#I am sharpening another knife to throw at your enemies

[phecdasolar]

I wish a good things and great day upon @autisticamerican and autisticamerican alone

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Confidence to inspire fear

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

The bridge of the freighter felt like it had become a nightmare as Lithel awoke.

He tried to open his eyes but even when open the room refused to stop spinning. One of his upper left eyes refused to open and as Lithel attempted to reach up with one of his arms he found that he could not move it as well.

Tilting his head down and saw through his blurry eyes that a section of the bridge ceiling had collapsed atop him and was pinning him to the deck. He tried to rise but the weight was too heavy. Just as he began pondering if this would be his end he felt the debris shift atop him. "Captain!" Lithel heard someone calling him but the sound felt like it was coming from everywhere. "Captain can you hear me!?"

Blinking several more times Lithel was able to focus and he saw his second in command Michael rushing over. He could hear several other footsteps approaching and not long after the metal pinning him to the floor being lifted off and a strong pair of arms pulling him out.

"I got you sir, just take it easy."

Lithel moved his mouth to thank him but nothing came out but a soft gurgle and whimper.

Only now as he was pulled free did Lithel see the damage done to his bridge. Halve the consoles were shattered, the data streams were flickering rapidly as an overload of information from across the ship poured in, and at one of the walls had several panels blown out and were currently on fire.

Michael helped lay him down across the floor while a medic rushed over and began treating him. Lithel was about to sit up and take back his command throne when the communications officer rushed over.

"Message coming in sir; it's from the pirates."

Lithel's eyes went wide and he tried to sit up but Michael put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. They had served together aboard the Red Manta for some twenty years and had developed an understanding that needed no words.

He saw the look in Michael's eyes and knew he would take care of the situation and instead laid back down.

"Put them through." Michael said as the communication officer scurried off and began fiddling with the only remaining working communication console.

Within moments the data feeds stopped streaming information and displayed an image. On the opposite end series of figures could be seen standing around a command throne similar to Lithel's were it not for the adorning skulls and bones of various species draped over it.

They were muscular mixture of aliens ranging from lizard like creatures with sharpened teeth to thin limbed beings looking like living twigs, and even a strange blob like creature that had a knife wedged within it. But the most impressive of the figures was sitting atop the throne itself.

It had the shape of a humanoid figure but it appeared as a swirling cloud of black ink ever shifting. It wore no clothing and had no distinguishable features save for a pair of crimson red eyes.

"Surrender."

It was a single word spoken by the black ink creature before Michael could even say a word. The crew around it chuckled and laughed as if sizing up their soon to be prize; though Michael would soon throw a wrench into their celebration.  

"Are you insane!?" he spoke. His stance was firm and unwavering with his feet planted into the decking as if he was bracing for a storm. "Do you have any idea what you have done?"

"Who, are you?" the black ink creature spoke as it raised a talon like finger at Michael, the ink bleeding off of it in drips as it did so.

"I am Captain Michael Zbari of the human reformation, transporting goods to the homeworld."

The pirates appeared confused at this announcement and murmured among themselves before the ink creature held up a hand. The medic treating Lithel appeared to take just as much of the confusion from the announcement and was about to say something when Lithel forestalled him. He knew Michael was playing a dangerous game, and it might just be there only way of getting out of this.

"You, lie." The words were spoken as if through water and Lithel could barely understand them as the thing continued. "The captain, is not human; this, we know."

"First you attack my ship unprovoked and now you claim I am not captain of my own ship?!"

His confidence radiated from him as he spoke and some of the pirates appeared taken aback. They were the ones who had attacked and now had them all at gun point. With a single word they could destroy the Red Manta and be on their way yet this human was acting as if they were the ones who should be sorry.

"Do you have any idea who are cargo is for?" Michael continued. "Should, we, care?" the ink being replied. "You should when Emperor Galvoc finds out you stole his personal shipment."

The smirks of the pirates dropped away instantly at this. The mere mention of the human emperor's name gave them pause as if they had just been struck by a cannon. The ink being leaned forward now on both arms and fixed the camera with a burning gaze.

"You, lie."

Michael scoffed at this and raised his arms out. "Nineteen containers of freshly cut refrigerated Borgan meat, twelve containers of the finest wines of the Nebula Rim, thirty six crates of gem stones from the fire pit mines of Draxon Iv, and that's just the tip of the ice berg."

The ink monster relaxed back into it's throne at this. "An, impressive, haul, indeed." it said and some of the pirates began grinning again but Michael continued to speak.

"For one with a death wish, an impressive haul for sure."

Michael stepped towards the monitor. "You could kill us and steal all of our cargo to sell but it won't matter; because the emperor will hear of this and will hunt you down to the farthest ends of the universe."

The ink thing chuckled and Michael's face frowned. "By attacking his shipment you have essentially declared war on him; you do realize that don't you?"

At this the black goo like creature stopped chuckling.

"He controls the largest fleet of ships to ever sail the void;  their numbers alone change gravity of entire systems with their passing."

"His armies are beyond counting and the march of their feet can crack planets in two."

"The depths of his depravity for torture against his enemies boundless and of such horrific that even the Draxic are afraid to incur his wrath."

Fixing an equally dark glare now Michael faced down the ink being. "You have no idea the hurricane you just sailed into."

The pirates began to argue among themselves but the black creature let out a deep roar that sounded as if bubbling tar could scream.

"He, will, never, know!" it said, "We, will, be, long, gone, and, you, all, dead!"

It was Michael's turn to smirk as he pulled out a small box like device with a blinking red light.

"This, is an emergency transmitter capable of reaching across five sectors." he held it out clearly so all the pirates could see. "Once activated it calls in a relief fleet to warp to our position within twenty minutes; and I activated it fifteen minutes ago."

For the first time the ink creature rose from its throne and pushed several of the pirates aside with surprising strength for a creature that appeared to be made of living oil.

"You, bluff!" is said.

"You could stay and board us to call it, but when they arrive and blow your scrap heap of a ship out of the stars I don't think it'll really matter what you think now will it?"

The two stared down each other, neither speaking a word yet unwilling to back down in the face of this challenge.

Lithel watched with ever clearing eyes as the pirates became increasingly anxious.

"Tick." Michael made a sound similar the clock arms of his wrist time device. "Tick, tick tick tick."

"Silence!" the ink creature bellowed, but Michael continued.

"Time's running out for you." His face was devoid of emotion save a devlish smirk. "Tick, tick, tick, tick!"

"I said silence!"

"Time's running out little pirate." Michael quipped back, "Tick, tick, tick, tick!"

The pirates were not frantic and some even began talking to the ink creature in an alien language none of the red manta crew could understand but it appeared to upset the ink being.

Letting out another roar the screen suddenly went dead leaving the bridge crew silent as the repair teams finally shuffled in to douse the flames.

Through the viewport Lithel could see the pirate ship burning retro boosters and turning around as fast as it could before warping away.

Michael stood upright for a few moments more after they fled back to the warp before collapsing down to the ground. Streaks of sweat began pouring down his face like rivers and he began breathing rapidly.

Lithel raised himself on to his arms unsteadily and looked at Michael.

"How did you know that would work?"

Michael looked at him as if he just remembered he wasn't alone on the bridge and looked embarrassed.

"When you act like you have the backing of the biggest thug in the yard, the other rats tend to leave you alone."

"So by claiming to be the emperors personal shipment.." Lithel began as he connected the dots.

"They would fear the hell hammer that would fall on them should they attempt to steal from the biggest threat the galaxy has ever seen."

Lithel was surprised that such an act of subterfuge worked but they were still alive and he would be the last to complain on how it was handled. He did point to the strange blinking box Michael still clutched in his hand.

"What is that device?"

Michael looked at it for a moment before chucking it over to Lithel who gracefully caught it mid air.

"It's a remote control for my room lights."

Lithel looked at it dumbfounded but before he could inquire more from Michael he saw his second in command pass out on the bridge as the stress of the attack and the performance he just made finally caught up to him.

[kairos-polaris]

Eris(Demon’s daughter)

Demon's head daughter couldn't be anything other than perfect. She must master every martial art. Her education must be flawless. Failure is not a choice. Even the smallest mistake is a disgrace.

Marinette knew it. That’s why spent hours and hours training and perfectimg her form. But something was lacking and she craved to find it.

Chapter 2, 3, 4, 5

On the far east, high up in the mountains is a city, Nanda Parbat. There hides and lives Ra's al Ghul, the demon's head. 

The walls in Nanda Parbat have no warmth. They're permanently soaked in blood and death. At night you can hear the anguish screams of the long dead. 

In a small room without windows lives a girl with eyes as blue as sapphires and hair as black as night. Dark skin makes pale scars visible. 

The only welcome visitor is the girl's sister. She will tend to the girl's wounds and help her prepare for sleep. 

"You must be more careful, Marinette." Berated her Talia. "Your training will grow harder with time. You must be ready for this, ya albi. I can't lose you."

"Why do we have to train so hard?" 

"Father has a lot of enemies. We must know how to protect ourselves," Talia answers softly. 

"The League doesn't condone uselessness and everyone must reach a certain standard. It's even higher for us because of our father. And I am sure you enjoy a part of your training, don't you?"

"Yes, I enjoyed training with Lady Shiva. She taught me how to use a war fan. Dansen uchiwa* is my favorite, but mubuchae is nice, too." At her sister's questioning look she continued: It protects my arm and I can use it to dodge attacks. Then I will stab the attacker using balisong**. .. And I can also.." the next fifteen minutes were spent discussing different ways of using war fans and daggers. They briefly touched on the subject of Japanese martial arts and weapon making.

"...and that's why I prefer straight blades." Talia stopped talking and looked at Marinette. The girl was staring at the wall. 

"Why can't we just leave?" Marinette suddenly spoke. "We would go everywhere and stay nowhere. You could pose as my guardian. If anyone asked about parents, we would give them a sob story about their death." The brief training with Lady Shiva made the walls in Nanda Parbat feel more suffocating than before.

"Oh, ya albi, you know that's impossible. Father would track us down immediately. He has ears and eyes everywhere." Talia chuckled bitterly. Somehow her answer made Mari more enthusiastic. 

"But you want to run away! That's what matters! One day we will bribe Nyssa and she will help us. And we won't have to live under our father's tumb." 

Talia just hugged her sister. Getting out of the League of Shadows was impossible for them. Especially for them. She could only pray that Marinette would be happy one day.

***

Eight-year-old Marinette understood it the day she failed for the first time. She stood there, before her father, waiting for his verdict. The small voice in her head whispered how it wasn’t her fault, that even famous designers don’t have this much security as Gabriel Agreste does. “I should have been prepared for everything. This failure will be my lesson if I survive this,” she thought bitterly.

Demon's head daughter couldn't be anything other than perfect. She must master every martial art. Her education must be flawless. Failure is not a choice. Even the smallest mistake is a disgrace.

Demon's head daughter isn't a child, she's a weapon. A perfectly sharpened dagger.

"You failed me, Marinette. Not only you didn’t kill that man, but you were caught and Talia had to save you. As your master, I’m furious, as your father, I’m disappointed.”

The cold stone hurt her knees and her ears burnt from embarrassment. His words were sharper than the sharpest knife. That’s why he is called Demon’s Head after all.   

“I’m sorry, father. It won’t happen again. I..” Marinette tried her best not to falter under Ra’s’ glare.   “I don’t remember giving you permission to speak.” His words left goosebumps on her skin and Marinette had to bite her tongue to stay silent. “Your actions will have consequences, so be prepared for your punishment. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, father,” she answered softly, but Ra’s seemed satisfied and dismissed Marinette to her room. She left as fast as possible.In her room, she would think about the nature of punishment and try to be prepared. Hey, how does one prepare for their death?

Marinette was sure Ra’s wouldn’t let her walk away without proper punishment, but she decided to humor her sister.

***

After that Marinette had to spend even more time training and studying. Talia was happy to hear that. “Ya albi, if you continue training, you won’t fail again. You were lucky father decided to pardon you.”

Marinette spent a lot of time practicing with her blades and darts. War fans slowly became her weapon of choice. You can hide it. You can show off with it. There are multiple ways of using it making it perfect for Marinette.

