#I could NOT stop thinking about his red kerchief ITS JUST SO

[soni-dragon]

the red means i love you

[ID: a digital painting of Stede Bonnet from Our Flag Means Death. The top half of his face is cropped off, and only his neck and shoulders are visible. He wears a loose white button up shirt and a piece of red fabric tied around his neck. His left hand is held up to touch the red fabric. There is some blond stubble on his chin. /End ID]

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

an icarus and his sun: chapter 8

A/N: hello i have returned!! this chapter was weirdly difficult for me to write, but from here on out i think the writing will go much smoother! but unfortunately i do have classes to be worrying about soon, so who knows how much time i will have to write. but still!! very excited about this fic and how you guys will react to upcoming events >:) (plus i added some implied nature wives (katherine and shelby) to this bit so this fic is basically turning into me making empires smp gayer) also check out this stunning art of chapter 5 by @artanogon! and if you wanna make art of this fic, you absolutely can, just be sure to tag me so i can see it!

Warnings: depression of the heartbreak variety, past violence

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

-

Jimmy was trying his hardest to not be mopey as he helped Katherine with rebuilding. He knew that he had promised that he would help her- but his own confusing feelings about Scott, his lack of building know-how, and the dejected look Katherine had as she looked at the slight crater where her castle used to be had Jimmy feeling far out of his league. But he put on a brave face- he needed the distraction, after all.

They began with filling in the crater, mostly silent as they moved dirt over with their shovels. Then once the ground was level, they could begin with setting up the framework of the castle. They spoke more to each other then- but it was mostly Katherine telling Jimmy where to put the support beams. Jimmy wanted to say something, anything to break the tension and melancholy air- but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to Katherine that didn’t lead back to the tragedies they had experienced. Jimmy wished that Joel or Lizzie were there- but they were off gathering more materials for Katherine’s castle, and probably wouldn’t return until nightfall. So until then, it was just Jimmy and Katherine, silently stewing in their respective sadnesses.

Luckily- or maybe unluckily- someone much more chipper than either of them came along. Jimmy almost didn’t recognize her at first- but quickly realized that the figure approaching them was the mushroom gnome queen, Shrub. Or Shelby-she had said they could call her that too. She was dressed far more casually than she had been at the ball, a polka-dotted red kerchief tied over her head, brown overalls over a green shirt, and red boots with white polka dots. She had a bag slung over her shoulder, and Jimmy could see the tops of mushrooms peeking out of it.

“Um- hello! I- I wanted to offer some gifts from the Undergrove, maybe they could help with rebuilding! Or they could just look pretty- or just be a peace offering- or a gift of sympathy for what happened,” Shelby rambled, seeming just as skittish as she had at the ball, but was less afraid and more excited. Katherine set down the beam she was holding, and gave Shelby a small smile.

“The gift is much appreciated, thank you. It was nice of you to stop by- I apologize for the appearance of the Overgrown. Usually it’s prettier here,” Katherine said, looking over her lands for a brief moment before focusing back on Shelby.

“Oh! Well, what I saw of it at the ball, your empire is lovely! I’m sure it will be back to its former glory soon… if you’d like, I can help! I’m good with plants and I’m not a bad builder!” Shelby offered with an encouraging smile. Katherine practically glowed at the praise of her empire, and smiled back.

“I’d love to have your help- it’s just been me and Jimmy working all day, and most of our time was spent filling in the crater. Some extra hands would definitely help things go faster,” Katherine replied, gesturing at the land around her. Shelby beamed back at her, setting down her bag of mushrooms.

“Then I’m more than happy to help! We gnomes are small but mighty, just tell me where to lug these beams around and I’ll do it!” she chirped. Katherine blinked in slight surprise at her eagerness, but looked over to the stack of beams beside them.

“Well, there is one that needs to go across those two over here for the entrance. If you’re as strong as you say, then maybe you can help Jimmy with getting it up there- I’ll set some scaffolding up so you guys can reach it,” Katherine explained, going over to where two beams were upright and doing just that. Jimmy watched her set up the scaffolding for a moment, until he felt a pair of eyes on him. He turned and looked down to Shelby, who quickly looked away once she realized she had been caught staring.

“Is everything okay? You seem jumpy,” he asked, brows furrowed in confusion. Shelby chuckled nervously.

“Oh. Well- you see, gnomes can’t swim. And I’m kind of afraid of the water and water related things because of it. But you and the ocean lady seem like really nice people! So… sorry for being jumpy. It’s a habit,” she admitted sheepishly. Jimmy let out a good-natured laugh.

“I mean you’re right to be spooked by Lizzie, she can be scary when she wants to be- but most of the time she’s very nice! And trust me, there is not a single threatening thing about me,” Jimmy said, tone turning a bit rueful at the end of his statement. Shelby frowned.

“The guy with the goggles and his friend sure seemed to think otherwise, why else would they bother you like that?” she asked. Jimmy blinked in surprise at that.

“You… you think Fwhip and Sausage are afraid of me?” he asked in disbelief.

“Well… not afraid, but definitely threatened. I’ve seen it before, back where I came from. You’re someone who won’t bow to people easily, and people like them don’t like that,” Shelby explained with a shrug. Jimmy considered this for a moment.

“Huh. I guess… I never saw it like that before,” Jimmy said, a small smile coming to his face.

Their conversation was ended by Katherine waving them over, and Jimmy and Shelby picked up one of the beams to carry over to where the scaffolding had been set up. Shelby was surprisingly strong for her stature, and carrying around the beams and placing them where they needed to be was much easier than before she had arrived. It was less quiet with Shelby around too, as she cheerfully asked questions about their empires, as well as sharing some things about her own empire. But then there was one question that caused Jimmy’s blood to freeze in his veins.

“So you said that Joel and Lizzie were getting more building materials, but what about your partner? Is he with them too?” Shelby asked, and for a moment, Jimmy was confused.

“My… what?” he asked.

“The elf guy you were dancing with at the ball! You’re very cute together, by the way,” Shelby continued, completely oblivious to the tension in the air her statement created. However she soon noticed Jimmy’s pained expression, and it was her curious smile changed to a concerned frown.

“We uh. We were never together. And he betrayed us,” Jimmy said stiffly.

“Oh- oh I’m so sorry. You guys had just looked so happy together, I had just assumed- I’m sorry,” Shelby rambled, and Jimmy gave her a weak smile.

“It’s alright. I guess I was kinda happy- but it was never real. Not for him, at least,” Jimmy replied, throat feeling tight. He hadn’t really meant to burden all of his issues onto Shelby, but his mouth was moving a little faster than his brain was at the moment, and he couldn’t hold back his words.

“Well- well then that guy is missing out! You seem great, and he gave you up for what, tactical gain or political advantage or something?! He doesn’t deserve you!” Shelby declared, hands on her hips as she smiled up at Jimmy confidently. If someone he barely knew had so much confidence in him, then why shouldn’t he? Jimmy smiled back at Shelby.

“Maybe you’re right,” he conceded. Shelby gave him a half laugh, half playful scoff.

“Of course I’m right! Now c’mon, this castle isn’t gonna rebuild itself!” she chirped, heading over to the stack of beams. Jimmy could only stare after her for a moment, dumbfounded. Katherine seemed just as amazed by the gnome’s boundless positivity, a smile growing across her face.

“She’s spirited,” Katherine murmured. Jimmy chuckled.

“Yeah, you two are like birds of a feather,” Jimmy murmured back.

"We both are definitely nature-oriented," Katherine added with a chuckle. She looked at Shelby fondly for a moment, until her expression turned into a frown as she noticed something in the sky. Subconsciously her hand started reaching for Jimmy’s, and he took it as he looked up to the sky with her. Two figures were flying in- and the tension in Jimmy’s shoulders relaxed ever-so-slightly when he recognized them as Pearl and Gem. But he still gave Katherine’s hand a gentle squeeze all the same.

“What’s going on? Are we under attack again?!” Shelby asked anxiously, coming over to stand beside them and look up at Pearl and Gem flying in.

“Don’t know yet- they weren’t directly behind the explosion… but they are allied with the people who were,” Katherine said apprehensively. Shelby looked down from the sky, frowning in concern- and upon noticing Jimmy and Katherine’s joined hands, she grabbed Katherine’s other hand with a comforting smile. Katherine flushed slightly, but smiled back at Shelby gratefully.

“Please don’t be alarmed!” Gem shouted as she came in for a landing. Frankly, that didn’t make Jimmy feel any less alarmed.

“We aren’t allied with Fwhip and Sausage anymore. We don’t want any part of what they’re up to,” Pearl clarified, landing beside Gem.

“Really?” Jimmy asked warily. Gem looked to Jimmy with an open, pleading expression.

“I meant what I said when we told you that we didn’t know what Fwhip was up to. He left myself and Pearl completely in the dark, while Sausage and Scott were the only ones who knew about the full plan. But even then, I don’t think those two had the full picture, they looked surprised that we hadn’t known about the TNT. The point is- Pearl and I were tired of being part of an alliance that lied to us, and lied to us to hurt others! Katherine- if I had known what was going to happen, I would have never gone along with it and would have tried to put a stop to it,” Gem explained, turning her focus to Katherine as she spoke.

“So… you two are… on our side then?” Katherine asked slowly. Pearl gave her a gentle smile.

“If you’ll have us, yes. We also figured you could use our help rebuilding,” Pearl replied. Katherine looked to Jimmy, as if she was asking for his opinion. Jimmy blinked, and looked at Pearl and Gem. They seemed… candid, at least. But after Scott… Jimmy wasn’t sure who he could trust anymore besides his steady allies. However, they weren’t Scott. And furthermore, it really wasn’t his call to make. It was Katherine’s.

“It’s your empire, Katherine. If you don’t want them here, then just say the word. But you won’t get a fight from me if you do want them to help,” Jimmy said gently. Katherine smiled, and looked back to Pearl and Gem.

“I would absolutely appreciate your help. We’ve almost got all the framework for the castle set up- but having someone with wings help us out with some of the taller parts would be lovely,” Katherine said. Pearl beamed, and Gem clapped her hands excitedly. Gem came closer and Katherine let go of Shelby and Jimmy’s hands to talk over building plans with Gem, Shelby following after her and listening as well. Pearl, however, walked over to Jimmy with a mildly timid expression.

“Pearl?” Jimmy asked.

“There’s something I think you should know,” she blurted. Jimmy blinked in surprise, tilting his head to one side in confusion.

“I… okay,” Jimmy said semi-apprehensively. Pearl took a deep breath, like she was unsure of how to continue.

“Gem and I just came from a meeting with the Wither Rose Alliance. Well… it wasn’t much of a meeting, Gem and I broke off ties with the alliance pretty quickly and then left. But… there’s a… there’s something about Scott,” Pearl explained slowly. Jimmy tensed, swallowing nervously.

“Oh?” Jimmy asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Like I said, Gem and I didn’t stay long so I don’t know for sure- but there was something off about Scott. He just… didn’t seem himself. I think he was just as unhappy with Fwhip as we were with him. I… I just know he meant a lot to you. And I think you meant a lot to him too. I just… I don’t want to get your hopes up, but maybe… maybe you should give him a chance,” Pearl continued. Jimmy’s mouth fixed into a firm line.

“It’s a nice thought… but I don’t think I can trust him anymore. Not after everything that happened,” Jimmy said, throat tight as he tried not to cry. Part of him really wanted to hope that maybe there was some sort of misunderstanding, that Scott really did care about him- but Jimmy couldn’t afford that kind of hope. Pearl nodded in understanding.

“That’s fair. Like I said… just thought you should know,” she said, before walking over to join Katherine in her discussion for the build. Then Jimmy- only feeling ever so slightly useless now that Katherine had so much more help- swallowed the tears that thinking about Scott caused, and joined them.

-

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[sing-against-the-sky]

Poems, Prayers and Promises

🏜🌒🌾

Summary: cowboy/ homestead AU soft!Jake Kiszka fic that is entirely self indulgent. Slowish burn hurt/comfort.

Warnings: Blood and injury trigger warning.

Notes: tried formatting this in tumblr a few times but it still looks weird to me lol. So fuck it I’m posting anyway. I’ve written more if anyone is interested in it ♥️

Thank you @ageofsewingmachine for your help😊

🌙1

There was someone beating on her door. She startled and jumped out of her chair, the book in her lap tumbling to the ground, Kip barked and stared at the door. She stepped to the hearth and quickly tugged the shotgun off where it sat on the mantle. The sun had been down for an hour at least, there should be no one at her door.

The banging came again.

And a voice.

It was loud enough to understand clearly but she could hear it was strained. “Please. I’m sorry to intrude on your home. My horse threw me down three miles back towards the gorge. I saw your light after the sun had set and thanked my stars. I’m hurt worse than I thought...” His voice trailed off for a moment, she could hear him breathing hard.

She stepped towards the door and put a hand on the lock bar. She looked at Kip again at her feet. He stood alert looking at the door, but his hackles hadn’t risen at the sound of the man’s voice. She took it as a good sign and spoke loud enough to be heard through the door. “Are you armed traveller?”

She could hear the relief in his voice when he spoke again. “Yes ma’am. But my rifle and ammo are on my horse. She’s at the trough by the tree. I have a knife but you can hold onto it for me.” His answer more than satisfied her.

She propped the shotgun on the wall and pushed the lock bar out of place.

The stranger practically fell into her home and she caught him by the shoulders. He wasn’t much taller than her and she was able to keep him on his feet. He held his left side with his hand, blood making his dusty blue shirt dark between his long fingers. She used his momentum to get him the two steps to the chair and turned to quickly close the door. Kip sniffed the man’s fingers but stayed close to her skirts.

When she turned back the man was leaning on the chair and offering his hunting knife and sheath to her with his unbloodied hand. He looked at her from under the brim of his hat as she took it. “You’re kind to take a stranger in at night ma’am. I’m in your debt”

She slid the sheathed knife into her big petticoat pocket and moved to get her shoulder under his arm as he started sliding down the back of the chair. “Don’t thank me yet, traveller. I haven’t fixed that hole in you yet.” He let out a small chuckle, which quickly turned to a pained cough. His face was close to hers as she moved him to sit on the couch across from the fire and his breath stirred the strands of hair around her face. It smelled like juniper berries.

He lay back, breathing harder now and roughly pulled the hat from his head. His long brown hair fell across the pillows she had embroidered in the dark snowy months of last winter. The red birds in the corners echoing the red blood streaked on his hands.

She knelt beside him to inspect his wound. He looked at her over his high cheekbones without lifting his head up. “I’m sorry if I bleed on your nice furniture ma’am”

She tisked her tongue at him “You’ll be a lot sorrier if I have to move your dead body out of here. Just focus on breathing deep. Lemme see what happened” The corners of his lips almost smiled before he grimaced in pain as she lifted his hand off his bloody side and pulled the sticky shirt out of the way. He had been holding a now soaked kerchief to the wound. She was almost relieved when she saw it wasn’t a bullet hole seeping blood. There was a deep gash just above his left hipbone, bits of wood still clinging to the edges and two big splinters still in him. It was ringed by a deep purple bruise that stretched up his side. She quickly assessed the wound and placed the kerchief back over it, putting his hand back on top. “Keep good pressure on it, like you were before. I’ll be right back” He nodded his chin at her as she stood went to gather supplies.

She was back in a few short minutes with a basin of water, clean strips of cloth and a big glass jug half full of a clear liquid. She moved the kerosene lamp from the side table it had been on and set it next to her.

Her hands were steady when she sowed up her ripped work clothes or helped bring a new lamb into the world, she hoped they would be with a man, bloody and in pain, at the end of her fingers.

She held the glass jug out to him. “Sorry if it’s not your taste. I make it myself. But it’ll do the trick. I’m going to put this blanket under you so you’ll need to sit up for just a moment.” He nodded again as he took the jug from her and took a deep swig. He sucked air hard through his teeth and handed it back. She bent over him as he rolled a little to the side and quickly tucked the blanket under his back. When he lay back she could see the kerchief under his hand was totally soaked.

Now was the time to act.

She knelt again, looking over him. She met his eyes and she could see sweat beading on his forehead and the pain lacing across his face. It didn’t look right on that face. She knew it would get worse before it could get better.

“Are you ready? I have to clean it and tie it tight. You’ve already bled a lot and it needs to stop.” He nodded again and she could see him stealing himself.

“Can I have another drink before you start?” His voice came out raspy, like it caught in his throat. She handed him the jug and pulled the kerchief from off her neck to hand him as well.

“Bite down on this. And yell if you need to. It’s gonna hurt like a son of a bitch” He bunched it up and put the fabric between her teeth. His deep brown eyes locked on hers and he nodded for her to begin. She lifted his hand off the bloody wound and got to work.

An hour later she was putting the red-stained rags in a bucket and quietly cleaning up her makeshift surgery. He was asleep now, he had fainted from pain when she pulled the last big splinter from his side, but his breathing was steady and she had got the bleeding to stop. A bandage was wrapped tight around his middle, but he still wore his dirty shirt, pushed up under his arms. She softly undid the last few buttons so he could easily slip out of it if he wanted. She stood and decided to take his boots off before seeing to his horse and settling in for the night.

You can tell a lot about a man from his boots. His were were a light tan leather, simple and quality, but well worn. There were flecks of river mud on them and the silky seed pods of canyon grass still clung in places. She liked what the boots told her about the stranger in her home. He had been honest since he got here. She could feel the weight of his knife against her leg. She looked at his sleeping face once more before she and Kip slipped outside to take the strangers horse to the barn.

🌙 2

The sky was just turning the dusty purple of dawn when he opened his eyes. It took him a moment to remember where he was. He was under a soft wool blanket with pillows holding up his head. The piercing pain in his side took no time reminding him of the night before. He looked around, his eyes falling on the woman across from him almost immediately. She was sleeping in the chair by the fire, her faced cradled in her hand, propped up under her chin. Her hair was messy and the morning light made the stray hairs glow like a halo around her head. There was a finger smudge of his blood across her cheek. He wasn’t quite sure she was real. He lay there quietly for a moment, just breathing slowly through the pain in his side, not wanting to wake her. Movement caught his eye as the dog laying at her feet shifted and stretched. It was lean and medium-sized, its coat a dusty yellow, with little folded ears. It blinked its dark eyes at him as it sat up. When he looked back up at the woman’s face she was looking back at him.

“Glad to see you made it through the night”

He smiled at her. “Glad I did too. You did fine work fixing me up. I can’t thank you enough ma’am.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “You don’t have to keep calling me ma’am. I don’t like blushing three times a conversation. My name is Ida”

His smile widened. “It’s nice to meet you Ida. I’m Jacob.”

She smiled back at him. “How’s your side?” He shifted his torso a bit, testing, and grimaced as the pain shot through him. “Hurts”

Her lips pursed in a tight line and she stood and came across the room to him. She gently flipped the blanket down and looked at the bandages. There was one small circle of blood showing through the white strips. She seemed relatively pleased. “I’ll need to change these in a few more hours. And I don’t think you’ll be off this couch for a few more days.” He nodded and offered her kerchief back. She shook her head and pushed his fingers closed around it. “Yours was ruined. I have others I can use. Keep it.” Her fingers were soft on his. She looked over his makeshift cot. “I wish I could move you but it’ll make you bleed again so we won’t risk it til we have to. But if you get a fever you’re going to the bed.” She deftly leaned over him and gave a few subtle knocks on the carved wood of the back of the couch. He smiled to himself, watching her. Her skirts brushed his bare shoulder. They smelled like lavender soap and hay dust. In a moment she was turning away again, on her way to whatever task was next. He lay back into the pillows. Lady Luck had smiled at him when he saw this house’s light, glimmering in the night.

🌙3

When Ida came back in from morning chores Jacob was asleep again. His face was pale under his tan. She softly touched his forehead with her hand as she passed. He wasn’t burning. But he wasn’t cool either. Her brow creased with worry. She had to be prepared in case of the worst. She had to be prepared for anything. She went to make more bandages. All she could do was be ready. And hope those warm brown eyes kept opening to look up at her.

[jungcity]

bane of the devil. | iv

genre: vampire!jaehyun [angst | fluff | smut(?)]

pairings: jaehyun x female reader

note: bane of the devil deals with themes of physical, mental, and sexual abuse as well as toxic relationships. which may be upsetting for some readers. you are advised not to continue if you feel uncomfortable to these types of plots.

words: 5.4k

“oh, father,

i wanted her.

her pretty,

and her bad;

her chaos, and her bliss

in her mercy,

i learned how to lick

the edge of a knife

as she pressed

the blade against my throat

perhaps,

she was the winter

of my summer,

but, gods, i love all her seasons

she was the moon,

she was the sun,

the universe was in her eyes,

and she was mine.”

The weather was not pretty. Jaehyun’s hair was whipped back and forth by the squalling winds, a promise that the heavy rains would eventually fall sooner or later. He isn’t a person for pretty weather, himself. A good ray of sunlight would not scorch him to dust, but it would singe him nonetheless. The dimness of the clouds were fitting for his escapade today.

The busy workers scurried off the pavements, their shoes soundless by the slapping of winds into the trees. Jaehyun turned on one corner, the road has immediately died of sounds, except for the whistling winds and the thunders erupting from the heavens. Several white lights flashed in the skies from sharp lightning to a distant place. Jaehyun’s boots thudded against the sidewalk, the only sound accompanying him as he led himself to the same place he’s been visiting for the last ten years.

Eternal Rest Cemetery.

All of a sudden, as if on instinct, your face projected in his mind. Of how your fear almost drowned you the last time you were with Jaehyun in the same cemetery. Pleasant as your face was, the thought nonetheless irritated him, more than anything. You do not have the rights to barge in his mind unannounced. Not after last night.

You’re not a monster—

A bitter laugh resonated from this throat. Him? Not a monster? He wanted to ask you, then. He wanted to ask you whatever you know about being a monster. When your canines does not elongate, when you do not even feel a thirst for blood every time you are hungry, when you do not even feel the death inside you albeit being alive.

Yet a small part of him wanted to believe you.

He pushed the gates of the cemetery open, the old and rustic metals whistling. Dried leaves littered everywhere, a sign that the caretaker wasn’t doing his job particularly well. Jaehyun’s boots crunched the leaves underneath him as he walked to the tombstone of someone he does not truly know— but treasured nonetheless.

Louise Samantha Wong. He’s read the name over and over again. Yet the pang in his not beating heart never assuaged. Every visit was a hole augmenting in his rotten soul. In spite of that, he’s never missed a single day every year to visit the little girl he’d killed ten years ago.

Yesterday was the mark of her ten-year death anniversary. The wax from melted candles now enveloped the grasses. The flowers from her visitors have already wilted. Louise loved tulips, Jaehyun observed over the years. A little girl with good taste in flowers.

Finally, Jaehyun let go of his grip on the tulips he was holding and laid them neatly on her tombstone.

Jaehyun crouched, silent as a cat. “Hey.” He felt ridiculous as the words tumbled out of his mouth. Ten years of visiting her and he has not yet developed a proper way to greet her. It made him feel wicked than he already is.

Jaehyun’s hands strayed towards the tombstone, dried leaves flying towards the surface and to him. He picked up every leaf until the tomb was clean again.

“You’re probably wondering why a bastard sits next to your grave yet again,” he pronounced followed by a toneless chuckle. “It’s been ten years. You would’ve been fifteen by now.” Familiar thorns wrapped his throat, yet he knew he wouldn’t be able to cry. Jaehyun’s eyes would have been two stones with immobilized pupils if not for the vampire venom which coats his eyeballs. The same venom had also prevented his tear ducts to function.

“I’m sorry.” Jaehyun’s fingers shook, he needed to fist his hand to stop their shaking. “I know it’s useless now. I’ve already ended your life five years after your mother gave birth to you.” Vampire does not breath, Jaehyun could not release the tightness in his throat for that reason. “You would’ve been in high school now, slowly building up your dreams. Sorry for taking that away from you.” He pursed his lips. “The truth is… I’m not happy to be half-alive either.”

The wind rustled again, the dried leaves once again dominated the surface of her tomb. Jaehyun wiped it clean with his hands. “But that’s ungrateful of me, right? You died so I could live. Life’s cruel.”

Until now, Jaehyun couldn’t grasp the reality of a five-year old dying while an asshole such as him lives. And it’s the one reason why he wanted to kill Alena. She could’ve easily chosen Louise to live, instead she breathed life to Jaehyun. Being a vampire isn’t a pleasant life to live with, but at least it could give Louise the chance which Jaehyun took away from her.

Jaehyun, in his rotten and bitter life, never believed in vampires— or any mysterious creature at that. He lived a life tossing coins with the devil, yes, but he never would have thought that other kinds of evils lurked even in the busy streets of a city, ready to turn humans like them.

Jaehyun didn’t wish to become a monster even in second life, but Alena made him one.

And he won’t forgive her for that. She took away Jaehyun’s humanity, she took away everything from him. He could not even show himself to his friends, to his family. For the fear of being rejected.

What is so special to being immortal? How would you chase the wildness of life if the thrill has already been extinguished?

“Farewell, Louise.” Jaehyun finally stood up. The rain has started to fall, drenching the ground. Splatters of mud now starting to cover Louise’s tombstone. “I’ll see you again.” He turned on his heel and left.

There’s still one place he needs to go to.

—

“Long time no see, Lucas.”

A scream of horror echoed from you as Lucas stumbled on his feet and landed on the wooden floors of Madame Juana’s parlor. Before anyone could utter a word, the tall man stood and swing his fist to punch Jaehyun. But his vampire instincts are faster than that of a vampire hunter, so Lucas ended up colliding against the door.

“Years of practice yet you still could not—” Jaehyun’s mockery was halted as Madame Juana raised her hands. Both Lucas and Jaehyun’s knees thudded on the floors as the Madame forced them to kneel.

Veins from their temples started to protrude as they struggled to move their paralyzed body. You remained standing, hands covering your mouth. Everything happened too fast.

“Both of you will behave or else I’ll let you die with your brains splattering on my floors,” Madame Juana warned.

