet.

Everyone unites around Dio’s thought of making people’s lives better, because the end is coming soon.

Each of those beats is returned to issue 27.

Dio tries to help Cassandra let go.

Laura tries to disconnect from everything that’s happened.

Laura thinks about when she got Baphomet to create an illusion of her family.

Cassandra finally connects, saying “You’re full of stars”, which is what Laura said to her at the rave in issue 8. But then she rejects the connection.

Laura, now with Sakhmet, wonders what’s the worst thing she could do to her.

Woden watches. (Jamie uses the very same image.)

Mini is still left out, and now drinking.

Laura gets too into Baphomet, and now Baphomet is locked away with the Morrigan.

Cassandra rejects the connection.

There’s a little more in each rave than that (Woden plotting, Woden calling for a hook up, Baal and Inanna), but you gotta love the way the parallels show those stories having progressed (and not for the better).

(Also, I know Dio is on life support at this point, but man it feels like there should be one more cast rave, doesn’t it? Jonesing for my rule of threes.)

LOCK STEP

In the final pages we shift to two pages of a sort of call and response; on the left side we get David telling us what’s “really going on”, aka in year two the gods lose it, and on the right we cut back to each god in their own version of doing that, and ending on the punch line of Cassandra.

She’s the one god who seems to have her head well and truly on straight, the adult in the room, but here she is just staring silently at what has been her white whale the whole issue, Ananke’s Murderous Mystery Machine.

Gillen’s notes on this moment are familiar, chilling and wonderful:

Comrade Rossignol, my old partner in crime, game developer and co-writer on The Ludocrats, and I have a line we tend to quote to one another. It’s a paraphrase of a quote from Ballard: ‘My advice to anyone in any field is to be faithful to your obsessions. Identify them and be faithful to them, let them guide you like a sleepwalker.’

We quote it as: ‘Stay true to your obsessions and your obsessions will be true to you.’

It’s basically been our respective careers’ magnetic north, but there’s certainly times when I wonder how good it’s proved for us as human beings.

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE

You could easily go from Cassandra staring silently up to the spooky final full page spread of her white whale itself. But instead Gillen gives us an extra six panel page first. It seems puzzling; we don’t really need to have David ask “Are you okay?” We already know that Cass isn’t, and that she doesn’t know it.

But for me what makes that page so important is that it gives the other Norns the chance to ask David about their own fate. Imperial Phase I has taken Skuld and Verdandi from silent back-up singers to real emotional partners with Cass, indeed the dominants to her submissive. By presenting us with the question of their fate we’re reminded of the fullness of their humanity; their lives are just as valuable as that of Cass.

Their question also plays very much to Gillen’s comment about the destructive impacts of artistic obsession. These gods don’t just hurt themselves; they put their families, their fans, their friends at risk. What will Skuld and Verdandi do when those dangers come for them, one wonders...?

#wicdiv #kieron gillen #jamie mckelvie #Hoping for a Skuld and Verdandi sitcom spinoff #matt wilson is the god of colors

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silentwhispofhope · 6 years

Text

Empyreal Adventures (Ezra Bridger X Reader) Part 5

Last Chapter <> Next Chapter

To say your face was blushing mess was an understatement. It looked more like a volcano was about to go off. Covering your face with your unrestrained hand, you let out a shaky breath. My god, you thought to yourself.

"(Y/N), I'm sure everything with be ok," Chin-Sun told you before gently patting your good shoulder.

Your (E/C) eyes followed her as she moved throughout the room collecting supplies. The nurse paused for a moment. As if she was suddenly brought out of her thoughts, she bursted back into movement. Chin-Sun returned next to you. Motioning for you to lift your arm, she gently unwrapped the sling around yourself. You quietly watched her movements. Eventually, her voice broke the air.

"Have you been feeling any pain in your shoulder?" She asked softly.You shook your head.

"Good," she stated before moving on.

Letting out a huff, you moved your injured shoulder only to realize how stiff it was from not moving for a day. Glancing back up to the Asian woman, she pointed at your black shirt. Receiving Chin-Sun's message, you struggled to pull it off. So much so, you got stuck. Letting out a small squeak, the nurse began to chuckle. With a quick pull, she released you from your trap. You took the opportunity to glance at the gauze covering your wound. Mixtures of red were splattered among the once white cloth. Tiny, bright red dots began to appear. A look of panic was displayed onto your face. Chin-Sun quickly noticed, and gazed at the bandages.

"Honey, it's ok. That's what happens when you move a healing wound," she reassured.

Lifting your arm, you pulled it through your bra strap. Gently, the black haired woman began to pry away the gauze surround your chest. Cold air shocked your exposed (S/C) skin. You let out a shudder. When the nurse removed the final gauze, you were finally able to see your wound. The grotesque sight was one that could make anyone gag. Your skin was a combination of pinks and reds where you were hit. The outer edges were just beginning to heal. Scabs were attempting to form. Key word: attempting. There was also pus forming along the scabs. You were one hundred percent sure it would leave a scar. Cringing at the sight, you decided to keep you vision forward. Chin-Sum shuffled out of your view. A series of snaps and clicks could be heard. Suddenly, a substance hit your injury. One minute it was freezing, the next it felt like it was ablaze. You let out a hiss of pain.

"Sorry! Sorry!" The nurse apologized, flailing her hands in the air. "It should stop hurting soon!"