Unfortunately, Marinette never used sharp tessen during practice. Later, Marinette would regret it, because fighting ten trained and armed assassins with two fans wasn’t her definition of fun.

Scratch it. It was hell. Given the number of attacks, she could avoid them only for so long. She couldn’t take out her daggers.

Swish. Kick. Jump. Repeat.

Marinette slowly rose from the water. The first thing she noticed was the absence of scars. "How many new scars will litter my skin before I die again?" She wondered silently.

Marinette was skilled, but so were the assassins. And it still took them an hour to take her down. “At least I managed to injure them, too.”    

***

Waking up in Lazarus' Pits wasn't something she wanted to repeat ever again. The water felt gross on her skin and the smell made her want to throw up.

Another prominent difference was anxiety she could feel in her bones. She craved to do something, to the blood of her killers on her hands, to feel how life leaves their bodies. A whisper in her head sung how glorious it would feel to get her revenge.

"It's not punishment when I feel so high and mighty, father. It's a gift I will treasure." With these words Marinette dug her nails into her arm, leaving small marks. The skin felt too clean for her.

“Marinette,” he greeted her. “I see you’re feeling better now. What is the reason behind your visit?”

In this state, Marinette didn't notice her sister entered. Talia stood there watching the last bits of Marinette's innocence fly to hell. It was the point of no return.

***

Ra’s was sitting in his room when he felt movement behind him.

Marinette tilted her head and slowly answered; “I wanted to ask your permission to return the favor.”

“You can do whatever you want to them. Just leave them alive. But you were very effective at taking them down, so three of them can’t stand.” This was the closest thing to praise she could ever hear from Ra’s al Ghul.

One time Talia gave her a book with Greek myths. It soon became her favorite book. She loved the stories about gods, and heroes, and monsters. The heroes knew when to kill and when to spare someone. Marinette could admire this.

“Thank you, father.” With a small nod, she left to enact her revenge. If there were more screams than usual, nobody paid attention to it.  

***

Reading was a great way to escape reality. Books told her about different worlds and people. Unfortunately, Ra’s had to approve every book given to her. Only for very significant achievement could she read something other than textbooks.

“I just don’t understand what you see in that fury! His enemies constantly escape Arkham and he still won’t kill them. His negligence hurts other people and they still call him a hero! Father respects him, too!” it wasn’t a common occurrence for them to argue about Batman, but Marinette was just too annoyed with Talia’s pinning.

“Bruce impressed our father with his skills and devotion to a cause. Bruce is hopeful. He believes everyone can change and be a better version of themselves. We know that’s not true and some people will never change.”

Marinette wasn’t impressed. “I know some people can’t change. We work with some of them.” Talia just laughed at her expression..

“One day you will fall in love. That day you will understand me.”

“Ew, disgusting. I will never, ever fall in love. Especially not with a hero. I’m sure of it.”  Talia just shook her head fondly. Her little sister still has so much to learn.

“And where will you go, Marinette?” Asked Talia. Marinette spared her a glance noting bags under her eyes and multiple cuts.

***

Eleven-year-old Marinette had an agency. She had a goal. She knew what she wanted to do.

“Gotham. I will tell Batman everything I know about the Light. But don’t think I do it to help him. I want to destroy everything for our father.” She threw a suitcase with much more force than needed.

“Why now? You seemed so eager to please him.”

“Pits did something with my brain and changed my memories about The fight. I thought it was their own decision. With this knowledge I asked father for permission to avenge myself. My overall perception of him changed.”

“And now you are angry. But you shouldn’t run away like this. Batman won’t trust you. He will think you are a double agent sent by the League.” Marinette just grinned at that.

“I will give B information and leave immediately. I’m going to travel the world. I have money and I can take care of myself.” Talia sighed and took Marinete’s face in her hands.

“I know I can’t change your mind, but please be safe, ya albi.” She whispered softly.

“Thank you, Tals.”

“You are more important to me than our father.”

[bellamyblake]

major whump prompt if you're still taking. clarke finding out what happened in the cave in 3x10 and taking care of bellamy (soft bellarke is galaxy heart)

Okay, this got kind of long (3k) and I am not sure it’s as soft as it is…painful. But I hope also a little soft? Also it got very anti O.ctavia so please if you don’t want to read about that, don’t even start this.

Also I later realized this could be seen as a ‘before’ fic to the one I posted recently about him being punished from the council after the whole Pike thing.

Hope you won’t hate it, nonnie.

She finds them all back in the cave after Pike had been already arrested and taken by the grounders. 

They were taking a day to regroup and gather their strength before returning to camp when she stumbles upon them using the radio that her mom gave her back at Polis as a precaution and Kane miraculously answers her, directing her towards the right place.

She’s surprised to find Bellamy there too but what takes her aback even more is that he’s chained and his face is beaten to a pulp. 

There are cuts oozing from every part of him-his cheeks, his chin, his nose was certainly broken judging by the way it was so awfully crooked, there was even a gash on his forehead and his entire face was swollen and bruised.

It took her a minute outside with Miller to find out what has happened-the gruesome way Lincoln was killed by Pike and how when they came back with Octavia, Kane and Sinclair she beat the shit out of Bellamy.

And he let her.

“You didn’t stop her?” Clarke snaps at him “You didn’t think she’s only doing this to pour her anger out at him even though from what you’re telling me, he tried to help her before head and she chained him in a fucking cave?”

“We did try to stop her! You don’t understand, she pushed us away-”

“You outnumber her, you could’ve easily overpowered her.”

“Kane tried, so did I, but Bellamy, he wouldn’t let us help. He told us this is between them and we should just let her….do it.”

“Of course he’d tell you that, can’t you see what happened? He wanted her to take it out on him because he felt guilty.”

“Yeah and I know you care about him Clarke, but he is.” Kane joins in on their conversation probably upon hearing the commotion outside. His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s staring ahead angrily. 

“But he is guilty.” she shivers at that and throws her arms in the air frustrated “If he hadn’t helped Pike-”

“He did it because he believed it was the right thing. That doesn’t mean you could let his sister beat the crap out of him while you idly stand by and watch her!”

“We couldn’t stop her, she’s strong, you know that.”

“Bullshit! You’re telling me you, Sinclair, Miller and Harper, who are guards by the way couldn’t overpower one girl?” she stands before him and comes so close they are breathing in each other’s faces. 

Kane’s face falls with guilt if even for a moment. Maybe she should take that as a win but she’s just so pissed off that she can’t. 

“Or maybe that’s just it…you didn’t want to stop her. You wanted to punish him.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then why is he still chained?”

“Because he is the enemy!” Kane yells back and that makes her laugh bitterly.

“To who? Pike’s gone, the camp is back in your and mom’s hands. You can become a chancellor now legally if we count all the votes from the last election, so what can one broken beaten up to a pulp boy with PTSD do?” she corners him.

“You haven’t been here, Clarke. You don’t know who he is.” Miller adds in a weak attempt to back Kane who opens his mouth to add something else but Clarke interrupts him

“That’s not true. I’m the only one who ever knew the kind of man Bellamy is and who he can be.”

“Clarke-”

“And that’s not the monster you’re making him out to be. Yes, he made a mistake but did he try to save Lincoln? Was he not the person who helped you catch Pike?”

Kane runs his hand through his curls and sighs.

“He is.”

“Then untie him.”

“No!” the older man cuts her off and by the way he says it she knows he won’t cave now “He might’ve tried to redeem himself but he still supported Pike’s coup and he still went out there and massacred an army. He has to pay for what he’s done.”

“So what? You’ll drag him back to camp and put him in a cell until you figure out what to do with him.”

“I think judging by his condition and his sister’s behavior that would be the best for us all.”

“You mean so you don’t have to feel guilty if she beats the shit out of him again while you stand by and watch.”

“Clarke-”

“I’m through with you, Kane.” she huffs out “If you won’t untie him, let me at least treat his wounds.”

Kane sighs but relents and gives her a light nod. She’s about to move away and head to the cave when he grabs her elbow and pulls her back.

“Don’t spend all our bandages on him. We don’t have enough as it is.” that gets her even more angry. 

Apparently, they may have left the Ark, but the Ark’s rules haven’t abandoned them and their way of behaving. 

One life still mattered more than another and Bellamy’s hasn’t mean much to the council back in the sky either. 

Obviously, no matter what he’s done to save the kids or help the camp, wasn’t enough to make him worth fighting for.

Well, not to her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll use my things.”

“And, Clarke-” Kane tightly wraps his fingers around her arm once more, as if desperate to reiterate his thoughts “He’s dangerous, so be careful.”

“No, he’s not!” she pulls her hand away “You are.”

With that she rushes back in and looks for her bags, searching for the clean patch of bandages she had and the satchels of herbs and seaweed paste that she’ll need. 

Octavia’s by the fire, angrily staring at it while dragging her knife through a stick, trying to sharpen it for whatever reason, probably just to find something to pour some of her desperation onto. 

Clarke wants to feel bad for her, she does, but one glance at Bellamy who stood curled up on his own in the corner with his back to them, made her fume with anger.

“You don’t care to check how your brother is?” Clarke can’t help but ask. That makes Octavia tense if just for a second before she spits out.

“What brother?” loud enough so that Bellamy can hear her. 

Clarke sees him shivering when she approaches him far away from the others so that they have some privacy but still not really separated from them.

She circles around and kneels beside him putting out her things.

“Hey.” she greets him and when he looks up from where his head is buried in his knees and meets her eyes, she wants to cry.

She’s seen him in pain before.

But she’s never seen him that broken. 

Not back in the forest during their day trip, not even after the mountain. 

There was nothing but sadness and complete and utter devastation but also…guilt. 

There was this glimmer of self-hatred that burned brighter than the fire his sister was sitting by, stronger than her own anger.

He’s shivering and badly, she has no idea how long they’ve left him out here for but he must’ve slept curled up on his own and away from the fire for more than one day if what Miller told her was true.

“I need to clean your face, okay?”

“Why?” he asks after a beat when she’s dabbing some clean rags in water, deciding to start wiping the blood away first so she could deal with all the cuts.

“Because they’ll get infected if they aren’t already.”

He reaches to touch her hand but something makes him change his mind and all he ends up doing is let his fingers graze hers for a brief moment that feel like shock lashes against her skin.

“Why?” he asks once more, this time eyebrows furrowed in confusion, lips tightly pressed against one another. 

She notices some bruises around his neck too. 

Did she try to choke him as well or was that a result of another injury?

Clarke reaches out and takes his hand in hers.

“Because it’s you and me.” she says fervently “Always.” his eyes fill with tears and he looks away, ashamed of having been offered something he doesn’t think he deserves. 

If he wasn’t that hurt, she’d kick his ass and force him to say that he matters despite what the world thinks, but maybe in another time, a few weeks or months down the road, she can convince him of it. 

“Now please sit back and lean on the rock so I can take a look at your face.”

He complies. It’s a little hard with his hands chained to the right, he can’t fully turn over so she can use the light of the fire to inspect the wounds because the chains are twisting his hands back in another direction.

Still he manages somehow and she asks him to close his eyes which proves to be the right move when he has to suck in her own breath and try to keep it together once she starts cleaning all the blood and grime away from him. 

Once she has, she can’t tell what is where-his cheeks are maimed by long crescent cuts, his freckles that she used to get lost into, can’t be made out between all the bruises and the blood. 

Some of them are already infected, oozing yellow. Some start to bleed again when she tries cleaning them and ends up staining his face again which frustrates her. 

She’s so lost in her work and anger that she misses the fact that he’s scared shitless of having her there. 

It takes her a moment to realize his breaths come out short and panicked that he’s basically heaving and he’s bawled his chained hands into fists to try and keep it together.

He’s scared of her touch because the last time someone touched him, they beat the crap out of him and it wasn’t someone he didn’t know, it wasn’t a grounder who wanted revenge or a soldier he had to fight….it was his own sister. 

Someone he trusted and loved.

Clarke was someone he trusted too.

But that didn’t mean he was safe. Or so his brain told him.