Jaehyun tried to move his eyes and glared at Madame. The two men dropped on the floors as the witch dropped her hands. Lucas almost heaved his lungs out, coughing painstakingly. As for Jaehyun, he regained his natural posture as if nothing happened. The attempt of Madame to squeeze Jaehyun’s air passage went in vain as vampires do not breathe.

“Fuck you, Jaehyun,” uttered Lucas, the color of his face slowly returning.

Jaehyun, as if in his own house, had gone straight to the bottle of liquor resting on the table near the window. He filled the glass to the brim and emptied the liquid in one gulp. As he did that, he raised his middle finger towards Lucas.

“What are you doing here?” Madame Juana regarded Jaehyun with a stoic expression, her red lips thinning.

Jaehyun set the glass back on the table with a loud thud, you were afraid the glass would shatter. “I’m making sure you won’t do anything to Y/N.”

Your eyes widened as he mentioned your name. He made it clear last night that he won’t join you into this ‘suicide mission’, so why is he here checking up on your well-being?

“And what do you think would I do to her?” Madame raised a brow.

Jaehyun shrugged, “I don’t know. Use her blood for your dark magic?”

“Madame does not engage herself to those kinds of magic, you asshole.” Lucas chided in before filling his own glass and gulping its content in a blink.

You chanced a glance at Madame Juana. And automatically gasped as you saw blood dripping from her nose. “Madame! Your nose!” You hurriedly fished your kerchief inside your pockets and handed it to her.

Lucas was beside her in an instant, but she waved her hand as if to say it was nothing. She took your kerchief and pressed it to the skin under her nose. “I’ll be back,” she said, giving the two boys one warning look before departing the room.

“Why are you even here, you piece of shit?” Jaehyun spat the words with enough contempt that made you turn your head towards him. The way his words strayed from his mouth would definitely trigger yet another brawl between them. Thankfully, Lucas stayed to where he was, ignoring Jaehyun’s vulgars.

“I am here to train, Y/N.” Lucas’ back was leaning against the table, his arms crossed against his chest.

What claim does Jaehyun has to ask that question as if he wasn’t the one who just jumped in and showed himself uninvited to your meeting with Madame Juana?

Yet the mention of your training made you decide to finally sit at last. You didn’t meet Jaehyun’s gaze as you sat, for the fear of finding what have been lurking in those chocolate brown eyes once you look. Nevertheless, you felt his eyes boring into yours as if judging you.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

With that, you glimpse at Jaehyun. He asked the words while looking at you. His brows were furrowed, dissent etched on his face.

Lucas scoffed, “Why would I elaborate?”

Jaehyun propped his one leg above another while he waved his hand. “Oh, I know. You will train her for Alena, right?”

When none of you answered, Jaehyun let out a loud laugh.

“What’s funny?” Your irritated question. He wasn’t even invited to this meeting, yet he came, punched your trainer right in the jaw and laughed at your plan as if to mock you. “I know you disagree about everything, Jaehyun. But be careful mocking me now. I might kill you myself after I’m finished with Alena.”

Jaehyun leaned, his eyes enticing you. “You’re sexy whenever you threaten my life like that.”

All the blood from your body once again traveled to your cheeks. He did not just say it in front of Lucas, right? But the snort from Lucas told that it was real. Jaehyun truly embarrassed you in front of a cute boy.

“Is that what your vampire clan teaches you, Jung?” Lucas needed to pursed his lips together to stop himself from laughing, but after trying so hard, he finally let it go and howled.

“And what does your VHC a.k.a Virgin Hunters Corporation teaches you?” was Jaehyun’s sharp reiteration.

Lucas’ howls ceased in an immediate stop then, and now looking at Jaehyun with daggers in his eyes. “It’s Vampire Hunters Corporation, Jaehyun.”

“Yeah, convince me otherwise.” Jaehyun placed his feet on the coffee table then. “Have you ever been laid?”

“Jaehyun?!” You widened your eyes at him in warning. If you were drinking something right now, you would’ve probably choked on it already by his question. You would never afford it if Lucas would back down in training you. Turning your head to the tall man, who stood with his face red only a meter away from you, you spoke. “I’m sorry Lucas—”

“What about him backing down on this plan? I could train you myself.”

There was literally a vein that ticked in your neck as you snapped your head to Jaehyun’s way. He, himself, looked taken aback by the words he voiced out.

“I mean— no. I won’t. If you don’t pay me.”

You rolled your eyes at him and focused your sight on Lucas instead, who looked puzzled as he never had an idea that Jaehyun has read your mind. “I’m sorry, Lucas. I assume you and Jaehyun have already met, by the way you’re talking to each other right now.” You let out a nervous chuckle, “He could really be a nuisance, right?”

“Hey!” Jaehyun stood up, ready to bite you when the door opened, revealing Madame Juana.

“Let’s get back to business, shall we?” She waved her fingers, long nails glinting.

“How about Jaehyun? He couldn’t stay. He’s Alena’s fiancé. And why is he even here?”

You gulped as Lucas stated the words. It seems like everyone knows about it except you. Well, until last night.

“I’m trying to severe the betrothal.” For once, Jaehyun spoke with solemnity, throwing away his haughty visage.

“C’mon, Jung. She’s the most powerful vampire today. Why would you do that?” Lucas’ words were laced with sarcasm that bit on your own skin. The reminder of Alena’s omnipotence, once again, made you uncomfortable and cowardly.

“Do I have to explain myself to you? Absolutely not.”

Madame raised her hand, stopping Lucas from speaking. The witch turned her attention towards the vampire across from you, then. “Will you join us, then?”

It’s a no. Jaehyun— beyond doubt— would decline. He assured that he wanted nothing to do with this mission. Yet a little ember of hope winked inside you as you waited for his answer.

“Not exactly join you. I don’t trust anyone.” He looked at you, and he remained looking at you when he spoke his next words, “But I could help you get close to Alena.”

“Perfect!” The loud clap from Madame Juana startled you. She was flashing her teeth through a smile that could reach her ears. “And I guess… it’s better if Y/N trains with a vampire hunter. And apply the things she’s acquired to a real vampire.”

It’s self-explanatory. Whatever you would learn from Lucas, you would apply to Jaehyun. It’s smart, it’s wise. But it does not make you any less troubled.

Lucas is a cute boy. You might have a little crush on him now. And Jaehyun… well… Jaehyun is beautiful. Having them as your mentors made the butterflies in your stomach tense. Not to mention the fact that they clearly despised each other.

“Y/N?”

You blinked, and saw the three of them looking at you as if anticipating an answer. Right. You had spaced out. “What is it?”

“We’ve just discussed that perhaps it’s better if you’d travel to my villa at dawn.” What?! “Don’t worry, my love. It’s located at the foot of the mountain. I have all the means for your better training in that house.”

You fiddled with your fingers, unsure of what to say. “Can’t we… train here? I mean, I appreciate your generosity Madame. But… my brother. He’d worry.”

“Oh no, darling. It’s better to train with the nature as your company. I know you could make up a reason for your brother. Am I right?” She raised both her perfectly trimmed brows.

“Yes. But—”

“I think we should give her a bit of time. This is all new to Y/N,” Jaehyun chimed in, looking straight at the witch.

“We don’t have the time. The ball’s in three months.” Lucas glared at Jaehyun.

Ball? You looked at the three of them, waiting for an explanation. It isn’t what you think it is, right?

“The ball. Every year, the vampire clans and the vampire hunters commemorate their peace treaty by having a lavish party.” Jaehyun’s eyes were focused on you now. “Yes, Y/N. There is a peace treaty between our nature, and theirs.” He nudged his head towards Lucas.

“This plan. It’s breaking the treaty, then?” You spoke with careful tones, as if frightened that someone with the wrong ears might hear them.

Suddenly, everything feels wrong. Everything feels fraught with danger than it already is.

“Yes, Y/N.” Madame leaned on her seat, “It is.”

You pursed your lips together, uneasiness spreading like wild fire in your chest. “Why are we doing this, then?” You narrowed your brows. “Why do you plan something that is against the treaty?

The tall man blinked and glanced at Madame. His crystal clear eyes shining. “Y/N, this treaty isn’t really a peace treaty.” He cleared his throat and sat on the remaining chair beside Madame. “Vampires have been murdering helpless humans for millennia. That resulted for someone named Diego Asdalis to create a vampire hunting association to protect the people. For hundreds of years the two sides have fought. Yet fifty-years ago, after too much bloodshed, the new leader of Vampire Hunters Corporation and an elder from a vampire clan who looks after all the clans in town made a treaty.”

Every words, you tattooed to your brain. As Lucas explained, you could not help but become fascinated by the informations. It seems like you haven’t gathered much about vampires even after all those years of study.

“It doesn’t mean the vampires and the hunters suddenly agreed for a friendly relationship. We weren’t chummy to each other. The treaty holds one rule only, if the vampire kills a human, the hunter would have all the rights to kill that vampire,” Lucas continued.

You supposed that’s exactly why Lucas hadn’t tried to kill Jaehyun the first time he saw him. And vice versa. There is a treaty that somehow separates their hatred for each other.

And that means VHC isn’t the society you would dare mess up with. If that treaty was factual, then the vampire hunters in town has all the strength and weapons to kill a vampire. That kind of audacity and stoutness was commendable.

“That’s the loophole.”

Three pairs of eyes stared at Jaehyun when he suddenly spoke.

“What about those who were turned into a vampire? What rule protects them?”

Sympathy isn’t something Jaehyun would accept with open arms. Despite that, you could not help but feel sympathetic towards him. His question was meet for the current conversation and to his situation as well. Who, and what protects those who has been turned without their consent?

“If the human presented himself willingly to the vampire, then that is out of our protection. We protect humans, but not against their choices,” Lucas explained. When Jaehyun did not speak, he shot up a brow. “Why? Were you turned against your will, vampire?”

Jaehyun’s eyes were lifeless as he stared at Lucas. “No.”

No? He told you a different tale last night. Alena turned him. The look of his face wasn’t fitting for someone who had willingly asked a vampire to make him one of them. You kept your mouth shut nonetheless. It is not your story to tell.

“Then you’re out of our shields,” Lucas faintly shrugged.

“You wouldn’t be able to do anything, anyways.” Then Jaehyun stood up and walked straight to where the liquor was located.

“What did you say?” Lucas, himself, bolted upright. Ready to pounce on Jaehyun at any given moment. But for the second time, Madame held her hand and ordered him to sit down. Which he gladly obliged without a word.

“Y/N, I’ll give you until tomorrow to decide.” Madame smiled at you. It was warm. For the first time since you arrived, the pressure on your shoulders vanished.

Until tomorrow. What would tomorrow unfold, then?

—

“You gotta pay for me,” Jaehyun announced as you both wait for a bus to pass by. You rolled your eyes and pretended you didn’t hear him.

As you looked at your feet, you could feel Jaehyun observing you. Waiting for you to answer. After leaving the premise of Madame Juana’s mansion, you feel more discomfited. You thought the discussion would go smoothly. But now you feel weak— left with the agitation of being utterly mortal more than ever.  

“Cat got your tongue?” Then he peered at your face, a stunning yet annoying smirk plastered on his face.

“I don’t talk to strangers,” you muttered. His enraged declaration about your status to each other’s life last night was still clear in your mind.

Jaehyun faked a hurt expression. “That’s awful.”

“You’re awful, Jaehyun.” Then you stared at the road instead, praying that a bus would be merciful enough to stop by so you could get away with him already and pretend that the both of you do not live in the same house.

You instantly felt conscious when he didn’t speak. He’s awful for saying you weren’t friends. But you are awful for saying that he is awful. That does not sound right. After heaving a deep sigh, you decided to finally look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

You said at the same time. Jaehyun laughed, while you turned away from him.

Then he cleared his throat, “Look, I’m not gonna apologize for saying we weren’t friends—” He held up both his hands when you sharply glared at him. “— because we really aren’t,” he added with a mischievous smile. When you didn’t reply, he pressed on. “C’mon, Y/N. We could work on that.”

“What do you mean?” You tried your best to sound disinterested as possible.

“We could be friends.”

For a moment, you were speechless. Is being friends with Jaehyun really important to you that it has straight away made your heart flutter as the offer slid out of his mouth? It’s ridiculous, but his statement made you smile.

“That sounds… great.”

“I’m not saying instantly—”

“I know that, Jaehyun.” You rolled your eyes to what seem like a first time of cutting him off. “Baby steps.” You pronounced before stretching out your hand to him.

Jaehyun stared at your hand for a moment, before he stretched out his and grabbed yours. His hand was cold, as expected of his nature. But his smile was warm when he said, “Baby steps.”

The ride back home was silent. In a comforting way. You really didn’t need to talk to Jaehyun, nor did you feel compelled to.

The both of you walked the streets. Familiar yellow lights from the streetlights dominated the whole path. The smell of rainwater on the ground still fresh in your nose.

“Are you sure about this, Y/N?” Jaehyun blurted out all of a sudden.

Your grip on your bag as well as to your plates tightened. He needed not mention what did he actually mean for you to understand. As you stared ahead of you, your mouth twisted and you let your mind search for something to answer him.

“I don’t know.” Yes, it was ignominious to admit your heart. But as of now, you really do not know. Madame Juana’s offers feels overwhelming, like she wanted you to say yes to everything she’s laying out for you. However, you know that this is your best shot at finding justice for your parents.

“You don’t have to—” Jaehyun’s words were cut off, his steps drawing into a halt.

You narrowed your brows at him, but he was looking straight at the figure beneath the streetlight. Your eyes followed his line of sight. Only stopping when you noticed a tall figure standing under the streetlight. You have not the slightest inkling of who might be him, but his aura alone sent a shiver down your spine.

“Run, Y/N. But do not run home. Run elsewhere. Far from here. Drop your bags, drop your plates. I will give them back to you once I’m finished,” Jaehyun ratted, eyes never leaving the man from the distance.

There wasn’t a need to tell you that the man was someone dangerous. The deviltry in him was stinking. It was death.

Jaehyun wanted you to run, but your feet felt leaden. They seem to froze onto the asphalt.

“Jaehyun, who is he?”

He didn’t answer, but his eyes were on you now. Every breath was agonizing as you feel the man’s presence, ready to attack if you do little as to move an inch.

“Run, Y/N.” Jaehyun’s irises had changed their color. From dark-brown eyes to red. His canines are elongating. Black veins from his temple protruding.

You took a step back, startled and frightened by his appearance. Finally, you felt your feet moved. So without a second thought, you dig in your shoes against the asphalt, your bag and your plates falling.

And run you did.

As you sprinted far away from Jaehyun, a demoniac snarl echoed from behind you. Goosebumps covered your whole body, shivers ran down your spine. The sound wasn’t human at all.

You continued to run, but the highway seemed so far away. When you feel as if your knees would collapse, you drew in a halt. You pressed your palms on both your knees, steadying your breath and the wild beating of your heart.

You do not dare glance behind you, for the fear of finding out what’s happening to Jaehyun. You’ve ran as far as you could, but the street leads to one path only and you don’t feel as if you’ve ran far enough to be safe.

“Shit!” You hissed, as you stumbled and fell on your knees, nearly kissing the ground. Just when you really need to get away, this is what happens to you. Nevertheless, you quickly stood and ignored the throbbing pain on your knees.

“Y/N!”

Jaehyun.

“Run!”

Do not glance behind you. But you did. Then you saw the man sprinting towards you, his eyes red like Jaehyun’s, fangs elongated and ready to bite you. You forced your feet to run again, but the vampire has caught your hair, gripping it tightly as to remove your scalp.

“Let go of me!” You shouted, grunted.

Pain lances through your hair as he continued to grip on your strands, but it was short-lived as Jaehyun dashed towards you. In a blink of an eye, the two vampires were rolling on the ground, with you kissing the earth at last by the impact of the vampire’s pull on your hair.

The impact has blurred your vision, spots of reds dominating your sight. Something metallic coated your teeth. Blood. Suddenly, the vampire ceased to move, his face turning to your direction, nose sniffing the air.

Jaehyun stared at your direction, too. His eyes were clear as he looked at you. You gulped and stood on your feet despite the pulsating pain in your head. But you fell once again as the other vampire pounced on you.

His eyes were wild, frantic even. His teeth razor sharp. If your heart could explode, it probably would. You gathered all your willpower to thrash, to wiggle out of his body pressing you down on the ground. You will never die like this.

But then saliva started to pool at the corners of his mouth. Without a second thought, he plunged into you. You shut your eyes, trying to make your way out of his grasp.

“You fucking—!” Your words were halted as you heard a gurgling sound. Warm liquid dripped on your face, on your body. The smell of blood coated your nostrils. Then a body fell on top of you.

You wanted to shout. To push the body away. But as you saw Jaehyun standing, a heart on his palms, your strength was taken out of your body.

His eyes were emotionless as he looked at you. But he pushed the body off yours with his foot. You scrambled away from the dead vampire, clutching your chest as if you could hold your heart and stop it from beating wildly.

“Jaehyun…” you breathed at last. The heart was still dripping blood from his hand. Flecks of blood covered his face, his shirt bloody too.

“Go home,” was all he uttered before grabbing the man by the back of his collar and dashing away into the night.

Leaving you bloody, scared, and unmoving.

—

Pools of blood immediately wash the tiled floors red as Jaehyun dropped the body of the vampire. The woman in front of him only regarded the body with her dark and curious eyes. Her long and silver hair catches the moonlight as she stood up from the made dais at the far center of her mansion’s hall.

“Long time no see, my love.” Her lips stretched out into a luscious smile, crimson lips glinting.

“Fuck you,” Jaehyun uttered with enough hatred to make the woman wince, yet he knew that she’s devoid of any emotion for that.

She stood up from her throne, barefoot trudging the cold floors towards Jaehyun. “Is that how you greet your fiancée?” She asked with doleful eyes, before caressing Jaehyun’s bloody cheek. He felt her fingers ran down the side of his face to his jaw in a very, very languid manner.

If he could strangle her right here, right now, he would. But Alena is a powerful vampire. Despite Jaehyun’s own peculiarities and power, he does not meet the level of ability the leader of the Detritius clan possesses. It would be suicide if he dared wrap his hands around her neck.

Alena sucked the same finger, making sure Jaehyun would be able to see every move, would be able to hear every slurp.

Then the woman’s nose scrunched up, “Not as tasty as yours.”

Jaehyun’s jaw twitched, the same hatred he’s been having for ten years towards the woman in front of him bubbled up in his throat, forcing him to retch.

“Stop fucking around, Alena.”

“Fucking around?” Her voice was laced with a sweet venom, “How could I? If my fiancé does not want to marry me, anymore?”

He held her wrist, his grip tight. “I don’t love you.”

“Stupid!”

Jaehyun’s cheek seared from the slap. He shut his eyes, gathering all his patience. He’s been through with the same scenario for a lot of times that it did not surprise him to see Alena’s outrage anymore. If he could bear scars, or any mark from his wounds, it would definitely stand as a proof that he’s gone through worst in the hands of the vampire.

“You are a fool, Jaehyun!” She bared her fangs, her dark eyes turning red. However, in the blink of an eye, her outrage slipped to a pleading expression. Her eyes shone, “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” And then she was grasping Jaehyun’s cheeks, his body, fisting her palms on his shirt.

“Stop.” He pushed her away, “Stop, Alena. We’re done.”

Jaehyun did not waste any second to turn his back on her and walk away. But before he could open the door, Alena’s voice boomed in the hall.

“Y/N.” Alena laughed her infamous poison laugh, “Be careful, Jaehyun. I know where she lives. Treaty be damned, I won’t even blink once I haul out her heart with my own hands.”

Jaehyun felt as if he was punched right in the guts as he heard the threat. There was no doubt in it, Alena could kill you. Anytime. Anywhere. Even under your roof. A foreign wrath enveloped him, so intense that for a moment, he wanted to kill Alena. Once and for all and get everything over with.

“Do not touch her,” he warned, back still facing Alena.

“Don’t force me.”

In times like this, Jaehyun appreciates his vampire abilities. For like an arrow from a bow, his hands were already wrapped around Alena’s neck. He gritted his teeth, baring his fangs, “I will kill you myself.”

Alena laughed, pushing Jaehyun away with her finger, a movement to show her supremacy. “I know you.” She whispered against Jaehyun’s mouth. “You can’t.” Then she flicked her tongue out to his lower lip. “So do your job, Jaehyun. If you want her unharmed.”

Jaehyun shut his eyes. Your smiling face, with your hands stretched out to him flashed in his mind. Baby steps, you said. He wanted to cherish those smiles, he wanted to protect you. And that’s exactly what he would do once he’s finished dealing with Alena tonight.

A venomous chortle escaped from Alena’s mouth as Jaehyun sank on his knees, craning his neck to one side to give enough access to the woman. The same pain washed through him as Alena’s fangs embedded on his flesh.

After what felt like forever, Alena pulled away, wiping her mouth clean with the back of her hand. Then she kissed Jaehyun with a ferocity of a hungry animal. Her robes slid down the tiled floors. She does not even care about the carnage of the dead vampire lying on her floors as she slid all her undergarments off her body— displaying her naked frame before Jaehyun once again.

“Now, my love, shall we start?”

[eirian-houpe]

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower - Chapter 53

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 53 - True Love’s Kiss

In the end they went in two vehicles, because Gold refused to ride in Leroy’s old beat up truck. Still, as they passed the flatbed, Belle couldn’t help but notice the chainsaw in the back, together with a tarp and some tie down straps. Once they started traveling, it didn’t take Belle long enough to work out both their destination and their intent.

“We’re going to the town line,” she announced quietly, and then solemnly added, “You mean to cut down the tree by The Bend.”

“I told you that you wouldn’t like it,” Gold answered apologetically, “Yet you still insisted on coming.” He sighed then and said, “Belle, I’m sorry, there really isn’t any other way.”

“No,” she said softly, “I understand, it just makes me feel sad.” She shook her head and added, “but I do remember you warning me of the dangers of sitting in the branches of the tree. You said it was rotten.”

“And it is,” Gold confirmed.

Each descended into the quiet of their own thoughts for the rest of the journey, but Belle felt Gold’s eyes on her often enough during the journey that she wondered whether he wanted to ask her what she was thinking.

She did not offer to reveal her thoughts. In fact, she wasn’t even sure what they were herself. After months of nothing at all happening it was as though everything had happened at once, and while she welcomed the changes, it was a lot to process. Instead, she kept her eyes on the road, and worried at her lip as she wondered if anyone viewing them from the outside might have thought they’d had a lover’s tiff, when nothing was further from the truth.

When they arrived, and had parked behind Leroy’s truck on the road leading to the clearing and the sheep farm, Belle spotted Leroy. He was already out of the truck and alternately staring toward the direction of the bend, and glancing their way as if to see if they had gotten out of the Cadillac yet.

“You need to see this,” he said gravely as they approached. “I’ll… give you a while.”

Without further words, he strode past them back in the direction of his truck.

Once he was out of the way, Belle turned her gaze toward the Bend, and the tree that they had come to remove so they could make the road safe. Belle gasped.

Tied to almost every branch and twig within reach of the road, the tree was covered with what must have been hundreds of tiny keepsakes, as though the tree itself were some revered and ancient landmark. Some of the items fastened to the tree were just ribbons or kerchiefs, but most of them were tiny tomes made from match books or paper craft. Still others were small ovals filled with photographs, each bearing a message on the rear. All of them were exquisite.

“You can’t cut it down now,” she lamented. “Not with all this…”

She trailed off as she could see Gold’s expression had not really changed from one of resolve to get the job done, in spite of this new development.

“Belle, it’s not… safe to leave it here. One good ice fall, or wind, and it’s likely we’ll be picking this up off the road anyway.”

“But it’s beautiful!” she protested.

“It is,” he agreed, “but some things that are beautiful can be dangerous too.” He sighed, and taking both her hands in his own added, “You only have to consider Regina and all the things she did, and is still trying to do to you.”

“But they’re books!” She tugged on his arm until he went with her over to where she could gently pluck one of the tiny books from the tree and hand it to him, watching him as he carefully examined it before looking up at her.

“I swear,” he said, teasing, she could tell, but serious at the same time, “that you think books are alive.”

She wound her arms around his shoulders, seeing the twinkle from her eyes reflected in his. She had never felt more alive, a part of something more real than she did in that moment.

“They are,” she murmured.

Gold dipped his head to her then, his mouth finding hers, and the insistent force of his kiss pushed her back, just a step, until her back pressed against the tree, and the keepsakes rattled against her shoulders.

“As alive as this?” Gold asked, as his lips were barely a breath from hers at the breaking of the kiss.

“In… a different way…?” Belle answered, though the hint of a question couldn’t be denied.

Gold kissed her again, deeply; a consuming kiss that brought the whole of her being to a simmering heat.

“How about now?” he rumbled, keeping her close, his nose nuzzling at her cheek.

“You know…” Belle said with a shiver of need running through her. “I think people can have more thank one love in their lives.”

”To me, love is… love is layered. Love is a mystery to uncover.”

A stray thought came to her, like the ones that had happened before when she was with Gold at the bonfire - another one that felt like a memory - but that was ridiculous. How could she remember something she never did?

“What did you say?” Gold asked softly, still barely apart from her. “Do you… mean that?”

“I… I’d…” Belle stammered, caught out and flushing almost the same shade as her lipstick, not realizing until he’d spoken that she had murmured the thought aloud. “I’d like to, I mean…  I…”

I did before.

Even as she thought the words, Golds lips met hers again, took her mouth in a deep kiss, one from the very depth of him, she knew, as the feelings washed up from deep inside of her; beyond her. It crashed like a wave over already tumbling walls in her mind. Image after image flashed before her. She saw Leroy, and Maggie, David and Miss Blanchard… all as she had never seen them, Dwarves and queens and king… Even Ruby, dearest friend of all… Ruby… Red… Wolf.

It all spun around inside of her, a tightening cyclone from a clear blue sky.

‘I did before.’ The swirling whispered, showing her a war room and a prison cell… Jones pretending rescue, only because of…

Him.

The torrent inside stopped, a heartbeat… drawing in, gathering and then the whole of her was filled with the rush of a sweet, cooling breath, a breeze that flowed over her and through her, lifting her hair and filling the world with prism of light.