Her attempt of reassurance was kind, but it didn't help. It felt like eternity waiting for the pain to subside. You had to bite you lip and squeeze your hands to keep yourself from letting out a yelp. A familiar metallic taste soon filled your mouth. An array of colorful words flooded your mind. Eventually, the pain dwindled away. You let out a heavy breath that you had been holding in. Chin-sun appeared in front of you, kneeling to your eye level. Tucking in your swollen lip, you tried to hide the bleeding. Your attempt failed when she let out a heavy sigh. She quickly covered it with a reassuring smile.

"Sorry," you said softly.

"There's no need to apologize," she stated. "It seems I just... underestimated the strength of the antibiotic."

Giving you a quick pat the head, she grabbed the fresh, clean gauze laying on the table beside her. In a way, she reminded you of the cool aunt in the family or one of your mom's childhood best friends. You watched as her hands quickly went to work. Within in seconds, you wound had been redressed. Chin-Sun helped you pull up your bra straps and put on your shirt. Hoping off the examination table, you grabbed the sling. The black haired woman helped you readjust the strap so your arm would sit comfortably on your chest. Giving the nurse a small thank you, you walked to the entrance of the room. You paused before looking back, seeing Chin-Sun gathering the dirty materials. Guilt bubbled up your throat.

"I'm sorry about yesterday. If you need help with anything, please tell me," you uttered before leaving.

Stepping outside, you were met with the cool night air. It was way better than the stuffy air inside. Glancing around, you saw no fire. Everyone must be getting ready for bed, you thought. Not wanting to intrude on anyone, you sat against a crate. You looked upon the sky, to see sparkles of light in the dark void. It was so beautiful. You could even see the outline of the galaxy you're in. Very faint colors could be made out. Back home, you would never be able to see something like this. With all the light pollution, it was a miracle to even see a constellation. Suddenly, you found yourself drifting off into sleep.

A chill broke you out of your slumber. Goosebumps ran up and down your arms. Letting out a grunt, you opened your eyes to see the sunrise. Hues of orange broke through the horizon. A look of confusion flashed onto your face before leaning forward. Feeling resistance, you looked down to see the blue swing. Right. This wasn't a dream. You stood up, using the box to support yourself. Not only were your muscles sore, dirt and dust littered your clothing. Maybe sleeping outside wasn't the best idea. After wiping the particles off, a yawn escaped your mouth. Glancing around, you noticed that no one was walking around.

Walking towards the grass fields, you searched for any sign of your loth cat. The grass continued to sway. Somehow, you could sense that Moirai was close. You put your hand up to your lips. Seconds later a loud, long whistle erupted. Silence followed later. A small rustle could be heard in the grass. Kneeling to the ground, you waited. Soon a small brown popped out. It was Moirai. Once they saw you, they sprinted towards you. They fell and stopped in front of you. Letting out a small chuckle, you gave them a small pat. The loth cat gave you a late smile before jumping onto your good shoulder. Once you gave them a small scratch under their chin you began your walk back to the base.

Taking the opportunity to look around your surroundings, you noticed some of the mountainous structures were as tall as some of the sky scrapers back home... home. God, how your heart ached at the thought. But worrying about it wouldn't do anything for you. Letting out a huff, you continued on your walk.

By the time the sun had risen, you were sitting comfortably on top of a metal crate. Moirai leaned comfortably into your side as you ate another jogan fruit. While the taste was weird to you, you still had to eat. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted movement. Looking closer, you spotted a familiar orange jacket. You immediately tilted sideways and fell behind the crate, taking an alien done with you. A small yelp escaped from Moirai. Nope. You weren't going to face him yet. No today. Not tomorrow. Maybe in a century? Yeah, that's a good amount of time. The footsteps suddenly stopped. Holding your breath you waited for Ezra to start moving again. After what felt like an eternity, he finally moved. When you were sure he was gone, you let out a wheeze. It was difficult to get air back into your oxygen starved system. Glancing over the edge of the crate, you noticed that Ezra was gone. You let out a sigh of relief. Turning your head, you noticed Moirai peeking over the box as well. You chuckled at the sight and softly patted them on the head.

"Sorry about earlier," you told them.

The loth cat simply gave you a toothed smile. In the distance, you could hear someone yelling your name. Quickly, you stood up and rushed towards the sound. Moirai trailed behind your feet. You almost immediately recognized the girl in dark Mandalorian armor. Stumbling over your feet, you quickly caught yourself.

"Is everything ok?" You asked.

"Yes. I need you to locate two TIE pilot suits. We specifically need two black uniforms of the Imperial Navy. Can you do that?" She replied.

"Yeah. Of course," I paused for a moment. "May I ask why you need them?"

"We're attempting a rescue later tonight."

Suddenly, everything clicked. You knew what was going to happen. Kanan was going to die later tonight. The Ghost Crew would lose their leader. Ezra would lose his father figure. Hera would lose her lover. Jeez! She's pregnant too! Your heart dropped at the thoughts. A hand waved in front of your face, disrupting you thoughts.

"Hey, (Y/N). Is everything ok?"

You lifted your hand to your head. "Oh, sorry. Sorry. I'll go find the uniforms."

You turned around and headed back to the main camp. A large lump formed in your throat.

~~~

A/N: Hello everybody! Several weekends ago, I got to be an extra in our school's production for a movie! Because of the clothes I was wearing, I even got a solo part! Isn't that cool! Although I had to sacrifice my pinky toes (stupid heels). Also, in other news, I was not chosen for the Star Wars Rebels Zine. That's ok though because they said they might even make a whole zine for fan fictions. So, who knows? Anyways, I hope you all have a fantastic week!

#ezra bridger #star wars #star wars rebels #ezra bridger x reader #jedi #sith #ezra x reader #star wars rebels x reader #star wars x reader #reader insert

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