Fuck, Clarke thought, stopping her actions for a moment and dropping the rag she was holding to cup his cheek.

“Hey.” she calls him again but he doesn’t open his eyes at that, on the contrary, he just squeezes them harder. “Bellamy, look at me.”

“I…can’t.”

“It’s me. I won’t do anything to you okay? I just want to help. You don’t have to be scared.”

He shakes his head in her hands and she relents as her own tears gather in her eyes.

He must be reliving it all, that exact moment where Octavia rushed in here and started beating him.

“I can’t.” he utters through teeth and she rubs her thumbs under his eyes soothingly just when another cut decides to reopen and stain her fingers and his cheek red.

It’s like whenever you touched him, he bled pain and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop it. 

She couldn’t prevent the sadness from spilling out of him, covering every inch of his body.

“That’s okay. It’s fine, just breathe with me alright? Let’s do it together.” she asks and he tries to comply but she notices that when he tries to take a deep breath…he literally can’t. 

His chest heaves, as if it jumps with pain and he sucks in a short one before letting out, all the while wincing at the motion.

“It hurts.” he manages in a whisper and she realizes why it does.

Her hand falls to the hem of his shirt and pulls it up only to reveal his blue and purple ribs.

Octavia didn’t just hit his face.

She kicked him too.

Damn it.

He shivers when her fingers graze over the tender spot and she finds his skin ice cold.

So he wasn’t shivering just because he was having a panic attack then. He was literally freezing.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I know it hurts, I just need to find out how bad it is, okay?” he nods, eyes still closed as she treads her fingers over his strong but really bruised side.  

“I need you to take a few deep breaths for me. Can you do that?”

“Yeah…yeah.” he promises with a weak smile and complies. When she’s done she drops his shirt back and pulls his jacket tightly around him though it’d do nothing to warm him up.

“You have one broken rib. The others are bruised.” she informs him as she goes back to fixing his face trying to tame her anger from finding how wrecked his body really was after Octavia raised her hand on him.

He opens his eyes to meet hers when she gets back on cleaning them up and when he does, there are still tears there though she doesn’t know if it’s from the physical or emotional pain.

At some point after she fixes his broken nose as best as she can, she notices him swallowing painfully and opening his mouth to help his breathing but not before leaning back on the wall. 

She decides to give him a moment of rest before she resumes her work.

“Are you thirsty?” he looks down at the ground and doesn’t say anything but gives her a simple shrug. 

She reaches for her water satchel and helps him move his head up and take a few sips eagerly. 

“When was the last time they gave you water?”

He shrugs again and stares at her hands before she moves to give him some more. He drowns it down eagerly and stops himself before he finishes it off, probably worried she’ll need it too.

She presses it back to his lips.

“I have enough, I promise.”

“It’s okay” he mumbles and she doesn’t want to fight him on it so she just kneels and picks up some dry apples and fruit from her bag.

“Have you eaten anything?” he shakes his head at that, still staring at his hands.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Have they not given you food?” she raises her voice and the talk around the fire where everyone else have gathered again quiets down at her anger. 

Clarke ignores them but he doesn’t-his eyes slide to the place where his sister sits, now half turned to him, eyes shooting daggers. 

He looks away before meeting Clarke’s eyes once more.

“Clarke…don’t.” he begs and she sighs realizing that this is only making it worse for him so instead she moves to his left, so that her back is shielding him from other prying eyes and pushes some apple in his hands.

“Eat.” she orders.

“You won’t let me get away with it, will you?” he asks quietly and its her turn to shake her head.

“No.” he smiles sadly and brings his tied hands up to his mouth, munching down on the pieces she gave him while she takes out more bandages to use later to wrap around his ribs as well as some sea weed paste. 

After, she digs out a small piece of bread and he tries to fight her on taking it so to make him eat even a bit, she splits it in two and they share it.

“Why are you helping me?” he asks again “I killed Lincoln.”

“No you didn’t.” she cuts him off “And I told you why already.”

“Not directly but I-” he continues ignoring the last part of her statement.

“I don’t give a damn what you did, Bellamy, you shouldn’t be tied to a cave and beaten up like a pulp no matter what happened. You made a mistake and you tried to fix it, you helped us catch Pike, you tried to save Lincoln. What your sister did is not what you deserve.”

“But it is.” he says sadly.

“He’s right.” Octavia chimes in from the fire obviously having been eavesdropping on their conversation “In fact, he deserves to die. It’s too bad I can’t kill him.”

Clarke turns back to her, moving closer to Bellamy so that she keeps shielding him from the others.

“Shut up, Octavia.”

“He doesn’t get to play the martyr, not after what he did.” she raises her voice and when Clarke looks back at him, she can see he’s squeezing his eyes again and shivering badly.

Another attack.

Clarke reaches for his face again, cupping his cheeks as painful as that might’ve been for him.

“Don’t listen to her. Focus on me, okay?” she begs of him and he tries to control his breathing while Octavia keeps raging behind them, chopping branches and throwing them in the fire with fever. 

Clarke wondered what would happen if she wasn’t there.

Would she beat him up again?

A beat. And then another thought shakes her to the core.

Had she laid her hand on him after that first fight?

“Hey, here, you can help me-” she decides to give him something to do and what better way to make him focus on something that convince him it could help someone else. “Hold the clean bandages for me alright? You’ll assist me.”

He nods but his eyes keep moving somewhere behind her, watching his sister. He shivers whenever she picks a branch.

“Look at me, Bellamy. Me, okay?” she says, taking his chin and forcing his eyes back on her. “You and I, we’re the only people in this cave, okay? There’s no one else.”

With trembling fingers he helps her pass over the things she needs to finish cleaning his cuts all the while Octavia doesn’t shut up behind them and no one else says anything.

Suddenly, Clarke can so clearly picture them all standing quietly behind while she beat him up to a pulp.

“The one good thing I had going and you had to go out there and fuck it up. You just couldn’t take it, could you? But then again you’ve always been selfish, ever since you were a kid.” 

That’s the tip of the glass for her and Clarke drops the gauze she’s holding before turning around and striding to Octavia.

She grabs her by the collar and fists her jacket in her hands. Octavia tries to fight her, push her away but Clarke’s strong and the others, Miller, Kane, Harper, they all jump from their seats.

“Now they do.” Clarke thinks and it makes her even more angry.

She shakes Octavia a bit before speaking up slowly and quietly.

“I’ve had enough of you. You either shut up right now and take your anger outside or-”

“Or what?” Octavia smiles at her “What will you do, Wanheda?”

“Don’t tempt me!” she hisses in her face and makes sure Octavia looks into her eyes and sees exactly how much she means what she just said.

 “You beat your own brother up, I won’t hesitate to bring it to justice.”

She lets go of her and thinks that Octavia will actually try and fight her but instead she just stands there and breathes heavily, contemplating on what to do.

“She’s right, Octavia. Take a walk.” Kane joins in but it’s another minute before the younger Blake finally huffs annoyed and strides outside with her sword strapped to her back.

Clarke turns around and throws them all a look of disgust.

“Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” and that makes them all look down ashamed.

Good, Clarke thinks. They should be ashamed.

She goes back to Bellamy who’s started shivering worse since she left him but she simply cups his cheek and gives him a soft smile.

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m almost done and then you can rest, okay?” he doesn’t nod or say anything back but he calms down when she goes back to patching up his cuts.

After, she moves to his ribs which are a little harder to fix when his wrists are tied up together. 

She tries to make Kane take them off but he won’t hear a word about it, so she works around that as best as she can. 

Finally, she moves to his wrists that are also bleeding from him struggling against the chains for so long. 

They’re ugly and infected and he tries very hard not to cry out when she cleans them up. 

She can sense it’s a lot for him but he takes it, he takes on the pain because he thinks he deserves it.

She can’t wrap them up, not with the chains still there, but at least she cleans them. 

When she’s done, she takes out the two blankets she was carrying with herself and throws one over his back before sitting next to him and putting the other over their legs.

“What are you doing?” he asks in a whisper. “You’ll freeze out here. Go back to the fire.”

“No.”

“Clarke-”

“I said no, Bellamy, so don’t even try it.” she presses her arm against his and adjusts the blanket. 

He’s breathing heavily next to her, his arms tied up between his hands. He could never lay down and actually sleep, the chains prevented him from that, but she’d make sure he wasn’t going to die out of exposure. 

It takes them a moment to find the most comfortable position and they slump against each other before Clarke closes her eyes and drifts off.

She wakes up hours later from his shaking and his quiet frantic mumbling. 

It takes her a moment to realize he’s having a nightmare, begging his sister for forgiveness. 

She touches his face and finds it burning, curses quietly and tries to wake him but even when his eyes snap open, there’s no recognition in them.

She moves closer to him and pulls his head to her chest so that he’s half lying on her chest while his arms were being pulled in the opposite direction. 

It wasn’t comfortable but it seemed to somewhat help him.

Her hands roam all over his face and hair. She swipes the curls away from his sweaty burning forehead and helps him take a few sips of water while he keeps shivering in her arms.

At some point he looks up at her and mumbles through trembling lips.

“What…happened to us…Clarke?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know, Bell.”

“Why is there so much pain?”

The tears gather in her eyes and spill before she can stop them. 

“I don’t know.” her own voice breaks as she repeats her previous answer and leans closer to his face, kissing his forehead gently.

He finds her hand with his tied ones and holds it between his big cold fingers, squeezing it tight for a brief moment.

Bellamy never used to be cold.

“Want to know a secret?” he asks looking up at her “Sometimes I wish I died in that mountain.”

She runs his fingers through his curls and closes her eyes as she feels her own tears spill down her cheeks before she speaks up her own honest truth.

“So do I.”

In the morning when the others wake her up with their chatter, she looks down and finds her hands still cupping his cheeks, except now they’re covered in blood from all the cuts he reopened when he tossed and turned in his sleep and she has to bite her lips to prevent herself from crying again.

She picks up another clean rag and dabs it in water and moonshine, cleaning up her fingers and then pressing it to his face.

No matter what, she decides, she’ll never get tired of doing that.

[hualianisms]

YOUR MOST DEVOTED BELIEVER: a hualian playlist

(books 2, 4, the 800 year separation) (books 1, 3, 5 here)

listen here

track annotations under the cut:

someone to stay - vancouver sleep clinic

You were alone, left out in the cold/Clinging to the ruin of your broken home/Too lost and hurting to carry your load/We all need someone to hold [...] Hear you, falling and lonely, cry out: / Will you fix me up? Will you show me hope?

an act of kindness - bastille

An act of kindness/Is what you show to me [...] It holds me 'till I ache/Overflow and start to break [...] But you warm me to my core and you left me wanting more

carry you - ruelle & fleurie

I know it hurts/It's hard to breathe sometimes/These nights are long/You've lost the will to fight/Is anybody out there?/Can you lead me to the light/Is anybody out there?/Tell me it'll all be alright/You are not alone/I've been here the whole time singing you a song/I will carry you, I will carry you

saturn - sleeping at last

With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite/How rare and beautiful it is, to even exist/I couldn't help but ask/For you to say it all again/I tried to write it down/But I could never find a pen  

die young - sylvan esso

I had it all planned out before you met me/Was gonna leave early and so swiftly/People would weep, "How tragic, so early"/I was gonna die young/Now I gotta wait for you, honey/I was a firecracker, baby, with somethin' to prove/Now I gotta contend with the living blues

strawberry blond - mitski

All I need, darling/Is a life in your shape/I picture it, soft/And I ache

花雨落 - xun (translation)