Belle gasped, and broke the kiss, opening her eyes on a world made new, fastening her gaze on the one she loved, had always loved; would always love. She smiled and cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand and searched his face for any sign that he, too, remembered.

A curse, the queen was gloating about a curse. This must be it, to live in this world without knowing who you are; without remembering the ones you love.

Rumplestiltskin smiled at her, and began to draw away.

“Come on,” he said, his voice soft and still husky with desire. “As beautiful as it is—”

“Wait,” she interrupted.

“No, no,” he said, turning from her and beginning to walk toward where Leroy was waiting in the truck. “Leroy will be—”

Gathering her courage with a deep breath, Belle called out, “Rumplestiltskin, wait.”  Gold stopped as though time had frozen for him, just for the space of another breath, and then she saw him turn, slowly, the beginning of a smile, astonished and reverent both at the same time hovered on his lips. “I… I remember,” she said haltingly. “I love you.”

The smile became fuller and somehow softer as he came back to her, took her hands and drew her into a hug so tight she thought she’d never breathe again.

“Yes. Yes, and I love you too,” he said. “But first, as much as I know how much this tree means to you, I’m sorry but…”

“You’re still going to cut it down,” she finished for him.

“I have to, Belle. I’m sorry, but if we don’t, the disease that killed this tree will spread to others, and soon the forests around Storybrooke will be decimated.”

“Can’t you just,” she shrugged and waved a hand in the air between them before she finished, “heal it?”

“If I had my magic,” he told her, “yes, but this is a world without magic.” He sighed softly and lifted her hand to kiss her fingertips. “It seems that although Regina may have… aided in our coming together, we must still wait for the Savior to break the Queen’s curse.”

Belle looked down at her feet for a moment, sad, but understanding what Rumple was saying, at least about the tree. They could talk about curses and saviors when they had the time and privacy to do so. She guessed that Leroy and the others in Storybrooke still had no idea that they were cursed, except perhaps…

“Jefferson!” she exclaimed softly, suddenly knowing without a shadow of doubt that the man was also awake, and— “Oh, Gods… Poor Jefferson, and Grace and—”

“Hey,” Rumple called to her softly, stroking first her hair, and then passing a gentle caress against her cheek. “There'll be time to talk about that. There'll be time to explain everything. Right now, we need to go and tell Leroy we’re ready.”

“I’m not sure we are.” Belle said, perhaps a little petulantly, but her pout gave way tease upon her lips as she went on, “I made some new, good memories up in that tree.”

Rumple laughed. “Something about your legs, as I recall,” he said, then with an equally cheeky, teasing tilt to his eyebrow added, “But I think that I’ve seen more than just your legs now.”

“Rumple!”

He just laughed harder until Belle sighed, and then he tenderly put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.

“I promise you, we’ll plant one in its place.”

“And maybe, in time, people will come and tie their keepsakes onto it too,” she answered.

“Perhaps they will,” he agreed.

Then, as Belle heard the sound of Leroy’s truck door slamming shut she said softly, “I’ll wait in the car.”

[another-rogue-trevelyan]

Five favorite writing bits from 2020

I was tagged by @kunstpause and @potatowitch thank you so much for this tag! It was fun to reflect on my writing from this year. I only really started in July, so I’m looking forward to things to come!

Mostly, this will be passages from my Cullen/Trevelyan fic, but there is a Greedfall excerpt that I technically think I wrote last year???

Under the cut because this got long

Sides of the Coin (unpublished as of 1/21)

“Kurt, clearly I’m useless today. Perhaps we should try again tomorrow. I’m sure I have enough bruises for one day.”

“Anyone who wants you dead won’t care if you’re distracted and bruised. I’m not letting you get yourself killed because you’re having an off day. I can’t always be there to watch your back. You need to be able to save yourself. Now raise your blade and try it again.”

She lunged toward him, but he easily parried the strike, which had been performed more in irritation than any thought that it may be a good idea.

“Still sloppy.” He advanced on her, and Corinne barely managed to swat away his strikes with her blade, stumbling backward on exhausted legs.

“Kurt…”

“Come on Green Blood, defend yourself! I know I taught you better than this! What would your uncle think of this performance?”

She swung hard, meeting Kurt’s blade with unexpected force and pushing him back. She advanced on the offensive, landing blow after blow as he frantically parried aggressive strikes.

“Corinne-“

His unusual use of her name did nothing to dissuade her assault as she hailed down upon him. She was an indomitable storm, striking mercilessly as Kurt did his best to block without harming her.

“Corinne, what are you-“

“Stop… treating me…. like a…. child!” she panted through her onslaught.

“I’m not!” Kurt yelled as their blades clashed. They pushed against one another, eyes meeting across the steel. “I’m treating you like someone I don’t want getting killed!”

“You’re talking to me the same way you did when I was fifteen! What are you going to do, tell on me to my uncle? Go ahead! He’s months away by sea!”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Kurt shoved hard, both of their blades swinging wildly to the side as they both stumbled backward. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry!”

“Because I am a grown woman, Legate of the Congregation of Merchants, and the only reason Constantin hasn’t destroyed the colony yet, and you’re talking to me like a teenager with her first blade!”

“Because you’re fighting like a teenager with her first blade!”

Hearts Like Lions, Chapter 18

“I’ve been told you were romantically involved with the Empress.”

“I didn’t take you for a gossipmonger, Inquisitor,” Briala said, smiling sadly.

“Is it true?”

“Would it be so terrible if it was? It is lonely at the top, Your Worship - something it seems you know well. Is your own Commander not warming your bed?”

“My personal affairs are not threatening Empires.”

“Aren’t they?”

Hearts Like Lions, Chapter 17

Evelyn looked him over, sensing the dread that filled him. Though he insisted otherwise, the group that had accosted him had shaken him. If she could help it, it wouldn’t happen again.

“Cullen, what if I told you there was a way to keep them off of you?” She looked up at him nervously, and Cullen’s brows knit together in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

Evelyn pulled the silken kerchief from her breast pocket, running her thumb over the embroidered lettering.

E.T. Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed.

Bold, indeed.

Hearts Like Lions, Chapter 3

Cullen hastily took the reports from the scout and set about finding a quiet corner of the Chantry to work in. Ordinarily he’d prefer to work outside, but he had been waiting for the reports from the Hinterlands since the Herald… no, Evelyn... and her team had left weeks ago, and their importance required a focus only a quiet room could provide.

Cassandra’s was on top. Unsurprisingly, her reports were clean and concise, detailing their endeavors and findings in the form of an organized list. Her information was useful, and Cullen took note of anything he may need to pass on to Josephine and Leliana. As he copied down the details, he noticed Cassandra’s final entry, written below her other notes.

Our arrival at the Crossroads was met with resistance from rebel mages and Templars. The Herald was pinned beneath a Templar and held by the neck. I was able to stop the Templar, but the Herald suffered minor bruising. After a week of fighting beside her, I have determined her lost footing was not a mistake. The Herald is an extremely well-trained rogue.

CP

Cullen stared at the report, as though his gaze could bring further explanation. One of the first rules of combat training was to never let your enemy take you to the ground, especially for rogue fighters, who often wore lighter armor. He pulled out the next report, hoping it would contain more information.

The next came from Solas, who had thoroughly described the area, citing historical sites, locations of natural materials, and possible locations to camp. It was actually quite useful, but didn’t answer his question about the incident with the Templar. That was until he realized the pages had stuck, and there was one more note on the final page.

Evelyn suffered a minor injury to the neck caused by an altercation with a rebel Templar. Though she claimed to not be bothered by it, she moved her head tenderly, and the discoloration turned to dark bruising. I applied an elfroot salve to the affected area that evening, but there was not much that could be done for it. It has been healing well on its own.

Solas

Cullen flipped immediately to the next report, hoping to find something else.

Curly,

Have I mentioned that I hate the wilderness? The Ferelden cold bites as harshly as its war dogs. It has been two weeks since we parted with civilization. Since then, it has been nothing but hastily made camps. Rams feed on the grasses of rolling hills, while their predators lurk in hidden caves beyond view…

Cullen groaned. Varric’s report was far thicker than the others. His clean yet elaborate scrawl continued for pages. While entertaining, it made it difficult to find the information he needed. He skimmed through until he found what he was searching for.

When we arrived at the Crossroads, we were attacked from both sides by mages and Templars alike. Our team was caught in the middle, and neither group cared to differentiate between us and the enemy. They even went so far as to turn hostile against Inquisition soldiers and refugees. A Templar almost killed a refugee woman, but Evelyn tackled him to the ground at the last moment, giving her enough time to escape and saving her life. Unfortunately, once on the ground, the Templar was able to pin Evelyn down by the throat. The Seeker managed to pull him off and kill him before things could get worse, but the Herald was bruised for days. Trust me when I say we need to watch her, Curly. I’ve seen firsthand what this world does to heroes.

V.

Hearts Like Lions, Chapter 10

“Of course,” Evelyn said, intently picking lint from her sleeve. “I’ll be down in just a moment.” Once they were gone, Evelyn looked toward the floor, appearing far more sullen than she had just moments prior.

“Is something wrong?” Cullen asked. Evelyn sighed.

“It’s Alexius’s judgement. It’s one thing in the field, when someone attacks you - when you know it’s you or them. But to sit on a throne and condemn… What Alexius did was terrible, but he only wanted to save his son. I can’t say I don’t understand. Sometimes I wonder if I’d have done the same, in his place. But then I remember that future…” she placed her hands on her hips, biting her lower lip and trembling with rage. “It was horrible, Cullen. They imprisoned our friends - used their bodies to mine red lyrium. It infected everything! Then they tortured Leliana, destroyed the Inquisition, and I didn’t know what happened to my family, or what happened to you, and I… Dammit!” As she dabbed a tear away with her glove, Cullen impulsively wrapped his arms around her. He did so awkwardly, at first, but then he relaxed, resting his chin atop her head as Evelyn eased into him.

“Why didn’t he attack me? Why couldn’t I have killed him then, in the heat of battle, without having to worry about whether or not it was right? And now I don’t know if I can…”

“You can,” Cullen said softly. “I know it won’t be easy, but you can.” Evelyn breathed deeply, allowing the comforting scent of oakmoss to calm her.

“I’m sorry,” she said when she finally pulled back, immediately missing the comfort his arms had brought. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Don’t be sorry, Evelyn. It’d be more concerning if nothing troubled you.”

“Tell that to my parents,” she said sadly, gazing at her boots. Cullen gently tilted her chin upward with his hand, guiding her eyes to him.

“You can do this. I’ll support whatever you decide. And I heard from a reliable source that the kitchen staff have been baking cakes all afternoon, so when it’s all over we’ll get you a slice of cake and a glass of that wine Josephine hid in here. Alright?” He slid his hand through her hair and Evelyn laughed, sniffling a bit.

“I do love cake. But no more than one glass of wine. I’m a bloody lightweight.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Thank you, Cullen.” Evelyn smiled up at him, feeling a bit better. The gaze changed when she realized just how close they were, his hand resting on the back of her neck, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering to the scar on his lip. Her heart pounded as she realized he had done the same, and the desire to feel his lips on hers consumed her.

Then she remembered where they were.

How long had it been since she last had a man in her bedroom? Alone? And this was not just any man. It was Cullen. Cullen, who she looked forward to seeing each day, who she thought of frequently in the field, who had cared for her after the fall of Haven, who she worried for at night. There was no denying she cared for him, and if the look in his eyes was any indication...

The thought made her nervous, and she glanced toward the bed and back to him, cursing herself as he followed her glance. He blushed furiously when he realized where she had looked, and Evelyn felt the heat rising in her own cheeks as they pulled away.

“Perhaps… we should…” Cullen spluttered.

“I… should get down there,” Evelyn managed.

“Of course.” Evelyn started toward the door, then turned to find Cullen still looking after her.

“You should come.”

“Right,” Cullen said, quickly following.

Tagging @kemvee @noire-pandora @hawkeish @musetta3 and anyone else who wants to!

[johaerys-writes]

Playground Love, Chapter 10: Wilted Wildflowers

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Aran Trevelyan/Tristan Trevelyan

Summary:

Aran and Tristan are childhood friends. Best friends. Brothers, almost. They’ve been inseparable since the moment they met, one rainy autumn day underneath the maple tree in the school playground.

Best friends don’t fall in love with each other. Surely not.

The new chapter of mine and @oftachancer��’s collaborative fic, featuring her OC Aran and my OC Tristan is up! Where being in love with your best friend turns out to be more complicated than initially thought, and Tristan would very much like to make sense of it all now, please.

Read more on AO3!

****

The wind whipped through Tristan’s hair as his bike rushed down the steep slope. The warmth of summer was waning, but a sweet, mellow breeze still lingered. It smelt of salt and sea.

The polo coach had let them go an hour earlier than expected- Tristan hadn’t even stopped to change out of his riding clothes before setting off for Aran’s house. He hadn’t seen Aran since the day before and he already missed him. Which was to be expected, he supposed. With every day that passed, he missed him more and more, wanted to see more of him, hear more. Touch more. Ever since that time Aran had stayed at his for the night…

Tristan felt his cheeks warming. They hadn’t talked much, since that day. It was more so because they’d both been busy, he told himself; Tristan’s first polo match of the season was coming up, and Aran had more than enough assignments to occupy him. Yet, the fact that Tristan’s last few texts had gone unanswered, and that the only response he’d received from Aran to the poem he'd sent him the previous night was a meme of a dog rolling on its back did not help very much. Tristan had spent the better part of an hour combing through his books to find that poem, and he’d picked it just for him. Aran could have at least chosen a better meme to send him. At least.

He frowned, squinting against the bright sunlight when the wooden fence that circled the ranch came into view. The outer gate was ajar, Max’s truck stopped right before it. Aran’s eldest brother was tall and broad of shoulder, the skin of his forehead bronzed from the sun, his golden hair cropped short. He smiled brightly at him when he saw him getting off his bike.

“Tristan!” he greeted him cheerfully as he loaded a square bale of hay on the back of the truck. “Give me a hand with this, will you?”

Tristan returned his wide smile with a more reserved one of his own before inclining his head politely. He disliked touching the hay. It made his skin itch. Still, he set his bike against the fence and helped him haul the last of the bales, stacking them neatly against each other. He gingerly drew his kerchief from his back pocket to wipe his hands when he was done, watching as Max lifted and secured the truck’s tailgate.

“How’s Almond? Is she treating you well?”

“She’s doing great. Yes, she’s wonderful. A delight, really. She and I placed first in the show jumping trials two months ago, did Aran tell you?”

“That he did. I had no doubts. She’s a fine mare, one of the finest we’ve bred. We wouldn’t give you just anything, eh?” He laughed heartily and patted Tristan on the shoulder. “I’m off now. Your pal’s up at the house. Don’t keep him waiting.”

“Okay. Thanks, Max.” Tristan got on his bike, waving as the truck drove off. He pedalled leisurely down the long gravel drive, then brought the bike to a stop when he reached the flower garden before the house. It was Aran’s mom’s work, and the rose bushes were neatly trimmed and fragrant this time of year. Patrick was lounging on one of the floral padded armchairs on the front porch, his long legs sprawled on the low table. Tristan’s stomach tightened when Patrick lifted his gaze from his phone to look at him. His eyes were the same hue as Aran’s, summer sky blue, but they had none of the warmth, or the kindness.

“Trevelyan,” he said flatly, his expression wooden and thoroughly unimpressed.

“Patrick.” Tristan straightened his back, returning his look levelly. “Is Aran home?”

The older boy regarded him in silence for a few moments - moments that Tristan stood there awkwardly, trying his best to look as bored and mildly bothered as he- before standing up with a long suffering sigh and walking to the door. “Wait here,” he commanded, then disappeared inside the house.

Tristan itched his earlobe as he waited, released and re-gathered his hair, studied the red clapboard and the sloped black roof of the house. It wasn’t a large building, but it was homely. The warm scent of the roast they had for lunch reached him with the passing breeze. Tristan never spent too much time there, and neither did Aran, if he could help it. Still, he liked it when Aran’s mum came out and offered him a biscuit or something else she’d made whenever he came to pick Aran up. She wasn’t much of a baker or a cook, but she was always nice to him. He hadn’t seen her in a while.

Muffled talk from inside drew his attention. It sounded rough and agitated, but Tristan couldn’t discern who was talking, or what they were saying. A man’s low rumble, then a woman’s voice- was that Aran’s mum? The voices grew louder and sharper, but the steady buzz from the TV rendered it impossible to make out any words. Patrick’s voice knifed cleanly through it as he said something that sounded much like his usual insults, though Tristan couldn’t tell who it was directed at.

He thought he heard the shuffling of feet coming closer to the front door, then what definitely sounded like pushing and shoving. Tristan’s ears pricked up when he heard Aran’s telltale high pitched infuriated snarl, followed by Patrick’s mocking laugh. His temper flared by instinct; he set his bike down and took a decisive step forward, when the door was flung open and a red-faced Aran stormed out.

“Aran-”

“Let’s just go,” Aran snapped, grabbing his bike that was leaning against the steps of the porch and promptly taking off. Tristan followed him silently as he took off at dead speed. They didn’t exchange a word until they were well away, past the farm and the apple orchard beyond it, until the lake’s still waters were visible, glittering in the distance. It was more of a large pond than a lake, really, and he and Aran often went there when the weather was good. It was usually quiet and peaceful, and that day was no different. Only a paddling of brown backed mallards glided on the water, the iridescent green feathers on their long necks catching the light as they moved.

Aran tossed his bike aside as soon as he dismounted, letting it fall to the soft grass. Tristan set his own down beside it, then came to stand next to him at the pond’s bank. He was tense and wired, a string ready to snap. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his nostrils flaring with every panting breath he let out.

“Hi.”

Aran dropped to his knees and buried his head in the water, loosing a scream that echoed through the still surface and sent the ducks skittering into flight. He sat up, shoving his wet hair from his face and stared at the ripples as they receded. “Hi,” he panted in answer, scrubbing at the water dripping from his nose, leaving a smudge of mud in its place. “How was practice?”

Tristan shrugged, "Good. I stole the ball from Johnston and he chased me down the field while the others cheered. Coach didn't like that very much." He slid his hands in his pockets and rocked a little back and forth on his heels. "How's the water?"

“Warm. You want to swim?” The fresh mud in his hair made a handful of it stand out to the side. “I could swim.” He rubbed his nose on the back of his arm. “Something wrong? You usually don’t finish until later, right?”

"Coach said he had to pick up his daughter from the dentist's. Dunno. I think he was just sick of Jonhston and me taking the piss so he let us go early." There were fat drops of muddy water running down Aran's forehead and into his eyes, and he rubbed at them, sniffing and wrinkling his nose. Tristan smiled despite himself as he reached for his handkerchief. "Come over here," he said, drawing him close to wipe the mud from his cheeks, the side of his nose. Then he cupped his neck and leaned down to steal a kiss. "Missed you," he murmured against his lips.

“I missed you, too!” Aran wrapped his arms around him tight, “I hope your match is worth it. Endless bloody practices. Can’t you just win and be done with it?” He tugged him towards the tree. “Best two out of three for all the marbles. Kiss me again.”

The pond water had left a slightly bitter aftertaste on Aran's tongue, but Tristan kissed him eagerly as he let himself be drawn to him. "We will win. But then we'll just have to practice more to keep up, and then win more matches, and even more practice..." He closed his teeth over Aran's bottom lip, pressing him back against the tree trunk. "As if it would make a difference to you," he said sulkily. "You hardly ever respond to my texts anyway. If I hadn't come today, you would have forgotten all about me."

“You’ve caught me,” he snorted. “I’m always forgetting you. Thank the Maker I see you all the time or I’d be lost.” His fingers were slick with mud and chilled from pond water when they slipped up beneath Tristan’s jersey. “Remind me, eh?”

"Yes, but-" Tristan shivered as the cool, pesky fingers travelled up his stomach, caressing his sides. He sighed, kissing Aran deeply, forgetting everything he'd been about to say. So what if Aran hadn't responded to a text or two, or if he replied to his poems with dog memes? He still wanted him. He'd still missed him. Every smile, every touch, every smooth glide of his tongue over his own pushed Tristan's thoughts and worries further and further back in his mind. It was good, what they had. No doubt about it. "Wait," he said, drawing back. He laughed at Aran's confused stare as he unslung his backpack. "I brought something." The small bouquet of wildflowers he had gathered on his way to Aran's house was slightly wilted, despite his best attempts to keep the blossoms from getting bruised during his bike ride. Even so, he held it proudly before Aran's face, beaming. "For you."

Aran leaned back against the trunk, blinking down at the flowers. “Okay.” He itched his nose with his knuckle. “...what am I supposed to do with this?”

Tristan's smile melted away. He stared at Aran, the warm fuzzy feeling he'd had only moments before turning sour in his stomach with every second that passed and Aran made no move to take the flowers. "You… you don't like it?"

“I mean-” He squinted, taking the flowers with a skeptical look. “Now what? What’s the game?”

"There is no game." Tristan frowned, "You're supposed to keep them. Or- I don't know, set them aside and take them with you before we leave, or-"

“Are they medicinal?” he asked, peering down at them with sudden curiosity. “Something you read about?” He plucked at a leaf and nibbled at it.

"No, they're not- I just passed them by and thought they were pretty, and-" He stopped abruptly when he felt his cheeks growing uncomfortably hot. "You don't have to keep them if you don't want them, of course," he said indignantly. "I simply thought- it doesn't matter what I thought." He crossed his arms before his chest, looking away.

“Sure it does.” Aran stuck his tongue out, spitting the nibbles of leaves out. “Thanks for showing me. They’re pretty. Could have just shown me where you found them.” He tilted the flowers to the side, peering at them. “You didn’t have to kill them.” He wiggled the flowers at Tristan, chuckling, “Too pretty to live!”

"I didn't kill them- Maker-" Tristan swatted the flowers away, scowling at him. "Just forget about it, alright? It was a stupid idea anyway." He turned around, pacing towards the pond. It had been a stupid, stupid idea. Whatever had he been thinking. It had seemed like a nice thing to do at the time, when he'd stopped to pick up the flowers and arrange the bouquet. A romantic gesture, something- something boyfriends did. Cardew gave Martina flowers all the time, and she always laughed and threw her arms around his neck, but Aran wasn't Martina. And Tristan wasn't Cardew, and what they had wasn't- He took a deep breath, chewing on the inside of his lip. "Just forget it."

“This one tastes pretty good.” A sprig of the white tufted flowers wiggled in front of his face. “Like almonds. You like almonds.”

"I don't like almonds," he mumbled petulantly. He glanced at Aran over his shoulder, "And you don't like these flowers."

“I do. I do like them.” He took a mouthful of the white flowers, crunching them, grinning like a goat. “See. Delicious. Now Tristan chaser.”

Tristan laughed, shaking his head. He hated that Aran could always make him laugh, even when he was mad. "I'm not kissing you with those things in your mouth." He took the flowers from Aran's hand, or whatever was left of them, anyway. "And you're not supposed to eat them, you know."

“I didn’t know that. I asked what I was supposed to do with them.” Bits of greenery and fluffy petals fell from his lips as he spoke. “Kisses. I like the flowers. Have some.”

Tristan scrunched his nose, brushing leaves and petals from Aran's mouth. "You're gross," he said before leaning in with a grin. "That tastes like shite, by the way," he mumbled against his lips, "not at all like almonds."

“You’re getting too many leaves. More flowers.” He wound his arms around Tristan’s neck, leaning against him. “You need more flowers. I like you.”

Tristan sighed, pressing his forehead against Aran's. "You do?" he asked quietly. "You mean it?"

“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” Cornflower blue eyes like the reflection of the sky in a still pond peered up at him. “You after wanting to show me where you found them? We can go roll around there.”

"They were just… by the side of the road. Past the chemist's. A mile or so from here maybe. There's a few of them on the way to the pier, I think. But it doesn't really matter." He reached up to brush a spot of mud from Aran's temple. His coppery blonde curls were just starting to get dry, wisps that kissed his forehead. "Can I ask you something?"

“Hm?”

What are we? What are we doing? He stared at Aran for a long while, unable to ask the questions. Perhaps they didn't need any answers. Perhaps Aran didn't know them either, even if Tristan asked. They'd been friends since they were children, and now they were something else, and that something was new and bright and exciting in so many different ways- and Tristan felt completely out of his depth. He let out a soft sigh. "Nevermind." He opened his fingers to let the wilted stems fall to the ground. "Race you back to my place?"

The grin split Aran’s face, brightening his eyes, and a moment later, he was scrambling to his bike, wheels spinning in the mud as he took off.

[anubislover]

A Primal Need for a Marine (a X Drake x Reader fanfic)

In the past twenty-four hours, your luck had been, quite frankly, abysmal. First, while in pursuit of the infamous pirate X Drake, a storm came out of nowhere, wrecking your ship and nearly killing you, separating you from your captain and crew—assuming they were still alive. Then you spent hours floating on a piece of wreckage, until you finally spotted land and were able to paddle your way to shore. You thought perhaps things were looking better when you heard human voices coming from the jungle, only to discover they were the subordinates of the man your squad had been hunting. Before you could even attempt to parlay, they’d tied your hands behind your back, hoisted you up and carried you to a cave deep in the jungle, unceremoniously dumping you inside and sealing off the entrance, only saying, “The captain will want to see you.”

The inside of the cave was spacious, several lamps providing adequate light to see by, but also casting long, ominous shadows. There appeared to be a massive pile of plush bedding in the back corner, and some animal bones scattered about; a clear sign that something had decided to call it home. You immediately began looking around for a sharp rock or piece of bone to use to cut your bindings, as you had a lot more faith in turning your situation around if you had use of your hands.

“So, you’re the crew’s solution to my problem?” came a voice from deep in the cave. A figure approached slowly from the shadows, long strides powerful and sure with the grace of an apex predator. Nearly eight feet tall, made of pure muscle, and dressed in deep blue leather pants, gloves, thigh-high boots, and open bolero jacket trimmed with white fur, he cut an intimidating figure. His sunset red hair looked like fire in the lamplight, and the shadow cast across his face nearly hid the black domino mask over his piercing blue eyes. The X-shaped scar on his chin and tattoo on his bare chest were painfully familiar.

Now you knew for sure your luck had completely run out. You, a captured Marine, were alone in a cave with X Drake. The pirate your squad had been tasked with arresting and bringing to justice.

The traitor.

His eyes scanned your face, taking you in. “You look familiar.”

“We’ve crossed paths,” you bit out evasively. You really didn’t want him to remember you—at best, you’d be one of the starry-eyed recruits that had admired him back when he was a rear admiral. That innocent crush you’d once had had gotten you in trouble; he’d caught you and a few others watching him train shirtless when you should have been doing chores, and he’d marched you straight to your commander for a humiliating admonishment.

At worst…well, last time your crews had crossed paths, he’d been seconds away from cutting off your captain’s head with his giant axe. Thinking quickly, you’d jumped between them and blocked the blow with your rifle. It would have been extremely cool if it were your prowess that had truly stopped him, and not the way your ripped shirt fluttered in the breeze, giving him an unobstructed view of your bare breasts. He’d gone bright red, and you swore a slight trickle of blood dripped down his nose before he was distracted by an attack from your captain, who’d caught his second wind.

Crossing his beefy arms, he looked down on you, thoroughly unimpressed at your wet, shivering figure. “Your uniform is a mess. Back in my day, to come before a high-ranking officer in such a state would have earned you at least ten lashes.”

“Good thing there aren’t any officers around, then—just traitorous scum,” you countered, voice full of venom.

A ginger eyebrow arched at your cheek, but interest flickered in his eyes. “You’re a member of the squad that’s been chasing us, aren’t you?”

“Oh, have people been chasing you? I can’t imagine why,” you replied sarcastically. Your captain often complained about your attitude, but he’d also preached defiance in the face of death, and you planned on living up to his expectations.

“That’d be another twenty lashes for talking back. Either the Navy’s eased up on disciplinary measures, or you’re a particularly tough one to break.”

“A little from column A, a little from column B.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and something like approval flashed in his steely gaze. “Do you know why my men brought you here?” he asked, circling you slowly, critical stare sweeping over your kneeling, disheveled form.

“They didn’t bother to fill me in.”

“Since we reached this island I’ve suffered…urges,” he grumbled, frustration lacing his voice. “My more bestial side has been rearing its head, even in my human form, demanding I sate some of its more primal instincts. I’ve hunted and fought and killed, but it’s not enough. It wants to mate.”

A shiver ran down your spine as you finally understood. “And you couldn’t find some nice lady dinosaur to get your rocks off with?”

He actually chuckled lightly as he knelt down behind you, reaching around to untie the kerchief around your neck. “No, those are in short supply. However, a mouthy little Marine should work just fine.” The tips of his gloved fingers trailed across your damp shoulders, down your back to your bound hands. Teasingly, he yanked at the rope that cut into your wrists. “If you’re a good girl and do exactly as I say, you might even survive this. Might. I can’t promise anything.”

“That doesn’t exactly inspire me to comply.”

His hot breath danced across the back of your neck as he whispered, “Then I’ll just have to fuck you into submission.”

You blanched. Of course Drake swore—he was a sailor, pirate, and former Marine. A dirty mouth was practically guaranteed, and even the most formal officer was known to turn the air blue under the right circumstances. But to hear him talk that way, when he was usually so stoic, brought a faint blush to your cheeks that you desperately hoped he couldn’t see. A few years ago, when he was still a rear admiral, you would have given your right arm to be in this position.

Now…well, you wanted to say you were utterly repulsed at the idea, but the spike of heat between your legs would call you a liar.

His hands returned to your front, and you watched as he carefully removed one of his leather gloves. Your heart raced as it morphed into a green-scaled dinosaur claw, wickedly sharp and deadly. Instinctively you flinched away, but Drake’s imposing figure gave you nowhere to go. Carefully, the tip of a curved talon stroked your cheek before sliding down to the collar of your uniform. “Hold still; I’d hate to accidentally slit your throat.” You knew he could do it; you’d seen him rend some of your comrades effortlessly with those ancient talons. Heart in your throat, you did as he said, though your cheeks reddened further when his monstrous claws shredded your shirt and bra into ribbons, leaving your torso completely exposed.

What the hell? you thought frantically. Isn’t he supposed to be weak to a woman’s body? Why would he do that?!

Without ceremony Drake picked you up and placed you on his lap, pressing your bare back to the exposed skin of his chest.

“Wha—!”

Once more gloved and human, large hands slid up your sides to cup your breasts, giving them an experimental squeeze. “You really are such a tiny thing,” he murmured in your ear, hot breath dancing across the sensitive skin as he massaged and fondled you. “So cute and helpless, like a bunny caught in a trap.”

There really was quite the size difference between you, but then again, Drake towered over quite a few people. And good gods, pressed against him like this, feeling his hard pectorals and abdominal muscles flex with every movement, made you feel like a doll, small and breakable in his powerful grip. On top of that, his body exuded heat like a furnace, and had the situation been different, you would have relished it warming your damp flesh, chasing away the chill of the cave.

His nose buried itself in your hair as he inhaled deeply, letting out a low groan as his palms squeezed your breasts hard. “You smell delicious, too. Like fear and sea water and sweet, soft flesh. Like prey.”

“More like bait,” you bluffed, eyes squeezing shut as he ran his teeth across the fragile skin of your neck, latching his hot mouth to your pulse-point and sucking hard. “I—ah!—let myself be captured to distract you. M-my crew’s taking out yours as we speak, and then you’ll be taken into custody, literally caught with your pants down.”

The flat of his tongue stroked the mark he left on your throat. “You had no clue about my…condition, as it were, so there’s no way you could have planned this. Given that storm last night, I’d say it’s more likely your ship capsized, and you washed up on shore, alone and ripe for the taking. No one’s coming to save you, and we’ll be long gone by the time another Marine ship shows up.”

His left hand dropped to press against your stomach, pinning you against him so you couldn’t wiggle free. Still, you made a valiant attempt to break away, twisting and writhing in his lap.

Your efforts were halted when he growled, amusement lacing his voice, “Oh, please, keep struggling like that. Your ass feels amazing against my cock.”

A hot blush painted your face as you realized that you could feel a hard bulge against your backside, and it probably wasn’t a pistol in his pocket. “You’re an absolute bastard,” you cried as his hand shifted to grab your hip, pulling you back to grind against his concealed length.

“What did you expect? I’m a pirate from the Worst Generation. Did you think a man like me would be sweet words and gentle caresses?”

Honestly, you kind of had, given how he seemed so shy around women, even back when you were a recruit. “No—I figured you’d pass out from a nosebleed the second you even touched a pair of tits!” you snapped back.

His right hand abandoned your breast to harshly grip your chin, yanking it up so you hand no choice but to meet his intense blue eyes. They weren’t quite in their more reptilian form, but you could see his pupils were blown wide and the iris had faint specks of yellow. “I remember you, now. You’re the one who flashed me to save your captain.” Blunt teeth caught the shell of your ear, his hot, wet tongue flicking against the delicate flesh. “Bold of you, I have to say. An effective strategy at the time, but I’m only weak to a woman’s body when I’m caught off guard, and definitely not when my Zoan side is impatient to fuck.”

You bit your lip to suppress the small, needy whimper that his tongue nearly coaxed from you. Your ears had always been your most responsive erogenous zone, and his mouth was stimulating it with just the right amount of heat and pressure. When he gave a sharp suck, you couldn’t quite hide your quick intake of breath, though you tried to hide it by renewing your struggles.

Drake didn’t seem to mind as his hips jerked to match your movements, grunting in appreciation. His left hand abandoned your hip to bury itself between your clenched thighs, cupping your hot core through your wet trousers and panties. “Mmmm, I can smell that you’re starting to enjoy this.” The hand at your chin shifted to press two fingers against your plump lips. Scowling, you closed your mouth as tightly as possible. There was an annoyed growl at your resistance, and the heel of his palm ground harshly against your clit, causing you to gasp in shock and outrage.

Taking advantage of your open mouth, he shoved his fingers inside the wet cavern, giving a shallow thrust. Instinctively you bit down on the meaty appendages, but it did little to dissuade him. In fact, he sank his teeth into the side of your throat in retaliation, making you scream in pain around his fingers.

“Bad girl,” he rumbled lowly as his tongue lapped at the sore spot, cleaning up the small drops of blood from where his fangs had broken the skin. “I’ve been restraining myself because I didn’t want to break you too soon, but if you keep misbehaving, you’re going to find out just what kind of animal I can become.”

You winced, finally accepting that you weren’t going to be able to discourage him from using your body how he pleased through resistance. He was a former rear admiral, a hundred times stronger than you, and if you really got on his nerves, he could just turn into his Allosaurus form and eat you.

Sensing he’d broken your resolve, he resumed pumping his fingers into your mouth, the smooth leather of his gloves gliding over your wet tongue. “That’s better. Now suck—unless you’d rather I replace my fingers with my cock and fuck your throat?”  

Swallowing hard, you closed your eyes and focused on sucking his fingers, hoping your skills would be satisfactory. When he gave a pleased grunt you rolled the flat of your tongue against them, imagining it was the hard cock of someone you actually wanted to please and not the traitorous bastard that held you captive. Your cheeks darkened as the fingers at your core curled against your covered slit, pressing into the sensitive flesh as his palm ground against your clit, enticing you to buck against him.

“Look at me, girl. I want you to acknowledge exactly who you’ll be servicing tonight.” His voice was right above you, steamy breath fanning your face. Instinctively your eyes opened, and his mouth stretched into a grin. He chuckled, stroking your nether lips in time to his thrusts, causing heat to coil tighter in your belly.

You were absolutely horrified at your body’s reaction—you couldn’t possibly be feeling pleasure because of X Drake, could you? He was a pirate and a traitor, and he made it clear you were basically only there as his fuck toy! Your crush on him hadn’t been that strong, had it?

Grinding his contained cock against the cleft of your ass, he said, “I know what you’re thinking, and there’s no need to be ashamed—we can’t always control when or how our bodies feel pleasure. A glimpse of bare skin, a touch to just the right spot, a few dirty words—it all involuntarily stimulates us. I used to think that it could be resisted with enough willpower, but after a week of my instincts driving me mad, I’ve realized that everyone has their breaking point.”

With a wet pop, he removed his fingers to stroke down your jaw and throat to once more play with your breasts, this time putting special focus on teasing your nipples. To your dismay, they quickly grew into stiff peaks under his rough pinches and flicks, his thumb circling the hard tips teasingly. “Bet you didn’t think your little flash of chest would result in this, did you?”

When you didn’t answer right away her gave your left breast a harsh squeeze, prompting you to gasp out a weak, “No.”

“Did you get a commendation for your bravery, little girl? A promotion? Or did you reject any praise because you didn’t want to be known as ‘The Tits that Felled X Drake’?”

You whimpered, though mostly in humiliation. He’d hit the nail on the head. You’d been mocked by your shipmates for nearly a month over that, and even though the captain had been grateful, he’d kept your involvement out of his report for that very reason.

“Well, now you’ll get to be ‘The Tits that Fucked X Drake,’” he chuckled, rolling his hips for emphasis. “In fact, that sounds like a great way to start.”

Before you could question him, he pushed you out of his lap to the cave floor, flipping you onto your back. You attempted to sit up, but a large boot rested lightly on your stomach, pressing down just enough to make it clear how easily he could crush your torso. There was no choice but to look up at him, and for a moment you couldn’t help but stare at the prominent bulge between his legs straining against the tight leather of his pants. Blushing, you forced yourself to look further north, landing on Drake’s unusually expressive face, his lips quirked in an amused smirk and a hungry gleam twinkling in his eyes. Your gazes locked as he palmed his belt buckle, undoing the clasp and allowing the long strip of leather to fall to the ground with a clatter. Next, he grabbed the zipper of his tight pants, pulling it down bit by bit, the clicking of metal teeth deafening in the silence of the cave.

As he freed his length, you swallowed nervously. Of course a man his size would have a massive cock to match. At least nine inches long, roughly two inches thick, and perfectly curved, he’d be like something out of a wet dream if the circumstances hadn’t been so horrible.

“Like what you see, Marine?” he chuckled, giving it a few teasing strokes, running his thumb over the already leaking tip. “Just imagine how it’ll feel inside you.”

His foot vacated your chest so he could straddle your hips, pinning you down with his superior body weight. Blue eyes stared, mesmerized, at the twin peaks of flesh before him. Your chest was flushed and swollen from his earlier attentions, nipples hard and practically begging for his touch. A pink tongue darted out to wet his lips, then he leaned down, wrapping them around a straining, rosy bud.

“Ah!” you cried, overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth on your sensitive areola.

Your chest was completely at the mercy of his ravenous mouth and tongue. Alternating between sharp sucks and soothing licks, his attentions sent sparks through the soft mounds of flesh, making you arch further into his mouth, your body wordlessly begging him for more. He eagerly complied, and you were ashamed at the surge of moisture that pooled between your thighs when he brought his teeth into the mix, shallow bites and taunting scrapes of his incisors both frightening and thrilling you.

Trailing his mouth down the silky peaks, he lavished the valley between your breasts with long, slick strokes of his tongue. Your nipples weren’t abandoned for long, however, as his hands returned, the leather deliciously smooth in contrast to the sharp pinches to your straining buds.

This time, you couldn’t quite suppress the little sighs and whimpers that bubbled up in your throat as his arousing actions. For all that the situation demanded you resist, Drake played your body like a harp, strumming your taut strings of desire and producing a symphony of lustful sounds.

Finally, he leaned back, critically studying the wet trail between your tits before nodding to himself in approval. He lifted himself from your lap to straddle your ribcage, resting his straining cock in your cleavage and pressing your swollen mounds of flesh around it for extra stimulation.

“Brace yourself, dear—I’ve been dreaming about this since you first flashed me.”

There really wasn’t much you could do to brace yourself with your hands tied and back pinned to the ground, but you lifted your knees and planted your feet as best you could, praying that the stone floor wouldn’t tear up your skin too badly. His grip on your breasts was harsh, squeezing them together so tightly you were sure he’d leave finger-shaped bruises behind. Each thrust rocked your entire body, his long cock peeking out from between your breasts to brush your chin. Blue eyes fixated on the drops of precum left behind, and you watched his pupils dilate until his irises were nearly overtaken by the black.

“Imagine if your superiors could see you now,” he panted, a few drops of sweat trailing down his temple. “Helpless, at the mercy of a pirate, being used as a fuck toy and loving it.”

“I’m not—” your whimpered denial was cut off by a particularly brutal thrust and a massive hand yanking your hair.

“I told you that I could smell your arousal, little one. Lie to me again and I’ll hand you over to my men to have a turn with that cute body of yours. Now open your mouth.”

Being used by one horny pirate was bad enough, and your luck had been so awful you dared not call his bluff. Instead, you silently obeyed, parting your lips as he released your hair to continue tit-fucking you. If his erratic thrusts were any indication, he was close to climaxing, which meant it was nearly over. Closing your eyes and taking as deep a breath as you could with the massive man straddling your chest, you forcefully pushed down the disappointment that the fire he’d stoked between your thighs wouldn’t be sated.

With a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a shout he came all over your face, his hot, sticky seed splattering across your chin and lips, but mostly shooting inside your waiting mouth. Salty and thick, you had to swallow several times to get it all down.

Panting and wiping the sweat from his brow, Drake leaned back to study you, grinning at the drops of cum that dappled your cheeks.

“Aren’t you a sight?” he purred, wiping a sticky glob off with his finger and painting it across your lips. “I’m glad I started with tit-fucking you instead of finishing.”

Your eyes widened in horror, even as your cunt clenched in anticipation. “You…you’re not finished?”

The tips of his fingers stroked his still-hard cock. “Do I look finished? If this problem were solved by a single orgasm, I would have just jerked off and been done with it. No, I need to properly mate, and even then I doubt I’ll be sated until I’ve fucked us both unconscious.”

If the way he’d used your chest was any indication, it wouldn’t be hard for him to knock you out, and once he had his fun, what did he plan to do? Ransom you? Interrogate you? Kill you? Behind your back, your nails dug into your palms, wishing your hands were free so you had a better chance of escaping.

Eyes capturing yours, he raised his left hand to his lips, white teeth catching the leather encasing the middle finger, pulling slowly to expose pale skin and thick, calloused digits. “I wonder if you can even take me,” he murmured, more to himself than you as he pulled of the other glove. “You’re such a little thing…”

You seriously doubted you could. He was twice the girth of any man you’d ever slept with, and long enough that you were positive he’d wreck your insides if he bottomed out. The fact that he was still hard even after already cumming indicated his stamina was nothing to scoff at, either.

You were, figuratively and quite literally, fucked.

Removing himself from your torso, he crawled down to your legs, hooking his now bare fingers into your waistband to slowly peel your trousers from your legs. You tried to kick at him, to fight back and wiggle away, but he grabbed your thigh, nails digging into your skin in warning.

“Behave, girl,” he growled, eyes flashing with something fierce and primal as he ripped off your panties, nostrils flaring as he caught the undiluted scent of your womanhood.

“Please, let me go,” you tried to reason. Drake was a traitor and a pirate, but surely he hadn’t lost all of his honor? “You’re not the kind to take an unwilling woman, right?”

“But you’re not unwilling,” he chuckled, leaning in to lap up your juices with a long, luscious stroke of his tongue. Your back arched at the delicious sensation, cheeks flushing and toes curling as the coil of arousal deep inside you tightened. “You’re impossibly wet. You smell like a bitch in heat, waiting to be mounted by a worthy male. You’re aching for me, aren’t you?” he growled before nipping at your sensitive nether lips.

Head shaking in denial, you closed your eyes in hopes of blocking out the overwhelming pleasure the sweeps of his hot tongue brought you. That only made it worse, though; your body’s sense of touch heightened, making your empty cavern ache to be filled.

For his part, being so close to the source of your womanly scent was driving Drake’s beastly instincts wild as he feasted on your arousal, your cream thickly coating his tongue and dripping down his prominent chin. The flexible appendage delved deep, teasing your inner walls as his fingers tightly clutched the meat of your ass, lifting your hips so he could get a better angle. It was when his nose brushed your clit, though, that you finally unleashed a lustful cry, hips bucking, unconsciously chasing that intense spark of pleasure that rocked your entire body.

“Ah, that’s more like it,” he purred as he pulled away, licking at the juices that coated his lips. “I can’t wait to hear what other noises you’ll make.”

He turned his attention to your swollen pearl, teasing it with the tip of his tongue while one of his long, thick fingers leisurely penetrated your molten core up to the knuckle. “You’re going to be a tight fit, but that just makes it all the better,” he groaned, deep voice practically reverberating through you.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you felt your inner walls clench around his finger. It was nearly as wide as two of your own, hot and wonderfully rough, massaging the sensitive tissue of your core.

As he experimentally began pumping his finger in and out, his tongue flicked your sweet little bundle of nerves, chuckling at the strained sounds that slipped from your lips. He dragged the calloused tip along the top of your passage, licking and teasing your sensitive nub.

After a minute or so, pleased at how wet you were for him, he forced in a second finger, curling the pair against your G-spot while suckling your clit when you let out a whine of discomfort.

“Just relax,” he murmured, dropping a brief kiss to your thigh as if in apology while he scissored his fingers, stretching your tight hole. “If you’re too tense to take my fingers, how can you hope to handle my cock? Take a deep breath and relax.”

You wanted to argue that there was no way you could relax when you were being molested by a filthy pirate, that you didn’t want to take his cock, but then his lips wrapped around your throbbing clit and sucked hard, and your mind went blank as you were momentarily overwhelmed by white-hot pleasure.

“That’s it,” he rasped, lips barely pulling away long enough to speak before diving back in, sucking in time to the thrust and curl of his digits, coaxing your hips to match his rhythm.

Against all decency and logic, your walls clenched around him as your body sang, coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your belly with every heady bend and eager suck.

Just when you thought you might reach that peak and finally climax, Drake completely stopped. You whined, bucking your hips in hope of taking your own pleasure from the slick fingers that rested motionless inside you, but his free hand grabbed your hip in a bruising grip. Sluggishly, you opened your eyes, meeting his intense gaze as he gave you a feral smile.

“Beg me to let you cum.”

Despite your flushed cheeks, humming nerves, and aching cunt, you refused to give him that victory. You may be his prisoner and a slave to his desires, but you wouldn’t beg. Steeling yourself for whatever he had planned, you defiantly shook your head, provoking a low, menacing chuckle.

“I was being nice, little one. I don’t have to give you pleasure at all—I could just flip you over and start fucking you. Are you denying yourself out of pride? Think you’ll get a moral victory by refusing to give in to your urges like I am? You think your will’s stronger than mine?” he snarled, suddenly angry. Your heart sped up as you realized you’d unconsciously touched a nerve—X Drake was famous for his composure since his days in the Navy. He was a man who strove to be in control of his emotions; to not give in to vices like lust or anger like his father had. That his Devil Fruit had driven him to this was a testament to how frustrated he was, how powerful the urges were, and how insulting it was to think that you could hold out when he couldn’t.

His hand started moving again, brutally ramming inside you as his fingers slammed against your G-spot with every stroke. “If you won’t beg me to let you cum, then I’ll just make you cum. I was giving you a choice. Something you’re never going to have again.” His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking hard, overwhelming you with sensation as his fingers continued to piston in and out. Captive to his touches and powerless to do anything but lay there and feel, your mouth let out little wordless cries, and even you couldn’t tell if they were meant to be denial or encouragement. It was when he started humming, sending sweet vibrations straight into your throbbing clit, that you finally felt your climax hit, pleasure shooting through you like liquid lightning, your walls clenching around his digits while your back arched.

The second he felt you spasm around his fingers Drake pulled away, grabbing your hips and refusing to let you ride out your orgasm, watching you writhe hopelessly under him.

“That’s enough foreplay,” he rumbled, tossing you over his shoulder and carrying you over to what could only be described as a nest of pillows, blankets, and other bedding. It made for a soft landing when he tossed you down, flipping you onto your stomach. To your surprise, you felt his fingers at your wrists, and the harsh rope tying your hands behind your back fell away. “It’s time we got to the main event.”

Wincing at the awful pins and needles travelling up your newly freed arms, you managed to brace yourself on your elbows and look up at him over your shoulder. His eyes had turned fully yellow and dangerously reptilian, and his ravenous gaze was fixated solely on you as he peeled off his leather bolero. You could feel his eyes caressing the smooth expanse of your back, your pert ass, quivering legs, and flushed face like you were a feast laid out just for him. His attention dropped briefly to his thigh-high boots, bending down to remove them, and you grasped at your chance, clumsily darting to your feet and attempting to make a run for it while he was distracted.

You didn’t even make it out of the nest before a beefy arm wrapped around your waist, swinging you up into the air before slamming you down into the bedding. The soft blankets and pillows prevented any injury, but the air was knocked out of your lungs, rendering your immobile while you struggled to regain your breath.

“At any other time I’d commend you for not giving up the fight, but right now all you’re doing is making this harder than it needs to be,” he growled as he rolled you back onto your stomach, prying your thighs apart so he could settle between them and elevating your hips with a pillow. One hand seized your right wrist, pinning it behind your back while the other grasped the back of your neck, pressing just hard enough to ensure you wouldn’t even dream of moving. Like this, he had full control, completely dominant and ready to claim his prize.

The hot tip of his erection teased your dripping entrance, and you let out an involuntary whimper. “Please…” You weren’t even entirely sure what you were begging for. Sure, you’d just tried to escape, but had you really thought you’d get away? Had you really wanted to, with your core aching to be filled? Or had you just wanted to see just how far you could push him?

“I warned you,” he growled. “Let’s see how much of me you can take. And just so you know, I will be cumming inside you. Every. Fucking. Time.” With deliberate slowness he pushed his stiff, throbbing cock into your tight, wet sex. Inch by inch he filled you, penetrating your womb as he finally bottomed out.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he said with a deep, relieved groan, stilling his hips to savor your walls clenching him. “Such a tight little cunt. Here I was wondering if I’d split you in half, but you took me like a champ. Like you were made for me,” he finished with a possessive, rumbling growl, slowly rolling his hips back before plunging back in.

Your free hand clawed at the bedding beneath you, caught between pain and pleasure. He was stretching you to the breaking point, slamming against your cunt like a battering ram, speed increasing with every rotation of his hips. At the same time, each thrust hit that magic spot inside you, and you were already so sensitive from your earlier orgasm, you couldn’t help but let out helpless little mewls as you squeezed him tightly. Pinned beneath him like this, helpless as his rough treatment stoked a fire in your belly, you wondered if, should you survive this, you’d ever be able to lay with another man again.

Hips snapping against your backside, the sharp slap of skin on skin echoed through the cave, accompanied by your needy cries and Drake’s terse grunts.

The hand pressing down on your neck tightened slightly as he growled, “That’s it, little one; you’re taking my cock so nicely. Should have known you were meant to be a pirate’s whore. It’s probably your dream, isn’t it? To get fucked day and night by a Navy traitor. Well, congratulations, dear; mission accomplished!”

You’d never imagined being degraded like this would get you off, but it was like his words were the catalyst you needed to cum so hard stars filled your vision. Your silken walls desperately milked him as your orgasm and his thrusts rocked your body, screaming his name like it was the only word that mattered anymore.

The sensation of you milking his cock sent Drake over the edge after you. With a nearly inhuman roar his seed filled your womb, hot cum painting your inner walls in thick spurts as he buried himself as deeply into your eager cunt as he could.

For a few moments the two of you just lay there, panting heavily and basking in post-orgasmic bliss. You whimpered a little when he pulled out, strangely mourning the sudden lack of heat and pressure, but soon found his arm wrapped around your waist, hoisting you up so you were vertical and pressed to his chest, legs spread as he lowered you back onto his cock. His free hand played with your breasts as his teeth latched onto your ear, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“Drake~” you moaned, hypersensitive but matching his thrusts as best you could.

“Finally giving in, huh?” he panted in your ear, rutting up into your aching cunt. “I knew you would—you can only deny your instincts for so long.”