Flowers fall into the city as you look back/Horse's hoofs are far away from your gentleness/Who is still outside the building/Empty rain

do it for her - steven universe

You do it for him/And you would do it again [...] What they don't know/Is your real advantage/When you live for someone/You're prepared to die [...] Deep down I know/That I'm just a human/But I know that I can draw my sword and fight/With my short existence/I can make a difference/I can be there for him/I can be his knight/I can do it for him)

small hands - radical face

If you need come build your home in me/And you know I won't complain/And I can't fix what was done to you/But I'll shield you from the rain/And if the walls they build become too high/Then step up on my back and climb [...] And though my hands are much too small to hold you up/I will be there to pick up the pieces

angels - the xx

If someone believed me/They would be/As in love with you as I am [..] And with words unspoken/A silent devotion

the last of the real ones - fall out boy

I was just an only child of the universe/And then I found you/You are the sun and I am just the planets/Spinning around you [...] I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you/But not as much as I do [...] I will shield you from the waves/If they find you/I will protect you

alive - gabrielle aplin

When your kingdom falls/And your family fades/But it wasn't your fault/It was never your fault [...] All your worries will escape through the door/And you'll wake up all alone on the floor/It's not too late/Just rely on me now

everything i wanted - billie eilish

As long as I'm here/No one can hurt you/Don't wanna lie here/But you can learn to/If I could change/The way that you see yourself/You wouldn't wonder why you hear/"They don't deserve you"

take me to church - hozier

The only heaven I'll be sent to/Is when I'm alone with you [...] Take me to church/I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies/I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife/Offer me that deathless death/Good God, let me give you my life

sunlight - hozier

A soul that’s born in cold and rain/Knows sunlight, sunlight, sunlight/And at last can grant a name/To a buried and a burning flame/As love and its decisive pain [...] Know that I would gladly be/The Icarus to your certainty/Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight/Strap the wing to me/Death trap clad happily/With wax melted, I’d meet the sea

light - sleeping at last 

With every heartbeat I have left/I will defend your every breath/And I'll do better/Сause you are loved/You are loved more than you know/I hereby pledge all of my days/To prove it so

box of stones - benjamin francis leftwich

I am young, and I am yours/I am free, but I am flawed/I am here and your heart/I was here from the start

you’re the only good thing in my life - cigarettes after sex

Everything is wrong, but it's alright /You're the only good thing in my life

dirge - perfume genius   ((ch 190))

Boys that held him dear,/Do your weeping now,/All you loved of him lies here,/Do your weeping now.

shrike - hozier

I couldn't utter my love when it counted/Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now/And I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted/Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now [...] Remember me love when I'm reborn/As the shrike to your sharp/And glorious thorn

NFWMB - hozier    ((wu ming))

If I was born as a blackthorn tree/I'd wanna be felled by you/Held by you/Fuel the pyre of your enemies/Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames?/Ain't it the life you, your lighting of the blaze?/Ain't it a waste they'd watch the throwing of the shade?/Ain't you my baby, ain't you my babe?

gone, gone, gone - phillip phillips

And I would do it for you, for you/Baby I'm not moving on/I’ll love you long after you're gone

(during the 800 year separation)

south london forever - florence + the machine

And everything I ever did/Was just another way to scream your name/Over and over and over and over again/Over and over and over and over again

hanahaki (bloom) by molly ofgeography

A braid of love and longing in the taste of rose and pine / A fatal growth belonging to the want you couldn't hide / Bloom / I don't believe in much but I believe in you

staring at the sun - MIKA

Here I stand, staring at the sun/Distant land, staring at the sun/You're not there, but we share the same one/Miles apart, staring at the sun/Distant town, staring at the sun/One thing's true just like you/There's only one

always - francois klark

Cause you are/Always in my mind/Always in my heart/Always the one that waits for me in my dreams/You are always the one I long for/Always the one I feel by my side even though you’re gone/Cause you are my always

finding you - kesha

after this life, I'll find you in the next/So when I say "forever, " it's the goddamn truth/I'll keep finding, finding you/I'm gonna search for your love/Right through Hell and Heaven/Millions of years yet to come/And in all dimensions

遇见 - stefanie sun (translation)

There is a person waiting in the future./To the left, to the right, to the front I look./How many corners must love turns before it arrives?/Who will I meet, what are we going to say?/The person I’m waiting for, how far away is he in the future?

[just-horrible-things]

[Warning - eye gore.]

Send a message, the letter reads, in the familiar elegant curls of his mother’s handwriting, to Inquisitor Bright. He has a location – not to find the Inquisitor herself, of course, but somewhere that her agents can be found. Return her acolyte – or what remains of her – with an apology. Remind her that misunderstandings are tragically easy, and that the affairs of Navigators are perilous.

Privately Tacitus thinks that it might be wiser to allow the Inquisitor’s minions their investigations. He has nothing to hide. If Cavarr have sins worthy of the Inquisition’s attention, Tacitus knows nothing of them and therefore cannot betray any secrets. Rebuffing them like this will surely just raise suspicions. Even Navigators aren’t entirely beyond the Inquisition’s reach.

But it isn’t Tacitus’ decision to make. And the House feels that the insult of such blatant snooping should not go unanswered.

“I will take dinner with the prisoner,” he informs his valet as he folds the letter carefully for storage. “See that she’s cleaned up, and find her something to wear, please. There’s no need to humiliate her. If she will wash herself, let her.” “What should she wear?” “Hm, I don’t know. Find her something respectable, would you? Black, I should think, the Inquisition always seem to be in black. I shall be informal.”

“Of course. Leave it to me.” “Thank you.”

They share a smile, then Tacitus turns back to his desk. He should write back to his mother, and while he won’t be able to finish the letter until after he has dealt with the Inquisitorial woman, he has plenty of other topics to cover.

---

The unfortunate throne agent is waiting for Tacitus when he enters the dining room. Not that she has a choice in the matter. She’s been dressed in a nice tunic with pleated patterns, and a decent jacket. Her hair is up like it was when he first met her. She sits with her spine straight, glaring sullenly at Tacitus as he walks in. There’s a slight flush in her cheeks and he wonders if bathing was a traumatic experience for her.

“Interrogator Ariadne Milonas,” he greets her with a thin smile. “Lord Cavarr.” She inclines her head, but her expression doesn’t warm. “I’d stand, but I don’t have that option.” Her left hand is cuffed to her chair, Tacitus has been informed. “You’re proved quite the enterprising opponent so far,” he observes. “Precautions seem… prudent.” “Are we enemies, Cavarr?” she demands. “We needn’t be. I am a loyal servant of the Throne. If you are as innocent as you say, we should not be enemies!” “Interrogator,” Tacitus chides mildly, one eyebrow quirked. “I haven’t even had a chance to sit down.”

She watches sourly as he sits down. But she doesn’t press the point, and she accepts his offer of amasec. Soup is brought in almost immediately, with bread pre-broken so that her single free hand isn’t an impediment. “If you think two loyal servants cannot be enemies,” Tacitus tells her, “You must be naive. And I find that difficult to believe of the Inquistion.” “Two loyal servants shouldn’t be enemies,” she argues. “We should all place cooperation in the name of Throne and Imperium above our differences of opinion. But yes, I’m well aware that pettty squabbles are commonplace, thank you.” Tacitus resists the urge to tell her she is welcome. He takes his soup thoughtfully, and lets her speak. “But my only loyalties are to the Holy Ordos. I have no stake in any political or economic disputes. I am not concerned with quibbles in the interpretation of the Creed. I don’t care about violations of the Lex. I care only for the good of the Imperium. There is no reason to consider me an enemy.”

Tacitus sighs softly. “Your loyalty may be owed directly to the Throne,” he allows, “But I am a Scion of House Cavarr, and I owe mine to my elders and my Novatora.” Milonas hesitates, but her voice is serious as she asks “Would you put that loyalty above your faith, and the good of mankind?” “Eat your soup, Interrogator. It will go cold.” She looks almost shocked at the rebuff. Insulted – as expected. And surprised. Tacitus expects her to argue. But she sullenly takes his advice. She hasn’t, he supposes, had hot food in at least twelve days.

She doesn’t let go of the topic, though. “You are more than just a tool of your family,��� she tells him in low tones, while running bread round the bottom of her bowl. “You are an individual, in the eyes of the God-Emperor.” Tacitus chuckles. “That is so. But shall we not place faith in our superiors? Has not the Emperor placed them, in His wisdom, above us for good reason?” “That depends what those superiors are doing. You are not an idiot, I know that you would recognise heresy or treason if you saw it.” “Interrogator, I did not lie to you when I said that I have no reason to suspect any such thing of my relations. Of course you cannot take my word at face value, but I promise you – House Cavarr is loyal. There is no conflict between my loyalty to my House and my loyalty to the Throne.” She is visibly skeptical, but the main course is being brought in, and she does not press the point.

They eat seafood from the last world, grains from storage and greens from hydroponics, spiced and served in a rich sauce. Milonas maintains her composure, but she is quiet, and her concentration on the food betrays her hunger. Tacitus talks about the food idly, and she is polite enough to acknowledge it with terse compliments.

While they wait for dessert, Tacitus brings the conversation back to more serious matters. “You are mistaken in your belief that the Inquisition is an apolitical organisation,” he tells her. He can almost feel her attention sharpen to a narrow focus. “Many Inquisitors have a political agenda, and I doubt that Lady Bright is any exception.” He smiles at the flicker of surprise in her eyes. Yes, I know who you work for. “And even beyond that, the Inquisition as a whole has a vested interest in maintaining its own power. Which necessarily involves butting heads at times with other Imperial powers. Such as the Navis Nobilite.” “I don’t have any problem with the Navis Nobilite,” she responds. “There is a long-standing understanding,” he explains, “that the Inquisition does not pry into the affairs of the Nobilite. We police our own ranks for mutation and heresy. And naturally we take such matters very seriously. As a matter of faith, of course, but also because if we did not, then we would not long retain our privileged status.” “No one is beyond investigation by the Holy Ordos,” she protests with some indignation. Tacitus cannot suppress – or rather, chooses not to suppress – another chuckle. “You are wrong, Interrogator. On paper that may be so. But in practice… here we sit.” Milonas glowers at him.

“Inquisitor Bright will not take this lightly,” she says. Inwardly, Tacitus smiles. It is an admission of her own helplessness, whether she realises it or not. “I hope not,” he agrees mildly. “Truthfully this is larger than either of us. You have your Inquisitor to answer to, and I am still barely an adult in the eyes of my kin. We each do as we must. More amasec, Interrogator?” She nods and mutters a terse “Please.”

He would not describe the rest of the dinner as ‘pleasant’ per se. She is sullen company. But he thinks that he sees a fraction less hostility in her and a fraction more resignation. He cannot count it as a victory. He has her in the palm of his hand already, he doesn’t need to talk her around to his point of view. Very soon it will not matter.

He picks at his dessert with sombre spirit. Milonas is not exactly a charming conversational partner. She is a stone-cold killer and has been a difficult, violent prisoner. Her duties in the Inquisition are doubtless often unpleasant. But for all her personal flaws she seems sincere in her faith. It is a shame to break her. He hasn’t the stomach to do it with protracted violence. Who knows how long it would take? He doubts anyone rises to the rank of Interrogator without a certain strength of spirit. No, he’ll do this the quick way and be done with this unpleasant duty. Strong or not, she is only human.

Once the table is cleared and the staff have departed, Tacitus sighs. “I am sorry,” he tells the Interrogator, “that circumstance has made enemies of us.” She is watching him uneasily, clearly picking up on his tension. He is not trying particularly hard to hide it. “What happens next?” she asks quietly. “Next?” He offers her a wan smile. “Next I return you to Inquisitor Bright. It would not do to hold one of her agents hostage.” She starts to relax fractionally, but he is not finished. “Unfortunately now, before I do that, I must make sure the message sent is very clear.”

Her eyes narrow in suspicion, and then start to widen in shock as Tacitus reaches for the veil that covers his brow. Her free hand flies up to shield her eyes, but it will not help her. 

If she is strong she may survive this. If she is very strong she may even recover, in time.

He lifts the veil in a smooth, practised motion. His Eye snaps open. Warplight floods the room. His soul sings as he channels raw power.

The Interrogator screams. The hand that she clamps over her face is no defence. The Warplight shines straight through, like a knife. She sees what Tacitus Sees – the Warp, in all its senseless, unfettered splendour. The intensity of his Gaze burns.

She tries to stand, and falls back against the chair as the shackles on her wrist and ankles restrain her. Her scream pitches upwards through terror into raw agony. Her back arches and she throws her head back. Her fingers claw at her eyes, raking bloody paths through the bubbling flesh, pain insufficient to stop her from trying to rip out the visions of madness seared into her brain.