Hand encircling your throat, he pressed your head to his shoulder, looking down at you with fierce yellow eyes. “You’re loving this, aren’t you? Getting railed by a pirate’s cock. You greedy little slut. You make a hell of a sight right now—needy juices dripping down your thighs, eyes glazed with pleasure, face covered in my cum.” He leaned down to lick away one of the milky droplets that clung to your cheek. “I should take a picture to send to headquarters; show them what happens to cute little Marines that fall into my clutches.” The hand supporting your waist slid down over your sweat-slicked stomach to the apex of your thighs, mercilessly grinding his thumb against your clit.

You didn’t even try to fight your orgasm this time, letting it wash over you, bouncing on Drake’s cock to draw it out while screaming your throat raw. Sharp teeth latched onto your shoulder as he released, hips snapping up hard as he came.

Drake wasn’t quite done yet, though. Somehow, despite two consecutive orgasms, he was still hard inside you. You mewled helplessly, too worn out to even rock your hips. Sensing you were at your limit, he pushed you back onto your stomach, hoisted up your hips, and proceeded to fuck you into the mattress.

Covered in sweat, stretched to your limit, limbs weak, overstimulated and hypertensive, all you could do was lay there, ass in the air as Drake continued to pump his massive cock into your twitching hole. However, the pathetic sounds of pleasure that you let out at every snap of his hips seemed to egg him on, and before long he slammed himself inside you with a penultimate, animalistic groan, emptying the last of his hot seed inside you.

At last sated, he removed you from his softening cock to wrap you up in a loose blanket before laying down beside you.

“Mmmm, can’t wait to do this again tomorrow.”

“To-tomorrow?” you gasped, forcing yourself to stay awake even as exhaustion darkened the corners of your vision and your limbs grew heavy and lethargic.

“I was eager to fuck you and rid myself of these damned urges, but now, I think I rather like them. I haven’t felt this relaxed in years.” Muscular arms engulfed you as he pulled you to his warm chest. Glancing up, you could see his eyes had returned to their normal, intense shade of blue. He purred, “And for such a little thing, you’re surprisingly durable. I’d be a fool to give you up. When my crew and I leave this island, you’re coming with us.”

“I can’t…”

“Your squad’s most likely dead, and the survivors would be trapped here until another ship stumbles across them. Even if they all lived, they couldn’t stop me from carrying you off.” His thick fingers combed through your hair, not caring that they were still damp and sticky with your juices. “You can’t go back to the Navy, anyway; the anti-fraternization laws are rather draconian, and if you don’t get court-martialed just on the off-chance that I could have recruited you as a spy, you’ll be looked down on with disgust and suspicion, passed over for promotions and missions for the rest of your career. Join my crew, and you’ll at least have my men’s respect.”

“I’m not a traitor,” you insisted, even as you buried your head against his chest to hide the tears that threatened to fall. Damn it, he was right—if the Navy found out that you’d been involved with X Drake, even under duress, you’d be branded a pariah and, at best, shuffled to some out-of-the-way base doing paperwork until judgement day.

His large hand cupped your chin, lifting your face so he could press a gentle kiss to your brow. “Then I guess you’ll have to spend your days as my captive and feisty little bed warmer.”

“Better keep me in the brig—otherwise, I might slit your throat in your sleep.”

“You can try, dear, but if I have to tie you up and fuck you into unconsciousness every night to ensure my safety, well, that’s a cross I’m willing to bear.” Tilting your head, he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I’d advise against killing me, though. If you prove yourself trustworthy, I’ll let you in on why I became a pirate. It’s a fascinating story, and it might just make you realize I’m not as bad as I seem.”

Your brow furrowed. What could he possibly mean by that? You wanted to question him, but the strain of the day was finally catching up to you, making your eyelids heavy. It was even harder to focus with the soft bedding underneath you and Drake’s bare chest keeping you warm.

He chuckled softly as you began to drift off, murmuring, “Get some rest, little one; that’s an order from your captain.”

[megalodont]

mdzswomen’s Women Appreciation Weeks: Favourite Ship

read it here or on ao3 ^^

-

The town doctor, whose name Nie Mingjue hadn’t bothered to learn, was considerably less limp-wristed and fastidious than the rest of the townies he had met. When he realised his only broodmare was foaling breech he’d reluctantly called for her; with a cow he’d just let nature take its course and if the mother died he’d cut the calf out and have beef for dinner and that would be that. But the horse was good stock and he couldn’t afford another until the end of the season. How was he supposed to drive five hundred head with only one horse? 

The woman had arrived in good time, wearing practical twill and an apron. She’d taken one look at the beast lying on its side and removed the straight pins holding her shortgown closed, leaving her in just her skirt and stays. She threw the garment over the stable railing and rolled the sleeves of her chemise as high as they’d go. Nie Mingjue found himself admiring her practicality.

“I’d prefer not to get kicked,” she told Nie Mingjue, before kneeling behind the prone mare. He didn’t appreciate being ordered around on his own ranch, but he jerked his head at his younger brother—who was looking distinctly squeamish—and took his place by the horse’s rear end. Nie Huaisang swallowed and nodded, squeezing into the stall to sweet talk the beast and offer her whatever treats he’d been unsubtly hiding in the pockets of his fancy coat. 

He couldn’t see much from where he crouched, hands resting on the horse’s top leg so she couldn’t kick the tiny woman, but he found himself very glad his brother was at the other end of the stall when the doctor stuck both her hands right into his favourite horse. Her face was set with determined concentration as she did... something, one sticky hand coming to rest on the boards beside his head as she turned her whole body to get one arm even deeper…. in there. An alarming quantity of reddish fluid suddenly gushed from the beast, soaking into the hay. Strings of blood and mucus smeared the shoulder of her white chemise, and Nie Mingjue gave in to the urge to wrinkle his nose. 

With a grunt of effort she dug her heels into the floor and pulled. Slowly, sweat beading on her forehead, she managed to pull out a pair of hooves. 

Back hooves.

“Okay,” she panted, trying to wipe her sweaty forehead on her shoulder. She stood and backed up. “Now you.”

Nie Mingjue bit back a wince and came around to kneel where she had been, the straw unpleasantly damp beneath him. His hands felt suddenly enormous on the foal’s delicate ankles, but he got a good grip and, at the doctor’s instruction, began to pull. Nothing much happened.

“Come on, what good is it being the same size as a horse yourself if you can’t put your back into anything? Pull!” She commanded. Nie Mingjue growled and leaned into it, eventually working his way up until he was pulling with all his strength. He felt like he was going to tear the legs right off the little creature, and the mare had begun to bellow as she tried to push. The doctor reached in to guide it out. 

The foal came inch by inch, and then all at once. Nie Mingjue found himself falling on his ass when the baby’s hind quarters finally slipped free. 

“Okay, she can do the rest,” the doctor said. Even as she spoke the rest of the foal’s body was slithering out onto the stable floor. 

“Lord almighty,” Nie Huaisang said faintly. “Is it over?” Nie Mingjue snorted at the sight of him, sweaty and pale like he was the one who had just delivered a baby.

“It’s over,” the doctor told him, busy clearing the mucus from the foal’s mouth and nose with a handful of straw. “You can come see it, if you want.”

“I’m good. I’m actually going to go outside for a second I think, yep—” And he was gone. 

“Bit squeamish for a cattle rancher,” the doctor commented, getting to her feet.

“More like a cattle rancher’s dandy brother,” Nie Mingjue huffed. He led the doctor around the side of the stable to the water pump so they could both wash up. He was just retying the red kerchief around his neck when he heard his brother scream. 

To her credit the doctor jerked in surprise and hurried towards the sound. Nie Mingjue followed, though he was not overly alarmed; Nie Huaisang screamed when bugs crossed his path or dirt got on his fine trousers. 

This was not one of those situations.

When Nie Mingjue rounded the corner he almost froze in horror at the sight of his brother, hands in the air, being faced down by six gun-toting bandits. He recognised the faces of several from wanted posters he’d seen in town. As soon as he and the doctor emerged several pistols were turned on them as well. 

“Hand’s where I can see ‘em!” The leader of the band shouted. Nie Mingjue obliged, chest filling with a boiling rage.

The doctor raised her hands as well, but fearlessly crossed the short distance between Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, hardly paying any attention to the pack of outlaws at all. 

“Are you alright?” She demanded of Nie Huaisang. 

“Of course I’m not alright!” He wailed. “They’re pointing guns at us!”

“Are you injured, ” she snapped. 

“Yes! I was so startled when they jumped out I almost fell! Look at my hand, it’s bleeding! And it got all over my sleeve!” His brother had the uncanny ability to be both whiny and fearful at once. If anything had happened to him Nie Mingjue didn’t know what he would have done. 

“You two, go search them for shit we can sell,” the leader said. 

“You know the deal,” one of the outlaws responded sharply. He was a greasy man, wearing much better boots than the rest of his companions. 

“Yeah, yeah.” The leader rolled his eyes. 

Nie Mingjue growled as a bandit rifled through his clothes with dirty fingers, gun pressed to his chest. His hands were shaking with the temptation to pull his own gun, hidden in his waistband, and shoot as many of the bastards as he could before they got him. A choked gasp snapped his head to the side, and he saw the other bandit digging the muzzle of his pistol cruelly into the underside of Nie Huaisang’s jaw.

The next thing Nie Mingjue knew his ears were ringing with the sound of a gunshot, the bandit frisking him dead on the ground. 

“ Get down!” The doctor shouted, busy shoving Nie Huaisang behind a wagon in the corner of his vision. Thanking Heaven the doctor had had the sense to remove his brother from the line of fire Nie Mingjue threw himself behind a barrel of feed and weathered the first round of bullets as the outlaws opened fire. He tilted his head to peek around the edge, moving back almost before he could register the locations of the men. Heart pounding with adrenaline he shot to his feet long enough to take aim, picking a man off before ducking back down, chest heaving. He glanced over at where the other two were taking shelter, knowing he’d feel guilty for putting them in danger once everything was over—only to see the doctor, feet planted, hands steady as she wielded Nie Huaisang’s own pistol. Nie Mingjue insisted he carry it in case of situations such as these, but his brother refused to even practice shooting cans with him so he shouldn’t have been surprised he didn’t take it out to defend himself. 

The doctor, for her part, held it with total comfort, and as he watched she took out two men, ducking smoothly back behind the wagon as bullets hit the dust where she’d been. He couldn’t believe the tiny woman was holding her own in a gunfight mere moments after unflinchingly pulling a horse from its mother. 

“What the hell are you daydreaming about over there?” She screamed over the din, face streaked with dirt, eyes blazing. For a moment the hot rage in his chest flickered into a different kind of burn. 

“Who the fuck is that woman? She just shot Billy and Snaketooth Al!” 

“I don’t give a fuck who she is, just finish them off already!” Shouted the leader. 

Another round of bullets assailed Nie Mingjue’s flimsy hiding place. One finally punched all the way through, a stream of grain pouring out onto his dust-caked boots. He threw another look to where Nie Huaisang crouched with his arms over his head. The doctor met his eyes, and they didn’t have to speak a word. The doctor raised three fingers. 

Then two. 

Then one. 

The pair stepped out in perfect unison, guns blazing. Nie Mingjue grunted as a bullet struck him in the shoulder, but he didn’t let it stop him shooting the no good outlaw who’d wounded him right between the eyes. 

He stood, staring, panting down at where the dead men lay under the blazing noontide sun.

“Is—is it over?” Nie Huaisang asked for the second time that hour. 

“It’s over,” the doctor replied once again. She tossed his gun in his direction and marched over to where Nie Mingjue was still standing, staring at her. 

“Where—uh, where did you learn to shoot like that?”  

“My little brother is the best marksman in the county,” she said primly. “Take of your shirt.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Shirt off. I need to look at that wound.”

“It only grazed me,” he groused, annoyance starting to overtake his admiration. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said causticly. “I forgot bullet grazes were the only type of wound impervious to infection. Off. Now.” 

He glared down—way down—at her, but she didn’t back off, only narrowing her eyes.

“Tch.” He tucked his gun back into his belt and tugged off his bandana. He pulled his loose shirt over his head and balled it in his fist, plonking himself down on the bullet riddled feed barrel so she had some hope of reaching his wound. She leaned very close to inspect it. 

“Didn’t hit anything vital. It’ll heal a lot better if you get stitches, but I didn’t bring my equipment. You will need to clean it though. I assume you have bandages and antiseptic?”

Nie Mingjue wordlessly raised his shirt. She closed her eyes as if she were in pain. “And something to clean it with…?”

Placing the shirt on his leg he dug in his trouser pocket, coming up with his flask. She stared at it for a long moment, and then took it. She unscrewed the cap and took a deep swallow. Nie Mingjue felt his eyebrows rise, and they stayed up there when she wiped her mouth without coughing. His brother couldn’t even smell the stuff without his eyes beginning to water. 

“You’ll want some of this too,” she said, and he dutifulled took a swallow, carefully not thinking about how the doctor’s mouth had been there moments before. She took the flask back and wasted no time pouring whiskey into his bulletwound. He manfully refrained from hissing in pain.

“Da-ge?”

“Just a scratch, didi,” he assured his brother. 

“Is he going to be okay?” He asked the doctor as she tore strips from her apron.

“If he comes with me back to town to let me fix him up properly, he’ll be fine. If he just lets it fester and dies of sepsis? Less so.”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes, but the sting of the woman binding his wound prevented him from replying. 

“Who the hell were those men, though?” Nie Huaisang wondered, looking down at one. “Bandits don’t normally hit out here in the middle of the day, there’s way better pickings on the roads leading into town.”

“That’s because they weren’t bandits,” the doctor said grimly, not looking up from her work.

“Huh?”

“What do you mean by that?” Nie Mingjue demanded. 

“Whoever they were they were hired to come here,” she said, tying off the makeshift dressing.

“What! By who?”

She looked up at him. “By the Wens.”

“Those dogs?!” Nie Mingjue roared. “I won’t sell them my land for mining so they decide to have me killed ?!”

“Why do you think that?” Nie Huaisang asked intently, searching the doctor's expression. 

“That’s Wen Chao,” the doctor said, pointing to one of the bodies. “Wen Ruohan’s son.”

Nie Mingjue looked at the body of the chubby man in surprise, but he didn’t miss the way his brother’s eyes narrowed. 

“How do you know?” Nie Huaisang demanded. 

The doctor looked between them, and seemed to make a decision. She squared her shoulders. 

“Because he’s my cousin.”

Nie Mingjue snapped around, staring at the tiny woman he’d come to so admire over the last hour. She hiked her chin, staring right back. Her? One of those slimy bastards?! 

His furious roar was loud enough to frighten the cows.

“What in tarnation?!”

[aria-i-adagio]

Echoes of the Past: Day 7, Occupation

Once she got started, Dema took her role of Anna’s apprentice with gusto.  Working as an apothecary provided her with structure and purpose that she was doing something worthwhile with her life.  She and Anna remained in Vesuvia during the plague and did what they could.  Anna eventually contracted the Plague.  She survived much longer than most Plague victims, which impressed Julian and led to him asking Dema to work with him in his clinic.  Dema never participated in Valdemar’s “research” in the palace, and Julian was very careful to keep her from it.

The sense of purpose in her occupation is what got Dema back on her feet after her aunt’s death and kept her in Vesuvia after Asra tried to get her to leave.  She believed that it was the right thing to do.  She could help, so she had to help, even as everything was becoming more desperate around her.

Excerpt, “This Body Breathes from Inertia”

“You did everything you could.  Literally, I, uh, couldn’t have done anything else.”  The doctor was young, only a few years older than me, and skinny as a bean pole and with the slightest hint of an accent when he spoke the trade language.  Shouldn’t say that.  Everyone had an accent when they spoke the trade language.  That was the point of a trade language.  He had a faint non-Vesuvian accent when he spoke the trade language.  

He wasn’t wearing one of those ghastly masks.  Thank God for that - if God still deserved thanks.  I was more in a mood to lay into God with every invective I knew.  Anna, my aunt, hated those masks.  Claimed they wouldn’t do much more than just covering your mouth with a kerchief anyway.  In the three weeks since her eyes started turning red, I had burnt every kerchief in the house and then given up entirely, assuming that I’d sicken soon enough anyway.

“I’m sorry.”  He took a tiny vial out of his bag and offered it to me.  “Laudanum.  It might help if she’s in pain, but only give her a drop or two at a time.  Anymore will -”

“I have opium.”  I cut him off.  I’m a fucking apothecary; of course, I have opium.  And the implication behind carefully stating just how much would be too much, well, I understood that as well.  “And if I decide that she’d want me to end it, I can think of at least five other admixtures I have the ingredients for that would do the job as well.  Keep that for someone else.  It won’t be very long now anyway.”

He put the bottle back in his bag, talking quietly as he does so, perhaps just to fill the silence as it’s all common knowledge.  “The carts come round in the morning.  I know it seems awful, but the mass graves, they’re the best way to minimize the contagion being passed on.  You should burn all that bedding too.”

I nodded absently and continued stroking the back of my aunt’s hand, counting the seconds between each increasingly shallow breath.  It didn’t seem awful; it was awful.  But he was right.  Even if the quarantines and the dead wagons - carting off the deceased like so many cattle - have done nothing thus far, they were the best of multiple bad options.

“Hey, do you, um, have anyone else?  Someone to help you, maybe.”

The doctor touched my shoulder, bringing me back from my grim musings.  I looked up at him, paying attention to his face for the first time.  Gray eyes, nearly lost in dark circles - he didn’t look like he’d slept more than I had in the past few weeks.  Friends?  I felt too empty to even think of myself as the type of thing that could have anything, much less friends.  There was Artemis, but she had been trying carefully to avoid the plague victims as much as she could.  It was too easy for her to spread the contagion to already vulnerable women and infants.  But I wanted Asra with me most.  “He’s traveling right now.”  I twisted the ring Asra gave me before he left - two trips ago, maybe, they blur together, he often seems like he’s gone more than he’s here - around on my finger.  He was supposed to return soon and bring with him some of the rarer herbs and medicines that we didn’t stock, that we hoped would do some more good for the plague than what we had tried some far.  But, he was too late.  As usual.  Always running late.

The doctor frowned, rummaged around in the pockets of his coat, and then handed me an unlabeled glass flask.  “For you.  Not officially approved, but it takes the edge off.”

I gave him a skeptical look.  This was not the sort of thing I expected from someone in ‘professional’ medicine.  But, what the hell?  I uncorked the bottle and took a swig, managing not to make a face as the liquor burnt its way down into my stomach.  My second drink was slower.  “It’s not bad.  I like a drink to bite me back, at least a little bit.  What is it?”

“Slivovitsa - plum brandy.  My grannies swear by it for basically everything.  Not that this is as good as theirs.”

I held the flask back out to him, but he shook his head.

“Keep it.”

Another cough racked Anna’s frail body - weaker than the last.  Any strength she had left to try and clear her lungs was fading fast.  I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and rearranged the pillows behind her so that she’s a bit more upright.  Once she’s settled, I held a shallow cup of water to her cracked lips and blotted away what she doesn’t drink - most of it, probably all of it - with a square of cloth.  Another for the burning pile.

When I look up, the doctor was still watching me with those exhausted gray eyes.  There weren’t a lot of sad eyes left in Vesuvia; we’d all become too acclimated to pain and death to show any response on our jaded faces.  But his eyes were curiously, somehow, still melancholic.

“You can go.  I know you can’t do anything.”

“I, uh, I’ll stop by tomorrow.  To check on you.”

“You don’t have to.  We all know how this ends.”

“I will anyway.”

***

A few hours past midnight, her eyes blinked open for a moment, then with a final rattling cough, she died.  I convinced myself that she had looked at me, and faintly, ever so very very faintly, had squeezed my hand.  Maybe it really happened, maybe it was a figment of my sleep deprived imagination.  But believing it made me feel a little better.

I arranged her limbs into something that vaguely looked peaceful, surrounded her with flowers we had dried the past summer - chamomile, lavender, and rose - and knotted the bedsheets into a shroud.   Finally, I gathered her up in my arms, using magic to steady my self on the steps, but taking her diminished weight on myself, sure that I needed to do this last task for her on my own.  Some final, last acknowledgement who she was to me, since I couldn’t bury her properly.  

When dawn came with the wagons to collect the dead, I pacing in front of the shop,  shawl pulled tight against the cool air that passes for winter in the Vesuvian climate, and counting the cobblestones in the street to try to keep the roaring in my head at bay.  As the wagon pulled away, the roaring terminated, and I slumped back against the door of the shop, knees no longer able to bear my weight and curled into a small, shaking bundle of sobs.     

I pulled myself up after a passer by poked me with a stick to see if I was still alive, and staggered back into the shop, into my home.  Forced myself to drink a cup of water.  I should sleep.  I knew that I should sleep.  But I also knew I would dream, and I could predict what those dreams would be.  I didn’t want them.

I started taking apart the upstairs bedroom instead.  By late afternoon, I’d tossed all the bedding from the window to the yard below and dragged it far enough away that I wouldn’t set the shop on fire by mistake.  I summoned a flame, more than I really needed for the pile to catch light, but I was sad and angry, and it felt good to destroy something.  

I watched it burn, then started shooing my chickens - so happily oblivious - into their coop for the night.  As I latched the gate shut on their enclosure, a voice called to me from the gate.  Auburn hair was just visible above the high fence - the doctor from last night?  He had said he’s come by, but I hadn’t believed him.  Certainly that had just been a nice thing to say at the time.  I pulled the gate and looked him up and down.  No uniform, and there’s a wrinkled dog tagging along at his heels.

“Hey, I said I’d check on you.”

“She’s dead.  I’m alive.  Thanks.”  My response bordered on rude - no, actually, quite rude - but I didn’t really care, even if he was trying to be kind.  I didn’t have the emotional reserves to respond in the way I knew that I should.

My answer didn't seem to put him off.  “Can I, could I step in for a minute?  I wanted to talk to you.”

“Is your dog going to attack my chickens?”

He laughed, and it was an odd sound, almost shocking, maybe even scandalous, to hear laughter.  “Nah, I can promise that she’s too damn lazy to chase a chicken.”

I silently held the gate open for him, and he walked into the back yard.  The fire behind me has turned into a roaring blaze.  “Sorry, I didn’t get your name last night.”

“Oh, um, yeah, Julian Devorak.  You took me seriously about burning the bedding.”

“Yep.”  I folded myself into an ironwork chair.  Iron shouldn’t, couldn’t hold any of the plague.  In folktales iron would counteract the supernatural, quell it, and the longer this pestilence ravaged the city, the more rational accepting a fey, irrational origin for the suffering seemed.  Right?  Iron and fire.  Maybe those were the solutions.  “Cleaned out pretty much everything in that room.”    

“You did that all on your own?”  He sat down in the chair opposite of mine.  “I thought a neighbor or someone would -”

I gestured absently at the chair he’s sitting in and floated it a few inches off the ground.  Ah, yes, this isn't a folktale and iron doesn't counteract the supernatural.  Or at least iron doesn't counteract my magic.  So much for the supernatural as a diagnosis and iron for a prescription.  Back to square one.  Death, lots of death, from an unexplained and untreatable illness.  

As the chair rose, the doctor grabbed the arms and yelped in surprise.  His dog gave me a disapproving look that I did deserve, and I gently let the chair settle back onto the ground.

“I’m not exactly helpless.”

“I see that.”  His face has gone paler, if that was even possible, at the display of magic.  “But still.  I’m sorry that you, uh, had to do that alone.”

“The slivovitsa helped.”  I pulled the bottle out of my shirt pocket and drank the last mouthful.  I’d also been nursing a bottle of whiskey all day, half expecting Anna to step into the room and inform me that day drinking is not a healthy coping strategy.  But she hadn’t.  Of course she hadn’t.  Staring at the fire, I shrugged out of the bulky shirt I had on a sleeveless blouse and tossed it in with everything else.  Despite the fire, the night air chilled me quickly and I wrapped my arms tight around my torso.  I should probably burn all the clothing I’d worn while cleaning, but I supposed that can wait until the doctor - until Julian - leaves.  “Thanks for that.”

“When is your husband getting back?”

“Husband?”  It was staccato and bitter, but I couldn’t help but laugh as I imagined Asra's face at having that vocabulary applied to him.  His eyebrows would pull together for a moment, then the right one would lift in concert with the corner of his mouth curling in something halfway between amusement and disgust.

“Sorry, I assumed with the ring and you, uh, you said he.”

The alcohol in my blood said he was cute when him stammered.  Or at least, I blamed the alcohol.  

“You're observant.”  I picked up a stick and poked at the embers.  “He is at best a term of convenience when talking about Asra.  And I don't know what word you'd use for what we are.”  Lovers?  Non exclusive lovers - what’s the word for that?  Two people who keep coming home to each other, despite whoever and whatever else we got involved with in the interim.  I curled my free hand against my mouth, lips pressed against the ring I'm wearing.  “He should be home in the next week.  Should be.  Doesn't mean he will be.  He gets distracted sometimes.”  Distracted is also not quite the right word for Asra, but again, I’m not sure what word you would use to explain his convoluted, occasionally non linear sense of time.

“They've closed down the port.  I hear they're planning to seal off the city gates soon.”

“Oh, that won't stop him."  I sometimes suspected that Asra could pass through walls and step between mirrors if he so desired.  "Why are you here, Dr. Devorak?  I can't imagine you take this much interest in the family of every person who dies.”

“I, well, I meant it when I said I thought you did everything you could, and I wanted to know more about what you used.”

“She's still dead.”  One of the four universals, along with aloneness, lack of meaning, and the terrifying responsibility of free will.  But Death comes for us all, no matter the virtuous or unvirtuous choices we've made.  It bleaches them of meaning and abandons us in finitude.  Intellectualizing.  A coping mechanism.  Not always a good one.  But it's something.

“Yes, but . . .”