Tacitus screws his Eye shut, but the screaming does not stop. He feels queasy. He has only had to do this once before, and that was in defence of his own life.

The room stinks of burning flesh.

She screams and screams – a wild, wretched sound no living soul should ever have to make.

Tacitus scrambles round the table to her side, catching her wrist and trying to pull it away from her face to stop her doing herself any more damage. He shouldn’t care, but he can’t just watch. She struggles against his grip with shocking strength, and he finds himself shouting for assistance.

A minute or more passes in a whirling, nauseous blur. She stops struggling, at last, beneath the weight of hands pinning her against the chair. An aide holds her head still while another tries to fit a chilled dressing across the mask of charred and ruined flesh that is her upper face. She keeps making awful low moans, full of horror and pain. How much of her mind remains is impossible to tell.

Tacitus swallows grimly. He hopes that she is sufficiently destroyed. He hopes that he can send her back to Bright and let the Inquisition do what they will to save her. If she is still too much herself…

He does not want to have to do this again.

[themothyards]

“I still don’t understand,” Runa says. “How do you sharpen a person?”

“Through practice,” Shaxx says. “Through trial, challenges, hardship.”

“Am I sharp?”

“Passably. Sharper than you were.”

“You’re teasing.”

“I never tease.”

Three days they have spent in the fallen City, three days of endless Cabal patrols, of prowling ruins like Fallen Dregs, of shepherding the refugees they can find to Holliday’s beacons.

The girl frowns and goes back to her knife-work, and it is true that her motions are surer now than they were three days ago.

But she is a child, not a Titan, and she is tired. He has stood guard so that she might snatch moments of sleep, hidden in the ruins of shattered buildings and collapsed streets. Moments, here and there, always cut short by nightmares. In her dreams, Runa whimpers, sometimes cries out - once, he had to wake her so that her screaming did not attract attention.

“Wrong,” he says, and Runa looks over her shoulder at him. “With your arm up like that, you’re more likely to be skewered than to do any skewering.”

She sets her still-bare feet and tries again without responding.

“Wrong, again,” he says. Runa spins, anger flaring in her eyes.

“Then teach me.

“I am teaching you.”

“No,” she says. “Teach me to be worthy. Teach me to fight like you do.”

“If I could throw you into the Crucible and allow you to make your own mistakes, I would.”

Three days. They have not seen any refugees since the morning of the second, and he suspects they may be alone in the City. He wonders if his Ghost -

Runa leaps at him, knife held high. He steps aside, and she sails harmlessly past him, landing and spinning in an approximation of a fighting crouch. Shaxx crosses his arms and stares at her for a long moment.

“Slow. I had thought you were better than that.”

She grits her teeth and charges again, knife stabbing in and out, the blows impressively quick but easy to avoid.

“I know what you’re going to do even before you do,” Shaxx says, palming her arm aside with lazy contempt. “You’ll have to be more creative, girl.”

Runa growls in frustration and comes at him again, and again her knife finds only air.

“I had thought you had some skill,” he says. “I see that I was wrong.”

Her blows grow more and more wild, and her breath comes heavy. She does not stop her assault, but every time she lunges he neatly sidesteps her.

“Does that anger you?” he asks. Her only response is another attack.

“Here is a lesson,” he continues, extending a foot and tripping her as she runs past. “If you let your enemy inside your head, you’ve already lost.”

She rests on her hands and knees, sucking air.

“Well?” Shaxx asked. “Have you?”

She picks herself up and looks beyond him, as though she’s going to ask a question - then darts forward, dropping her shoulder to the right before skipping to the left and lashing out with her blade.

She is quick. Quicker than she has any right to be.

He doesn’t move, and her blow connects, the Hunter’s gifted knife scoring a mark against his gauntlet. She looks up at him, the realization of her success mingling with surprise, pride - and horror. Then he shifts an armored boot, trips her again, and when she flails for balance grabs her knife-hand and twists it until she yelps and drops the blade.

“And the last lesson: know when a knife is not enough.”

He lets her go and she sinks - falls, really - to the ground, her legs crossed. Shaxx kneels in front of her.

“Two lessons,” he says, “But what have you learned?”

Runa lies back, her chest heaving.

“That I can’t beat you,” she says, and then coughs.

“Good. Knowledge of your enemy - and of yourself - may save your life.”

He holds out a hand for her, but she ignores it and pushes herself upright.

“Not yet,” she says, as yet another Cabal Harvester roars overhead, headed towards the center of the City.

Runa looks at him.

“Do we follow?”

His eyes track the Harvester across the skyline, and for a moment his sword weighs heavy on his back. Then he sighs, and stands.

“No, little Shield-Sister. It is time we left.”

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8

[flashfire344]

Family Gathering (Part 3)

“Keep on galloping my black horse carrying me to unknown shores through these outlandish woods and with confidence back home”

Gabriel’s voice raised above the drone of the pelting rain and the clawed feet on cobbled stone. It was a long road ahead of him as he rode home, his eyes scanning from under his rain slickers hood. He was homeward bound with a special gift for his sons who he had not seen in many years. 

“You have a shit voice mate.” 

A mans voice rose up from behind Gabriel giving a reason for him to stop his singing. With a quick snap of a hand Gabriel cuffed the bundle behind him as a father would to a disobedient child. 

“Quiet. The roads long and I have to pass the time. I certainly don’t hear you being a talkative fellow...” 

With the hit the bundle struggled in it’s newly found restraints. Gabriel clicked his tongue and pulled on the reins of his mount. The large raptor paused before turning it’s head to look at Gabriel. 

“Mr. Ted. If you want to run then I am more than willing to loosen your bonds. I have no doubt that you could run faster than me however. What you may not see in your current location is that we are astride a fine hunter, one of peerless skill and temperament. I fear if he sees something to chase that I will have very little to stop it from running you down...pouncing on you and eviscerating your living guts before I could even attempt to save you from him. While I believe he is willing to listen to me in most times both he and I are sharing the same mood of hating the rain and being hungry. However unlike him I can restrain myself...So if you wish to stop moving so much we can continue.” 

The struggling man stops after hearing Gabriels words as he took a hard swallow. His eyes focused on the scales of the best and the sounds of the large raptor. Feigning a moment of bravado the man said. 

“You don’t scare me, Cavalli scum.” 

Gabriel took in a even breath as he looked along the road winding towards the Reach.  “Mr. Ted, I am not trying to scare you. You have nothing to fear from me, however I will not shed a tear if you met a untimely end at the exceedingly sharp claws of my mount.” 

Gabriel clicks his tongue to encourage the mount to continue on to it’s path. 

“Unlike my mount who would also show no compassion on your life I likewise would live a perfect life without you sucking up the same air as me. However the important key being I show restraint because in the end you have something that I wish to have.” 

He softly chuckled at a thought known to only him before he reached up to pull his hood back as a spec of sun broke through the dreary clouds. 

“Yeah and what’s that? I won’t talk and you know that. Those Seraph pukes tried to get me to talk and even that fancy pretty boy couldn’t get me to spill the beans.” 

“Oh Mr. Ted, I know you wont talk to me. However, unlike the Seraph, I have a few relatives that would be eager to go above and beyond pesky rules of the Seraph to gain information from you. See, I know my own limitations Mr Ted, as you seem to. For instance you are a hardened criminal that for some reason likes to hurt people, be a general nuisance to law abiding citizens who just want a fare shake.” 

The man grins at this as he again moves to try and undo his bonds while Gabriel was distracted by talking. 

“Didn’t know the high born Cavalli’s were hot and bothered by criminals like me. I don’t swing that way Cavalli.” 

The mans comment elicits another sharp cuff to his head and a chiding click of Gabriels tongue. 

“However, despite your long rap sheet that is rather impressive you still have not broken the upper echelon of criminal hierarchy. Wanting more you looked to new sources to saddle your star to. Which lead you to a lonely alley and a mysterious figure. Now stop me if I am being too free with my imaginations as I have had -a lot- of time to run this through my head...Anyways you met a man who gave you a task. It payed well and you got to stick it to your favored enemy, nobles. Not a bad choice, nobles have money and look down on this and that. You being a commoner have a hate for them, though I think most everyone is on your naughty list.”

While Gabriel spoke the man shifted finding a hard carapace from the raptor to start rubbing the bindings against. 

“Anyways, you had a job. Fairly simple, lure and then ambush this particular noble family by blackmail. Some of the details are a bit hazy and I am not too concerned with the small minutia or even the motivation as those are easily understood. What I am after, Mr Ted, is that mysterious man who has a panache for white flamboyance. That’s all I need from you, and with that you are more than free from my care...” 

The man took a breath having a sinking feeling he needed to escape now or never while Gabriel spoke. With a final rake of the hard carapace his hands were free. In a swift motion he squirmed sidelong to reach down to his boot to pull out a sharp knife that easily cut his bonds. The man then quickly spin about on the back of the raptor and placed a knife to Gabriel’s spine and opened his mouth to hiss a command but to his surprise he found himself sailing through the air. The raptor had reacted to the man’s movement on it and had swung it’s hips and tail to throw the man down on the ground before it. 

The man landed hard and for a moment stood dazed but now seeing the raptor rearing up above him tried to scoot back. However with a sharp command from Gabriel the Raptor easily pinned the man with it’s massive clawed foot and as if claiming the kill let out a horrible screech in the villains face delivering stray droplets of saliva. 

The man froze in panic as his life flashed before his eyes, and even the pain of the claws digging into his flesh did not register as a hand feebly reached up to cover his face. One terrible moment the man thought he was to be killed but the raptor backed off it’s foot from the man. The last thing he saw before blacking out was the raptors hateful eyes looking into his own.  

Gabriel hopped off his mount before grabbing a spare set of rope from his saddle bags. He then moved to the unconscious man to tie him up again. 

“I expected more Mr. Ted but alas there is next time.” 

Mr. Ted woke to the crackling of a fire and the sound of a sword being sharpened and the voice of his capture. 

“ My horse, keep on galloping My shadow, keep on flying. Rush over moorlands, Break through banks. Carry me around the world, Take your rider with you. Show me all the sights, Show me new countries and new places.”

Ted’s vision slowly came into focus. He found himself in a makeshift camp under the canopy of the Queens Forest. Instantly the pain of his chest rose and his heart pumped faster as he knew danger. He tried again to struggle but he was bound, his hands tied to his ankles. 

“Gods damned man! If I get out again I won’t hesitate to plunge a knife into your smug noble face!” 

Ted narrows his eyes trying to look menacing from his rather disadvantageous spot on the ground. His efforts were met with a laugh from his tormentor. A boiling of anger swelled as he felt humiliated being hog tied and even captured by the noble. 

“Let me loose and I will show you something laugh at...I mean I will kill you!” 

Ted unfortunately sputtered in his haste to try once again assert his projected air of strength. This however stopped short as from behind Gabriel rose the toothy face of the raptor. The eyes of which stopped the mans blood and he could only swallow a lump in his throat. 

“Mr. Ted.” Gabriel spoke calmly as he looked at the man. “You are in no position to talk the talk when you cannot walk the walk. I am done with playing with you. Honestly I amused myself by improperly tying you. More of a test really but one that you failed. My distaste for you has subsided I now see you are just a middle man.” 

Standing Gabriel lofts his sword, the blade glowed in the night with a golden hue. He inspects his handy work with sharpening the blade as he spoke, his voice gaining more edge to it. 

“You sir, killed my wife. You lured her into a trap and lead her into a group of white mantle who in hopes to kill me found her. You may not have had a true hand in the sword or arrow that ended her life. However you were a catalyst for it.” 

The sword is now pointed at Ted as again a lump forms in his throat. He struggles back as the sword is now pressed firmly against his chest. 

“Look, I can’t tell you about it, they...they will know I snitched and everything wil...oh fuck you will just kill me if I don’t say anything...” 

A dark grin forms on Gabriel’s face as the point of the sword digs into the mans clothes slowly. 

“Yes, Mr. Ted, I will kill you. However it won’t be a simple thrust into your heart as it should be. No, I will make it painful for you. Break a bone, mangle you by rock...and when I am done you will then walk to my house. Wherein my sons will then apply their trade on you. My first born, Federico will find a few precise places to cut. My second, will then use great curses to your sorry soul...and my youngest...well I don’t think we’ve ever had to use his skills.” 

the man begins to whimper, any shred of bravado or bravery gone as the man’s face contorts from pain and fear. 

“So, you can talk...or we can continue to do it this way. Please, don’t talk. Give me a reason to grab a hot rock near the fire and smash it into your face. Give me a reason to vent, to have years of pain and hurt be purged from my body.” 

“It was Kestrel! that’s what he told us to call him...he is a white mantle man who operates in the city. He said he wanted to get back at your family for a past wrong doing...he was trying to send you a message...I haven’t seen him since...no..I have when he attacked with the other mantle on the city and at your family...I told him no more...”

Gabriel lets out a sudden howl in frustration as he stepped back and raised his sword. “You coward! you couldn’t let me have this...you will rot in the mists and never find peace...” with a swift motion the sword came down and the sound of tearing sinews of the rope are heard. With his bindings cut Ted gets up hurriedly to untie his feet before bolting off. The raptors head lifts to follow but Gabriel sharply commands. “No. Not today. Let him run.” 

Gabriels eyes watch the man run off into the distance. He took even breaths to quell his anger inside. He forced it back down into a box only to be used when needed. He eventually could not see the retreating form of Ted before he stood up and put the campfire out by kicking a can of water on it. He then dumps some loose dirt on it before moving to gather everything and saddle his raptor for home. 

“I have a good time traveling here, I have a good time living here. I get everything along my journey, I get everything I need. There's so much everything in the world, There's so much to see. There's so many places to be To hear those hoofs.

Singing, dancing, playing my song I enjoy my life along this road. My life so sweet along this road, Here at the end of the North Star. Here's my home, Here the road ends. Here's the stable of my horse, Here was born my silver haired mount.

Keep on galloping my black horse carrying me to unknown shores through these outlandish woods and with confidence back home ...back home”

[maggyme13]

Huntresses Winter (1/?)

What happens when a Hunter meets the Avengers because a summon gone wrong?  

AN: I recently started watching SPN again and I got the idea for this story. This will be AU in both fandoms.

Wordcount: around 2400

Warnings: Mention of torture

Huntresses Winter Masterlist

“To a good hunt!” Your brother Dean declared, rising his beer bottle into the air, clinking it with yours.

“Where I was the bait, as always.”, you grumbled. Just because you were victim to an unknown curse, that made you immune to the bites of monsters, and you didn´t like it one bit.

“It´s not my fault they prefer virgins. Stop being a cry baby and decide what you want to eat. I am starving.” Dean told you again, just like many times before.

“I know. But it is your fault that you are none.”

“(y/n). We are older than you. So it´s quite natural that-“

“Shut it Moose. You two grew into this lifestyle just like I did. Only reason why I am still one is because neither of you ever leaves my side for long and because, unlike our brother, I have some morals.” And don’t forget this stupid curse. “I am 24 for fucks sake.”

“One day you will find someone that isn´t afraid of us and-“ Sam started.

“- until then we will continue to kill those assholes.” Dean ended the conversation he had grown tired of. “Now order.”

Waiting for the waitress (that kept flirting with your brothers and glaring at you Suck it up girl), you felt an uneasiness rise inside your stomach, the hair on your neck rose and your canines sharpen.

It all was part of the curse the witch had put on you. No one knew what kind of curse it was; the witched death hadn’t lifted it, so you were left with a few characteristics of an animal, like sharpened senses that resurfaced once in a while. You never harmed anyone and the sharpened senses helped with hunting, so your father had left you alive, only insisting you get an tattoo that sealed whatever may be inside of you. Later when you brothers and you met Castiel, Gabriel and Crowley neither of them knew what was wrong with you.

The feelings you had, usually appeared when you were in danger, but this time it felt different. You choose to ignore it and blamed it on the stress you had today.

“You still there sis?” Sam asked, worry evident in his voice.

“Yeah, just need to pee but am to lazy to stand up at the moment, so I am arguing with myself if I should get up or not.”

He shook his head on hearing your answer and took a sip of his beer.

“Nope, I really need to pee. Protect my beer Sammy!”

“Sure Sis.”

Your statement wasn´t a complete lie, you really needed to pee; but the main reason was that you wanted to make sure your senses didn’t play tricks with you.

It had happened once before; your animalistic side had been attracted to another customer of the bar you and your brother had been at. He was almost killed, because the three of you had thought of him as a threat.

Not happening again.

Finished with your business, you stood in front of the mirror washing your hands, when you felt another tuck at your core. This time it felt like the times when Cas teleported you to a different location, only did you fell unconscious.

You woke up just like many times before: Stripped to your underwear, tied to a chair in a cold room with no weapons and no idea where you were.

Again? Why always me?

Your body had quite the collection of scars from situations like this; your brothers on the other hand had always been lucky and no scars left behind, and you couldn’t deny you were envy of that.

Opening your eyes, you looked around for any indication what was going on. You sat in a sterile white room with only a mirror in front of you.

Strange, so clean. Well, once is always the first time.

Nothing was there to tell you who brought you here.

Time to get out of here.

“Cas! I need your help. Get your ass down here.”

Nothing.

“Cas?!”

Still nothing.

Shit, not good.

“Gabriel?!” Now you growled when nothing happened again.

The one time I need help, no one answers. Fine I will get out by myself then. Since when did they get so professional?

A sudden movement of the corner of your eye caught your attention, a door that hadn´t been there before opened and a man in a white uniform entered.

Looks like a labrat.

“Finally awake I see.” He sneered, “Who are you?”

Hearing that you began to laugh.

“Really? REALLY? Dude you must be very knew to this. You know, usually they know who I am when they come to question me. First day on the job?”

You heard the sound almost before feeling the sting of the slap he send at you.

“If you wanted to convince me to answer, you failed. You hit worse than a five year old handicaped girl with no arms.” You teased. Better find out who they are.

“You don’t want to speak? I will make you speak.” He threatened, but you only laughed.

“See those scars. I never said anything and those who did these were a lot more dangerous than you will ever dream of. But good look, one time is always the first.” After another punch to your gut, the man left you alone, only to return seconds later with a cart full of torture instruments.

“Still don’t want to talk?”

“Nope.. But I have to admit this is the first time the instruments are clean. I already like you more than the assholes in the past.”

“Have it your way then.” He sneered.

“Nothing I haven’t gone through jet. But go ahead.”

The next two hours or so (you had become quite good at guessing the time that passed over the years) consisted of punches to every region of your body (resulting in at least two broken rips and a ton of new bruises) before he started using some of the instruments. But she didn´t say a word, much to the anger of the man.

It wasn´t that you felt no pain, but it was true that one can get used to everything after some time and you had gotten used to ignoring pain when you had to.

“Speak or you die! Speak now and I can save your live.” He said, motioning at the cuts on your body.

“Don´t be stupid. Those cuts are not deep, they were made to hurt, not to kill. But nice try though.” You send him an innocent smile.

He just wanted to hit you again, when the door opened again, and another man entered.

“Doctor, that is enough!”

“Just tell me what you want. I am tired of this good cop bad cop shit.” You sighted, not patient enough to listen to another story.

“Well well well. Impatient aren´t we?” He chuckled.

“Yes. This isn´t my first interrogation of this kind. So hurry up I need somewhere to be.”

“We are Hydra. Or better what is left of it. But with your help we will take what is rightfully ours.” He told you in a proud voice.

“I pass, thank you. Now that you told me who you are and why I am here. Why don´t you tell me how I got here.” You demanded.

“What do you know about Demons?” He asked.

“They are assholes, hard to kill if oyu don´t know how. Angels are worse though, all this high anf mighty shit and then they stab you in the back. Hellhounds are kinda cute. I always wanted to have one, maybe I could ask Crowley if Juliette had a puppy I can have.” You mused aloud, ignoring the glares the men send you. “So, what do they have to do with me. Neither you or he is one.”

“Interesting. We wanted to summon a demon of old, but got you instead. Any idea why?”

“Nope. But let me know if you find out. Can I go now?”

Just when the men wanted to answer, the door opened again and a soldier entered and an alarm sounded.

“Sirs, we are under attack. The Avengers attacking the base.” He stated.

“She will join us. Soldier, put her in handcuffs and escort us to the port.”

Well I don´t know where I am, better just go with them and then leave as soon as the possibility arises.

Her hands got handcuffed and the little group got escorted by six men in soldier uniforms. They walked though the hallways in a hurry. The closer you got to your destination, the louder became the sound of fighting.

Your animalistic side began to grow restless, getting ready to fight. Stepping out of a large hangar door into the open.

The scene that unfolded in front of you could be taken out of an comic book: a red and gold robot flew through the air firing laser beams, another man was dressed in a full body condom printed with the American flag throwing punches and an oversized metal frisbee, then there was a green big thing that smashed and punched, another one was fighting with a dagger.

Now or never!

Within seconds your hands were free and you stole the combat knife of the guard besides you and killed him. Running as fast as you can towards the wall you had decided to use as an escape route.

You heard the scientists shout for you to stop, for the guards to catch you alive.  Not wanting to kill you, they didn’t use full force , but you did.

Gunning and slicing, you made your way through the masses of enemies. Muscle memory took over and you thought about what to do once you were over the wall.

“Cas! Gabriel!” But still there was no answer.

Throwing away the empty gun, you reached down to get another knife. This turned out to be an mistake, because when you leaned down one of the soldiers grabbed you from behind in an afford to choke you unconscious. Being used to train with your brothers (that were taller then the attacker) you easily threw him over your shoulder and embedded one of the knifes in his eye sockets, killing him instantly.

Suddenly a searing pain went through your leg, a pain you knew all to well: a bullet.

Not again!

Ignoring (or better trying to ignore) the pain you had to turn around and find another escape route, the injured leg made it impossible to climb the wall like you first intended. Looking around you found a big hole in the wall, only problem: is was on the other side of the battlefield.

Fuck me hard.

Limping as fast as you could you dodged anything and everything that wanted to stop or harm you, knowing that you weren´t be able to survive if you stopped.

Wasn´t it be for your trained senses and the animalistic side, you dodged an arrow and the supersized frisbee at the last moment.

That was close.

Grabbing the combat knife, you stopped and took an defensive stance.

The fight was over and now you faced those you saw attacking the face prior.

“Lay down your arms! And we won´t hurt you.” Mr America stated.

“Listen, you were obviously held captive by those cretins, so be a nice girl and stay down.” The man (you now saw was in the metal armour) told you, earning him a glare and middle finger. You hated to be treated like a little girl.

“We are five and you are only one. Are injured and only have one knife.” An archer said.

“GROA!” The green thing shouted, but you didn´t even flinch. What didn´t get unnoticed by the men.

Your instincts felt someone approach from behind and you caught a little movement in the corner of your eye. Wasn´t it for the curse, there was no way in hell you would have been able to see the dark haired man that sneaked up to you, covered by magic.

“Don´t!” You growled, laying the blade at his throat. The moment he felt the cold metal, he became visible.

“Impressive. M`Lady, we mean no harm.”

“The arrow and oversized metal frisbee told otherwise.” You stated with a sneer.

“We didn´t knew if you were friend or foe.” Mr America stated, taking a step towards you, only for you to take a step back.

“You are telling me that you are fighting 24 year old women only dressed in underwear with bruises and cuts covering her body, on a daily bases then? Who are you and what do you want.”

“How long did they held you captive that you don´t know who we are?” The tin man asked with a baffled voice.

“A few hours.”

“You are of this world and jet you are not. There is dark magic surrounding you. Say where do you hail from?” The dark-haired sorcerer mused.

“I moved so much I don´t know where I come from, but I currently life a few miles away from Lebanon, Kansas.”

“We currently are a few miles from Lebanon Kansas.”

“That’s not true. I now the are like nothing else. This is not there. Unless-“ I need to check that.

“I need to make a few calls. Does anybody has a burner or something like that?” You asked, looking every male in the eyes.