Anna had survived for three weeks after her eyes turned red, instead of the handful of days most plague victims counted.  After watching her become slowly feebler and feebler before slipping into that last long coma, I wasn’t convinced that was a good thing.  Perhaps it was easier to go quickly.  But still, I sighed and began to rattle off what Anna and I tried - first for our neighbors and customers who had come developed then sickness, then for her.  “Boneset and willow bark for the fever and aches.  Start the tincture at the new moon so that it will draw out the active parts of the plant.  Pleurisy root and horehound for the cough and the lung congestion as a oxymel.  A salve of ginger, arnica, and comfrey for swollen joints.  Those should be extracted into an oil while the moon is waning.  I use spellwork to complement the herbs, some of which I can attach to charms, some of which I have to be present to work.  All of that only treats the symptoms.  We tried echinacea and elderberry to build immune systems, but it didn't work.  I found a reference to an herb from the west that supposedly cured a plague there, but -”  I shrugged, it was a folktale in an old book, not a solid lead.  But library research was one of the things I knew I was good at, and lately I wasn’t feeling very confident in my ability to do anything.  “Asra is supposed to bring some back with him.  But none of it really seems to do any good.  Is there anything else you want to know?”

“I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to upset you.”

“I'm not upset.  I'm exhausted.”  The dog pushed her head into my hands, and I rubbed her velvety ears absently before pressing my face against her warm body, trying to fight back the tears that I had kept myself from crying for the entire day.  “And the only family that gave a damn about me just died, so excuse me if my conversation skills are lacking.”  I hadn’t heard from the rest of my family in years . . . not since . . . well, perhaps I couldn’t blame them.  My mother had - apparently - given up after the third letter I didn’t respond to.  My father had sent a book of sacred texts, littered with notes on scrap paper after I had first come to live with Anna, but nothing since.

He was silent for a minute, then I heard the chair shift as he stood up.  His hand was warm - more comforting than I could admit I wanted - when he placed it on my shoulder.  “Listen.  Just, uh, think about this.  When you're ready, I could use an assistant, preferably someone who knows something, because nothing I've tried works either.”

 I angrily wiped tears away from my eyes.  “What would be the point?  No one recovers from this.”

“I want to be the kind of person who at least tries.”  He squeezed my shoulder and without thinking, my head fell against his arm.  He moved again, kneeling behind the chair until he could wrap both of his arms around me in an awkward, surprisingly welcome hug.  “Just think about it, okay?”

[firebird-inkheart]

A Child’s Understanding p.2

(Please check previous post for warnings)

{Previous}

The afternoon sunlight blinded him the moment he stepped outside. Ace flinched, squinting even as he turned his head. Behind him the strangers’ mocking laughter echoed harshly in his ears. His palms ached where his nails bit in deep; his skin was tough and calloused, yet in that instant it threatened to split apart and let his frozen blood flow freely.

‘Cursed blood,’ came the bitter reminder. ‘Devil’s, demon’s. Poisoned, unclean, festering―’

He jumped as the hands clamped on his shoulders squeezed hard. The pressure banished the loud and hateful voices to the back of his mind where they could only murmur their loathing messages. Ace let out a shaky breath.

“They’re wrong,” Sabo said sternly. “That’s the one thing that will never be true, alright.”

It wasn’t a question, but a demand that beget the acceptance of fact.

“... Yeah.”

But he had heard so many other ���facts’ which were contrary to his brother’s that it made it hard to be convinced, let alone sound convincing. Sabo sighed and let his hands slide away. Before he could really register the missing presence of their weight an arm wrapped around his shoulders. They walked down the steps to put a little more distance between them and the Yew. The obnoxious voices grew just a little quieter.

“Remind me again, what was it Chante told you, exactly?”

He scowled and shot him a look; seriously, why was he asking? Sabo knew damn well everything Chante had told him. They all got the same lectures when Chante deemed it seriously important.

A thin eyebrow rose back in challenge.

“I can parrot what she said until I’m blue in the face but it won’t have the same effect as you saying it for yourself.”

Ace bit down on his cheek and stared at his feet. Chante often sat down with him to simply talk about things no one had bothered to talk with him about before. Things like his feelings and stern but strangely gentle reprimands for his behavior. About who he really was. The blacksmith was full of many profound thoughts, with perspectives he’d never once considered before. Her strong voice, the voice he had gradually come to see as, well, not exactly a motherly one― Ace wasn’t quite sure how he felt about putting that label on anyone in relation to himself ―but someone he could respect enough to rely on, floated through his mind.

“The navy’s sense of justice is and always has been dictated by what the World Government is afraid of. And the government is afraid of everything that doesn’t immediately bow and grovel at its feet,” she had said. “That fear has turned you into a casualty as a result and for that I am so, so sorry. But there’s something I want you to know so listen to me very carefully…”

“My worth is not defined by the judgement of anyone.” 

Sabo leaned in a little closer, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Sorry, what was that? Didn’t quite hear you there.”

Ace looked up, though not without glaring, each word cutting on his tongue as he tried to cement some belief into them. “My worth is not defined by the judgement of anyone.”

He pumped his arm and Sabo joined him in agreement. “Your worth is not for anyone but yourself to determine!” He grinned, flashing his gapless glory. “But it sure helps to know there are people that value you all the same. Right Hon?”

There was no reply.

“Honyo?”

Cacophonic; the sound of glass shattering against something solid and heavy rang through the air, immediately followed by an uproar of deep swears and shouts and one utterly unholy shriek. The boys jolted, running back into the Yew, nearly tearing the doors from their hinges as they bulldozed their way through. 

Aya had dropped several dishes to reach for the nearest man and strong arm him into submission; the knife he had been reaching for clattered harmlessly to the ground. One of the strangers, gangly as he was, turned on the barmaid only to find his face pinned to the ground by the foot of one of the cooks that had come out to investigate the commotion. The others surrounded a manic, snarling, green haired little girl brandishing a broken bottle.

Two of the men lunged at Honyo and she jumped, tossing herself at the man with the bowler hat. The men collided in a heap and bowler hat guy screamed. The man’s hat went flying as Honyo repeatedly bludgeoned him with her crude weapon and the man himself fell back in his chair, sending them both crashing to the floor. 

“TAKE IT BACK! TAKE IT BACK, TAKE IT BACK, TAKE IT BACK!”

The man with the large bow tie loomed over the screaming girl and struck, grabbing a fistful of hair― the little pompoms that held some of her hair up snapped from the force ―and wrenched. Hard.

Her head hit the table with a solid thunk!

The blood in his veins was all but screaming in his reeling mind as the last couple seconds finally caught up to him.

Bowtie man huffed. “That oughta teach you to settle do―”

“Get your filthy hands off her!”

He pitched forward as the boys barreled into him, their roars fierce and wild enough to compete with the Tiger Lord himself. Ace slammed a fist into the bastard’s head once, twice. Each hit was so powerful that his face bounced off the floor, leaving dark smears across the wooden surface. Bowtie man groaned and turned to jelly under his legs.

Sabo had rolled off the man and reached for Honyo as she picked herself up. She wiped the back of her shaking hand across her forehead― he saw red and his knuckles cracked loudly ―blue eyes shiny with fresh tears of pain and unadulterated fury. She readjusted her grip on the bottle. Sabo had barely wrapped his hand around her arm when she lunged.

A glint of light. A flash of silver. Ace didn’t have time to fully register everything as he leapt up, wrapping his arms around Honyo’s waist, and pulled her back. 

The knife in Bowler hat guy’s hand slashed through empty air, harmless.

“Take it back!” Honyo screamed again. “Take back what you said right now!”

“What the hell is your problem you little menace?!” Bowler hat shook harder than a leaf in an autumn breeze, brandishing his little knife in one hand while the other held a stained kerchief to a nasty looking gash on his balding head.

He could feel his grip slipping as Honyo struggled to reach out and keep attacking the stranger, her face alight with fire and fury. Sabo slipped his arms under hers and received an elbow to his face for his efforts. With a grunt the two managed to pull her back a couple more steps.

There was a long running understanding that pissing off a Roronoa was like inviting a storm into your house when you were better off leaving the door shut. But in that moment the only thing Ace could think as he and Sabo struggled to hold Honyo back, was that this was nothing short of a testament to the little girl’s strength.

“Us kids aren’t as stupid as you think we are!” she growled. “Adults like you that go runnin’ your mouths are the worst! You can’t just say another kid should die just because of who their parents are— It’s wrong and you better take it back now!”

His heart flew up into his throat and locked the air out. She had started a brawl because of― Because of that? Ace had never told Honyo about who his father was. He’d been too scared, was absolutely terrified right now, of the idea of her knowing and… and hating him. And yet… And yet she―

Bowler hat guy couldn’t seem to believe that all this ruckus had been because of his careless words either, his mouth hitting the floor for one short moment before incredulous chuckles filled the air.

“And what would a sniveling little girl like you know about what’s right and wrong? Don’t you know about the things that devil Roger did? Any kid of his would be just as bad― no, worse ―and shouldn’t be allowed so much as an inch of life!”

Ace ducked his head, twisting the fabric of Honyo’s shirt around his fists. Sharp eyes flickered down and back at the man, nostrils flaring. Pulling her arm back as far as she could get it with Sabo holding onto her, Honyo flung the rest of her weapon at the man and beaned him square in the forehead.

“Existing isn’t a crime you thick skulled bigot! It never has been and it never will be!”

His heart was being squeezed to death and filled to the brim with warmth all at once. It was too much. Dark eyes flickered up, startled.

“Existence isn’t a crime! Being born and living isn’t a crime! What should be a crime is people like you that go around saying children should die just because you’re chicken shit scared of their parents!”

A collective gasp raced around the room. Ace found it difficult to pry his eyes away from Honyo. For such a small kid she looked so big just then. She was rage and passion, a thin trail of dried blood smeared down her face from a small, bruising cut on her temple, and the shine in her eyes had finally broken free. Big fat tears rolled down her cheeks and dribbled off her chin. One fell onto his face.

‘She’s crying for… me?’

“That’s― That’s treason!” Bowler hat raved. “Treason against the World Government―”

And didn’t that seem to be the root of so many problems in this world. What a fool to admit his flawed thoughts stemmed from them.

The doors creaked, soft footsteps treading across the floor.

“I’ll have you reported! You hear me, I’ll―”

The presence that washed over him was familiar and warm. Often it reminded him of summer days spent lounging in the grass beneath the sun, where gentle winds would tease at stray strands of his hair and he would nap, content. But underneath all that was the warning of a blade that did not reveal itself for idle reasons. And it was being dangerously provoked at that moment.

“Now, what’s going on here?” Cheerful as always, as if he couldn’t bother with being serious; Ace had never felt more relieved to hear that voice.

“Poppop!” Honyo yelped, the same time the boys squawked, “Shin!”

Roronoa Shin came to a stop a few steps away from the disaster zone they all occupied, dusty blue eyes wandering over everything with faint curiosity. Absently he carded his fingers through his light hair and messed it up even more than it already was. 

When Ace had first met Shin he’d thought the man was a clumsy dope and wasn’t good for much despite his broad build.

That was one mistake he had been careful to never make again.

A small frown tugged at his lips. Shin shuffled closer to the odd formation of children― Honyo had stopped struggling now but there was still a feral glint in her tear filled eyes ―reaching out to gingerly cup his daughter’s face and examine her cut.

“So.” His voice was soft, a small, frightening smile replacing the frown. “Which one of you upstanding looking gentlemen hurt my baby bean?”

“That hellion is your brat?” Bowler hat was sweating bullets even as he blustered through with false bravado. “We were minding our own business when she attacked out of nowhere and for no good reason! If you think―”

Honyo surged forward causing Ace and Sabo to fall on top of her in surprise. “Liar! Liar, liar, liar, liar! You said a kid should die if their parent was a criminal and you still haven’t taken it back!”

Shin’s eyes twitched. He looked from his daughter to the man quaking in his just a little too nice boots. “My bean doesn’t start fights for no good reason. And that sounded like a damn good reason to me.”

Without looking back he said, “Why don’t you three head outside and wait just a minute for me, m’kay? I’ll take care of things from here.”

The blade had revealed itself and was baring its fang with a dangerous glimmer. Ace and Sabo scrambled to their feet, neither letting go of Honyo this time as they hauled her up, and made an immediate beeline for the doors.

Pleasant as ever, Shin returned his attention to the men, waving to Aya and the cook as if he was simply stopping by to talk as he usually did. They backed off, trading knowing looks. To the group of strangers, though, the smile he graced them with was as biting as ice.

“Now, let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

[belladonnaandulriched]

amped and wired, part two | chapter eighteen: i’m about to break you

My entire crotch was sore from where that clone had kicked me but at least all of the adrenaline had warded off most of the pain. I kept there in the front seat with my legs spread apart to ease the feeling there. I wished for Cindy to touch me there when things settled down again, that is if something awful happened again.

Lars bounded up to the curb as if he was a racecar driver and the bunch of us all but piled out onto the sidewalk. We stood there before the front door of that same warehouse from before with our cloths over our noses and mouths as if we were a bunch of bandits.

“Just how exactly is the hospital and the warehouse linked up together?” Danny wondered aloud.

“No clue,” said Lars as he adjusted the kerchief over his nose and mouth.

“Still got that pipe, Frankie?” I glanced to my right.

“Right here.” He showed it to me before he put it back over his shoulders.

“Alright, so what do we do?” Charlie asked Lars.

“Alright,” Lars declared. “So first of all—ehh, let's just improvise. The goal is to get Scott and Bush out of trouble, but since we've been separated from Mrs. Hamilton and Angeline, it's going to be a challenge. If we save those two men, we get the women out, too.”

“Alright. How do we do that?”

“Destroy the problem at the heart?” I suggested.

“Yes!” Lars exclaimed. “We take care of this place—uncover the problem at the root, and that's to end the clones. If we end the production of the clones, we'll get the two men out of trouble. So let's go in—” He led us back into the warehouse. I thought back to when we were in that underground spot in Syracuse and I wondered if that was just part of the problem. If we took care of business here, maybe my poor city would stop vanishing and reappearing at every whim for no reason.

The wood creaked underneath our feet as we made our way to that one section in the middle of the floor, the one that showed us that wide open space where we saw a clone being made. We peered over the railing to see the floor was empty. All the tables had vanished and left behind a large stretch of smooth glassy ice in its wake. There was a door on the far side of the room, though. Maybe that was the link to the hospital?

“The door over there is locked,” Lars pointed out.

“How do you know?” I asked him.

“There's a bar over it.”

“Oh.”

“It's a long way over there, though,” Charlie pointed out. Lars turned his head to the wall on the left; I followed his gaze. A brand new pair of ice skates dangling from the hook next to the doorway. Inside of the doorway was that one room where all those masks crawled over me like a shitload of insects.

“Skates—” he muttered, and then he back looked at me.

“Joey—” he said.

“You want me to put them on and go over there, don't ya,” I replied.

“You're the only one with knowledge of the skates,” he pointed out. “Given how slippery it is, you could just go before it and hit something so it flies up and breaks the bar, because I can tell you a strong enough blow to it will shatter it.” He flashed me a wink and I knew what he was getting at right there. “Okay,” I told him, and I ducked behind them to fetch the skates.

“I'll see if there's something of a puck quality,” Frankie assured me.

“I'll come along!” Danny piped up.

“And I'll make sure you guys are alright,” Charlie added.

The three of them ducked out the other side of the room, which in turn left Lars and me alone. Given the door was closed, I slid the cloth down off my face so I could better breathe. I took a seat on the floor and pried off my shoes. That nasty fleshy shit on the soles had fallen away as we walked in so the soles were weirdly clean when I set the shoes down on the floor boards next to me.

“Part of me just wants to whip out a mallet and go nuts,” he quipped.

“How you gonna do that?” I asked him as I lifted my head.

“No idea, but—it's—it's—it's something.”

I put the skates on my feet: they were a little small but at least I could put them on.

“Okay, I neglected to tell you one other thing,” Lars blurted out in a low voice.

“What's that?” I asked him as I laced up the skates.

“I didn't kill my wife to protect her,” he said in a low voice.

“You didn't?”

“I killed her because—” He hesitated.

“Because why?” I asked him. He nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Lars...” I started as I sat in an upright position. “Why did you kill her.” I lowered my voice to a near whisper so the others wouldn't hear me. He gazed at me with those wide green eyes.

“...why,” I whispered to him.

“I killed her because—she was going to kill me.”

“Kill you?” I repeated.

“Yes.”

“So you killed her and you kept eatin' her?” I felt my stomach turn at that.

“Yes. I also had a feeling that that sliced wife meat would come in handy at some point.”

“So ya fuckin' dicked us around this whole entire time?” I demanded.

“No!” he scoffed. “No, no, no! And keep your voice down, too.”

“Well, then—what the hell, Lars?”

“She was going to kill me, man! She was going to slit my throat and then make me into the same thing I made her into.”

“'Cause you're—chubbs-ish?”

“No, because I got fired. You know, the whole thing about how chicks are attracted to rock stars.”

“Pffff, yer preachin' to the choir with that one. But—c'mon, man, you don't think she was that shallow and violent, do you?”

“She was! She only wanted me because I was Mister Trommer.”

“Mister what?”

“Drummer, I mean. That was the only reason she married me. Very intelligent and powerful woman, but—God, she—yeah.”

“So you gave 'er the upper hand?” I concluded as I shuffled my feet about to make sure the skates were on snug.

“Exactly. I showed her my hand and she threatened to whack it off for herself, so I—acted on impulse and used it myself.”

“Damn.”

I turned my head to find Danny, Frankie, and Charlie emerging from that same where the masks crawled over me like insects.

“Not a word of it, though,” Lars whispered to me.

“Man, you gotta say sump'n at some point, though,” I told him as I stood to my feet. The skates pinched my toes but it was all I had right then.

“Here, Joey—” Frankie handed me a red ball about the size of my palm: like one of those dodgeballs you'd see in school but smaller.

“Where'd you find this?” I asked him as I took it to feel for myself: it felt heavy, like there was a dead weight on the inside.

“Danny found it—it was laying on the floor. Reminded me of a shotput or sump'n. I held onto it and I knew it would do the trick.”

“There's also a stairwell over here,” Charlie added; he pointed down the hole and indeed, I spotted the bottom of a staircase down below.

“Alright.” I led the way over to that aforementioned stairwell with that sphere in hand. Frankie then handed me the pipe as we descended to the floor down below. The ice covered that floor and it made me wonder if there was something else underneath all of this. Something that Lars didn't even know himself.

“So I just go over here an' knock it to the door?” I asked them.

“Yeah,” Lars answered. “You could probably take the bar off by hand but it looks awful slippery.” Or maybe Lars did know himself. I felt it in my bones.

“It's pretty slippery lookin' linoleum, Joe,” Danny pointed out.

“It's ice, though,” said Frankie.

“No, it's not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“SHUT UP!” Lars shrieked, and the entire place fell into silence.

I fetched up a sigh and stepped out onto the ice. The blades on the bottoms of the skates ground across the surface like the edge of a razor blade. It was in fact ice. I spotted a few blotches underneath the surface of the ice. I came near them to find they were as red as the ball in my hand.

Butterflies whirled up in my stomach but I had to keep a brave face. I wasn't afraid.

I gripped onto the pipe as if I was about to play a round of hockey. In fact, that was all it was when I thought about it. A round of hockey with my friends. The goalie about to send out the puck for a new round.

I spread my legs apart so I could keep myself steady on the ice. I didn't have my knee pads on so I had to be careful.

One foot forward, and then the other. I came closer to the door and turned to the side to come to a stop. I set that red ball down on the ice. I was just about to use a straight up pipe: no head on the bottom, so I had to step back a little bit. I held the pipe at an angle down by my hips.

I closed my eyes and thought of my mom. My mom putting her arms around my waist from behind and feeling my stomach. I thought of my dad: the man who got me my hockey mask and my drum kit. My parents did a lot for me: it made sense for me to return the favor.

I took a swing at the ball on the ice.

It sailed up and I noticed some drops of red flying off of it. I dodged back because I had no idea what would happen when it hit the door.

And then I smacked the back of my head on something hard. So hard that I felt it knock me out.

“'Scuse me while I kiss this guy—” I muttered as I fell to the floor. I felt something catch me, though: I rolled my head over to see Lars' face. He caught me before I fell onto the ice.

“Stay with me, Joey!” his voice echoed through my ears as if he stood at the bottom of a canyon. “Stay with me!”

I blinked several times to clear my eyes: I could see a whole row of something coming towards us. My head hurt so bad that it was hard to see just where we were going. Science going horribly wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

Through my blurred vision, I could see Danny, Frankie, and Charlie's silhouettes above me. I wish I knew what was happening.

“They're going to kill us,” was all I could hear Lars say. “They're all going to kill us!”

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Two | Never Enough Caffeine ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Hatake Kakashi, Suigin Ryū ] [ Verse: Of Monsters and Men ] [ Vulgarity, Gore, Death ]

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Sitting at a diner counter, Obito nurses his fourth cup of coffee since he arrived an hour ago. He swears he’s resorted to it for so long now, it’s losing its potency.

It’s what he gets for adapting a mostly-nocturnal lifestyle anymore despite his very human want to sleep when it’s dark. But, well...that was the choice he made, in the end.

Not a very popular one, but...he has his reasons.

One of which is the reason he’s sitting here...and has been sitting here for the better part of the last hour. You’d think by now he’d know not to take Kakashi at his word and just...arrive at least thirty minutes later than his friend tells him to.

He’d waste a lot less time waiting on him that way, but...Obito tries his best to be punctual. Even when others aren’t. Used to be a bad habit when he was a kid, but things change as you get older.

Which is why the previously-prompt Hatake is now usually the one running late.

Hearing the door jingle, Obito glances to it and scowls. “Finally.”

“Sorry, sorry...had a small errand come up I couldn’t say no to,” Kakashi offers in way of excuses as he sits atop the stool beside his friend.

“...uh huh. You know you can just tell me you’re late. The reason doesn’t really matter, it’s all bullshit half the time anyway.”

“You wound me. You think I’d lie to you?”

Obito just deadpans at him. “...do we have a job tonight, or not? Because if not, I can find better things to do than sit here drinking bottomless coffee.”

“Not feeling chipper tonight?” Kakashi asks as he rummages through a deep interior coat pocket.

“Not really, no. There’s never enough caffeine before running a job with you.”

“Ha,” is the dry reply as he finally fishes out what he’s looking for. “Got a tip about a seedy place downtown said to be up to no good.”

“What kind of no good?” Obito asks, watching as Kakashi sets down a manilla envelope, from which he starts fetching documents and pictures.

“Harvesting organs kind of no good.”

Obito’s nose immediately wrinkles. “...human, or…?”

“Nightwalker. Maybe some humans on the side, but this operation appears to be focusing primarily on non-human trade. Quite a few in-the-know humans - and even some Nightwalkers - believe in that hocus-pocus bogey crap. You know, like...a vampire’s liver will help you live longer, or if you want to up your sex life, you grate some -”

“Okay okay - I get it,” Obito cuts in, grimacing. “So it’s like...natural medicines and such? Like rare animal parts, but...Nightwalkers.”

“Mhm. Nasty business. A lot of innocent Nightwalkers end up butchered, packaged, and auctioned off in the black markets. Enforcers do their best to shut these kinds of places down, but as soon as you bust one ring, another pops up to take its place. Like damn roaches,” Kakashi mutters. “While I can’t confirm it, I suspect I lost some acquaintances growing up to these real monsters. Kids would just...vanish off the street. And that never meant anything good.”

“Well...I guess that’s why we’re around,” Obito replies, looking over the pictures. A few are of a building’s exterior, one or two of an interior, and others of confiscated organs, limbs, and even an entire body with an empty torso, already harvested. “...fuck, that’s nasty.”

“Yeah, hence why you and I are going to tear this place apart.”

“Just the two of us?”

“It’s still a small operation, just a handful of runners and one actual mortician. But that’s part of why it’s been handed to us.”

Obito perks a curious brow.

“She’s like you.”

His face then goes slack in surprise. “...what?”

“Mhm. Thing is, we’re not sure how yet, just that she is. Which makes her especially dangerous for any Nightwalker to confront.”

“...so you’re leaving that to me, instead.”

“You have the best odds. Your control over space and time gives you an edge I’ll never have. Sure, I’ve got good senses and sharp teeth, but if she’s got any skill in Taming, those won’t be any use to me.” Kakashi then gives his friend a serious look. “...she could even turn me against you.”

“I know...but she’d have to be pretty damn strong to do that.”

“Still, it’s not something we can risk. So I’ll be handling the runners and making sure none get away. You will take on the witch.”

“Don’t have to make it sound like such a dirty word, you know. You might offend me.”

Putting the intel away, Kakashi just chuckles. “I don’t think it’s possible to offend you. You’re already an ex-Hunter on the run from your clan, working with your mortal enemy to help save more of your mortal enemies. You’ve got no shame, Obito Uchiha.”

That earns a grin, deepening the scars on his face. “You make it sound so epic, like I had to fight my way out of their den. As if any other Uchiha will ever find me, let alone take me out. Besides, the only reason they’d really care is because of my blood.”

“Well, still. You’re about as much of a runaway mutt as I am now, hm?” The werewolf gives a grin as he pulls down the kerchief he keeps over his face, showing off wolfish teeth. “A witch and a wolf. Orphans, runaways, vigilantes. Maybe it is a little epic, hm?”

Obito just snorts. “So, where is this place?”

“Red light district. Easier to pull off shady business that way. But there’s no hiding all that blood from a nose like mine, even with all the other smells going on. Been casing it for two weeks now. I think we’re ready.”

“Then let’s get going. I’m going to lose what edge this coffee gave me before too long. Then you’ll have to deal with post-caffeine crankiness.”

“Think I’d rather face the witch than that.”

The pair leave the diner behind, hopping into Kakashi’s rather aged ride. The nighttime hours mean there’s little traffic, so the drive is relatively short.

“So...how best to do this…” Obito muses.

“I figured I go in first and scatter them. The runners will, well...run. I’ll chase. And you come in behind and make sure the witch doesn’t escape. Try and catch her if you can, but you’re clear to kill her if that’s simpler. Better guarantee her dead than risk her escaping if it comes down to it.”