Sensing magic being used next to you, you looked at the sorcerer that held an smartphone towards you to grab.

“I assure you, this will work just fine.” He smiled.

“Thank you.” You grabbed the phone and called every number you and your brothers had used, as well as Cas´s and Crowley´s 666. But to no avail, not one number was taken.

Shit. Where am I?

Realizing there was no way that you would get back with your brothers soon (and having your injuries in your mind) you let the knife fall to the floor and lifted the hands in surrender.

“Name´s (y/n) Winchester. I surrender.”

Everybody relaxed. When you wanted to step forward your leg gave in and the world turned black.

Not again.

  Part 2

Masterlist

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[themadlostgirl]

Not Dead Yet (Part 18)

*I have been staring at this chapter for days debating with myself over the development. But you all have given me such love and I like this chapter too much to change it. Hope you like it too!*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: language

“Wakey wakey.” I shook Pan awake the next morning. “We have a lot of walking to do.”

“For god’s sake woman, why do you have to get up so early?” he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Stop complaining. You’re the one that wanted to get to a town so let’s go.” It seemed to take him a moment to remember what had happened yesterday. When he came to he gave me a dirty look and spent the next ten minutes grumbling about getting us stuck in this situation.

“So, Pan, any idea on how we’re going to find a way back home?”

“Hit up the black markets and dodgy parts of town. We’re bound to find something sooner or later.” he shrugged, “Also, it might be safer for you to stop calling me Pan when we’re here.”

“Why?”

“Enchanted Forest. I’ve made some enemies, most of them from here. If they were to catch wind of me being here with no way to escape then it could prove rather bad for us.”

“What do you want me to call you? Andrew? Robert? Eugene?”

“Peter will suffice.” he rolled his eyes, “Don’t look so giddy, it’s just my name.”

“Yeah, but you never let anyone call you by your first name.”

“Details, details…”

“Well, glad to have the non-honor, Peter.”

He shoved me but I could tell it was in good spirits. I knocked him back and we kept shoving each other like that until I ended up body slamming him to the ground. He stared up at me in shock before an oddly calm grin took over his features. “You are gonna pay for that one, Lost Girl!”

“Only if you can catch me!” I took off running and he followed after me. When he did catch up he tackled me to the ground. “Nice one, Pete.”

He turned me over and cocked an eyebrow up at me. “What? Don’t like Pete?”

“No.” he said in a very serious tone that made me chuckle. “Something funny?”

“No, no...you just got so serious.” I teased.

“Come on,” he pulled me up.

“I guess I can’t call you Petey then either, huh?”

At this his eye started twitching. “Calm down I was just joking. You need to find yourself a sense of humor.”

After a couple hours Peter and I found a town and using some money I pickpocketed got a room in the inn. Sleeping outside was no problem but it was freezing here. One small room with only one bed and a hard wooden chair created some issues. It took some serious arguing on my end to get him to even allow me to stay in the room. According to him since it was my fault we were stuck here I should have slept on the floor but I reminded him that we only got this room from the money I pickpocketed so I deserved it more. In the end we ended up having to share the bed which, let me tell you, wasn’t easy!

“Keep your feet on your side!” I shoved his freezing feet away from me.

“Well I would if you didn’t hog all the blankets!”

“Maybe you’d be warmer if you put a shirt on!”

“I can’t sleep with a shirt on! You’re not wearing any pants!”

“Cause they’re caked with mud!”

“For the love of--” he yanked hard on the blanket, pulling more to his side.

“I don’t have any now!”

“How about you complain about it more, I’m sure that’ll warm you up.”

“Fine, I don’t need a blanket. My seething anger will keep me warm.”

“Sounds good to me.” he rolled over so his back was to me. I curled into myself trying to retain some body heat and eventually drifted off to sleep.

The ringing of bells woke me up the next morning. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and realized I was alone in the room. Where had Peter gone so early in the morning? As if he knew I was thinking about him Peter strode back in with a bundle of clothing and wearing something that wasn’t his. “What’s all this?”

“If we’re going to be stuck here we need to blend in or else the townspeople are going to think we’re nothing but bandits.” he threw me some clothes, “Get dressed.”

“Alright.” I stood up and stripped out of my old worn shirt and into the dress Peter had found me. “Do I have to wear a dress?”

“Stop complaining.” he tossed me my dagger. “Also keep that concealed, nothing screams suspicious than a girl with a bloody knife.”

After we were dressed we left to get some breakfast and look around the village. It was a rather large village bustling with activity and a castle way up on the horizon. I wonder whose kingdom we were in?

We went around to some seedy shops looking for some form of magic to get us back home. Everywhere we looked though the seller either tried to pass off junk to us or simply didn’t have anything magical.

“This is getting tedious.” I groaned, “I know I’m not well versed in magical objects but even I could tell that was just some crudely painted piece of wood.”

“Oh no, Y/N, it was a rare charm specially made to find magic beans out in the wilds.” Peter grinned and I found myself smiling back. “But in all honesty we are being shown nothing but junk it seems.”

“What do we do now?”

“Care for something to eat?”

“Yes please.” I snuck some coins off a passerby and we grabbed some bread and cheese at a stand.

“Hey, I have a serious question for you.” Peter broke off some bread I was holding.

“What’s that?”

“Do you really not know what a camel is?”

“What?”

“When I was telling you about the spinner women I mentioned one of them had a lip that drooped like a camel and you said--”

“Okay, I get it. No, I do not know what a camel is. What’s a camel?”

“It’s an animal, kind of like a horse but with a longer neck and their back has these large bumps on them.” he explained, “I can tell by the idiot expression you aren’t getting this.”

“Here,” I pulled a wanted poster off a wall, “Draw me a picture.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Draw me a picture of a camel.”

“Fine.” He pulled me into the inn and we sat down near the fire. With a piece of charcoal in hand he set to work as I nibbled at the cheese we bought.

“So focused.” I tried to peer at the paper.

“You will wait until I’m finished.” he blocked it from view with his arm.

“Ugh, you artists.” I rolled my eyes. A minute later he slid the paper across to me. “I’d say it looks just like the real thing but y’know…”

“Thanks,” he snatched the paper back.

“But for real, you can really draw.” I stood up and grabbed another wanted poster off the wall and turned it over for him. “Draw me something else?”

“I demand pay for my creations madam!” he said in an overly grandiose voice.

“Then you shall receive it kind sir.” I tossed him a silver coin. “Now give me a drawing worthy to hang on my palace walls!”

“As the madam wishes, I will draw you the most beautiful portrait of my career.” I tried not to laugh as he set to his drawing. While I waited for him to finish I grabbed a book that was laying on a nearby table and began to read. I hadn’t had to read in so long I was afraid I might have forgotten.

The night grew late and I felt myself starting to nod off. “Hey, Y/N,” Peter tapped my arm perking me awake again, “Your grand piece of art.”

“Done?” I took the paper. His hands were covered in charcoal smears and there were charcoal shavings from him sharpening it. “You really put a lot of work into this didn’t you?”

“Of course. I promised my best work.”

“Then let’s see this…” my words trailed into nothing as I took in the drawing. It’s...it’s me. I didn’t look in mirrors all day but the likeness was uncanny. It was my profile staring down at something with focus.

“You drew me?” I sought his face. He was already looking at me when I faced him. Those hard green eyes were softer and his cocky smirk was replaced with a gentle smile.

“Yeah. Well you were sitting right there reading and the way the firelight was casting the shadows it…” he dropped my gaze like the act burned him, “I drew you. So what?”

I looked back down at the drawing. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It wasn’t anything.” he shrugged. “I’m going to get a drink, you want one?”

“Oh no. It’s late, I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” I folded the drawing and stuck it in my skirt pocket. “If you get drunk though and bring up some floozy I will throw you out the window. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am.” he gave a mock salute as he wandered toward the bar.

I don’t know what it is but since leaving Neverland Peter was nicer. He was nice to me enough when we weren’t trying to kill each other but here things were different. It felt easy. Walking around town, joking, talking, and whatnot. That was the only way I could describe it. Things were easy. I felt like a wall had been torn down after years of chipping. He was still my leader and the boy that has tried to kill me numerous times no doubt, he was still Pan. Just watching him saunter over to the bar while I climbed the stairs to our room felt blissfully mundane. A part of me almost wished that we wouldn’t find a portal back to Neverland if it kept this lull of peace going on just a bit longer.

I went back to our room and changed out of the dress and back into my traveling shirt. At least I don’t have to fight for the bed tonight. I pulled the blankets up to my chin and was soon asleep.

Peter was true to his word and didn’t bring any floozies up to the room in a drunken stupor. What I did wake up to though was far stranger. He was back in the bed with his head laying on my chest and an arm wrapped around my middle fast asleep.

Okay...how do I get out of this?

I started to peel his arm off me then stopped when I caught a look at his face. He looked so peaceful. Everything about him was intense all the time that to see this was strange. Without realizing it I had brought a hand up to his head, running my fingers through his hair.

“What am I doing?” I whispered to myself and slid out from underneath him. The movement woke him up and he sat up. He gave me bleary glare.

“Why do you have to get up early all the time?” he flopped back against the bed.

“Habit.” I pulled the blanket off the bed. “Come on, we’re burning daylight.”

He begrudgingly got out of bed and the pair of us went back into town for another day of searching. I didn’t mention the fact that I had woken up intertwined with him. I doubt it would have gone over well and he probably would have just found a way to tease me with it.

After our failure yesterday we weren’t too optimistic on our chances of finding a magic bean or some other kind of realm jumper today. After the first dozen of rotten back alleys Peter was cranky and I was hungry. We went back to the inn early just as the sun was starting to dip on the horizon.

“I’m starving.” I moaned, “Got any money for food?”

“No, but we don’t need any.” he pulled me up off the bed. “I heard wedding bells ringing earlier and the inn was bustling with activity. I’m sure they wouldn’t notice if there are two extra guests at the reception.”

“We don’t exactly look like we’d fit in at a wedding reception do we?” I gestured to our stolen clothes and dirtied faces.

“Easily remedied.” he waved his hand and the pair of us were cleaned up. Peter dressed in a white shirt, green coat and black pants with matching black boots. I looked down at myself and saw that I was now wearing a red velvet gown embroidered with golden ivy leaves at the sleeves and neck.

“Really?”

“You love it you know you do.” he smirked back at me with a proffered arm. “Now, shall we?”

I rolled my eyes but took his arm and we went downstairs to join the festivities. We must have looked like we fit in quite well as others came up greeting us with smiles and offering us drinks and food. We sat down and filled our bellies with hot chicken, fresh bread, buttery potatoes and sweet cake, not to mention a good amount of wine and ale.

Music pulsated through the inn and everyone was dancing jubilantly. Well almost everyone. Peter and I sat away from the dancers, content to sip wine and chat amongst ourselves. Everyone looked to be having such fun though…

“Excuse me,” one of the young men from the bridal party approached us, “Care to dance miss?”

“No, she wouldn’t.” Peter said before I could answer.

“Yes, she would.” I stood up taking the boy’s hand, “Just cause you don’t dance doesn’t mean I don’t have to.”

“Y/N…” he warned.

“Like you were ever going to ask me.” I rolled my eyes and let myself be led out towards the other dancers. The boy held onto my waist as we started twirling to the music. I let out a wine induced giggle as the stranger and I danced.

The song ended and another began to swell anew. A different boy came up to me looking for a dance but was intercepted by Peter who pulled me away. I was pressed into him before being spun out and back in. “What’s this about?”

“Me asking you for a dance.” he shrugged.

“You didn’t ask though.” I reminded him.

“Details…” He held tight to my waist, spinning me so my feet scarcely touched the ground. Maybe it was the wine or the party or a combination of the two but we danced the entire night through, drowning reality with fantasy. Anytime someone tried to cut in Peter pulled me away with a cold look at whoever came near. I knew none of this would last. We were just playing pretend until we found a way back to Neverland. That was even if Peter still wanted me to come back once we did find a way. Until then I was content here dancing with him, tipsy and carefree.