“Got it.” From his shirtfront Obito pulls a mask, slipping it over his face as they abandon the car along the curb. Long-coated men give them furtive glances, women with sultry eyes clearly trying to catch their attention.

“All right...ready? This is the place,” Kakashi offers as they step in front of what claims to be a cigar shop: the front for the real business down below.

“Sure, just one question. If she does Tame you, what do I do?”

“...well, you’ll just have to take her down before I rip out your throat,” Kakashi replies simply.

“Can’t I just Tame you first?”

“That’ll just slow me down, since I’ll have your will and impulses nagging at me. Besides, she could still try and wrest control, remember?”

“...right. Sorry, haven’t seen another witch in a hot minute.”

The wolf just nods, easing open the door to the shop. A scrawny, twitchy man behind the counter shoots upright. “Here for a smoke, mister?”

“You could say that,” Kakashi replies, hands in his coat pockets and mouth hidden behind his kerchief. “I’m here for something a bit more exotic than a Cuban, if you catch my drift.”

That only seems to make the guy twitchier. “That’s downstairs...and I’ll have to frisk you first. Safety and all that, right? Some people’ll kill for this stuff.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” Stepping up, Kakashi gives the fabric over his face a tug, revealing a grin. “And some others will kill to stop it.”

Eyes widening, the guy freezes for a moment too long before attempting to bolt.

The key word being attempting.

In a blink, Kakashi’s a wolf the size of his car, leaping over the counter and pinning jaws around the junkie’s throat. Any cry he might’ve offered is immediately silenced, but the loud thump is likely still telling.

Glancing back, Kakashi gives a jerk of his head that clearly says, “Get going!” before shouldering his way through a back door in search of more lackeys.

Grinning beneath his facade, Obito slips down the stairs leading to the building’s underside...and just as he does, a scream starts, and is then abruptly stopped.

In spite of himself, he feels his heart leap up his throat. Shit, sounds like they’re literally processing someone right now. Which means a life is on the line. Snarling, he streaks down the rest of the stairs and barrels through a door.

Behind is a rather makeshift operating room. A cot supports a body, a rather pointless privacy screen nearby as a bright, dead light bares the entire scene in a staunch, unfeeling glow. Monitors, machines, tools, and waiting coolers litter the place. One human startles with a yelp, clearly just a body to get item A to point B.

But over her shoulder, a woman gives Obito a cold glance. Heartless eyes of amethyst stare out from beneath a blade-cut black fringe. A surgical mask covers the bottom half of her face, midnight hair caught up in a tail.

The latex gloves on her hands are bloody.

“Sorry lady, but your medical license has been revoked,” Obito declares, hidden behind his own mask. “Seems you’ve been caught in a malpractice suit! Now, you can either come quietly...or I’ll just give you a taste of your own medicine…!”

Glancing to her cohort, the woman demands, “Get what we’ve got out of here. Now.”

Not needing to be told twice, the man swipes a cooler and bolts for it.

“Don’t worry, he won’t get far - my partner has a nose like a bloodhound,” Obito chimes.

But he’s largely ignored as she strips off her gloves, apron, and mask. “And what special attributes do you possess?” she instead asks, facing him fully. “Depending on what it is, I can get a pretty penny for your parts.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see!” Striking a mocking pose, he doesn’t move as she takes up a scalpel, throwing it directly at his chest.

It sails right through and clatters against the concrete wall of the basement.

“...space and time, it seems,” his opponent muses. “So, you’re not a monster...you’re like me.”

“You know my secret power, so...seems only fair you tell me yours, y‘know.”

“You really want to know…? Very well, I’ll tell you.” The woman holds up a hand. “My touch is necrotic. One little brush, and you’ll start rotting. So it’s only sensible I deal in death.”

“Ooh…! Then I’ll just have to make sure you don’t touch me! The ultimate game of tag!” He strikes another pose, persona in full tilt. “Try and catch me~!”

The space beneath the shop, however, is hardly ideal for a fight. As the woman does her best to dodge and reach through the clutter of medical equipment, Obito activates and disables his magic at will to simply evade her. He’ll tucker her out a bit, and then see about subduing her.

...or, that was his plan. But after a scant few minutes, it seems she realizes her handicap. And with a spark, she shatters the light and leaves them in darkness.

Obito fumbles for a moment before realizing she’s already fled. “Aw, man!”

“Oi, Obito!”

“Down here!”

Making his way down a few steps, Kakashi cusses at the darkness and pulls out his phone, light on. “Where’s the mortician?”

“Gave me the slip.”

“What?!”

“But I think there’s someone alive down here! Bring your light!”

“We should -!”

“We’ll catch up with her again later. For now we gotta get this guy loose!”

Realizing he can’t change the Uchiha’s mind, Kakashi joins him, dodging scattered supplies. “Jeez, you sure made enough of a mess…”

“Hey, that was all her! I didn’t touch anything!” Literally. Approaching the cot, Obito and Kakashi both freeze at what they see.

Shifted, a body lies atop the cot, chest rapidly rising and falling in panic. A gag keeps them silent, cuffs restraining all four limbs. But rather than arms...they have wings. And their legs are half-scaled and backward. Grey eyes are wide and staring in terror, flickering between the two of them.

“...harpy,” Kakashi murmurs once he realizes what he’s looking at.

“Why is she -?”

“Look.” He gestures to her bonds. Pinning her limbs in place, they have needles embedding into her flesh. “Silver. Keeps a Nightwalker in whatever state they’re in upon contact. She must make them Shift to get the organs in the state she wants…”

Watching the woman’s face, Obito hisses, “Enough! We need to get her the hell out of here, now!”

Chastised, Kakashi starts releasing her bonds.

“Don’t worry, we’re here to get you out, not...hurt you,” Obito offers, feeling a bit awkward. While plumage hides the more sensitive parts of her body, she’s still very much nude. The sooty-spotted white feathers make him think of those owls way up north...must be what she is.

...he sort of wants to touch them but that feels highly inappropriate.

“There,” Kakashi mutters once the last latch gives way, untying the gag and letting her gasp for air. “Can you Shift back?”

Rather than reply, she struggles to sit up with an ear-splitting screech, feathered and scaled limbs alike flailing in panic. Talons sweep dangerously close to them both.

“Whoa, whoa! Easy lady, we’re not -!”

Ducking around behind her, Obito manages to pin her ‘arms’ to her side, his own wrapped around her torso. “I told you, we’re here to help! We’re Enforcers!”

Well, sort of.

At his words, she slowly stops her movement, breath rapid in exertion. Obito keeps his hold, feeling her eventually go slack.

“...I-I…?”

“You’re safe now,” Kakashi assures her, hands lifted placatingly. “It’s going to be okay, miss. But...we can’t take you out of here looking like that. There’s humans up there.”

“She probably needs a minute to calm down, first,” Obito mutters. “Go find her a coat or something to put on, will you?”

“Coat, right, okay. Hold on.” Handing Obito his phone, Kakashi makes his way back upstairs.

Obito then very awkwardly releases his hold. “...sorry, I...didn’t want you to hurt anyone.”

She brings her limbs up around herself, looking entirely unsteady. “It...it’s okay. I didn’t...mean to -?”

“You had every right to panic.” She was about to be butchered like a hog, after all. “But we’re here to help.”

“You’re...really Enforcers…?”

Lifting a hand, Obito removes the mask over his face now that the trouble is over. “Pretty much. Long story, but...we help Nightwalkers who need it. You’re safe with us.”

She studies his face, worry and sorrow plain on her own. “But, you...you’re a…?”

“Yeah, uh...another long story.” He itches his neck idly. “All that matters now is that I’m on your side. I’m Obito, by the way.”

“...Ryū,” she murmurs in reply after a pause. “Thank you, for...for saving me. I thought I was going to die, and be cut into p-pieces…” As the reality sinks in, her eyes well with tears. “I-I -!”

“You’re safe now. And we’re going to find the woman who did this, and make sure she never hurts anyone else.”

Hearing the menace in his tone, Ryū glances aside somberly.

He wants to say something, anything to cheer her up. There’s something that really gnaws at him to see her looking like that. But before he can, Kakashi returns down the stairs with another flashlight. “Found a second hand shop still open and got her some clothes. No idea if they’ll fit, but better than nothing.”

Obito sheepishly looks away as Kakashi hands the garments over, letting her change in peace. When he turns back, she’s fully human again: no more feathers, and dressed in a simple pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Even without her greyscale owl form, her hair is still white, and her eyes that same shocking silver.

“We’ve got a safehouse for people like you,” Kakashi offers. “You can stay there for as long as you want, until you feel safe to go home.”

“Thank you...will I have to stay there alone…?”

The men exchange a glance. “...we really should go after that woman,” the wolf offers. “But maybe we need some backup. Did you learn her powers?”

“Necrotic touch. Nasty business,” Obito replies.

“Ha, how fitting. Well, I’ll report back and see if we can get any reinforcements. You take her back to the safehouse and make sure no one gives her any trouble. Take the car, I’ll go on foot.”

Nodding, Obito catches the keys and helps Ryū up the stairs to the shop above. “Anything I can get you in the meantime? You want anything to eat, or drink?”

“...I guess I am sort of hungry...I’ve been here at least a day. There were…” She grimaces. “...others she killed before she got to me…”

“All right...we’ll get some takeout and you can eat at the safehouse.”

One drive-through stop later, Obito pulls up to the house in question. It’s at the end of a quiet human neighborhood. They’ve never had any trouble...yet. Ryū follows him in with many a wary glance of their surroundings, eating silently as she perches on a couch.

Obito, in the meantime, sends Kakashi a text confirming their arrival. Odds are he won’t reply for a while - business takes time. “There’s a few rooms you can choose from to sleep in, if you want to stay that long.”

“Thank you…”

Seeing her still looking withdrawn, Obito nibbles the scar on his lip before deciding to sit on the cushion beside her, giving her space. “So, uh...got anyone you need to contact?”

“...no,” is her soft reply. “Not really. I’ll...call my workplace in the morning. What should I tell them…?”

“The truth, but only as much as you feel safe revealing. You were kidnapped, rescued by some officers, and will be back after a doc ensures you’re able.”

She snorts. “...the irony is, I work at a medical clinic.”

“Really?”

“Mhm, I’m a nurse.”

“And no one’s ever…?”

“Not yet. I know it’s risky to work with humans, but...I have to make a living somehow. And my mom was involved in medicine, so...it felt right. I like helping people.”

“Then I’m sure they’ll understand. I can talk to them, if you need proof.”

“Well, we’ll see. Hopefully they’ll just believe me. I’ve been really good about absences up until now, so...they should know this isn’t usual for me.”

Obito eyes her as she fiddles with her empty cup. “...I’ll admit, you’re handling this really well.”

That gets her to look up. “...do you...often save anyone from places like that?”

Obito hesitates. “...not really. Usually it’s...already done.”

Fear flickers in her eyes. “...o-oh…”

“But I’m glad we got there in time.”

“...me too. It...it was horrible…” She brings her legs up, hugging her knees. “It constantly smelled like blood. And the screaming was...was beyond words, I-I can’t begin to describe it. She would keep them alive as long as she could…” Tears escape her eyes, expression wavering. “...how could anyone d-do that…? We’re not monsters, we’re just...people! People who are different!”

Sighing, Obito murmurs, “Some people just hate what’s different. What they can’t understand...unless they can profit from it. Others are just cruel. No real reason.”

“...can I...ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you...help us? Nightwalkers, I mean. I-I’ve always heard that witches hate us. That a lot of them work with Hunters to exterminate us…”

At that, Obito hesitates. “...I...was raised in a Hunter clan. Then they figured out what I was, and fast tracked my progress. But on my first mission, I...met Kakashi. And I figured out real quick that the things they taught us were mostly lies. Nightwalkers aren’t monsters...we were monsters for killing innocent people just for being different. I couldn’t abide by it, so...I left. And now I do vigilante work for the Senators with Kakashi. It’s difficult, and doesn’t pay well...but we’re doing good work, even if most would say otherwise.”

Ryū watches him as he speaks, still curled up on her cushion. “...well...I’m glad someone like you is helping us. It’s nice to know that not all humans want us dead.”

“Not all humans are bad, just like not all Nightwalkers are either. Most of us are just in the middle trying to get by.”

“Mm…” As the night finally catches up with her and a full belly weighs her down, Ryū looks ready to drift off. And before Obito can ask if she wants to head to a bed, she goes limp and just...slumps against his side.

He immediately stiffens, unsure what to do. Surely she shouldn’t rest here! But...what if he wakes her up trying to move her?

Eventually he debates himself so long he just...decides to do nothing, sitting as a living pillow for her to sleep on. If Kakashi sees this he’ll never hear the end of it, but…

Slowly, he lets himself relax. He can feel her breath on his arm, her cheek resting against his shoulder. She looks so much more at ease, now.

...she’s actually pretty cute…

Banishing the thought and going pink, Obito just settles in for what might be a long rest of his night. While it wasn’t a perfect mission, at least they got someone out alive. It’s not often a task like this has any sort of happy ending.

It’s a nice change of pace.

     Day two! And right into the thick of not-nice subjects xD I have GREATLY missed writing this verse so I indulged myself =w= That and Meg brought it up on Discord the other day so...it was fresh in my mind, ahaha~      Poor Ryū...will I ever be nice to her in my fics? Probably not :’D There’s been a lot of depressing stuff in the pieces so far but that’s just how life be for her kjdfhjgh I’m terrible.       Also vigilante team Obito and Kakashi gives me life. TECHNICALLY in canon nightwalkers only women can be witches, but...well, it fits Obito too well xD And it’s MY canon so I’ll bend it how I see fit, heh heh.      But I guess that’s it for this one! Thaaanks for reading!

[the-walking-memelords]

A2 - Chapter 5: Kingdom Fall

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Series is rated M

Word Count: 2268

The school wasn't so devoid of life after all.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

Every bone inside her body was screaming. Between her rapid heartbeat and the ringing in her ears, she had no idea if she was truely screaming out loud as well. Although, her screams could never hope to drown out the angry howls that came from the rooms around her.

Faces flashed through her mind. The faces of her friends, but not at all how she remembered them. Her worst nightmares took hold of their memories and twisted them into rotten, grotesque beings with greyed skin and dead eyes. Clothes soaked through with their own blackened blood and caked with mud. Hair tangled and flesh marred. 

Who laid waiting behind these doors? Were her friends forced to join their ranks? Killed and reborn as mindless drones?

An unsteady hand clasped her shoulder, The freckled face she saw when she turned was pale and fearful, as well as the boy’s who accompanied them.

“We need to leave.” Louis said with a darkness in his eyes.

“If they survived, we won’t find them here.”

And if they didn't, we will.

Louis wrapped his arm around Clementine, tugging her away from the vandalized hallway and the unknown of what lurked behind those doors. Each footstep felt heavier than the last. Where would they go now? It was too dangerous to stay. Was there even a place far enough for them to run?

Was there ever an escape?

“Goddammit, boy!” A deep gravelled voice bellowed across the yard just as the three of them stepped out of the dormitory.

They dove to the ground, rough cement biting into their hands and knees as they ducked behind the brick wall. A silhouette of a tall, thin exited the Admin building.

“How many times I gotta tell ya to keep that damn thing tied up! If I get bit I’m taking you out with me.” An old man with a long dark beard sticking out under the kerchief over his face stomped out of the door and stepped into the moonlight, swinging the heavy door closed behind him, barely caught by the boy who followed him out, the crossbow on his back getting caught as he tried to slip through

“Sorry, sir.” the young teen replied, voice slightly muffled by the matching scarf over his face

“What are we gonna do?” AJ whispered, gun already in hand.

“If they killed our friends, we can’t let them get away.”

“We don’t know if they’re dead.” Louis insisted through gritted teeth.

“Look, there’s three of us, and two of them. Let’s see where they go, and get the jump on them.”

They stayed silent with weapons at the ready,

“Wolf’s gonna make you pay for that one. Hope you’re not too hungry already, I doubt you’ll be getting any supper tomorrow.”

“But you killed it!” The boy’s small outburst earned him a hard slap across his face, sending him into the dirt.

“You’d best remember your place before you end up replacing that thing.”

If the boy mumbled any reply, it was too low for them to hear it.

The bearded man left him sitting in the dirt, lighting a cigarette and heading back inside the Admin building, slamming the door behind him.

The boy sat there for a minute, the pale light casting shadows over his face as his dark hair hung in front of it, making his expression unreadable as his kerchief covered the lower half of his face, the blue of an afternoon sky cut through by the black fangs painted across it. He stared down at his hands, balled into fists as they clutched the dirt below him. As if having some kind of epiphany, the boy suddenly stood up all at once, flinging a handful of dirt scattering across the cobblestone as he pulled his crossbow into his grip.

Clementine quickly darted her head back behind the wall as he turned in their direction. Not daring another peak, Louis nodded to her with weapons in hand, holding their breath as the footsteps grew louder.

The second his boot appeared on Louis’ right, he did not hesitate. Grabbing the crossbow as the bolt fired, sticking into the door. Louis ripped the weapon from his grip, throwing it with a clang against the concrete as he easily overpowered the boy, pinning him to the brick column and twisting his arm behind his back.

“Scream once and it’ll be your last.” Clementine threatened.

“Take him inside.”

They tossed him just inside the doors. Louis and AJ blocked the path down the hall as Clementine closed the door behind them. AJ kept his revolver trained on the boy as Clementine pulled the scarf down around his neck. His face from his lower lip to his chin was warped with scars like something dull and uneven tore its way through his flesh. The kid slid to the floor, defeated, gripping his fingers through his shaggy black hair. She could see his shoulders shake with his uneven breathing as he crossed his arms over them. What Clem originally thought was a red jacket was now apparent to be slathered in walker blood, fresh enough for the pungent smell to sting her nose.

Time for some answers.

“What’s your name?” Clementine asked. A small tug of guilt pulled at her heart for threatening this kid.

“Why? Need something to put on the gravestone?” He sassed her, though his words didn’t have the bite of wholeheartedness. His voice was hallow of hope as if he was just trying to speed through to the end.

“If you’re going to kill me just do it already.”

“We don’t want to hurt you.” She spoke honestly.

“Just tell us what happened here, and we’ll go.”

“What’s it look like?” He raised his voice just enough to trigger a reaction from the trapped walkers as it echoed down the hall, the groans echoing back.

“This place is a den now.”

Why would he want to make a stronghold here? 

There’s nothing worth attacking for at least a week’s travel.

Other than us, of course.

“What happened to the people here?” Louis insisted, gritting his teeth as he tried to cling to his denial.

“What did you do to them?”

“I didn’t do shit.” He said plainly.

“We send the herd in then hang back and let it sort itself out. Pops and I searched this place top to bottom while we stored the Warriors, there’s no one else here. Not alive at least.”

“You just send in walkers and hope for the best?” AJ questioned.

“And why here? What did we do to you?”

The teen’s face fell as he stared down at his own hands, rubbing the callouses on his knuckles.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He admitted.

“That’s not something Wolfgang cares about. If you’ve got something he wants, he’ll take it. He doesn’t give a shit about people’s lives, just how useful they are. You make yourself useful. Stick to what you can do best, and try to stay on top of those at the bottom of the food chain.”

“Why do you help them then?” Clem argued, asking him questions she asked herself a long time ago.

“Why wouldn’t you just run? What’s stopping you?”

“You think I have a choice?” He practically cried.

“They took my family in when I was a little kid. Back when this all started. I don’t remember my mom because they made her a lower rank than my dad so they took her from us and we never saw her again. They took me away too to be kept with the other kids. Fed us their bullshit way of life for years until we got our ranks and put us to work.”

Tears began to cut through the dirt on his face. He looked up at Clementine as she found herself unable to look away. The familiarity of his story was uncanny. Uncanny to a future that almost was.

AJ would’ve been just like him.

She saw herself as the stranger she used to be, but perhaps a few unwritten years later. The unfeeling killer who knew better than to question an order. 

And next to her?

The young boy who never knew anything else. Anything better. Watching the only person he could call family spiral into a darkness she could not be pulled out of, destined to bring him down as well.

 “H-He isn’t like what I pictured him to be. I thought… I thought I could fix this.” The teen sobbed at her feet.

“He’s my dad, but I don’t know what he is anymore...”

Clementine stared for a long time, watching the broken boy at her feet. Unable to find any words.

“Clem?” AJ spoke softly with acknowledgement in his eyes as if sharing her thoughts.

“What do we do now?”

“Come on.” Clementine spoke not to the others but to the boy.

“We know someone who can help you disappear.”

He looked up in astonishment at the hand held out to him. He bit his lip, seemingly contemplating his ability to start anew.

“If I get caught they’ll kill me. No questions asked.” He said.

“They might even kill my dad for letting me get away.”

“Does he seem like that’s really your dad anymore?” Clementine asked as she knelt to his level.

“There’s nothing you can do for him.” “I hope you’re right.” He said as he took her hand.

Clementine helped him to his feet as she turned to look at Louis who seemed uncertain, but didn’t outright object.

“We have to find the others.” Clementine said determinedly.

“If the school wasn’t safe anymore, where would they go?”

“Let’s see…” Louis paced.

“If the herd came in through the south gate then they’d probably had gone north. A few hours from there’s a truck stop just over the bridge along with a few other shops and stuff. I guess that’s what sucks about being in the middle of nowhere. Takes forever to get anywhere.”

“Where the hell’d you run off to now, boy?” That grizzled voice came from outside.

“If you’re in there fuckin’ around with them things I’m gonna feed you to ‘em!”

Time’s running out.

Clementine pulled them along down the hall to the only unblocked door in the hall.

“Did you put any in the basement?” She whispered.

“No.” He replied.

“It’d be too hard to get them back up the stairs.”

She pulled the door open just enough to fit them through, the old door screeching on its hinges as she pulled it shut behind her. Footsteps thumped across the wooden floor as the angry man searched the corridor.

“Boy if you don’t come out now I will feed you to the fucking wolf!” 

More enraged screaming followed down the hall and Clementine pulled the boy away from the door, carefully navigating the messy basement to the cellar doors, a cold draft of night air hitting her in the face as she carefully opened one of the doors. 

“Let’s go.” She lead.

A gunshot rang through the air as the bullet lodged into the bricks a foot to her right. Clementine didn't stop to look at the man. Instead, her survival instincts kicked into max as she yelled for the others to run. The father screamed the incoherent words of a madman as he fired blind shots at them. The young woman busted through the gate shoulder-first as the four of them fled into the night, the sound of gunshots becoming fainter as they put the school behind them.

---

Clementine only stopped when her lungs burned and begged for reprieve. Heaving as she leaned against a tree. The sound of rushing water masked their low voices as they drank from the stream. Thankfully, they all got away for now. But their break needed to be brief if they were to begin their journey.

Louis grabbed Clem and AJ and pulled them into a tight hug as they all caught their breath.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been shot at.” Louis laughed.

“I did not miss it.”

Clementine sat on a log to rest her aching leg, AJ joining her as they leaned against each other.

The kid they had saved stood facing the way they’d come, tapping his foot in time with the chirping of the crickets.

“You’re going to be okay.” Clementine reassured him, trying to keep him as hopeful as he could be given the circumstances.

“First we find our friends, then we try to intercept Layla and tell her what happened here. She’s allied with some of the biggest communities in the state. She’ll find you a home away from the war.”

“Then why do you live in a run-down school?” He questioned, biting his thumb as he began to pace with anxiety.

“We live the way we do by choice.” Louis responded.

“We’re a family. And we do whatever it takes to protect each other.”

“Even fight a war?”

“Been there, done that, won.” Louis joked.

“You just gotta decide what’s really worth fighting for. Something you want to fight for, not what someone tells you to fight for.”

The teen reached behind his neck, tugging at the knot in the fabric that hung around it. He held the kerchief in front of him, staring down into the fangs that bit down into his flesh for as long as he could remember. He started until he could no longer bear the sight, crumpling it up and throwing it into the stream, watching it float away in the fast current.

“Eli.” The boy said plainly.

“What?”

“My name is Eli.”

[prairiesongserial]

11.5

No sooner had Rhea left Cody on the ferry than a courier was whisking him off it again, leading him down a long wooden dock and to the front doors of the Bellamy Mansion. It was a large place, easily as large as La Salle Rouge or the Waters mansion had been, but nowhere near as sleek. The mansion’s facade was made of crumbling black stone and infested with fuzzy vines that crept up along its sides like the veins of a living thing. Two statues made of copper green with age flanked its entrance; humanoid, but missing heads and arms. Cody spared them a look as he passed - they were submerged in water nearly to the knees, but he could tell that they were identical sculptures of a woman. Maybe Rhea, though there was no way to tell for sure.

The inside of the mansion smelled like must and swamp water. It was just as humid inside as it was everywhere else in Everglades City, and Cody could feel himself already sweating through his clothes. The carpet of the mansion’s main hall made squelching sounds underfoot as Cody trudged inside, and he was barely surprised to find that it was waterlogged, at least around the entryway. The water outside came right up to the bottom of the front door, lapping at the entrance as though begging to be let in. The foundation of the house, Cody assumed, had been underwater for a long time.

The heavy front door slammed behind him. Cody looked around to see that the Bellamy courier who had brought him there had already run off to some other errand, their crisp white shirt and red vest vanishing around a corner. He was alone in the entryway.

“You,” a gruff voice said from above him, immediately proving him wrong. “You’re the new courier?”

Cody looked up, startled, his eyes darting about for the source of the voice. Eventually, his gaze landed on a woman leaning over the railing of a second-floor landing, at the top of the grand staircase at the far end of the main hall. She was tall and lean - but muscular, Cody noted, as he began to walk towards the staircase. She held herself tensely, in a way that reminded Cody of Sailor, and she had unruly hair that fell around her face in waves. It was distinctly silvery, though she looked too young to have already gone gray. Maybe a mutation.

“I asked you a question,” the woman said, eyeing Cody with sharp, dark eyes as he neared the stairs. She shifted in place, her suit jacket pulling back to reveal a gun holstered at her hip.

“Yeah, I’m the new courier,” Cody said, hastily. “Cody Allison. I was sent here to meet, uh...Madeline?”