It was like a dream. One of those dreams where everything feels so real and you’re so happy but the moment you wake up it fades into nothing leaving you empty in a way you can’t explain. That’s all this was, and I was dreading the moment when we finally woke up.

A line dance started and everyone was stomping their feet and shouting with good cheer making me forget my worries once more. One by one couples went down the line starting with the newly married couple. Peter and I ran down the tunnel of people, hands tightly intertwined and brows glistening with sweat.

Skipping, spinning, twirling in and out along with the wild frenzied beat until the song struck it last triumphant note and Peter and I were pressed flushed against each other breathing deep and smiling wide. His gaze flickered to my lips before leaning and pushing his mouth against mine. I could taste wine and sweat as I kissed him back. It was by no means a pretty kiss. It was hungry and gasping and passionate and fervid. I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck so to get a better angle.

His hands wandered down to my hips. The music was drowned out by the sound of my heart pounding hard in my ears. He pulled away from my lips to nuzzle his face into my neck. His hot breath puffing like fire against my already scorching skin.

Then the dream came crashing down.

“Peter?” We froze and Peter pulled away. There was a girl with powder blonde hair and a worn pink dress staring at us with disgust. “You--you--!”

“Ah, Scarlet?” His voice sounded deeper than it did earlier.

“Giselle!” the girl screeched.

“Right...uh...how have you been?”

“Impatient, waiting for my dear lover to return with the ring he promised me!” The noise of the inn lowered as the others stopped to watch the scene.

“Oh my god…” I snorted.

“You! You’re the one that defiled my daughter!” A very large man approached us, murder in his eyes.

“Uh Y/N, I think it’s time for us to go.” He pulled on my hand and we made a shot for the door. We ran out into the town square and stumbled down into an alley out of sight. When it looked like we weren’t being followed we both broke out laughing.

“I thought that inn looked familiar.” he was doubled over, tears in his eyes.

“I cannot believe you! You are such a whore!” I couldn’t breathe I was laughing so hard.

“So this is my fault?”

“It is! It is entirely your fault!” I took in a deep breath. The dreamlike scenario already flitting away into obscurity as rational thought tried to regain control over my wine addled brain. “Well, casanova, where are we supposed to sleep now that we can’t go back to our room?”

Peter seemed to be having the same problem and had to take a moment to catch his breath before speaking. “We’ll make camp out in the forest. Not anything we’re not used to right?”

“Right.” we left the alley, leaning on each other as we escaped the town and found a clearing in the forest. Peter changed our clothes back to normal which I was only a little disappointed in. I wouldn’t admit it but playing dress up for the night had been fun.

We pulled some branches together and made an impromptu shelter for one. The other would stay up and keep watch. “Get some rest.” Peter sat next to the fire he had conjured.

“No, I can take first watch.” I tried to answer but he just shook his head.

“You’ll nod off, especially now that you have about a dozen glasses of wine swimming through ya. Go to bed.”

“Fine. But wake me up in a couple hours for my watch.” I yawned as I laid down to sleep on the chilled forest floor. Strangest night ever.

(First) (Previous) (Next)

[wayfaringsofsabit]

Tumult: Fourteen through Eighteen

Note: I have been under the weather recently, thus am posting an entire week's flash fiction at once. Enjoy!

14

CONTENT WARNING: Violence against children

Qaansoole the archer made her way carefully and quickly through the watery tunnel. She knew that the champions behind her relied upon her leadership, but they were strong. Her son, Qays, had been with Allamu—whose scream had already echoed through the tight space. Sabit had charged after him only to let forth a cry of anguish as well. Qaansoole’s heart filled with dread.

Despite her fear and worry, Qaansoole moved with care, making certain her sandals did not slip on the wet stones. She had learned the hunting arts at her father’s knee and knew that skill filled more cookpots than did strength or speed. Even Qaansoole’s marriage to the warlord Athar—Qays’ father—had arisen from a skillful negotiation. Her voluntary sacrifice had kept his rampaging war-band away from the forested home of her people. Qaansoole could feel the smooth bark on her bare feet as she recalled perching on a tree branch, talking down to the mounted warlord below.

Qaansoole was several years and hundreds of parasangs away from her homeland when she learned the true character of Athar. Qays was just mastering the use of his legs when the war-band held its first culling. All the children who had seen six summers were gathered, armed with knives crafted for their tiny hands, and herded into a corral. Only when half the young lay slain upon the ground was the corral opened and the survivors welcomed to the war-band. Athar rejoiced that his son would know his mother’s fierceness and prosper in the culling.

During the culling festival, Qaansoole had taken Qays and fled—across plain and forest and desert to ensure that no son of hers would hold murder in his heart. Qaansoole felt once more every struggle and sacrifice she had made for her beloved son.

Catching sight of him ahead, she hurried to his side. Qays turned to her, bloody knife held high, a grin of joy on the boy’s face.

Qaansoole screamed.

15

In the delirium of his twisted memory, Allamu fell to his knees, awash in horror at his deeds. The foul tricks and wicked lies he had used to steer Sabit to this wretched city of Vert weighed upon his heart like a stone dragging him to the unfathomable depths of the ocean.

Before his fevered eyes, Allamu saw Sabit’s body aflame as she fought in the arena as one of the Magistrate’s champions.* The numberless crowds of spectators roared their adulation like surf pounding on a rocky shore. He could not pull his gaze away from the feats of strength and skill she performed, although her every moment was wracked by fiery suffering.

And yet, no flame bit deeper than the betrayal Allamu could see in Sabit’s eyes when his grandest lie played out before her. As Allamu posed as Qaansoole’s lover, he could see Sabit’s face consumed by more than just the flame. The agony in her eyes burned like acid, dissolving Sabit from within.

Allamu had been the one to put it there. It was his fault their group had ever come to Vert. After all the times Sabit had saved Allamu’s worthless life, he repaid her heroism with lies and betrayal. The exultant crowds at her toppling of the Magistrate let out cheers that rang out hollow.

«What does a man deserve when he has betrayed those he loves ?» came a voice formed of roaring crowds and churning waters and ancient hate.

Allamu had no words weighty enough to answer—only action. Pitching forward in the waist-deep waters of the narrow tunnel beneath the Magistrate’s house, Allamu threw himself beneath the surface, the silence engulfing him. He felt metal bars ahead.

Wedging his head beneath the bars, Allamu waited to end the curse of his betrayal, to drown, to join the hungry ghosts that whispered in his ears.

—

*-Sabit’s time as a champion is detailed in Wayfarings of Sabit: Broken Justice.

16

Qaansoole leaped through her twisted memory, arms reaching for her son, Qays. Taking the boy in her arms, she tried to pry the bloody knife from his grasp. Qays’ small fingers held the weapon with the strength of stone. Qaansoole’s grip could find no purchase, her hands slipping in the gouts of blood covering the boy’s hands.

“Qays, you are no murderer,” Qaansoole cried out, trying to reach the kind soul that she knew lay behind the boy’s hate-filled smile.

“Of course I am,” replied Qays, gleefully. “I am my mother’s son. I have learned your ways well.”

In a flash, Qays hurled the bloody knife. Qaansoole recognized the grace and power of the movement: they were her own. The flying blade lodged itself in the Magistrate’s neck, and he crumpled to the ground.

Qays lifted Qaansoole’s bow and let loose an arrow. Embedding deep in Sabit’s eye, the shaft drove the spear woman backward until she landed on the hard stone, unmoving. The next arrow struck Allamu through the heart.

As Qaansoole’s former betrothed collapsed in bloody, twitching agony, she heard a watery voice—thick with agony and envy. «What else could the boy have learned from you besides the art of killing? How much more murder do you want to teach him?»

The blood from Qays’ slaughter ran deep and strangely cool around Qaansoole’s waist. She had poisoned her son’s heart with her each word and every touch. Qaansoole would set him free. Throwing herself head-first into the coursing stream of blood, Qaansoole buried herself beneath the heap of corpses and waited to die.

17

Sabit’s twisted memory of holding Ishum’s skull in her hands was filled with cacophony. Her throat ached from screaming. The roar of the wind surrounded her—howling through the rocky badlands where Ishum had died. The churn and splash and gurgle of the water flowing around her legs echoed in the tight tunnel beneath the Magistrate’s house. Sobbing and screams from her fellow champions and the former hostages seemed to reach her ears from an unfathomable distance.

Pulling the skull up from its undignified grave amidst the roots, Sabit begged for that which could never be. “Ishum, you must not love me. I betray all who trust in me.”

The roaring of the water grew louder, like the flooding caverns of the god Batuul beneath a distant island.* Washing past her feet, Sabit saw the drowned corpse of stubborn Wensa, who had never been tempted by Batuul’s empty promises. Sabit had led the young woman into danger and it was at Sabit’s feet that the blame of her death came to rest.

Stumbling backward, Sabit fell upon Qaansoole. Her lifeless body was curled around the innocent corpse of her son—the archer was another who had often questioned Sabit and was now condemned to die for Sabit’s failure; her son was another innocent youth whose life Sabit had snipped before it could blossom.

“Allamu!” Sabit cried. A strangled cry of agony answered. Turning, Sabit saw the prince of Urom’s face twist into a mask of agony as a mercenary cut him down from behind. The bald warrior with the long moustaches—the one Sabit had failed to kill during the siege—stepped over Allamu’s bloody corpse.

«You fail to defeat your enemies, and visit suffering upon your friends. Is it any wonder you are hated and feared by all?» came a voice as old and warped as the stones themselves.

Sabit fell upon her back before the approaching foe, into the rushing water. Her arms flailed blindly behind her, the spear woman’s hands seeking a weapon, a tool, a rock—anything to fend off her attacker and his dead-eyed stare.

Her hands found neither spear nor sword nor stone. But each stretch of her arms pulled Sabit deeper beneath the water, every effort to protect herself drew her closer to a watery grave.

*-Sabit’s encounter with Batuul is detailed in Wayfarings of Sabit: Isle of the Wicked.

18

Vert had not always been the city of justice. Tribes of fishermen and herdsmen had made their homes in this valley for ages unnumbered before the tradesmen brought coin and commerce from afar. When the trade had grown lucrative enough, the Vertan invaders caught the scent of wealth. Conquering the expanse of the valley, the foreigners constructed the splendor of the city and enshrined Verq, their patron lady of justice, as the true and only goddess.

For the simple folk whose roots in this land went deep, the broad, paved thoroughfares and glittering arcades and bustling forum held no place for them. Those people and their old gods were not welcome upon the surface. Far from the sight of the lady of justice and her rich, fat followers, the old ways found a new home—in the deep places, in sewers and catacombs and stinking piles of offal.

Even the gods and their ways change with time. The richer the Vertan conquerors grew, the more spiteful grew the teachings of the old gods, and the more envious grew the hearts of the conquered people. While Vert was at its height, they buried their dead in the secret, sacred places, deep beneath the city. Consecrating their graves with stark songs of hatred, they buried the wasted bones of their families, and kindled an unending hunger in their restless ghosts.

As Vert fell, the hungry ghosts relished every ounce of suffering wrung from their oppressors. But a thirst for suffering cannot be slaked by something so simple as the fall of a city, the collapse of a civilization, of an enemy’s defeat. The desperate need for pain goes on, ceaseless in its yearning.

Now, this fresh crop of outsiders suffered well. Long-dead ghosts feasted upon their fears, cracked open their hearts to devour the doubts within like the rich marrow of bones. Some were young, crackling with strong, bright terrors. Some were old, steeped in decades of regret. Some were strong, but their strength only fed their despair. Some were clever, but their skill only sharpened the barbs of hopelessness.

As this fresh crop of outsiders huddled in the murk of the tunnel, the hungry ghosts feasted. A banquet of anguish lay spread before the hungry ghosts as the living crawled under one another in the stream under the Magistrate’s house--bodies crushing bodies against the metal grate stretched across the opening to the river, nothing but thin bars blocking their way to the open sky. The dark dreams of the living kept them from seeing their plight, and drove them relentlessly toward the gullets of the hungry ghosts.

-----

Wayfarings of Sabit: Tumult is copyright (c) 2017 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller or http://ipressgames.com/fiction/