The woman nodded, her expression and posture unchanging as Cody climbed the stairs to join her on the second floor landing. She regarded him with her piercing gaze, so intense that Cody almost flinched away from it, then stiffly offered him her hand.

“Fleetwood Mercer,” she said. “Madeline’s bodyguard.”

“Charmed,” Cody said flatly, and shook Fleetwood’s hand. It was rough with callouses, and her grip was strong, almost too strong.

“Madeline will want you in better clothes,” Fleetwood said, beginning to walk the instant she’d dropped Cody’s hand. Cody had to struggle to keep pace with her - she took long-legged, purposeful strides, and seemed to know exactly where she was going, leading him deep into the dimly-lit halls of the Bellamy mansion. The hallways twisted and turned, leaving Cody with the impression that they were walking in circles, but Fleetwood never faltered for an instant.

“As her interim courier, you’ll be expected to shadow Madeline and deliver any messages she needs sent,” she continued, never once pausing for breath. “You’ll be treated as a representative of the Bellamy family. Anything you do reflects on Madeline and her mother. Do you understand?”

Cody nodded. He knew a threat when he heard one. Even if Rhea had said she wouldn’t turn him or his friends in to Hemisphere, the promise of a wealthy businesswoman didn’t mean much. She could make his life very hard. Still, it wouldn’t be a problem. Cody wanted to get through this day without incident just as badly as he suspected the Bellamys did.

“Sure,” he said, getting the idea it was better to agree. At least being around Fleetwood was marginally better than being around Rhea - Fleetwood didn’t mince words, and she didn’t wear a Hemisphere insignia anywhere on her person. Not that Cody could see, anyway. “How big is this place, anyway? It’s like a maze.”

“It’s not that big,” Fleetwood said. The assertion was almost comical, as they turned down another hallway that seemed to stretch on forever. The floorboards of the second-floor hallways were mostly bare, and creaked underfoot, some protesting so loudly that Cody was afraid they might snap and send him plummeting to the first floor landing.

“What happened to your hand?” Fleetwood asked, after a prolonged silence.

“My - oh,” Cody said, reflexively curling the fingers of the hand in question. He had grown surprisingly used to his two missing fingers in the past months. The stumps still hurt with a phantom pain sometimes, but they’d healed nicely, with no sign of infection. He had adapted to new ways of holding things, to hanging onto his motorbike’s handlebars tighter and shifting his grip on his gun so it wouldn’t slip out of his hand.

“I owed money to a gang,” he said, boiling the story down to as few words as possible. “Their leader cut my fingers off when I didn’t pay him back fast enough.”

Fleetwood hummed thoughtfully. “Did you ever pay him back?”

“No,” Cody said, finally uncurling his fingers. “I killed him, actually.”

Fleetwood paused in her tracks, looking to Cody and sizing him up again. Her gaze was more intense than it had been before, her lips pursed in a tight line. Then, finally, she nodded and began to walk again.

“Good for you,” she said.

Several more hallways and another flight of stairs later, they arrived at what appeared to be Madeline Bellamy’s room. From what Cody could tell, it was more of a small apartment nestled into the third floor of the mansion. The door opened into a small lounge area, which opened up into a small kitchenette and a hall that led back to - Cody assumed - Madeline’s actual bedroom.

“Wait here,” Fleetwood told him, pointing at one of the couches in the lounge. Once Cody sat down on it, she nodded approvingly and disappeared down the hall.

Cody crossed one leg over the other where he sat, bouncing his foot and idly considering snooping around. It didn’t seem like he would find anything worthwhile in the apartment. Besides, the chattering voices down the hall, now muted by Madeline’s bedroom door, threatened to rejoin Cody at any moment. They did so shortly, Fleetwood and Madelines’s approach announced by the sound of footsteps.

“So you’re the new courier,” a woman who only could have been Madeline Bellamy said, smiling brightly at Cody as she entered the lounge. She was surprisingly young - Cody guessed she was his age, if not slightly younger - and wore her dark hair pinned tightly to the back of her head, to create the illusion of a slightly wavy pixie cut. She was outfitted in a bright yellow dress, with a blue-and-white striped kerchief tied at a jaunty angle around her neck.

“His name’s Cody,” Fleetwood supplied, looming just behind Madeline.

“Oh, I know,” Madeline said, brightly. “I’ve seen his wanted poster. But he’s much more handsome in person, don’t you think?”

Fleetwood made a noncommittal noise, as Cody stood awkwardly from the couch. Surprisingly, he was feeling less out of his depth than he had before. Madeline’s style of dress and the flighty way she spoke reminded him eerily of Marc, and gave him sudden confidence that he could handle this. Hopefully Madeline wasn’t as adept at getting into firefights as Marc had been.

“It’s, uh, nice to meet you,” he offered, giving Madeline as much of a smile as he could manage, and offering her his hand. She stared at it for a moment as though unsure of what to do with it, then finally shook it limply, smiling with such enthusiasm that it almost made up for what had to be the worst handshake Cody had ever received.

“Enchanté, Cody,” she said, at last releasing his hand. “Fleetwood, would you be a dear and see if you can find a courier’s uniform in his size? There should be some spares downstairs, in the costume shop.”

“I’m not your butler,” Fleetwood said, with a tone that indicated they’d had this discussion many times before.

“And I’m not saying that you are,” Madeline said. “But Cody and I will go and feed the guard dogs while you’re gone, and this way you won’t have to come with us. We’ll meet you at the costume shop afterwards.”

She batted her eyelashes at Fleetwood - who, Cody noticed, had grimaced at the mention of the guard dogs. Having only just recently met a dog for the first time himself, he supposed he could understand being afraid of them, if you didn’t have much experience.

“Fine,” Fleetwood said. “But be careful.”

“We’ll be fine,” Madeline said with a tittering little laugh. She linked her arm with Cody’s, fairly abruptly, and began tugging him towards the door. “Come on, Cody, let’s go and feed the dogs. I’m sure they’re famished. I’m famished, actually. Have you eaten breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Cody said, wondering if this was what John felt like all the time. Did he talk this much?

“Well, I haven’t. And it will be lunchtime by the time we’re done finding you a uniform, so we may as well plan on having lunch after that,” Madeline said. She was leading him back down the hall, towards an odd set of double doors Cody didn’t remember passing before. She stopped in front of them, and pressed a button set into a brass panel in the wall, tapping her foot against the floorboards as she waited for something - Cody didn’t know what - to happen.

Finally, the double doors slid open on their own, the sound of screeching metal making Cody’s skin crawl. The doors revealed some kind of empty closet - or a bare, box-shaped room. Madeline dragged Cody inside, and pressed another button on the inside wall, jamming it impatiently with a manicured finger.

“What are we -” Cody began, but never had the chance to finish, because the double doors were sliding shut, and suddenly the closet was moving.

Cody could feel the closet sinking towards the ground, the whole thing wobbling ever so slightly as it did so, and decided instantly that he hated it. There were muffled sounds of metal creaking and groaning all around him, and Cody would have been convinced that they were about to plummet through the foundation of the estate and plunge into the swamp to drown if Madeline hadn’t been so obviously nonchalant about the entire thing.

“You’ve never been on an elevator before!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she turned to him and saw whatever expression Cody must have been wearing.

“Is that what it is?” Cody asked, feeling vaguely seasick. He resolved to ask Enis more about elevators, when he finally got back to the circus. Enis would probably know how they worked. He had known about the special cameras, anyway.

“Yes!” Madeline said, with a laugh. “It goes between floors of the mansion. We’re going to the basement, and it’s much quicker than going down all those stairs. Isn’t it a wonderful contraption?”

“No,” Cody said bluntly, and almost felt a sense of satisfaction when he managed to startle another laugh out of Madeline. It wasn’t enough to distract from the churning in his stomach, though - he was sure they had to be below the water level around the mansion by now, but the elevator was still going down.

At last, the elevator shuddered to a halt and its doors opened again, onto a dark, cavernous room filled with the sound and smell of water. Cody stepped out hesitantly - he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find in the basement, but he was sure now that it was at least partially underwater. He couldn’t hear the sound of animals moving around in the dark anywhere. Only Madeline flitting about, presumably to find the light switch.

“You keep your guard dogs all the way down here?” he asked, sticking close to the elevator, not wanting to step in any water. In the dark, there was no way to tell where it was, or how deep.

“Well, they’re not really dogs,” Madeline said, sounding a little apologetic. “That’s just my nickname for them. Oh, hang on - there it is -”

There was a grating, metal-on-metal noise of a heavy switch being pulled, and overhead lights slowly began to flicker on in the basement. As they did so, gradually lighting up the room, Cody’s breath caught in his throat.

He had been right that the basement would have to be partially underwater, but he saw now that what Madeline had called a basement was more of a cave. The stone under his feet sloped gradually down, forming a sort of shore where the water had lapped up against it and worn it away over the years. Half of the room was taken up by swamp water, large rocks jutting out of it here and there. The lights didn’t reach to the other end of the basement, and it was hard to tell exactly how big it was - or if it simply went on underwater for miles. Cody didn’t really want to know.

“I know it’s not much, but it’s where they know to come and get fed,” Madeline said. She’d disappeared behind a privacy screen in one corner of the room - Cody could just vaguely see her silhouette, and was about to ask her what in the world she was doing, when something moved in his peripheral vision.

Cody snapped his head back towards the water. A lumpy form poking out from the surface that he’d initially thought was a rock was now gliding through the water. It was only when it clambered up onto a rock that he realized it was an animal - a big animal, longer than he was tall and covered in lumpy scales. Some kind of lizard, he realized. He’d seen lizards before, but never one this big. Never one with a snout the length of his arm, with sharp teeth that jutted out of it at all angles.

“What the fuck -” Cody managed, as Madeline reemerged from behind the privacy curtain, wearing a sleek, black wetsuit, her hair still neatly pinned in place. She gave him an odd look, crossing to the other corner of the room, where a few large storage containers were stacked.

“I thought the circus would’ve warned you,” she said, opening one of the containers and filling the room with the metallic smell of raw meat. “You’ve never seen a gator before?”

11.4 || 11.6

[officialleehadan]

Flags and Black Stone Walls

Hello darlings! Guess what?! There's going to be a lot of new storylines launching soon, and this is one of them! Many of you know about my books, Return Again and Leap back (books 1 and 2 of the Sunborn series) and have wondered what happened before Riah came to the magical world!

(Return Again)

(Leap Back)

I am pleased to introduce By Way of the Wolf Star, which will follow Zan's story before his appearance in Return Again!

This series is also accompanied by an announcement! Book 3 of the Sunborn will be launching December of this year! Look for that and the two prequels on Amazon!

+++

Zan ducked around a corner, gave his gloves a good pull to make sure they were tight, and turned to the stone wall at his back. The walls of Darkhame Fortress were old and crumbling. It was no difficulty to find handholds.

After all, humans rarely remembered to look up, and wouldn’t expect him to waste time climbing when he could be running.

They always forgot that the point of this exercise wasn’t to escape, it was to claim the enemy’s flag.

Unfortunately, the rest of his team tended to forget that in the heat of their training battles, and now Zan’s options were decidedly limited.

But the rules, such as they were, were simple.

There were four teams besides his own.

To win, he would have to get the flags of the other teams and make it back to the instructors.

Without losing his own.

Or getting killed, literally or metaphorically.

The shouts of his pursuit were closing in, and he did his best to tune them out. The wall was a familiar climb, and he preferred to gain altitude whenever he could. With any luck, they would forget that. Or, even if they didn’t forget, it might buy him enough time to double back on his own trail.

This would be so much easier if he had at least one ally.

The blackened stones were slick with the rain that was still falling lightly. Zan blessed it, for all that it made the climb more difficult. The sound of rainfall muffled hisi own slight sound, and if he thought the climb was difficult, so would the full-blood humans behind him.

Once in a rare while, his elvish heritage, the gift of his half-elvish mother, was more use than it was hindrance. He would never have the muscle of a human, but sometimes his speed and weight worked in his favor.

As it happened, now was one of those times.

The stone crumbled under his hands as he climbed faster, but that was familiar too. Darkhame Fortress was cursed to ever fall into ruin, and it spent a lot of time doing exactly that. The stones rotted magically fast, and had to be rebuilt constantly.

Shouts below told him that the team behind him had discovered his disappearance. Zan hauled himself over a ledge and rolled out of sight just in time.

They couldn’t climb as quickly as him, but there were two mages and an archer in their group.

And it wasn’t against the rules to murder the competition if you could pull it off before the instructors noticed. There were plenty of people desperate to join up with the Cult of the Dark Master. Losing a few in training was no particular problem. It just meant they weren’t good enough to serve.

Zan dragged his thoughts back to the task at hand, and focused all his skill on moving silently. The ledge was narrow, but not impossible, even slick with slime and rain. Zan picked his way back across the fortress, grateful for his black clothing and the hood his mother sent him with her last letter. It had a mask that fastened inside the hood on clever clasps, and hid the pale of his skin against Darkhame’s dark stone.

If he was clever, the teams below him would think he was just a gargoyle.

If he was lucky, he could get to one of the other teams’ flags before they figured out where he went.

Of course, they would also have to figure out where his flag was. He managed to grab it as the rest of his team ‘died’ and were sent to the sidelines in shame.

Speaking of…

He reached inside his tunic for the scrap of bright yellow fabric. There were no rules saying that it had to stay on his person, and they couldn’t ‘win’ without it. It might be spiteful, but he could ‘die’ knowing they would still have to search all of Darkhame before the instructors would let them inside. He stuffed the yellow flag under a gargoyle and continued on his way, pausing only when he saw another of the trainees. So far, none of them were looking up, and that would be their undoing.

The rain got heavier, and Zan used it to his advantage as he slid down the sharp roof of the main keep and caught himself on a gutter before he could fly off into nothing. Like the climb before, this too was familiar, and he tossed his thin climbing rope around a steel beam that provided the support for a piece of the roof that was being rebuilt. If it was any older, he wouldn’t trust it to hold his weight, but that beam was lifted into place only a few days ago, and the curse, potent though it would, still needed time to act on new material.

His line caught and Zan swung himself around the side of the keep. They weren’t allowed to go inside, but that was just as well. The soldiers were inside, and they hated the assassin trainees. He would be lucky to escape with a beating if they managed to corner him.

Far below, he caught a glimpse of brilliant green. The flag of one of the other teams.

It was guarded. He caught the glimmer of a mage going around a corner. He didn’t have any magic of his own, didn’t have the magesight that would tell him what the magic was, but Star Elves could see magic sometimes, and that was a secret he guarded carefully.

So far, none of the mages had caught on, and he meant to keep it that way.

He took the slide down th next rooftop faster than he liked, but fast was better than getting spotted. The edge of the roof cut off sharply and he threw himself into the open air at the last moment.

The stable had a thatch roof over wooden beams, and it hurt when he hit it at speed. He held still, barely breathing as he listened for any sign that someone heard him.

A dozen breaths later, he dragged himself to his knees. The flag was hanging from the rafters, in plane sight, but he had a trick, planned out when he saw the five flags.

As long as there was still a scrap of green hanging from that rafter, they wouldn’t notice the real flag was gone.

Zan crawled on his belly across the roof until he could reach the flag, and pulled his decoy, a handkerchief lifted off one of the stable hands on his way past, out of his pocket. In moments he had the flag in his hands, and the kerchief in its’ place.

Getting off the roof was significantly more complicated, but not actually hard.

He took a flying leap off the roof, hit the roof of the smithy running and took off back towards the keep.

Shouts below told him that he had been spotted, and he made it to the wall just in time. An arrow rattled off the stones above his hands, but he didn’t slow as he grabbed for the rope he left on his way down, looped the end through his belt to take it up with him, and scrambled for safety.

Unless they could climb like he could, they would have to take the long way around. By then, he could be hidden again.

Another arrow hit the stones, closer this time.

That would be Sheena. She was the best shot of all the trainees, but he wasn’t an easy target, climbing fast and hard to see against the black stone.

Of course, she also used live arrows in these training games. Probably she would shoot to wound; they weren’t enemies and were sometimes allies, but the prize for winning this game was a hot bath and a good meal for the whole winning team. If she got a chance to drop him, she would do it.

When he risked a look, he spotted Red team, Blue team, and White team below him. Green team was swarming around their flag. As he watched, a fight broke out, and someone from Blue team appeared on the roof, grabbed Zan’s decoy, and took off with it.

The brawl that broke out in response was a thing of beauty, and Zan smiled under his mask as he kept climbing until he was well out of arrow-shot.

On his way past, he paused to collect his flag and stuffed it into his shirt, while leaving another decoy, difficult to see but visible, in its’ place.  

Three to go.

He skirted his original path over the keep. It had been Green team chasing him before, and he would bet that there were still at least four of their original dozen who hadn’t noticed the melee in the courtyard.

That was alright though. It gave him time to thin the herd a little.

No point in leaving enemies behind him, after all.

As it turned out, he was right, and there were two were still climbing up th slick roof.

All the better.

This time when he slid down th roof, he pulled both of his training knives, the edges lined in brilliant yellow paint. It was magical, of course, impossible to wipe away without the proper solution, which only the instructors had.

Before they even noticed him, he was on them. His knives left lines across the inner thigh of one, a killing blow in moments, and across the throat of another before he was past them, still sliding, this time all the way to the ground.

Two dead.

Before the living two could turn on him, he pulled a leather ball out of his pouch and threw it at the ground between them. As it was meant to, it exploded into bright yellow and left them both coated. It was meant to mimic a fireburst-potion. At such close range, they were both ‘dead’.

Of course, that wouldn’t stop them form killing him for real if they caught him, so Zan bolted again.

The inner wall of Darkhame was in decent condition, and hard to climb anyway, so Zan took the stairs two at a time. He was pretty sure he knew where Red team’s flag was, but they would be looking for him as soon as they saw the four dead from Green.

Fortunately, Red was mostly made up of fighters who should really be in with the soldiers. Purple hit them early and took out both their mages and their only archer. The rest of Zan’s own Yellow died to bring down the rest.

As it turned out, Blue had the same idea.

Zan dropped down behind a crumbling statue as the Blue team swarmed the few remaining Reds, tore through them leaving injuries both glowing blue with magic and dripping red with real blood. The Blues took injuries, but no deaths as they claimed Red’s flag from the last Red to go down.

Well, alright. Fewer enemies for him to kill.

By the time he circled around again, this time over the roofs of the outbuildings, Blue had already displayed Red’s flag alongside their own.

White was nowhere to be seen. That was concerning. White had the only two trainees that Zan was truly concerned about. Grenden Bakersson had magic, and Tever Mo’tan could sling a throwing dart through the eye of a sparrow on the wing. Either of them alone was a challenge Zan didn’t want to fight, but together they could bring him down.

He stayed flat on his protected roof as Blue milled around, came together in a huddle, and scattered out. Shouting broke out around the corner of the keep. He could see two of the instructors over by the training yard, with everyone who was ‘dead’ seated in the mud beside them. They always knew when someone took a killing blow, although Zan wasn’t sure how it worked. It did help to cut down on cheating, at least.

After a while, the last of Green came around the corner, ushered by another of the instructors. Their clothes and skin were marked with white paint.

Zan watched as they joined the rest. He recognized those precise swipes.

Grenden Bakersson didn’t have much in the way of magic, but what he had was devious. He would never throw magical bolts, or fight as a mage, but he could vanish, completely and absolutely. Even the greatest of the Cult’s mages couldn’t find him once he chose to hide.

It made him a difficult, dangerous opponent.

Apparently Green had forgotten that little fact. All to the better.

Best of all, most of White came too.

Zan had to look twice when he saw them marked with the white of their own blades. Friendly fire wasn’t against the rules, but no one had ever taken that particular route before. It was foolish to go after the flags alone. Zan was only doing it himself because the rest of his team was already ‘dead’ and out of the game.

And because he was pretty sure most of Blue would actually kill him if they got the chance. He did not want a knife in the rubs, thank you very much.

As he thought it, a blade whispered up against his throat.

“Got you.”

Zan stilled. He didn’t feel the wet of paint on his skin yet, which was… interesting. Grenden’s voice was low, and it was Grenden. No one else could sneak up on him while he was on battle-alert.

“Get it over with,” he murmured back and wondered if he could get at his own knife fast enough to take Grenden down before the other assassin cut his throat. “You got me.”

“What fun would that be?” Grenden asked, a smile in his voice, and suddenly the knife was gone. “Want to team up?”

“We’re on different teams,” Zan pointed out, intrigued as Grenden settled beside him, eyes on the melee below. “Did you do for White?”

“Most of them,” Grenden admitted, and flashed a wry grin over at Zan. His blonde hair was dark with rain, and he had a white streak of paint across his cheek. It wasn’t a kill-blow, but it shimmered in the gloom. “Tever is around here somewhere. Tried to get him, but he’s quick.”

“He’s a hard fight. He give you that cut?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. I have our flag. Trade you one for one.”

Well. That was even more interesting. Zan watched as Blue pulled in around their flags after doing a quick headcount of the ‘fallen’ and coming up with how many were left. Not many. With Red, green, and Yellow entirely out of the fight, there were only three opponents left.

Of course, Blue, which had the most mages of everyone, knew perfectly well who was still ‘alive’. They wouldn’t take any of their few opponents lightly.

Zan considered his odds, realized that they had three our of five flags between them, and considered his odds if he was they instead.

He pulled his yellow flag out and proffered it. Grenden flashed him a roguish grin and passed his own flag over in return. Zan checked to make sure it wasn’t a decoy, was surprised to discover that it wasn’t, and stuffed it into his pocket.

“I can get to their flag,” Grenden said when they looked down again. There were a couple Blues around the Keep, searching for them, no doubt, but most of them were clustered around their flag and Red’s. “But I can’t grab it without getting caught.”

Zan looked down at the flags. Blue had their flags tied to a poll in the middle of the courtyard. Nowhere to jump from. No easy way to get at it without cutting through them.

But maybe there was another option.

“I can get them away from their flags,” he said finally, and wondered if he was being a fool. There was nothing in the rules about teaming up, but he didn’t know if they could win together. “If you can get there, and be ready, I can get them clear for you. Signal me when you’re by the flags.”

The punishment for failure was two lashes and three days of hard labor. Zan did not want to lose, but he also didn’t think he could win alone.

“Don’t betray me, Pretty,” Grenden winked, and vanished without another word. His voice whispered out of nowhere just behind Zan’s ear and Zan barely kept from stabbing him on reflex. “I’ll meet you back here.”

Zan didn’t hear him go, but he expected that. No one ever saw Grenden when he didn’t want to be seen.

For a while he counted his own heartbeats and hoped he wouldn’t be spotted. His hiding spot was a good one, but Blue knew he was still out here somewhere. One of the Blues appeared around the corner, Zan’s green decoy in his hands, and a fight broke out almost immediately when they looked closer and realized it was a fake.

All the real flags had the Master’s symbol and a swipe of glowing paint on them in their color. Zan’s decoy was green, and had enough paint to look right at a glance, but it wouldn’t pass up to more than a passing glance.

As the Blues argued, Zan watched the flags. If he hadn’t been looking so closely, he might have missed the faint swipe of white-glowing paint that appeared on the edge of the blue flag.

Grenden was in place.

Zan stood and took a running leap off the roof, rolled, and came to his feet still running. Rather than go for the flags, he cut through the Blues around the flak, leaving splashes of yellow paint in his wake.

Three dead.

He didn’t slow, and ran for another of his preferred routes up the walls. Magic flared at his back, and he dove around the corner just in time to take Tever clean off his feet.

For a breath, they stared, choosing whether or not to fight it out.

Blues swarmed around the corner and the choice to fight was taken for them. Tever swore viciously, and Zan didn’t stick around to find out what happened next. He swept Tever’s legs out from under him, slashed blindly with his knife, and ran.

Fortunately, they were far more interested in Tever than they were in Zan at the moment, and Zan went from walls to tree to roof with the help of his light climbing line.

When he looked down into the courtyard, the two flags were gone.

“Trade you one for one.”

Zan stifled a yelp, nearly fell off the roof, and was only saved by Grenden grabbing him before he could actually fall.

The older assassin was grinning. A gleam of blue showed along his arm, and again on the same wrist, but he pulled out the two remaining flags.

“I assume you have Green,” Grenden continued as Blues, down several and marked with white, circled back from where Zan left Tever.

Tever himself was down by the instructors, glaring about him and about ready to murder his way out. His clothes and body were covered in blue. The Blues had taken no chances. Tever was very thoroughly dead.

“Let’s get to the instructors,” Zan decided as Blue noticed their missing flags and began fighting again. “You going to stab me in the back, Bakersson?”

“And ruin my chances of being your special friend?” Grenden said with a grin. “Not today, Pretty.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“I’ll stop when I come up with something better.”

“Maybe I should stab you after all.”

The banter took them all the way back to the wall, and Zan boosted Grenden up before scrambling up himself. When he slipped, the rain now falling in heavy sheets, Grenden caught him and hauled him up to solid stone.

“Ready?” he asked when they were on the roof directly above the instructors. Grenden nodded. “Go.”

As one, they dropped down to the muddy training field.

Instructor Torbu stared at them, and Zan stifled a twist of satisfaction. It was hard to sneak up on the instructors.

Shouts told him that the Blues noticed their appearance. Before they could be swarmed, he pulled out the green flag, and Grenden’s white one even as Grenden produced Red, Blue, and yellow.

Torbu looked between them, and cracked a gap-toothed grin that showed gold  here and there.

“And here we thought none of you idiots would ever realize you could work together,” he roared with laughter and held up a hand to stop the Blues. “Hot baths and hot food for the both of you. The rest of you, remember that Warriors of the Sun work as a team, and you will never take them down working alone. Now get out of my sight. Your punishment duty starts in the morning.”

+++

By Way of the Wolf Star:

The name of Wraith the Assassin is known throughout the land. Where he goes, only ghosts remain. If you see him at all, you may assume he has not come for you, for if he had, you would know he was there only when his blade found your throat.

But he was not always Wraith the Assassin, and Zandithas has a long way to go before he becomes the living nightmare of the known world.

Flags and Black Stone Walls